#brief recollection

[expoundingspark]

Inoubliable

I cannot function. I cannot move. Then I remembered how you and I (groove, grooved, and) will groove... Suddenly, limbs were free and I could clearly see. Breathe evenly. Become giggly... (*concentration dissolves to daydreaming*)

[gunkbaby]

ok so you don't have to answer this bc I know you're really only here for Shuu BUT do you have any thoughts about Hide with BPD?

i will be honest : i know almost nothing about Hide, so I don’t feel I can answer this properly - so Hide fans can feel free to sound off in the reblogs if they have ideas (I would ask for people with BPD/experiences with it to answer particularly, because of how stigmatised BPD is!). I will main tag it so more people can see and potentially offer food for thought - people with more Hide knowledge.

But regardless, with my very limited memory of him - I don’t know if I would say he has it? Like I said, I really am not a Hide expert. I like him well enough, but I don’t think he really reads as BPD to me personally. Maybe it’s just that my experience with BPD is on the more outwardly obsessive, dependant, toxic side - which is why I think I see it so clearly with Shuu (and potentially Kanae) - but I mean. My experience isn’t final or universal. I’m not saying it’s a complete no-go, but my immediate reaction is that I’m not sure I would associate him with BPD. Again, like I said, I’m basing this off of my very limited knowledge, and my personal experience. I haven’t started my re-read officially yet (so many books on the go atm…mon dieu…), so maybe my thoughts will change during that time - in which case I will reblog this post with any new takeaways I might have for you.

I’m sorry, this is is such a shite answer 😭 I just haven’t analysed him as deeply as other characters - I’ll make notes during my re-read and see if I notice anything and report back

[meatriarchived2]

waiting for melatonin to kick in so i can maybe actually sleep but having thoughts on dire au maria but im also tired so coherent? maybe not,

after the first year, once she's gotten used to the new normals in her life: used to both keeping back and watching, or pursuing and luring, or actively killing their targets or trespassers on the property. how over time it went from being horrified at watching what johnny would do to others he'd drag down into the basement, to horrified at leland's early treatment in nosy ( or danny's ), to the slow-building curiosity at why the fuck any of this is at all enticing in the slightest.

the slow embrace and acceptance of not just hanging back and watching the killings, the butchering, the eating, but also actively taking part in it after a while and how the weight of all of its always lingering at the back of the mind. the guilt of it all, the uncertainty, the fear of things going wrong.

i could see there being a few hiccups especially at the start of using the aliases, of testing the waters on working alone for brief windows. and especially in those early instances, and then the attempts right after the dire reunion, those hiccups stemmed namely from feeling very much on her own and it in turn diverting her attention at points.

[mangled-by-disuse]

not to be an old codger shaking my stick at the youth of today (jk that's literally my whole vibe) but like

why are advent calendars Like That now?

"like what?"

why do they all have stuff in them?

like correct me if i'm wrong but is it not less than twenty years since your average advent calendar was a wee cardboard envelope with doors cut into it and then your grand reward for opening the little door was a sense of seasonal accomplishment and a little picture of a robin?

is it not in this millennium that it was a shocking and exciting treat to have an advent calendar where - in a show of luxurious excess - you might perhaps open a wee door and be rewarded by a small tree-shaped bit of cheap shitty chocolate?

why is lidl selling advent calendars for kids where every door has an ACTIVITY BOOK IN IT? why am i seeing advent calendars with toys we would have considered at the very least stocking stuffers EVERY DAY OF ADVENT? what is all this stuff about paying £900 for special boxes with £500 of make-up in? do not get me started on christmas eve boxes, and GET OFF MY DAMN LAWN

[sunni-stuff]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is part 4 Part 5

His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother. 

You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.

Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”

Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.

The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.

Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”

How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it. 

“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”

A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say. 

The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to.. 

“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.

Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.” 

Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.

“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.

You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.

Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?

Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. 

“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."

You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”

In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.

“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."

Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.

"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."

Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now. 

"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."

The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.

"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."

Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."

You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."

Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.

The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."

Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"

You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."

Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."

For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."

You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.

This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3

taglist: @smdnai @liliemb04 @montenegroisr @lunamoonbby @sapphire-jelly26 @angelrissa @redroserabbit @tiramisa3 @insomniacticartist @nommingonfood @scaleniusrm @creepingeva @armycaratlover @hbaasaad @illusionistlover @janeety @emptyboxeslot @oniiloma @yearninglustfully @lockofspades @danielle143 @gifted-aurora @lil0witch666 @axdjelx @kvirzz @pawnthedice @limeleag @skylarmitchell @mxtokko @sillylittlereader @gaida-511 @sharkybabe9 @arrozyfrijoles23 @eevily @maciswack @lveegsoi @cold-deep-water @a-lil-bit-nuts @mehjustalasshere @just-lilita @r0s3luvr @melena83 @melena83 @blueplant69 @inneedsoffanfics @uchihabucketlist @serafina-nyx @dragon-bubs @rowsandrowsofnothing @amaraabbz @tacticalgirlboss @tajanabuh-blog @creepumiku @nemuranaifukuro @nikt-wazny-y @shadowdark00 @red-in-my-veins @t3a-bag @doodle-cat16 @natdu @opposumman @takeyour-pants-off @despairinglakepasta @thychuvaluswife @watersquirtpewpewboomm @danika1994 @fancymilkshakewitch @littlemisspropaganda @anndraco0523 @makimamybelovedwife @mishaglass @gg-trini @topaz125 @captainchrisstan @zedis2007 @midnightprocrastinator @lem-hhn @bibisbooktalk @awkward-slime @xxravenxstarxx-blog @yourlittlehoe @mklovesbagels @nhlfs @sebastiansstanswhore @chaos-on-stand-bi @codcosplayer @athenianharpy @personwhosucksassatmath @krembruulee @singshoutshaxx @callsignang3l @doingitfortheplot @huehuehuehuehehe @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @blueladys-world @livvrosesblog @honey-teaaaaaaaa @ginghamandkitsch @hannas16 @captianjacksparrow121 @whore-for-viktor @onespecificcheese @soph5547 @beautifuleaglealpaca @nicolebarnes @wwe1rdc0re @multy-fandom-lover @echo9821 @blackhawkfanatic @kat-the-kit @just-pure-trash @shadowlinn @reyy001

[cxncrie-a]

Anonymous asked: What can completely break your muse? (All muses or whoever you'd prefer)

Untitled Headcanon Questions || Accepting

I'll answer these for who I can !! Cause I have some muses that I'm not 100% sure what the answer is to this just yet. 

Nimue ;; Unfortunately, she's already technically completely broken. There's only really two verses where she's pieced herself back together and that's the Main verse w/ Tera's Pentious and the Angel Au where she ends up in heaven. Otherwise, she's all kinds of fucked up. Neglect is a big thing as is, it makes her feel unwanted, useless, that alone is enough to break her down and feel extremely empty. Basically tell her or make her feel unwanted and that's enough to just shut her down.

Daisuke ;; I'm not really sure he can be easily broken, but I do know he'd be very upset / hurt knowing that not only his sister is in Hell but that she's still being treated poorly because he had worked so hard to make sure she wasn't completely alone.

Alastor ;; I'd say maybe someone he's actually fond of getting hurt. I know it seems like he doesn't care but I do think he has a few select people he cares for quite a lot. Charlie and Mimzy being two of them. Instead of like a ' depressed ' break, I think he'd absolutely become EXTREMELY violent instead.

Charlie ;; We've technically seen what breaks her and I think it's not just the concept of ' losing friends ' but seeing innocents get hurt in general. 

Damien ;; Oh this bitch is possessive as fuck, so take anything of his and he absolutely snaps. Like Alastor, he gets violent in response and will not hesitate to hunt down the person who took something of his and tear them to shreads. 

[tojisun]

EXPAND ON THIS

https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/758472884430716928/no-matter-how-hard-you-try-you-just-cant-make

AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

aww im glad that u (all) liked that blurb!! didnt expect the vitriol in ur guys’ reactions but ykw? samesies <3 oki uhh so heres something quick and simple

cw: fivesome (but they go in order, also simon doesnt properly get a turn im sorry 😞); f!reader; subspace; builds up into consensual noncon; unrealistic sex; rambly as hell and its set up messily; wc is 3.6k :’3

(you tell them it’s a wrong send, and that it’s meant for johnny so they all said, “oh damn. welp,” and leaves you and johnny to go at it all night long teehee <33) (jk) (unless) (no ok im jk)

johnny fucks you first. the guys didn’t complain, and trickled into your room, ready to fall to whatever place they could sit down to watch. johnny laughs, and tugs you towards him, gently slapping your hand away when you try to cover yourself up with your shirt, and tells them, “watch me.”

not us, but me. like you’re a nameless hole whose only worth is to be fucked, and somehow that… doesn’t deter you at all.

instead, you ignore the warmth flooding in your cheeks and the stares that drag on your body, and focused on johnny’s smirk and his crooning words and his wide palms roving over whatever sliver of your skin he can touch. he positions himself in between your legs, his fatigues an uncomfortable sensation against your oversensitive skin.

he doesn’t care. he drags down his zipper and frees his cock from his briefs, before swiping his palm on the inside of your thigh, gathering the excess lube glistening there to use it as oil for his prick. your nose scrunches when he brings his hand to give himself a quick tug, foreskin peeling from the head to show off how flushed it is.

he crawls until he’s on top of you, and throws out, “let me show ye how to fuck ‘er, yes?”

you don’t even realize the words are for the rest of the squad because he’s already slipping his cock in your cunt, slow and careful, and you keen because yessss—

this is the delicious burn you’ve wanted. oh god oh god—

it didn’t even take johnny long before you’re cumming, your throat spasming at the scream that rips itself out from within you. your hips rise from the bed, your body jolting, unable to ground itself at the breaking euphoria that forced shockwaves to raze your synapses.

you fall on the bed limply, satiation filling you up in lapping waves. johnny pulls out and fucks his fist and sprays his cum all over your stomach. he musses it up, rubbing his palm against it like it’s a damn lotion, and lathers whatever inch of your belly he can cover.

it’s gross and weird, especially as the recollection that you’ve had an audience hits you, but then johnny’s stepping back and moving away. you try to shut your legs close, but someone’s already shuffling in, taking up the space that johnny had carved out.

you stare up at your captain, shock filling you up. he doesn’t ask with words but he quirks his brow up, waiting, and you don’t know what it is, but you give him a nod before ducking your head to the side.

which was a mistake, you learn, because you make eye contact with kyle; kyle who is—was—slowly rubbing himself through his pants, his palm gliding over his chub. his eyes are blown wide and he looks ravenous as he meets your gaze.

you hiccup, feeling cornered and delighted at the same time, but then john’s rubbing his cock along your messy folds, using the mess you and johnny made to lube himself up, and you mewl, tearing your eyes away from kyle to meet john’s stare head on.

he looks… calm. not teasing nor hungry, but poised with forced grace like this is another mission, and he has willed his full body to sync together so that not even a stray strand of hair will falter and miss a beat.

you don’t know how to position that with yourself, not like you needed to dwell on it any further because john’s already thrusting in. like johnny, he is careful, but he is more cautious, pushing inch by inch without even a ragged breath like he’s scoping out your reaction before he could let out his.

god, why’s everything so difficult with him—even now, speared with his cock, you still don’t know how to react. it’s like you’re a recruit all over again, dawdling underneath your CO’s scrutiny. it’s jarring, terrifying, really, but then john’s drooping onto you, his head tipping down to nuzzle close to your jaw, and this level of intimacy is what rips a moan out of you. it is drawn out and high-pitched, and so, so utterly debauched.

you hear more than see john’s pleased laugh, his breaths coming out in puffs that brush against your neck in a ticklish manner. the moment drags on—nuzzles and quiet huffs, and slow rocks of his hips almost like he’s taking his time to savour you; to allow you to get used to his size because he’s so different from johnny.

johnny is thick, but john is long. he is reaching deeper than you have ever known, and it’s so overwhelming that you begin to cling to him, in need of any way to ground yourself down from the slow-racing pleasure.

you don’t know how long he’s got you like that, but then he’s pulling back and away, and, “nonono, please. please, sir—”

“shh, i’ve got you,” he rumbles, still so utterly quiet that it forces out the tears faster, and you know something’s changed because john is looking at you with a proud smile, all tactile as he manhandles you to your side, before disappearing behind you. you feel your head being lifted then dropped onto something harder than your pillow, and it is only the smell of ozone that lets you know that john had pillowed your head with his arm, while the other snakes around your waist to pull you closer to him.

you stare at the expanse of your room but everything looks like they’re appearing underneath a hazy filter, so you blink your eyes to clear them from that mist but it remains unchanged. you feel heavy, all of sudden, like you’re submerged in water, wading through the ripples. floating.

you try to look at the others but all you see are blurs of colours, and you know this should terrify you, you know something’s happening in your mind, but you feel so good. so happy. so you fold into yourself, accepting the haze with a keen because john’s fucking back into you.

it is still so utterly gentle, like love-making, and this makes you sob because the euphoria is dizzying and overwhelming. it is something you haven’t felt before—johnny fucks you like a man starved; john fucks you like he’s trying to meld himself into you. or you into him.

it is so drastically different, and you were made to navigate the changing tides. but you can’t, not when john—

“fuck!” you scream, thrashing in his hold, but john ignores your voice as his heavy hand falls on your cunt with consistent smacks.

you feel lightheaded, untethered, and this is what pushes you to the edge. your orgasm is cataclysmic. it’s like having the fabrics of your reality collide until you are a supernova, bright and burning and so, so, so ecstatic.

you don’t even know how you came down from that high, but when you wake up, john’s already pulled out and your thighs feel extra sticky. you sniffle, turning to accept the quick kiss he leaves on your cheek. he pulls away and you watch him sink back to the lone chair in your room, and only then do you realize he’s still in his uniform. still in the fatigues.

it makes you extra vulnerable somehow and you twist, trying to find anything to cover yourself with, but your shirt’s been thrown to the floor, far from your reach, and your blankets were kicked off the bed.

you grumble, shyness encroaching again now that there’s no one to monopolize your attention, but a movement from the corner of your eyes makes you jolt. you turn, forcing your eyes to focus, and you blink in surprise because you are sure that kyle wasn’t there before—close to your shelving that is stuffed with little knickknacks and souvenirs brought to you by the boys when they take on separate missions that don’t require your involvement.

the same shelving where you’ve plopped your charging vibrator on. the very same one that is being held up by kyle.

“kyle?” you ask, unable to say any more with how wrecked your voice has become. but the call echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly stifling room, and they all look at you as one. like it didn’t matter if kyle was the one holding the wand because they all knew what they want, and it is to see you be fucked with it.

excitement fills you up despite the throbbing exhaustion settling in your bones, and you wonder if they could scent it with the way the pressure in the room grows heavy, almost bladed—ice shards against still waters.

kyle moves towards you and your eyes track the wand, almost hypnotized by it, and watch as he drops it on the mattress to shuck off his clothes. it is only then do you turn to him, hungry in the way you devour how he moves, how he breathes, how he unbuckles his belt.

his trousers come first, then his shirt. kyle is a catastrophic wonder—seeing him naked like this makes your core throb, aching need stretching in the yawning of your stomach, because he is so beautiful, terrifyingly so.

he reaches for your waist and drags you so you’re laying on your back again, your legs sprawled out on either side of his hips. he looks down at you, his eyes crinkled in his smile. he looks so charming, boyish and youthful, and he makes you thrum with quiet desire because you feel safe even when you’re bare before him.

you feel particularly cherished, like you are the apple of his eye.

“you’ve been so good to us, love,” he murmurs, but in the silence of everyone, his voice bounces off the walls, seeping into where the others are, watching raptly once again.

you nod, not knowing what else to say. kyle chuckles, the sound trickling like quiet chimes, and you wonder if he’s doing this for you—talking to you in whispers to give your body time to come down from the tremors, or filling you up with something other than a cock because johnny had come in scathing, and john had pierced you with something consuming, and kyle—

kyle is trying to distract you.

you’ve forgotten about the toy, sitting there so innocently. it’s out of your reach, tucked preciously close to kyle’s left leg the way he treats all his smaller guns—never straying beyond his person, and hovering close. you’ve once asked him if it wasn’t more comforting to have it on him where he can feel its weight and kyle had looked at you with that soft smile like you’ve uttered something so delightful, before telling you, “there’s a certain pleasure in having it displayed.”

like a promise and an assurance—he will always be faster; the one who is more in control.

and today, kyle is treating the wand with the same vehemence.

you didn’t even know you were already shaking your head until kyle had cupped your cheek, quiet sounds of comfort rumbling from his chest.

“don’t worry,” he says, eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “all good girls have to be rewarded.”

kyle doesn’t fuck you with his cock right away; instead, he’d bent over and took a nipple into his mouth. it makes you gasp, back arching at every wet suck. there is pleasure to derive, but it is so muted that you begin to settle back into your mattress, waiting, almost in bated breath because kyle has yet to reach for the wand.

you jolt when he finally uses his hands, stomach tensing in anticipation. but still, kyle doesn’t reach for it, and instead he swipes a finger to your slit. your pussy’s still so sensitive so it makes you buck, a sharp animalistic sound tearing from your throat, and kyle takes advantage of the sudden change in the pace.

he slips in two fingers in your cunt, curling to poke at your walls, before fucking them out—he lifts up and sucks your other nipple—and punching them back in. it’s a wet slide, each thwaps ring in your head, and you moan, clawing at kyle’s back because how could he make you feel good just like this?

it’s almost a laughable parallel—just an hour ago, you had been in the same position, with your legs parted open and two fingers fucking in, while your other hand flicks at your nipples because you had so desperately wanted any form of orgasm. god, it didn’t even need to feel ecstatic, just something that’d rip your aching need into quiet tides. and now here you are, spread open with kyle mirroring every flick of his fingers and every pinching sensation on your nipples, and he is making you feel good.

how dare he. how dare he give you unadulterated pleasure with just his fingers? how could you ever go back to masturbating now that he’s even triumphed over your previous failures, showing your body that there are ways to make your toes curl without a cock nor a toy?

how dare he—

“no!” you whine, circling your hand around his wrist when he pulls out. you were so close; its tendrils spreading all over your body in the wake of your encroaching orgasm. you thought you were going to be rewarded? kyle promised. he said so!

“oh, love,” kyle coos, breaking through the swirling turmoil in your head. “i’m not done yet, i promise.”

you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the sob that is lodged in your throat as you watch kyle give his cock a pump before lining it up with your cunt. unlike johnny and john—and the reminder that they’re there, with simon, makes you jolt for a quick second—kyle doesn’t press in slow nor gentle.

no.

kyle punches everything in. you scream, the sound guttural as you are filled so quickly and so deeply, leaving you to feel the sudden crescendo of your pleasure. your body spasmed—because there was nothing else that could explain the sensation of having all your synapses sing with a ripping pleasure—before you black out for a second.

you come to the feeling of kyle’s hand mapping your belly, digging just enough that his fingers dimple your skin. you are still stretched and stuffed, and the remnants of your pleasure fire up again.

he flicks his eyes up to you with a smile. “came so soon f’r me, love.”

your only response is a gurgle. it makes kyle laugh.

“that must mean y’r ready for something else, yeah?”

a confused whimper bubbles from your throat. kyle just snaps his hips in reply, rendering your mind shut again. you hear him shuffling against the sheets, his free hand reaching for something you cannot see, and you feel your mind pressing at its edges, trying to retrieve the memory of what it is he is looking for because you know what it is, you’re sure.

buzzing noises fill your ears, the sound ricocheting around the space, and your body locks, recollection slamming into you. you tear your gaze away from the far wall to look at kyle.

you wonder what your face must’ve looked like because kyle begins to croon.

“i’ve seen this from a homemade porn video.” he shrugs at the incredulous expression on your face. “and i’ve always wanted to try it because sweetheart, they didn’t press it on her clit.”

what—

kyle moves, his body rippling with ease. you don’t notice but the boys crowd in, interest bright in their eyes. only ghost continues to be rooted in his spot, and it is only his head tipping to the side that lets the others know he’s just as interested.

kyle presses the toy on your belly. your nose scrunches in displeasure because it just feels like you’re being massaged incorrectly, but he keeps shifting, hunting, and it’s weird because kyle’s still in you so what—

you gasp, eyes widening at the odd sensation. kyle freezes, his body curling into something predatory, and digs your wand there on your—

“no way,” johnny laughs, and you want to snarl at him to go away but you can’t because he’s right.

no way.

kyle had pressed the vibrating bulb of your toy just below your belly and slightly before your upper pelvic area—kyle had pressed the toy on your womb.

the pleasure is new, uncharted, and it is petrifying because you’ve never felt this way before. you didn’t even know it was possible to stimulate yourself there, but kyle’s already resuming the pace he’d set, fucking his cock in deeply almost like he wants to feel the buzz from within.

you begin to sob but the tears feel different this time. they’re still out of pleasure, but the swirling surprise melts the euphoria into something frightening. you don’t even realize you’ve begun to babble.

“no more!” you hiccup, weak fists thumping against kyle’s chest only to be restrained by john and johnny, each man pushing them down with their own hands.

everything feels too scary, all of a sudden. this pleasure of yours is bigger than you have ever expected and it’s building up too fast and too soon, and still, kyle remains unfazed.

“i’m scared! i’m scared, kyle please!”

your words turn into unintelligible warbles, and kyle just says how you are so adorable like this.

“y’r pussy’s going stir crazy, baby,” he croons amidst your tears and you want to scream at him, to be mad and say something mean, but you feel so utterly lost in the bubbling bliss.

it is something you’ve never felt before; it’s almost like you are relearning your body at this very moment—like kyle is unmaking you, and remodelling you, and you feel this cathartic bloating of your orgasm.

kyle sees the moment you succumbed to the enveloping terror of your euphoria, and it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment because he begins to fuck you faster. deeper. his pelvis meets the plush of your ass with every thrust, while he digs the toy further down your flesh.

how could the vibrations ripple past the fat, you don’t know, but your orgasm is building, peaking—

it breaks with another scream tearing from your lungs. this one is much stronger than the previous ones, and enveloping because it feels like your whole body has shut down in the wake of your release.

your mind splinters, your body falling limp like your strings have been cut loose, and kyle turns forgiving again because he shuts the toy down and throws it away. he pulls out and only then do you feel the trickle of his cum sliding out of you.

he leans in, brushing his nose over your cheek. then, “just one more, little bird.”

kyle slides off the bed, but so do john and johnny, and you hiccup, still sobbing, still floating from the world-shattering climax, when simon greets you.

he is quiet for a while, watching as you catch your breath. you couldn’t even stop yourself from sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes to stain your already blotchy cheeks. he grunts, hand falling to brush unimaginably soft touches across your body, observing.

waiting.

“was’it?” you finally bite out because you know simon—you know ghost—and there is something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he so desperately wants to spit out.

simon grumbles, rolling his eyes.

you groan, growing impatient. “tell m’.”

but he still doesn’t talk, choosing instead to manhandle your body until it is close to him. you want to tell him to give you a minute; that you’re still so sore and tired, and kyle just fucked you mindless that you need a goddamn break, so, “s’mon, no…”

he grunts, palming along your waist, then your hips, before it stops on the fat of your ass. he grabs a handful.

“won’t you let me fuck this hole instead,” simon finally replies.

your heart lurches to your throat, and you’re not the only one surprised because johnny’s bounding in close, excited, chatting simon’s ear how he wants to go next, “please, LT?”

you want to tell him to ask you, not simon, but simon’s already giving his assent with a huff, chirping how johnny’s so impatient—a master and his dog—before they turn to you again.

it is only then do you realize that simon hadn’t been asking for proper permission; it was all formalities because he was not going to settle for anything that isn’t yes.

anal sex hasn’t been something you are really interested in; no amount of porn and online anecdotes can change your mind, but simon’s gaze is heavy. it’s final.

before you can even reply, john’s already throwing something to simon. he catches it with ease, and only when simon flicks his hand do you recognize it to be the lube you’ve chucked away in your anger when this whole night started. kyle returns with the wand.

you lay there, on simon’s lap, seeing them flanking you for this… corrupting.

“okay,” you muster, trying to stake even a semblance of control.

thankfully, they ignore the shaking of your fists or the way your chest begins to heave in your morbid anticipation. simon laughs, and swoops down to nip your cheek.

“good girl.”

whew whyd it become a long ramble of smut??? it was supposed to be a john n johnny centric fucking bc of the prelude but alas, i needed to write a semblance of dark!kyle so here we are <3

temp taglist bc yall are animals (affectionate)!!!: @getosuguswhore @slut-lmao @mxtokko @imjusthereforkonig @bratzdolly4 @mabelwinters @stars4sar @sergeant-jasper @spiceywawa @j0r-d1e

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVIII

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

What had once been a great fear of yours had turned into something akin to a comfort.

The basement was a lot of things—dark, isolating, and creepy to name a few—but in the weeks that you’d been exiled to it’s suffocating walls, you slowly found solace in being left with nothing but your solitude and your thoughts. At least it felt that way. In truth, you didn’t feel much of anything at all and had grown content in that feeling.

Or lack thereof.

The days blended together until it was one long endless stretch of darkness, and it gave you so much time to think. You thought about every decision that had landed you here, all the way from your first conscious memory to that fateful day when you and your friends stopped in some seemingly unassuming town for food. If you thought about it too hard, you could feel a chill creeping over your still form.

Lingering on the day your friends were murdered threatened to put you back in that headspace you’d been in when you were first brought to this house. Your breathing would become shallow at the memory of your erratic emotions and your inability to hold your bodily fluids and the time you’d nearly lost your mind at the mere sight of blood.

You had quite literally lost your mind.

You’d been driven insane by the abuse you’d suffered and had been forced to witness, mind shattering and falling apart from the actions of the same person tasked with putting it back together in whatever manner benefited him. Peter had torn you down and built you back up like some demented caregiver and despite the fact that you knew this—recognized this—you were essentially powerless to do anything about it.

You were in too deep, this was your life now, and such a thought was both comforting and suffocating. On the one hand, you knew what was in store for you. The rest of your days were laid out before you so meticulously, a breakdown of what every single day would be like for the rest of your life. In a way…it was relieving to think that you’d never have to expend any more effort into planning a single thing about your life ever again.

…but in the same breath, that was so tragic.

The excitement of possibilities and opportunities was something you’d never feel again. You’d never have that wonder about what the next day or month or even year would bring. You briefly recalled fleeting thoughts of grad school once and possibly living abroad for a while. Peter would never allow that, and even if he wanted to, Steve would never allow him to even consider the thought.

This was your life now.

Such a simple sentence brought on far too many emotions for you to handle, and so you didn’t. Handle them, that is. You didn’t feel anything and it didn’t just start and end with the complexities of your heart. You didn’t feel the pillow beneath your head nor the thin sheets over your frame. You didn’t even feel the shift in the room when someone—no doubt Margaret or Christine—opened the door and descended the stairs to bring you food.

Surely you ate.

You were still alive, after all, but you didn’t recall eating. Truth be told, you didn’t even recall bathing or using the bathroom. If you thought long and hard about it—struggling with your memory so much that it made you frown in the darkness—you could recollect brief flashes of memories that painted a picture.

Sharon’s worried face before you as she held some orange juice in front of your face, Margaret standing in front of you in the bathroom, tone pleading as she encouraged you to empty your bladder, and even Tony and Pepper standing over your bed as Pepper said something to him, her stricken expression clear even in hazy memories.

The days and everything that happened in them blended together so seamlessly that it all started to feel like a dream. How funny it was that you once feared the basement so much it was enough to give you a panic attack, and now that you were down here you felt the calmest you’d ever felt in months. You felt unreal—untouchable even in a way—and it wasn’t long before you forgot that this wasn’t meant to be forever.

You forgot that a day would come where Peter would come down—likely with Steve in tow—and tell you that your punishment was over and you could finally rejoin him amongst the world above ground. You didn’t know how you felt about that, and you found yourself wondering if you even wanted that.

Of course, you wanted that.

You couldn’t live in darkness and solitude forever, but stepping out of this room meant going back to the problems the basement currently shielded you from. When you stepped through that threshold again, Steve and Bucky and all of the other husbands would likely still be upset with you with the mentioned being more cross than the others. You would have to step back into an atmosphere where you weren’t trusted—again—and you’d have to earn it all back…again.

You supposed you still had friends in the wives, but who was to say. Yes, you’d remained silent when you witnessed Nat escape, but you had a feeling that someone like Margaret likely wouldn’t agree with what you did. You recalled a conversation you had with her once about the needs and sanctity of the house coming first. Allowing one of the wives to escape and possibly ruin everything wasn’t exactly in line with that.

Nat didn’t seem upset with you, at all the last time you saw her, but you didn’t truly know verbatim what Peter had said to Bucky to get him to take her out of the basement. Sure, he could’ve insinuated that keeping her down here and punishing her in a harsh manner after they’d been trying for a baby wasn’t smart, but he also could have flat out said to him that according to you, Nat thinks she's pregnant.

You only wanted to save her, and while you liked to think she’d understand if she knew you told Peter, you also weren’t so sure. You weren’t sure of a lot of things anymore, and your uncertainty about so much—the result of whatever truth you thought you were living being turned upside down—made you retreat into yourself even more.

“Y/N, you need to eat something…”

The familiar voice faintly reached your ears, and as you slowly turned your head, you thought to yourself that you hadn’t even heard Margaret open the door and walk down the stairs. She was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite name, and it was only after some time did you register the weight in your lap.

Your gaze landed on a tray of food, and as appetizing as the toast and eggs and sausage looked, you had no desire to eat. You felt lucid for the first time in ages, and you slowly blinked before shaking your head. The words to tell her you weren’t hungry were on the tip of your tongue, but the redhead spoke before you could find your voice.

“You barely ate anything yesterday. And the day before…and the day before,” she breathed. “Steve wants to see an empty plate.”

You blinked again at that, and despite the fact that she was repeating Steve’s words, you could see her own concern in her eyes. You struggled to recall just how long you’d been down here and just how many plates you’d barely touched. You couldn’t recall, and despite the nagging at the back of your mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to want to eat.

Even so, you and Margaret knew better than anyone how Steve could be, and so you slowly reached out for a piece of toast.

“I’ll eat,” was all you said.

She seemed relieved as she left you—albeit reluctantly—and you nibbled on the bread in your hand. The taste of it on your tongue made your stomach twist, and you put the rest of it back down without thinking. You had every intention of finishing it later, but once your food was set aside, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Your sleep wasn’t dreamless, and it rarely ever was. Sometimes you dreamt of your mom and your friends and your life before Peter took you for himself like some villain. Those dreams served nothing more than to torment you, and you often woke from them with tears in your eyes, vision blurry even in the darkness.

More often than not though, you dreamt of Peter and your life here. Sometimes it was awful nightmares about Steve—and even Bucky sometimes—where his handsome face was contorted in that perpetual frown it always seemed to be in when he laid eyes on you. Only it would be so much worse.

Your brain liked to conjure up visions of him where he was absolutely murderous, and it was no secret as to why. There’d been the brief moment here and there where you wondered if Steve would just say ‘to hell’ with all of his rules and get rid of you—in the most violent and dismissive fashion—and force Peter to find a sane wife. 

A better one.

That left a bitter taste in your mouth…and you hated it.

You liked to think that the thought of Peter with someone else only upset you because you didn’t think any woman deserved to be subjected to this. You liked to think that righteously and noble of yourself, but the truth was much more demented and depraved and twisted. No woman did deserve any of this, that was true, but the thought of Peter loving someone else made your stomach churn.

You could say it until you were blue in the face that this wasn’t love—it couldn’t be—but it didn’t change how you felt. You couldn’t fathom the thought of being tossed aside and replaced, and being replaced by someone better would only add insult to the injury. It wasn’t fair that they got to break you until there was hardly anything left only to cast you aside because they didn’t like the inevitable results of their choices.

The thought made you want to be sick.

Peter would never, and you knew without a doubt that he would never, but for all that he put you through, the least he could do was remain by your side and look after you forever. Something deep within you hated him so much for what he did—the dark-haired man worse than you initially thought him to be—but a larger part, the part that had been carefully put back together by him, only wanted him to show an endless display of apologies for the rest of your days.

You deserved that.

You deserved to be free, but that was never happening, and as it were, could you even function properly if you were allowed to walk off of this property tomorrow? Your mind didn’t work the way it did before you were brought here. It had been taken apart and scrambled and replaced with one that wasn’t your doing. You feared that you would never be able to function right again, and who would want you?

Who would want you besides Peter?

You were an abused, broken, and genuinely unwell mess…and Peter loved you for it…in his own way. You could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at you that the thought of losing you would send him over the edge, and you knew you felt the same, but you were sure it was for entirely different reasons. At this point in your life…what were you without Peter?

When you weren’t dreaming of your friends and family, and when you weren’t conjuring up nightmares of a familiar blond, you were dreaming about the man who put you into this mess. Sometimes you dreamt about who he actually was and in those dreams there was no doubt about his motives and his actions and you felt the appropriate fear when staring into his eyes.

…but more often than not you dreamt about the man he manipulated you into loving. You dreamed about welcoming him home from work and kissing him and touching him. You dreamed about the days where he simply held you as you cried, conveniently ignoring that he was the reason for your tears. In this house of horrors, Peter was your safe place, and you knew that was purposely done, but again, you felt powerless to do anything about it.

It shouldn’t be that way, but your only other choice was to spend the rest of your days in torment.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in weeks,” the soft words reached your ears, and you knew they weren’t meant for you.

There was a beat of silence, and as you were slowly gripped by consciousness, you took note of the smell of food. It didn’t tempt you, and you almost turned your head away.

“Do you think it’s because of Peter?”

Jane.

You absentmindedly wondered why she was down here and not resting. You hated to think that she’d come down here just to check in on you when she should’ve been looking after herself. You felt her hand on your head.

“She hasn’t seen him in a month…and we know how she—how they can get…”

You squeezed your eyes tight at that, heart aching for the first time in forever at those words. Had it been that long already? Had you really gone a month without seeing him, talking to him, touching him? Was that the cause of this…numbness? You were sure Peter wasn’t the only factor here, but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. You weren’t used to being without him, and this was the longest you’d ever gone without being with him since you first woke up in this house.

…but you knew that this was as much of a punishment for him as it was for you.

What if he didn’t miss you at all? What if you were in hell while each day only brought him more peace not having to be around the crazy one? That thought made your heart ache more, and for a brief moment, you never wanted to see him again.

“Steve only thinks it’s been a handful of times, but she’s not eating. At first, we weren’t too alarmed, especially considering…”

You placed Margaret’s voice now as she trailed off.

“...but then every tray just went basically untouched, and she’s lost a lot of weight. I think we need to tell Steve to contact Dr. Banner.”

You recalled a familiar face with glasses and dark hair.

“She doesn’t use the bathroom every day either. She mostly sleeps,” the redhead added.

“Have you mentioned this to Peter?”

“So he can come barging down here and start a whole other thing with Steve? They’ve only just settled back into being civil with one another. If Peter finds out she’s like this…”

Margaret scoffed, and you detected the unease in her tone.

You had never thought about the aftermath that followed your punishment and how it might have affected things upstairs. You had never thought to, you supposed. You had just assumed that Peter would fall in line with what Steve wanted as usual. After all, no matter how you felt about what you’d done, the household—or more importantly the husbands—did not agree. You’d broken their rules, and rules were rules.

It had never occurred to you that this whole ordeal—and you being at the center of it—might cause friction between Peter and Steve.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of your name, and you were loathed to admit that it took so much of your strength to open your eyes. Jane was as pregnant as ever and glowing, and she gave you a small smile when your gazes met.

“Do you want to try eating something today?

Her tone was light, but you detected a hint of pleading.

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at the tray of food in Margaret’s hands. You eyed it, wanting to eat for their peace of mind if nothing else, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You swallowed, and Jane must have seen the guilt and conflict in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” she assured you. “You don’t have to.”

You didn’t miss Margaret’s look.

“We’ll leave it here, and you eat when you’re ready.”

She touched your face, and with a few lingering looks, they left you.

It wasn’t long before you dozed off again, but it wasn’t a deep sleep, and you drifted in and out of consciousness. It felt like no matter how much you slept, you just couldn’t shake the feeling of being exhausted. Exhausted, not tired. Your whole body seemed to ache, and you dreaded the moment you’d have to get up and shower.

The next time you were even halfway lucid, you felt a hand at your back and a spoon at your lips. On instinct, you turned your head away, but the person’s hand was firm.

“None of that. You need something on your stomach,” the voice was just as firm as the grip, and it was comfortingly familiar.

Your eyes widened a bit at the familiar face, and you unintentionally parted your lips, allowing her to give you a taste of broth. It took you by surprise, and you coughed a bit, but swallowed it nonetheless. Nat gave you another spoonful, and so in shock at her presence, you accepted it.

“Sharon’s supposed to be in my place…but…Steve and Bucky are at work,” she shrugged, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. “...and I had to see you.”

For the first time in a month or so, you felt…something. For a brief moment, your perpetual numbness had lifted, and you both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

It was said by two different voices, but it echoed as one.

“You’re sorry…?” Confusion filled you. “Why are you sorry?”

Your voice was small and unsure, and Nat looked so like you were unused to seeing her. She was normally so strong and fierce—a great source of envy for you—but now she looked sad…and regretful.

“You felt more obligated to protect me than yourself…and had I thought for a moment that you’d see me…I never would’ve left.”

Your shoulders fell at that, and you hated that Nat felt…guilty over your predicament. Your own choices had led you here, and that was what you told her after clearing your throat.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I thought the best thing that could happen was I’d get help and we’d all leave this place…and the worst was that I’d get dragged back,” she fed you more broth. “Not once had I considered that someone else would get dragged into my mess.”

You didn’t quite know how to respond, because after all, you didn’t really agree with her. You hadn’t felt obligated to do anything. It seemed like a no brainer to you to not say that you saw her that night. It was never even a question, never even a consideration to tell Peter Nat had escaped.

You swallowed, only taking a tiny sip when she offered you another spoonful. The green-eyed woman frowned at that.

“Nat…”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but she merely shook her head.

“Bucky was practically ready to flog me for leaving him,” she lightly said despite the severity of the topic. “When they threw me down in here, I was prepared for it. Even with my possible delicate condition.”

Your eyes met hers, and she sent you a crooked smile.

“I knew only one person could talk them out of whatever they prepared to do to me…and I knew there was only one thing you could say that would change their minds…” you bit your lip at that. “Thankfully, I thought wrong, but even if I was pregnant, I’d still understand why you did it.”

She gave a small, bitter laugh.

“I may not have agreed with it nor been the biggest supporter of that decision…but I get it,” she shrugged. “After they found out what you did, I think I was scared for you more than I’d ever been scared for anyone…and I imagine that’s what you’d felt like.”

Your gaze found the sheet on your legs.

“If I had known something that could save you too, I might’ve done the same.”

When she offered you more broth, you sadly shook your head. A look passed over her features at that, and her face fell. She set the spoon back in the bowl with a small sigh before standing.

“I had to check on you,” she told you. “They said you haven’t been eating, and I didn’t realize how bad it was…”

You noticed the way she eyed you, and you suddenly had the urge to find a mirror. She set the bowl down, and she looked unsure about it.

“I’m going to leave this here. Just in case…” she trailed off, a bout of worry crossing her features. “I’ll come check on you again when I can.”

You nodded at her words, but the shock from Nat’s presence and the few sips of broth had taken more energy than you cared to focus on, and you were already sliding back down in bed.

It took her a long time to climb the stairs and shut the door behind her.

It could’ve been days later when you heard the low timber of a voice that wasn’t wholly familiar to you. It scratched some part of your brain, but not enough for you to pinpoint where you’d heard the tone before. Unfamiliar fingers were prodding at your face and neck, and the feel had you frowning in your semi consciousness. 

The man hummed to himself.

He was speaking, but you were in and out of sleep, so you couldn’t tell—nor cared—if he was speaking to you or someone else whose presence you weren’t aware of. A voice spoke back, and both sounded so muffled and far away to you.

You felt those same fingers on other parts of your body, as well as cold metal, and the intense temperature against your warm skin made you jolt a bit. You pushed at the hand, but a voice shushed you, but it didn’t sound close enough to have the intended soothing effect. Words were exchanged again, but you were already falling back asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, the first in a long time, and it made the passage of time feel like a blink.

A voice so hauntingly and achingly familiar to you reached your ears, and you thought you were dreaming.

“I don’t give a fuck about what Steve would’ve wanted. His wife is healthy and coherent and probably getting ready to give him another Goddamn baby,” the voice hissed, interrupting a smaller more feminine one. “She’s been like this for weeks, and no one said a word to me.”

“Peter-.”

“Dr. Banner should’ve been here weeks ago. I should’ve known about this weeks ago. I should have seen her weeks ago…!”

Sleep was pulling you back in again, and the louder the voice got, the more it started to fade. The wrathful pitch grew higher and higher but also fainter and fainter until it was gone entirely, and sleep welcomed you again.

Your mind was struggling to put pieces together, and in your sleep, you thought to yourself that those words sounded like they came from some demented doppelganger, the tone sounding so much like Peter but not at the same time. You had never heard him so angry, and a voice in your head convinced you that you dreamt it, used to a sweet disposition from your dark captor, the dichotomy of which never failed to throw you into greater mental turmoil.

When your senses came to you again, you felt stronger than you had in probably two months at this point. You weren’t entirely sure, completely confused by the passage of time. The basement smelled different, and even the bed felt different, but as you shifted, you understood why.

The numbness that you had started to find comfort in was gone, and you could feel the bed and pillows and sheets beneath you…and they felt familiar. Too familiar. They felt like home. They felt like the place where you’d spent hours in Peter’s arms and hours sleeping and hours accepting the affections of the man who’d kidnapped you.

You thought you might have conjured the feeling up, but then you inhaled, and Peter’s scent filled your nose, and you thought of the nights he’d slept here alone in your absence. The faintest of touches disturbed the back of your hand, so featherlight that you could almost ignore it, but the slight pressure in your chest wouldn’t let you.

When you opened your eyes, his face was the first thing you saw.

His hair was a little longer, a little curlier and brushing his ears, and his face was as pretty as ever, but the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. Had you the strength to move, you would’ve reached out to touch them.

Peter was knelt beside the bed you shared and his hand was in yours and his brown eyes lit up at the sight of your own. His face shifted so suddenly and seamlessly that you would've sworn he’d been smiling at your sleeping face this entire time instead of with that pinched brow and clenched jaw you’d been initially met with.

“Hey,” he softly and slowly greeted, dragging the word out in a whisper. “...my pretty girl.”

You swallowed, blinking a few times before briefly glancing around to confirm you were where you thought you were. Your gaze caught onto the medical equipment by the bed, blinking at the bag two feet above you with unidentifiable liquid in it. You absentmindedly reached up with your free hand as you traced the direction of the tube.

“Hey, hey,” Peter softly admonished, taking your other hand too. “Don’t touch it.”

You looked down at the feeding tube going into your chest, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Confusion filled you, and you were just about to speak when Peter let one of your hands go to take your chin instead. Still in the process of escaping sleep, you could only blink at him, a million questions running through your mind that you didn’t have the capability to voice.

“You’re really weak and…you haven’t been eating,” you watched his face as he said this, and you took note of the dark shadow that passed over his features, and you thought to yourself that perhaps you hadn’t dreamt that interaction at all. “Dr. Banner gave you that because you need to eat.”

Peter appeared to get choked up, and your eyes widened a tad. Sniffing, he rose a bit to press his lips to yours, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You need to eat, you need all your strength,” you felt his tears on your face. “...because we’re going to have a baby.”

He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes, his own looking between them as he spoke.

“My pretty girl is going to have a baby,” he whispered more to himself than you. “...and you want her to be healthy and fat, don’t you?”

His thumb brushed over your lips, but it was hard to focus on anything he said after ‘baby’.

“I need you both healthy,” he said, voice cracking, and he kissed you again. 

His arms circled around you, and you felt his wet face fall to rest against your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there that peeked through above the large shirt, his whispered happy words reaching your ear.

“My baby’s having a baby.”

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

“O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[harmonysanreads]

Chiaroscuro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dr Ratio x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Synopsis: There is a wilted daffodil resting between the pages of Ratio's memories. Tags: POV Dr. Ratio, Fluff and Humor and Angst, Hurt/Comfort (?), Slow-burn (oh my), Right Person Wrong Time (oh dear), Strangers to Friends, Reader is Older than Ratio, We speak in the Language of Flowers here, Literary References and Allusions, Exploration of Academic Struggles, Jealous!Ratio, Exploration of Grief, Slight Yandere!Dr Ratio, My Interpretations of Ratio's Past and Ideologies (because hyv won't tell me), Brief Aventurine Appearance TW(s): Toxic Relationships, Toxic Family Dynamics, Implications of Physical Abuse (not condoned by Ratio) Author's Note: At long last, my ‘thesis’ on Dr. Ratio is finished :') I've been working on this fic since June 2024 and finally gathered enough willpower to push through the rest of it. I started this fic with the sole goal of torturing Ratio but ended up falling in love with him halfway through this fic- as such the direction may have shifted orz Please forgive any unintentional errors and get cozy <3

「 Word Count : 11k 」 「 Artwork Credits 」 「 Read On AO3 」

i. Panorama.

They say, the best years of a human's life are spent before boards painted with chalk scribbles and around those of one's ages, filled with careless laughter and weaving hopes for the distant future.

Veritas Ratio has always disagreed with this belief and backed his own with a multitude of reasoning. For one, those so crowned ‘best years’ are not to be wasted through wishing your fantasies would come to fruition on their own. Secondly, his experiences run contrary to the images illustrated by the majority of the population. Which, fall as it might within the grounds of personal grudge, has enough weight to not be disregarded entirely, he'd argue if necessary.

If confronted on his bitter feelings regarding the schooling years of a person's life, there is a possibility that the erudite Doctor will falter and then incoherently mutter something about it not being a downright horrifying experience.

The chances of receiving further clarification from that point decreases significantly and will be entirely dependent on Ratio's mood, which, isn't perceived to be the most agreeable on most days.

In the rare case that luck shines upon the inquirer and Veritas Ratio's stern edges soften with nostalgia, there will be but one name that'll leave his lips in an uncharacteristically somber cadence.

If certain events had transpired differently, the recollections of that day would've been far sweeter than it is now — but still, the parasite known as nostalgia begs to alter his memories. It attempts to soothe the cuts gained from reaching towards aspirations far beyond his capabilities with cursory glances from the sun, and daisy petals hidden in the crevices of dusty tomes.

In the days Veritas Ratio treaded in an environment where nearly everything was twice his height, carrying expectations no one would bother to understand, he'd pledged to himself to not fold before irrational demands just because he wasn't a sight one would normally see in an institution full of burgeoning adults.

He was no stranger to the attention his genius brought, far more so the unwanted part of it.

Which was why he'd stubbornly made his goals clear to his titular peers within the first week of his attendance, much to their bewilderment.

Any suggestions for free ‘assignment completion service’ was shut down curtly and neither did the prodigious new student bother to partake in other youthful activities — but surprisingly, Veritas's distant countenance hadn't succeeded in putting a dent to his overall popularity.

Perhaps that is the reason the requests for private tutoring sessions and borrowing of notes never did cease, because despite his attitude, no one could deny his intelligence. And that, ultimately became his label in that university. Consequently, no one went out of their way to seek him out unless it concerned academics — except one person.

Ratio thinks he might've been witnessing a meteor streak the night sky instead, because relatively speaking, he couldn't trace where you appeared from with just his bare eyes.

(Though now that he thinks again, it might've been because he'd not bothered to look beyond the white board of the lecture halls, haughty as he'd been.)

—And as momentary as said event, you'd stunned him with an inquiry that did not match any of the others that'd preceded your kind.

“Why are you all alone during lunch, little boy? Whoa, you're studying even now?”

He’d barely missed the astonished gleam in your eyes when he parted from marking an important section from his book in a flinch. The unacquainted sight beside his desk had put the functions of his brain at a temporary standstill, before resuming with a barrage of questions as you observed him rather amusedly.

The small smile that appeared on your face next halted any of those inquiries from gaining voice as Veritas's reflexes worked to catch the objects tossed his way.

“Take these for now. Skipping meals isn't good for you, you know? You can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of your health first.”

Veritas blinked owlishly at the apple and sandwich now resting on his lap, the words of advice you stated in a rather sing-song tone barely registering in his head as he vacillated between demanding your identity and scoffing at your audacity.

Much to his chagrin, you evaded his burning stare and waltzed out of the vacant lecture hall before he could even open his parched mouth, again.

(What he recalls first before this peculiar interaction now is how the usually mundane sunlight had embraced your form that day.)

He only saw more and more of you from then onwards, much to his initial displeasure. For some mysterious reason, you'd made it your hobby to nag at and subtly coddle him in ways that made any other passing student raise eyebrows.

Whether it be dragging him to places and sometimes forcing him to eat lunch or separating him from his beloved books to 'refresh his mind' at some other corner of the campus, you never faltered ; despite all the scowls and passive aggressive quips he sneaked in.

Only after some research did Veritas discover you to be one among the seniors and, he'd admit it somewhat begrudgingly, you were a senior in every sense of the word.

Although, that knowledge did not aid him in answering the most begging question: why were you going out of your way to guide him through the perilous terrains of university? He'd initially suspected you to demand recompense in the same ways the others coveted. 

Perhaps you were an expert manipulator, struggling to wrap up your last year in the institute and as a result, decided to prey on the genius through teasing words and coddling.

Ratio was fully prepared to face you when you showed your true face — except, his hypothesis ended in utter failure as that expected unravelling never came.

So, on another of your usual kidnappings meetings under the old oak tree at the far end of the campus, Veritas decided to soothe the scorching paranoia in his head.

“It’s because you remind me of my little siblings! It's been such a long time since I've seen them and I just really miss them, you know?”

He doesn't know. Neither the sentiments that are apparently driving you to take care of him nor whether you're being sincere.

Here's the most annoying thing about you: despite how much of a genius Veritas is crowned to be, he's experienced repeated failures in deducing what lies beneath that benign smile of yours.

At least there are formulas and theories to explain or, get closer to the enigmas of the universe. But whatever and whoever moulded you into your present state had clearly forgotten to leave a loophole behind for curious minds like his to decipher.

“Besides, I understand how you must be feeling in this environment where everyone is half a decade older than you — even though you like to act tough. I know that there's a seed of loneliness that's ready to burst into a giant tree with the right incentive and you're just holding onto the last of your sanity to not let that happen.”

Ratio's fingers halt midway through flipping to a different page of his book. Your observation silences him long enough to make the rustles of leaves permeate the atmosphere, before he forces his brows to furrow and his lips to quirk down.

“It’s rude to make assumptions about someone you barely know.”

The purple head watched as you leaned against the palm of your hand, as though the sneer on his face was nothing worth fretting.

“Aww, did I catch little Veri off guard? No need to be in such denial, I saw you gape like an owl at my words. But owls are my favorite bird, don't worry!” The hostile expression on his face morphs into surprise as you ruffle his hair with your free hand with more enthusiasm than required.

“Rest assured, I'll take care of you for as long as I'm here, little Veri.”

“I’d appreciate it more if you don’t.”

That earned him a laugh and messier hair.

ii. Anamorphosis 

Little Veri.

If there was something he despised more than the shrill voices of his classmates, it'd be that nickname. You might've been accurate in your choice of words in a literal sense, but for the first time, honesty had bruised his ego.

The prodigy was not accustomed to being treated his age, he was always commended as ‘mature’ and being ‘beyond his years’. Yet you had never even bothered mentioning this and instead, always poked at the suppressed child that slumbered at the deepest corner of his heart.

What he loathed even more was how every repeat of that ridiculous nickname actually made him feel quote-on-quote ‘little’. No, how you allowed a leeway for that teenage heart to peek through from under a canopy of knowledge and caution.

Intentionally or not, you carved a shelter for that little boy to crawl beneath in moments that no one would care to glance at.

It was a matter of great shame although, while his teachers had handed him the basics to deciphering the laws of the universe, no one had bothered to teach him how to respond to such kindness.

Upon further digging, the genius was surprised to find that your merit resided in the top five of your entire year. While he hadn't taken you for a dimwit (he'd rather eat dirt than utter such sacrilege) his astonishment stemmed from the fact that he'd never seen an academic material accompanying you on campus.

He’d even thought your sole task was to bother him with your half-a-decade years old wisdom upon a particular session of agitation. But after clarity grasped his mind, he realized that his suspicions were simply baseless in an institution as competitive as Veritas Prime.

Instead of journals and papers concerning your major, Veritas often saw you seeking refuge in musings soaked in fantasy and your rationale behind such escapades puzzled the mind of his younger self greatly.

“And then the male lead gave a bouquet of bluebells to the female lead, declaring his feelings! Isn't that so romantic?”

Ratio scrutinized your form hunched over from giddiness derived from materials that appeared alien to his eyes, stacks of textbooks wept at the corner of the table in abandonment.

“Bluebells? I thought people gave roses for matters like this?” sunset orange eyes swept over the incredulity blooming on your visage.

You sighed as though he was the most exasperating person you had the misfortune of dealing with, “It’s because bluebells are the symbol of eternal and undying love. Roses are undoubtedly lovely but as you said, if anyone was to give roses to someone, everyone and their grandmas would have an inkling about what is happening between them! Giving someone a bouquet of bluebells on the other hand, is far more secretive and exciting.”

“I don't really understand but alright.”

Ratio almost drops his pen at the flick to his forehead, “So unromantic! You're never getting a girlfriend if you continue being like this, kid!”

His free hand whips up to shield his skin against further damage, he feels the muscles of his temple twitch in profound irritation. “I don't need—”

“Yes yes, you're too preoccupied with the pursuit of knowledge to bother with fickle things like romance blah blah blah.” Ratio's eye roll almost synchronizes with yours.

Veritas knows and he isn't ashamed to admit that he's not a romantic person. The path he walks on has no necessity for abstruse emotional attachment and sentimentalities.

On the contrary, what he abstained from seemed to be the centrepiece of your interest.

Your eyelashes flutter as you rest your elbows on the table, eyes searching for a trace of your wishes among the litany of bookshelves, “But if anyone was to confess to me, I'd want them to give me a bouquet of bluebells instead of trying to articulate their feelings.”

Ratio raised a brow as your sigh echoed throughout the grand library, “And how, pray tell, would they know of your preference?”

“That’s the thing, little Veri!” you snapped your fingers as though you'd solved the greatest dilemma plaguing mankind, “I wouldn't talk about these fantasies to just anyone. If someone was to give me a bouquet of bluebells, it'd mean that we're close enough to know these secrets and then there'd be a high chance that the feelings are mutual. No awkward moments, we'd know what we are without even speaking!”

The purple head observed as you rambled, the light from the sinking afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass shone on you. A scoff escaped him before he could stomp it down, his arms crossed almost derisively.

“And is that your sole ambition in life?”

“Of course not,” your reply was brisk and simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You met Ratio's perplexed gaze with an unusual calm, “If by ambition, you mean what I want to do after all this studying, well — I want to be a teacher.”

Veritas couldn't hold back the surprise from soaking his words this time, “A teacher? Why?”

But you seemed to find great entertainment in his reaction, if your twinkling eyes was anything to go by and the genius isn't even taken aback this time; your sources of amusement would never be the guesswork of anyone.

Your shoulders shifted as you shrugged, “Why not? Teaching is one of the most noble professions out there, but it warrants great caution and wisdom. Hmm, come to think of it— what do you want to be, Veri?”

Ratio nearly flinched as you expertly shifted the attention to him, glossing over it with a fake cough. “I…” his throat constricted as you leaned in ever so slightly, “—don’t know.”

“Whaaaat?” you backed away just as quickly, dragging the syllables of that word to emphasize your disappointment. “Tsk tsk, so you're just studying blindly without any clear goal? That isn't going to get you far, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

He knows that, but what is he supposed to do if his mind blanks when he tries to envision himself in any conventional field? In fact, he considers it as one of the flaws of the educational system. How a student is always urged to find their place in the grand scheme of matters but never guided through them ; or, at least, given clear pointers.

It'd also be careless to label Veritas completely clueless about his situation. What he does cradle, or was compelled to bear was not borne of his personal wishes. But with time, his mind accepted it as his own, though a part of his heart always ached with emptiness.

You cleared your throat upon noticing that a great conflict had rendered the genius speechless, “Well... as for the reason as to why I want to be a teacher, it's because I want to help those students who struggle to find their way in this vast world. Regardless of where they rank in the merit position or what ‘status’ society has assigned them. Granted, this struggle may continue even after someone has graduated and while I may not be able to help every single person, I still want to try my best. After all, that should be the goal of our educational system — in my opinion, at least!”

You chuckled somewhat bashfully afterwards, remnants of it settled on the way your lips curled. There was something so succinct yet undoubtedly natural about that smile, like petrichor and he felt a pang of regret hitting his ribcage for not noticing it before.

Although it might not appeal to some, to many it brought solace even before the sun could sweep aside the canopies of darkened clouds.

Something that's appearance was preceded only by the tears of the skies, it stunned the mind that such beauty could be unearthed from a phenomenon so seemingly insignificant.

And that realization appalled the young scholar.

iii. Tenebrism 

Ratio did not comprehend the value of your presence until he was deprived of it.

Due to certain circumstances, the genius had learned to be contingent with the fact that he'd have to navigate the majority of his life all by himself. Of course, ignoring simpletons and self-centered personnel came easy to him as well.

What the scholar wasn't conscious of, or was too prideful to acknowledge was the harrowing vacancy in some obscure corner of his heart that yearned for a deeper connection. It would take little effort for him to rationalize this longing with his age and return his attention to far more pressing concerns.

But it seemed that the more he tried to silence the wails of his feelings, the more cacophonous they became.

You'd spoiled Veritas a good amount, with your willing enthusiasm to tail after him whenever you had the reprieve.

So, when you abruptly stopped your usual pursuit in exchange of accompanying another person whose face he couldn't bother to remember, the young scholar was left to deal with a surge of emotions he had little control over.

Said emotions, were tame enough to be kept under check within the first few weeks as he learnt that the purpose of this sudden acquaintance had been for the completion of a group project.

Where the scholar's composure did start to falter was when you maintained your distance from him even after the fulfilment of said project.

And Ratio despised the sparks of resentment that'd flare up in his chest each time you'd pass him by while chatting so deliriously with that no-name stranger.

He was thrown in a limbo the first time he witnessed someone else in the position that he held and although he stubbornly convinced his mind that it was for the best ; each time the scene would replay in the corridors and crevices of the university, Veritas could see yellow hyacinths bloom in his peripheral.

He's certain now that he must've been losing his mind, or at least was on the verge of (and for such a childish cause at that) because he took shelter in a superstitious practice and ignored as many meals as he could in the futile hope that you'd come back and reprimand him again.

Ratio would have applauded you if he hadn't been so consumed by all those unsavory chemical reactions in his mind.

It didn't help his case that the first time he'd bothered to take in the environment, he was reminded of the fact that, you had others who'd accept you, but he only had you.

His frustration must've reached a new peak, because not even the most persistent of his irritable classmates were brave enough to approach him as he continued to brood hopelessly.

It wouldn't be long until he would gather the motivation to finally propel himself out of that dark space, but the method his younger self employed to do so, embarrasses the present him to no end.

“They did what?”

Veritas needn't open his eyes to picture your visage colored in shock, he opted instead to maintain his somber facade, arms folded, and brows furrowed to complete the act.

“But I never thought them to be that kind of person, quite the opposite, in fact.” followed your reluctant admission.

Ratio outstretched his palm as though enticing you to accept the news, “One can deduce so much about the ocean by gazing at its surface. The facts are before you, with substantial evidence. Whether you believe them or not depends entirely on you. I only thought I should inform you before it reaches the Principal, that is.”

He could envision your eyes oscillating between his firm countenance and the unseen prospects proposed by his words. Discreetly, he peered at your fidgeting and unconsciously held his breath.

He'd done the calculations before approaching you, the worry oozing from your gaze confirms that you've heard word of it from his ‘associates’ already and the fact that you didn't try to defend the person further tells him you've done some digging through the news portals of the university yourself.

Step by step, you've unknowingly assisted in concluding this problem.

The young scholar silences the quivers of his conscience before they can rage and foil all progress. As for this friend of yours, there were embers left behind from misdeeds of long ago. He merely reignited that flame so that those crimes would face proper punishment — although which was not his principal goal. To make sure you don't get caught in the inferno was, or at least, that's what he tells his conscience.

A half-resigned hum from you saves the scholar from spiralling, “I’ll believe you and will avoid them for the time being. Though I have my own theories, you have a point. There is no telling what is beneath a person's exterior.”

Veritas simply nods to that conclusion.

Your eyelashes flutter as you drift into a brief reverie, before fixating on his rigid person. “Ah, but what is going on with you, kiddo? You've been skipping meals again, haven't you?”

The young scholar blinks in stupefaction at the shrunken proximity between you two, the single finger beneath his chin with which you scrutinize his visage nearly burns his skin. He can hardly process what observation you're making through the dizzying fragrance of jasmines.

“I am in perfect health, as you can see—”

“For so long! It's only a matter of when that you'll faint while calculating nonsense.” you sharply interject and withdraw the searing contact. Strangely, Ratio makes no face this time.

“Come to think of it, it's been a while since we've had lunch together. Oh, I have so much to share with you! Let's not waste anymore time, let's go!”

There is good cause for why the wise warn against temptations. Bit by bit, piece by piece, oh so painfully obstinate — you fed him that poison, rendering his sharp mind a mess of inebriating chemical reactions.

You were none the wiser to the impact your fickle gestures made on him and soon, Ratio's biggest weakness, curiosity silenced the prodding of his conscience.

He gained little incentive to step far away from the leering shadows, as the brilliance of the sun made it so his fixation wouldn't stray towards the darkness.

iv. Tachisme

“Suffering is part and parcel of extensive intelligence and a feeling heart. A man who is really great, it seems to me, must suffer considerably here below.”

Your sigh weighs down on the silence of the university's library, a dull thud causing a crack on it as you set down the tome on the dark wooden table.

“I couldn't help but think of you while reading this novel.” bright orange eyes watch the way you cushion your cheek against your knuckles minutely.

“Suffering, misery, sadness, whatever you name it is inconsequential to any human being. But I feel like, those who are labelled as being ‘different’ than the majority experience a certain kind of those challenges. The ones that are weighty on the tongue when they attempt to express it, perhaps inscrutable to even themselves.” Ratio mulls over your musings, briefly closing his eyes.

“Everyone’s experiences are bound to be different.” comes his easy response.

The furrow in your brows suggests the conflict his words stirred instead of assurance, “You take everything so coolly, but I can't help but worry for you. You may be calm and certain about everything now but there's no guarantee you'll always be this way. On top of it all, you reject close relationships, thus narrowing your options to lean on someone should a sizable problem come.” 

Ratio catches himself before his eyes can roll sideways, “Surely you didn't drag me out of a lecture just to nag me again?” his subconscious notes the reduced exasperation that prospect stirs within himself.

You often worry for a future that has yet to seize anyone. While the young scholar commends your far-sightedness, he really cannot understand the use of losing one's mind over events that haven't happened yet.

Thinking ahead is helpful, turning that habit into an obsessive frenzy is not.

He observes the way your frown expands, deepens and ultimately loosens up with a sigh. You refrain from broaching the topic further, another quality he appreciates.

Though you don't make an attempt to defend yourself, you refuse to voice out anything else as well, settling your eyes to a distant point in existence.

For once Veritas is ruffled by the silence, so he makes an attempt to change the subject — because counting your eyelashes isn't the most productive thing for a scholar to do.

“It’s not everyday I see you carrying something that doesn't have hearts and glitters on the cover page.” his eyes settle pointedly on the book before you.

You scoff, “One does not survive in Veritas Prime simply from reading light novels.” there's a trace of pride in your admission.

“Oh? So, what does ‘one’ do to maintain their spot in the top five?” Ratio quirks a brow, holding your gaze.

The witty response he anticipates gets replaced by another sigh, puzzling him for an instance, “I’m assuming this is about me never studying within campus. Well, I just like keeping my study space and my socializing space separate. Listening to lectures here and doing the heavy lifting in my room. It's what works for me, in any case.”

There's genuine interest in his next questions, “And what do you do when you get bored while studying? Or when you feel like you can't concentrate anymore?”

You twirl a stray lock of your hair, cheek still resting on your knuckles, “Take a bath to sober myself up, I guess. When your mind is full of garbage, your body will likely not be the cleanest either.”

You shrug, your nonchalant attitude renders his mind to a blank slate. For a while he does nothing but think about your words, though the response he gives matches none of the context.

“I feel like there is so much I don't know about you.”

It's your turn to be surprised, but unfortunately for Ratio, the sight is still too brisk. You break into a fit of laughter, wiggling your brows as though you know something.

“Silly little Veri, let me tell you something. People are like icebergs! We can only see their tips with our bare eyes but to know them in their full capacity, we have to dive down.”

“But the waters are cold.” the young scholar pushes.

Your giggles soften to a smile, “That’s exactly the point.” and you refuse to elaborate further, again.

To reach the heart of the iceberg, one must push through the freezing depths of the ocean. Whether Veritas Ratio has that willpower, is a question left for his future self.

v. Sotto in su

As the days lapsed, more and more memories anchored themselves in Ratio's mind. They brought with them a different seed of emotion, every exchange with his enigmatic senior nurtured and coaxed it to sprout tender leaves.

Before his syllabus could be replaced, the fact had been known to everyone regardless of their relation to the prodigy. If your recurring appearances in Ratio's life and his noticeable tolerance for your presence was anything to go by, it was apparent to anyone with a conscious mind that his opinion of you was at a level above everyone else's.

Exchanges between different years wasn't an uncommon phenomenon, but a friendship with the notoriously detached prodigy was an understandable bewilderment. Though, the students at Veritas Prime quickly learned to use it to their advantage rather than criticizing it — a unanimous realization that Ratio was just a bit more agreeable in your presence.

Not that Ratio was unaware of their schemes, the fact that they construed that he'd tolerate them solely because of your connection further cemented his belief that all these wannabe researchers were still light-years away from the truth they speak to seek.

Albeit, after noticing that he'd been more approachable for students who genuinely wanted to learn rather than to fulfill some pecuniary purpose — he begrudgingly admitted that, there was an influence taking place.

Veritas swiftly ignored the rumors. While not one to waste his time, being with you brought along perspectives that challenged his thinking style. To him, truth has always been beautiful because it will not change, even through the failures in understanding it.

But you're a human being, change is rooted in your constitution.

The cycle of erosion and accretion that makes you you hinders even a brilliant scholar like him in grasping the characteristics of your soul. This form of beauty he was not acquainted with before, admittedly.

Relying too much on either rigidity or malleability will pose problems. It is through the search of a balance can we discover the answers.

It may not be obvious at first glance, but you aspire to guide others through the murky depths of ignorance while pondering this apparent equilibrium — since neither extremes can be eliminated. As strange as that selflessness initially appeared to him, Ratio has developed a sense of respect for your ambitions.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it seemed as though you knew exactly what was transpiring.

In fact, you were conscious of a lot of things ; it's just that you preferred to pretend that you didn't for reasons that he hasn't comprehended yet.

For the longest time he interpreted that thoughtful sparkle in your eyes as just another play of light. Whenever his reactions to your teasing would come off as more animated than last and the flush that he'd try so hard to not let extend to his cheeks do just that — you'd have that nearly imperceptible realization reflected in your eyes. It scratched at the parchedness Ratio hadn't even recognized to be there.

His fear was confirmed to be true one afternoon in a vacant lecture hall, though not through words.

“Is this for me?” sunset orange eyes shone against the shadows that fell on his back.

“Well, do you see anyone else here?” your huff and his eyeroll synchronize.

You patiently held the book covered in elaborate illustrations of flowers for his taking, though what captured the scholar's attention most was the single yellow bloom tied atop with a violet ribbon on the book. He recognized the book to be a copy of the floriography manual he often saw tucked between your collections.

“You’re probably wondering ‘what value will this book bring to you’. Well, as I've said before, studious scholars should never limit their perspectives.” you almost shove the gift into his hands in response to his stunned countenance.

“And,” an accidental brush of your fingers against his hand sends an unwanted shudder through his arteries, “Happy birthday, little Veri.”

You withdraw just as quickly, the hues of the setting sun softening the smile on your face.

Ratio forces himself to look elsewhere, "You're still going to use that ridiculous nickname, huh? What a way to welcome me into adulthood." he mutters, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste that he tries to mask with sarcasm.

He feels your chuckle probing at his heart, taunting the quickened pace in which it revolts against its cage. You shift your gaze to the golden petals resting atop the book, a somber sigh tumbling from your lips.

“— Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon ;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not yet attained his noon.”

Many see fit to celebrate their first step into adulthood with enthusiastic celebrations, Ratio's eighteenth birthday brought with it a clinging bittersweetness — not that he allowed himself to dwell on it for long, his future plans taking precedence over sentiments.

The lone daffodil had been tucked between a random section of the book you gifted, hidden away from his sight. The border between cowardice and courage was thin, nearly translucent in the manner the result dictated what it would turn out to be.

The journey of uncovering the mysteries of the universe is a similar pursuit. Emerge victorious and you'll be brave, fail and you'll be heralded foolish. Ratio was far from a coward or a foolish man, sometimes not going head-fast into uncertain territories is the mark of intelligence.

He allowed the daffodil to wilt and turned not a page, for he knew in some deep crevice of his subconscious that it'd blight the clarity of his mind with another flood of emotions he did not have the capacity to process.

Luckily, his agony met a premature end as you departed from Veritas Prime by the end of the year with a certificate in hand.

Who knows how many sleepless nights and crushed dreams paved the path for the ink lines on that single piece of parchment. Ratio had been there as the first to congratulate you, it was the least he could do.

He did not proceed farther than that, as you'd made it clear that there would forever be a line he would be unable to trespass.

Ratio was fully aware of the limitations the silly crush that accumulated over the time in your acquaintance brought and he expressed no interest in pushing those boundaries either.

He found solace in the fact that he'd met you at all. He wouldn't say you illuminated his life, for even you always believed it was the individual themselves who possessed that power.

You nudged him towards the path to find his light and that lesson, he wanted to honor all his life.

The memories of your time would stay treasured in his mind and the curve of your smile would be preserved in marble. Without the echo that his ears yearned to capture, he saw fit to isolate his senses from unnecessary stimulation.

Though you'd never grace the corridors of Veritas Prime again, the footprints of your presence etched deep in the genius's memories would never fade.

vi. Trompe l'oeil

His next encounter with you was a tad unexpected, just at the horizon of Ratio putting the full stop to his years at the university.

Veritas’s fingers slackened around the handle of his umbrella, a page or two of the manuscript of his thesis slipping past his grip and drifting along the roaring wind — but his eyes couldn't chase after them. Much too fixated on the way your shoulder bumped with theirs, not at all by accident.

The rain soon cloaked your figures from his spying gaze, the droplets soaking the ends of his clothes failed still to snatch his attention away. In spite of the thunderous cries of the sky, the echo of your laugh was all he could hear.

—

Time never ceased its relentless march; life followed its direction and events moulded more memories.

For the sake of productivity, he had no choice but to push back his curiosity and stay away from your life. His studies and workload helped generously in keeping his mind from wandering to frightful territories at inconvenient instances, though a certain spark nestled deep somewhere in his subconscious.

Before long, his name resounded far beyond the gates of Veritas Prime.

Veritas Ratio, now Dr. Ratio, felt his nerves flare again as he looked at the latest discussions on the university’s online forum, the words “Dr. Ratio Will Surely Snag A Place At The Genius Society, Won’t He?” in bold only tickled his annoyance further.

Ordinarily, he would stay as far away as possible from discussions concerning himself — which was easier said than done.

Aggrandizing anything always leads to disappointment. Ratio's surroundings loved to goad his path, but he knew, such chatter would morph to whispers the moment their expectations were proven false.

Dr. Ratio’s brooding came to a halt at the collision, his reflexes acted and he clasped onto the stranger’s arm before they could fall. He heard leaves crunching under his boots, strangers threw cursory glances at the near-accident. 

His lips parted in what a spectator could assume to be the beginning of an apology, but paused upon noticing the words resignation letter on the paper in the stranger's grasp.

Orange eyes flickered, trailing upward, within the fabric of scarlet you burrowed deep in search of comfort from the scare.

You mimicked his earlier attempt, craning your neck for a second to meet his gaze and halting in recognition.

“Veritas… Ratio?”

The addressed scholar blinks, blurting out before he could think, “That’s not what you used to call me.”

There's a scintilla of surprise in your eyes at his unintentional jest, he anticipates a laugh next, but only an awkward quirk of your lips greets him.

Your eyes dart around your environment, before returning to his grasp. Feeling the weight of your stare, he releases his hold with a fake cough.

“I… apologize.” his hand found refuge on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay, accidents... happen, you know.” you wave him off with your free hand.

A breeze passes through the gap between you two.

It might've just been Ratio’s misjudgement, but he felt as if you were about to run away for a millisecond. Your fingers tightened around the paper in your hold, you gathered yourself with a deep inhale.

“Congratulations on obtaining your fourth doctorate degree! I often discuss your papers in my classes, you are an inspiration to so many people.”

A flicker of sunlight filtered through the leaves above fell and there appeared that smile he knew. Years had gone by, yet the mystery in it remained still out of his reach.

“Thank you,” he tilted his head downward, “I’m glad to hear that you pursued your dream.”

Ratio sneaked a glance, your nod faded into silence. His gaze lingered on your face, the concentrated flush on your right cheek made his brows furrow.

He was no fool to the tension in the air and your unusual fidgety demeanor. He briefly contemplated if he should just depart.

However, he couldn't deny the fact that questions had accumulated throughout the interval of your absence from his life. The differences between the you before him and the you from his memories begged him to probe, to study and learn.

He felt himself drawn to the paper in your hand again, a glint on your ring finger caught his eye. Among the myriad of inquiries battling to escape his lips, the one that’d warred the longest emerged victorious.

“Did they…” he began, uncertain.

“Give you a bouquet of bluebells?”

Your flighty gaze froze to confusion for a moment as you tried to decode his words, Ratio mirrored your gaze as you failed to answer. You quickly blinked away any hints of shock, a forceful bite stopped the trembling of your lips.

(He felt a twist somewhere in his heart.)

“Can we… talk somewhere else?” you suggested. Despite it being the middle of autumn, there's a storm brewing in your eyes. 

—

Veritas could see splinters on the cup in his grip, the dark beverage within threatening to spill.

A passing waitress threw the table a concerned glance, but could not find the courage to intervene. The sight of your antsy wringing of hands in his peripheral alerted him to breathe. He loosened his grip on the poor cup of coffee just in time, a burdened exhale following suit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, what do you intend to do now?”

You fiddled with the band on your ring finger ; within the vacancy of the cafe, to Ratio, it felt as if even such an insignificant gesture gained voice.

The insistence of your silence prompted him to continue, “The culmination of your hard-work, one that stole almost all of your life ; all of those sleepless nights, unsaid sacrifices for the sole wish of helping others — all of it, you're going to let go, just like that? Just because an idiot claims they know better?”

Dr. Ratio could not understand, no matter which angle he looked at it from. The answer to your dilemma was crystal clear to the scholar, he’d be willing to bet it’d be clear to anyone with a functioning brain — and yet, you hesitate.

You continue to shuffle and avert your gaze, sometimes parting your lips to speak but withdrawing the next second.

A person that's found the tunnel’s end should run towards it, but you remain at the precipice of darkness.

“I…” The purple head straightens up at the sound of your voice, it is weak, hopeless ; a complete stranger to who you once were.

You abruptly gather your things, “I’m sorry, please forget I ever said anything —” an innocent glass is knocked off in your haste.

Cold, your hand is chillingly cold as Ratio grabs it, preventing you from running away. The unnatural temperature of it temporarily unsettles the man, but the situation at hand prompts him to push the observation back.

You try to force your wrist out of his grasp, but he presses on, “Can’t you see, that they are ruining you? This is not who you used to be! Your so-called 'fiance' is destroying you, they’ll not stop until you're nothing but a shell of yourself and they can reshape you to their liking!”

“I really have to go —” a vein pops on Ratio’s forehead, the wanton glass hits the floor.

“And why go? To receive another slap from them?” he feels your palm dampen from sweat, pieces of shattered crystal splaying across the tiles.

You look at him in disbelief and he blinks, the sharpness of his words finally cutting him.

The incipiency of an apology gathers at the tip of his tongue, but you halt it from escaping.

“Whatever happens between us, is none of your business, Veritas Ratio.”

If your hand was simply cold, your glare is freezing. It stuns the scholar enough to make his clasp loosen, you quickly snatch your hand away.

You’re two steps in when Veritas rushes to add, unwilling to back down, “But it was still you who reached out to me.”

The scholar hears the pause in your heels, you don't turn to address him and he doesn't move to obstruct your path either.

The bell signals your departure as the waitress from before rushes to clean the broken glass, leaving Ratio alone with his thoughts.

—

Veritas Ratio has had scarce attachments to worry about in his life.

For better or for worse, it appeared as though the direction of his life was steered towards one particular destination, everything else proved to be transient.

While his surroundings eroded and flourished within the touch of mortal delights, he remained but a spectator, destined to observe but never indulge.

Love. A simple word, yet any singular meaning behind which could still not be agreed upon.

He saw it in the way parents cradled their children, in the eyes of a couple that brushed past him in the streets. Flighty like the union between another pair of his former classmates, strengthened like the wrinkly hold of that couple that sold flowers down the street ; its form, just like its definition, is infinite.

The scholar thinks he's felt it somewhere in his past, or at least the vestiges of it — within the glow of a cryptic smile and a mind that did not yield.

Troublesome as it’d been, it did not conquer him. Ultimately, he wielded enough willpower to move on.

Some say, brilliant minds that toil too long in the territories of the unknown, become dense to the simpler aspects of life. Ratio did not see the inconvenience in this notion for a long time, not when it aided him more than burden him.

That is, until the encounter at the cafe.

If nothing else, it was clear to the prodigy that you had changed, for the worst at that.

The 'you' he’d known would know how to pick yourself up, or more accurately, that ‘you’ wouldn't have allowed things to escalate this far at all.

You would've left this rotten excuse of a relationship the first time they raised their voice, you would never concede to that fatal act of disrespect, under no circumstance would you let such an excuse of a human have such control — he… he hoped.

Ratio leaned back in his chair, a frown creeping in to his face.

For all these outrageous claims that he's been making of the you he was familiar with, how much did he actually know?

Is a year’s observation enough to grant him that badge of familiarity?

It is as you said, who is he to judge you at all?

Within the gloom of his study, his eyes unconsciously met with those etched in marble, the curve of a sun-kissed smile. He hand moved on its own, turning the table-lamp towards the sculpture and indeed, the light has always suited you more than him.

His recollections backtrack to the hazy gaze he saw that day, the encumbrance in them hoisting him up to chase after the itch for answers.

An uncounted number of hours passed, only after perusing a decent pile of tomes did it finally click in his head.

Ratio had no excuses or motivation to defend himself, he most certainly handled the situation poorly.

When the average attempts of leaving such relationships is between seven and twelve, it was insensitive of him to confront you like that.

Cognitions clouded in rage, he ignored the questions he should've asked, the sense of security he should've provided — the one you sought from him — and cornered you abruptly.

Foolish foolish foolish — he felt his fingers tug at his hair, breaths stuck in his lungs. Rationale does not always succeed in helping others see reason, how could he be so careless with you, of all people?

He didn't even know what stage of this hell you were at, how many times you’ve attempted to leave and what leverage they have over you.

Well, it would be most accurate to say he didn't know anything at all and yet, he arrogantly told you to 'just leave'.

The purple-head forced himself to breathe, the self-loathing could be shelved for a later day, what's more important now is finding you again.

He stood up from the heap of tomes, only to pause, does he deserve to seek you out again?

He betrayed your trust and you shut him off for good, should he even bother now?

A distant tug held him back.

Much like before, there is that line between you two that he cannot cross, must not cross.

He’s no longer a teenager in documents, but he doubts you see him as anything more than that ‘little Veri’.

—

The echoes of passing vehicles ricocheted around the streets, but Dr. Ratio’s attention stayed transfixed on the ivory petals in front of him.

A week or so had passed, the ruminations of those doubts kept him away from the confrontation and stole his nights.

It would be easy to cure this ailment, finding you would be but a matter of a few swipes. But that uncertainty, the ghost of a past insecurity, clung to his resolve. As such, peace abandoned him for a while.

A zephyr whispered to him, “Asphodels,”

He hummed without much thought, sunset orange eyes tracing the dulcet lines in those blooms. 

“ ‘My regrets will follow you to the grave’, it's not everyday you see someone looking at these flowers with such care.”

If anyone looked straight into the scholar’s eyes at that moment, they'd for sure be able to witness the cogs turning in his brain in them.

Ratio finds you startled once he whips to his left, your presence finally registering in his head.

A prayer, a yearning, your name escapes his lips. But any further speech is obstructed from taking shape.

You’re the first to recover, “I apologize for running away like that the other day. It… was cowardly of me to tell you to mind your own business when I was the one who confided in you first.” your head lowers in appeal.

He’s sure of it now, you must be on the quest of giving him a heart-attack, what with these continuous surprises you’re throwing at him.

Well, if not a fatality, they're at least doing a wondrous job in preventing him from processing the fact in its entirety — you're here, you’re here, you're here.

You found him, again. Just like all those years ago in the lecture hall, all those times he was skipping lunch, on his eightieth birthday and that other day ; it was always you finding him.

(Has he ever broken through his pride and cowardice and tried to find you instead?)

The scholar hastens to join you, “No, it was my incompetence in failing to understand your situation that pushed you to leave. I completely failed to provide you with safety when you trusted me. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

He couldn't see it, but he could picture your disbelief at his behavior. Your fist mirrored his, “No, it was clearly my stupidity—”

“Nonsense!” his exclamation earned him a flinch from you. He subconsciously straightened up to drive his point across, “It was me who —”

In the hurry and flurry of emotions, your head bumped with his, ending his tirade prematurely.

Your eyes settle on him, a car runs past your perplexed figures and then, the streets get cloaked in quietude ; before being filled with your giggle.

Against his control, his lips twitch and laughter bubbles in his chest. He allows them to gain voice and join yours.

You fan your face with your hand as the chuckles skid to an end, Ratio feels his cheeks warmed when he inhales. But none of you bother addressing the previous argument, its result apparent.

You take a deep breath and exhale. The scholar sees sun-glitter in your pupils, “I left them, by the way.”

That sobers him.

“Your…”

“Fiancé, yes. Or well, ex-fiancé now.” as if on cue, Ratio catches your now vacant ring finger.

“They tried to beg me to stay. But to be honest, it was not the first time they appealed to my sympathy.” you find interest in the pavement, searching for the remnants of your memories in their cracks. 

“... But I really put my foot down this time. And oh, I didn't quit my job either, in case you were wondering.” you heave, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“And where are you residing now — if you don't mind me asking?”

“I’m temporarily staying at a friend's house. Don't worry, I’m at a safe place.” you reassure, detecting the underlying concern in his inquiry.

Ratio’s shoulders sag as he exhales, the receding adrenaline dulling his worries. Turns out you didn't really need his help, not that he's astonished. It was in your nature to extend help towards others but thinking twice before asking for help.

(Although he's in no position to criticize, he so wished that you’d find it in yourself to rely on him a bit more.)

“If you ever need anything, just give me a call or a text. You still have my number, correct?” he glances down to gauge your expression.

When you nod, he murmurs a faint ‘good’ and silence takes over. He contemplates if he should add anything else, but the serenity in the atmosphere prompts him to push back those concerns.

“Well, goodbye for today?” you suggest, snapping him back to reality.

He raises his hand to do just that, but a different thought alarms him.

“Let me walk you home.” he pushes back the cringe at the excess firmness to his tone, rushing to add, “Please?”

For a blink or two, you looked at him as though you’ve just sighted an alien. He assumes it's the ‘out-of-character’ tendencies he’s been portraying that has you double-check. It seems that he was not the only one comparing the present and the past.

Luck appeared by his side — or perhaps it was just your pity — and you conceded without any complaint, letting him join your steps. The scholar barely hid his glee through his gait.

The planet that housed Veritas Prime would get decorated in the lovely shades of ripened maple leaves around this time. Civilians gathered in groups beneath these scenes, some enjoying a leisurely picnic, others focused on getting their desired pictures.

Ratio noticed your wanton glance at a pair on a picnic mat, his lips tugging down at the tell-tale signs of where your thoughts ran towards.

But before he could do anything, you turned away and picked up your pace ; the pair’s laughter but background noise.

With some haste, he caught up to you. Racking his brain to distract your mind, he found himself empty-handed.

Four doctorates and yet, his mind goes blank when he needs it the most. He couldn't be any more disappointed in himself.

Just as he’s about to start a mental berating though, you side-step a rock and Ratio’s hand bumps with yours, their frigidity alerting him.

He stops in his tracks, and you do too, looking up quizzically at him.

He extends his palm, “Give me your hand,”

Your confusion only increases, “What? Why?”

“It’s too cold. Are you certain you aren't sick?” he thinks back to the encounter he had with you at the cafe, the chill he felt when he grasped your hand. He initially thought it a coincidence, but now, he was really concerned.

“Ahh, this, you see,” you flex your fingers, a feeble attempt at warming them up. “My hands kind of respond to the temperature? Don't ask because I don't know exactly why either, during winter, they're usually cold like this. But in summer, they're very warm.”

Ratio quirks a brow, “Just the fact that it tends to happen doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, does it?”

“No…” you trail off, “But! That's what my fiance— I mean, ex-fiance would always tell me, to just get used to it.”

Your eyes flicker back to Ratio’s, the disbelief in them telling you enough of what you need to know.

The scholar ran a hand through his hair, he shuddered to ponder what other garbage they had fed your brain.

His sigh is carried by a passing breeze, “It’s okay. They aren't here to dictate your life anymore.” he once again offers you his hand, another hope-filled prayer.

You look at his extended palm and back to his patient gaze, your fingers fisting in themselves for a moment before loosening.

He sees the ebb and flow of doubt and hope in their movements, inching closer and closer to his.

He cradles your hand when it reaches him, your fingers slipping easily through the gaps of his. The difference in temperature alerts his reflexes for a second before he calms them down.

He stuffs your intertwined hands in his coat pocket — your gasp fades behind you as he resumes his gait.

Ratio does not dare glance in your direction, but he knows you're watching, scrutinizing him. It reminds him of the look you had at the end of your university days, the memory of the incident that followed makes his throat parched.

Your grip is unusually weak, combined with the knowledge of your situation, the scholar can't stop himself from adding.

“Have you been eating well? Tell me if you haven't, I'll take you to have a proper meal. But don't lie about these matters, you can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of yourself first.”

You freeze at his words and Ratio makes the mistake of returning your stare.

Seeing no change in his serious expression though, you shake your head with a chuckle, assuring him of your health.

The clicking of both of your shoes against the pavement is the only thing keeping his heart-beat at bay, his attention from focusing too much on the feel of your hand in his and the myriad of chemical reactions flooding his reward system.

When the coldness in your hand has been completely replaced with the warmth from his, you gesture to him that you’ve reached your destination.

He feels an unexpected reluctance in letting you go, something in his gut pushing him to hold on — but he ignores it.

You pause before opening the gates, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

He looks up in time to see your smile, it's not like all those times you’ve smiled before — no, no. This time, lilac petals cling to its corners.

Ratio covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the stupid curve of his lips from anyone's eyes. The lingering warmth from your hand finally allowed his heart to beat with fervor.

He wanted nothing more than to give you a bouquet of bluebells at that moment.

vii. Sfumato

The day Dr. Ratio returned to your side with the pledged bluebells, was beautiful.

The canopy of winter had begun to be swept aside as nascent leaves heralded spring, twitters of birds ornamented the breeze.

When fresh fountain ink meets parchment, it spreads with a thin halo of blue — the sky of that moment brought back this image in his mind. The sun found amusement in steering behind ivory clouds ; a cheeky, one sided game of hide and seek played with light and dark.

The sun made a mistake, a sidestep allowed rays to escape and fall on the lace ribbon of the bouquet.

Sun-glitter followed the lead of Ratio’s arm, over the arch of his wrist, finding their way from beneath the crevices of his fingers — shining, glimmering, as lapis petals caressed the tombstone.

How strange, didn't it usually rain and roar for scenes like these in those light novels of yours?

Veritas could not feel his breaths, it's as if the mechanisms of his respiratory system halted for that matter, he couldn't even feel his eyes flutter.

Idiocy.

He contemplated turning away altogether, what was he even thinking, bringing bluebells to the cemetery like a young lover?

A dead leaf crunched from his retreating step, the note stunning him in place.

Perhaps he should've brought the chopped off, bleeding excuse of a skull of that man — if only, if only if only any being, any listening existence in this wretched world would reassure him that it’d bring you back. 

The scholar felt his fingers lax from their cocoon, but he knew, that would be impracticable. If a life for a life resurrected the other, his fingers wouldn't tremble in usurping that leverage and bringing justice to your final moments.

But he knew, oh how the erudite scholar despised knowledge for the first time in his life — that it’d soothe him, but leave a hollow far worse in his heart.

A sigh forced its way past his lips, onerous was its euphony. Windswept locks of violet poked at the way crystalline orange held onto the engraving on the silver stone ; the name, once his boon, now his bane.

Splinters of marble flew, papers, pens, innocent objects were tossed aside like fickle trash. Rouge flecked once pristine alabaster. Midst the carnage, a book fell betwixt Veritas’s path.

A withered daffodil lamented rationality’s fall.

Newspapers and channels boldly flashed the incident for a week — individual apprehended for the charge of murdering their ex-fiancé — before being swallowed by other, more fascinating pieces of events.

Ratio found himself scoffing at their tone, picking apart their every word and spacing, frowning at how quick people's interest moved on.

Indeed, the world waits for none. The ones lingering are always tormented.

With the last person in close association with you behind the bars of the psych ward and your acquaintances grieving, the scholar took it upon himself to deliver your files and belongings to your family.

But that decision turned out to be a lesson, the universe once again pointing out without mercy the mediocrity of his knowledge.

“Does that mean we’ll have to turn to the streets now?” whispered a little too loudly, a little too carelessly, your step-mother to your father.

Ignorance.

Perhaps Ratio’s disbelief had been too loud on his face, for your father shushed her quickly and attempted to smooth over the slip-up with a barely-strung lament.

But the scholar had learned what was to be surmised from this family, all of their next speeches effortlessly ignored by him.

So the reason you ultimately didn't quit your job was for them, Veritas's eyes dimmed. Feelings were never his forte, this messy heap of them he had no clue what to do with.

And the siblings you used to so dearly miss back in your university days? The second-oldest after you put back her headphones after he finished delivering the news and the youngest couldn't even recall your name.

Ratio seldom used the phrase, but it was truly a miracle he left that fetid establishment without causing damage.

He decided against disclosing your remaining belongings to them and instead, gave them away for charity as written in a journal he accidentally stumbled upon while sorting through them.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew this would happen.

But you refused to confide in anyone, tolerating the farce of a content life.

Ratio could not understand, did not even know where to begin in decoding what was going through your head when you lied to him and what had coerced him into believing it.

Of course you didn't leave them, that would've been too perfect and too merciful an end and clearly, the universe would not allow it. Of course he needed to be shown how much of an idiot he still is, the extent of his wishful thinking.

Ratio concurs he deserves it.

But did you deserve to meet such an end? No, your life shouldn't have been shaped this way to begin with! And yet, it had been.

For long did he stare off into vacant space, casting aside the need for slumber, attempting to answer what was to be done now. The silence beckoned him, that it was nothing.

Perhaps, you were at peace now at last.

Perhaps the craving for this serenity was what had prompted you from not fighting off that axe.

Perhaps, you had closed your eyes without any regrets.

When the haze in his head cleared a bit, he visited your grave again. Dust had gathered on the lifeless petals of the bluebells he’d left, the scholar tenderly rid them from the surface.

He dug a section beside your resting place and planted fresh asphodels. An elderly woman saw the scene in passing but did not comment, pity clung at the edges of her eyes.

Foolishness.

In fear of the tides of time burying the traces of your foot-steps, Ratio chased after them. The places you spoke so fondly of, the flowers and stories you cherished and the students you stood proud beside.

They spoke of your passion, your vision and your resilience to him.

They say, even a lifetime of ‘knowing’ someone is not sufficient in knowing them.

Although he’d known you for a miniscule timeframe, he squandered no effort in trying to understand you. Only at this juncture, did your nature become clear to him. You were an expert in keeping your lips shut, a seasoned performer of half-truths and no stranger to the art of survival.

It was no coy act, you trusted no one with your actual thoughts and motivations — that was the naked truth.

So then, it begs the question, what exactly did you try so hard to eradicate?

Supposing that this universe suffers from a common ailment, and it is so persistent, so adhesive, so elusive that it plagues the dullest to the most brilliant mind — that despite all attempts at curing it, only its surface has been scratched. And this truth had been so frustrating, even you could not stand back.

Ratio tapped his fingers against his desk, what other malady does an educator aspire to cure other than ignorance?

Foolishness? Idiocy? Stupidity? All synonymous, yet capable of clasping and corrupting irrespective of a person’s standing in the path of life.

To rid them, scholars, researchers and teachers attempt to disseminate knowledge with the vow of indiscrimination.

But Dr. Ratio knew, the oasis of knowledge is but a mirage in the desert of ignorance. For the populace to reach that base awareness, to recognize that mirage — that, is what is needed.

The scholar saw the early light of dawn from betwixt the crevices of his window, the hinges groaned as he pushed them open and for the first time — the sun embraced him and the shadows fell behind his form.

But the meteor that briefly illuminated his sky, is gone — as tends to be their destiny. He can do nothing but carry the memories of its glow.

—

Light glinted over the edge of the cone, approaching footsteps reminded the doctor to tuck it away from prying eyes.

Ratio tsk-ed upon feeling the absence of his headpiece, cracks on the alabaster had demanded a remake.

The scholar’s eyes met with the ones cradling the remnants of a bygone sunset, melting into hues of ocean blue.

“Doc! Didn't expect to see you here.” drawled an unfortunately familiar man. Ratio offered a blink in greeting.

“Yes, how astonishing it is to see a member of the Intelligentsia Guild in its corridors.” the doctor muttered plainly, the Stoneheart in the spotlight merely maintained his smile.

Ratio noticed his other hand to be occupied, “And what about you? Busy squandering your time as usual, gambler?”

Contrary to his expectations, the quirk of Aventurine’s lips widened as though he’d struck gold, he smoothed over the lapels of his suit. The erudite scholar subconsciously braced himself for whatever trick was to be brought next.

“Now now, it's not squandering if you're spending it with a dear person.” he winked.

Veritas caught a silhouette peeking from behind the blonde, “Meaning?”

“Ah, how uncourteous of me.” though there's a note of glee in his voice. “Allow me to introduce you to…”

Dr. Ratio observed as a figure emerged from Aventurine’s shadow, the passing question of how he hadn't noticed them sooner was pushed aside as they joined the Stoneheart in the spotlight.

“My dearest, precious jewel or— how did you prefer it again? Hmm I can't seem to remember~” an elbow to his side and huff broke through his theatrics ; the vacant halls gained life through laughter, petrichor bloomed in their notes.

“Just kidding, my bluebell.”

A meteor crossed the orbit of Ratio’s life again.

© harmonysanreads | do not cross-post, translate, plagiarise, copy on a different platform or use my works to train ai.

Thank you so much for reading!

TAGLIST : @abyssmal-skies @danijaci @birdloverr @teabutmakeitazure @cherriiirose @bleh09 @scurfi @justcallmemidnight @mochinon-yah @feral-ish @lavandulawrites @persicipen @stickyspeckledlight

[shoomlah]

Oh gosh, if you're taking questions I have like, a bajillion. The neopets "style" has been pretty loose over the years but... What sort of guidelines did you have to follow? Were there any hard "no"s? Was there a style guide or bible? In terms of design, what were you most proud of? Anything that was rejected that was disappointing to not see come to fruition?? Pardon my excitement!

From my recollection there was no official style guide, which I'm sure is pretty apparent from the art on the site—we'd run things by our art director Anthony/Tigercatcher for feedback, or by Adam or Donna to get their stamp of approval, but otherwise it was relatively lawless. It is fun to be able to look back at the old art and immediately tell who drew it, though!

A couple memorable anecdotes:

There was this brief phase in the early years where we had anthropomorphized neopets, but we hadn't really standardized how we drew them. They eventually got fingers and fully rendered eyes BUT I do love this transitional period where I just drew a bunch of sexy aishas with nub hands and dot eyes:

At one point there was a moratorium on giving the anthropomorphic characters helix piercings. It had become a kneejerk instinct to just toss a couple hoops onto a character's ear as you were designing them and it got: wildly out of hand

the worst notes were the ones we'd get on the Neopets Magazine covers, hands down. We could have so much fun with the on-site art, but anything public-facing like merch and the magazine were under way more levels of impenetrable scrutiny. The feedback was always to make the smiles BIGGER and B I G G E R

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you. 

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory. 

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now. 

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself. 

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile. 

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well. 

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers. 

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field. 

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end. 

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.  

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk. 

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair. 

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye. 

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line. 

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk. 

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face. 

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this. 

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you. 

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.” 

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush. 

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans—”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting. 

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious. 

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin. 

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.  

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘰𝘰? ❞

harumasa x afab!reader

lighter x afab!reader (separate)

genre: domestic, kinda crack fic esque???, suggestive content (mdni)

summary: you ask you beloved one of the most pressing questions of your relationship

wc: 1.8k

harumasa

The universe had to be testing him right now, as he simply couldn’t fathom any other way that this could be happening.

His day was way too long, what was supposed to be a simple collaboration between the HIA and Section 6 to test new hypersensitive VR combat training equipment ended in nothing short of an IT nightmare with the revelation that hacker Null_Face had tampered with their systems. After spending what felt like hours in a virtual simulation that felt more like an apocalyptic fever dream, then spending another few hours being poked and prodded by H.A.N.D’s medical team to ensure everyone was still of sound mind and body, he was finally released to trudge home for the day and back to your loving arms.

He wanted to cry when he kicked his sneakers off at the door, the smell of fried rice in the air and the image of you standing in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, smiling like the angelic being you were as you gave him a welcome home kiss. His karmic debt had been paid, the balance of the world was correcting, and he was off work for the next few hours. All was well with the world, right up until the moment you snuggled up so cutely beside him on the couch to watch a movie, turning to prop your chin on his shoulder as you stared up at him.

“Haru?”

“Yeah, baby?” He said effortlessly, head turning to peck you on the lips as you beamed up at him.

“Would you still love me if I was a bangboo?”

You may as well have snapped his precious bow in half for how dramatically he reacted, his body stiffening as his face went stony. Maybe somewhere in his brief recollection of his day to you as he hung over your shoulder while you cooked he conveniently forgot to tell you that they VR warped him into a bangboo body, not a difficult thing to forget as he was both traumatized from the feeling of stubby, helpless limbs and preoccupied with the way you squirmed in his arms as he pressed sloppy kisses all over the side of your neck.

But you didn’t know that. What you did know was that you were now staring into the most blank and desolated expression you had ever seen grace his face.

You forced a short laugh, pointing at him accusingly as he snapped back from his nightmarish recollection of the full emasculation of his pride for the day.

“Oh, I see how it is.” You smacked the back of your hand against his chest as you intentionally scooted to the far end of the couch. “You think I would make an ugly bangboo!”

“(Y/n), baby, I never said that!” He fussed, reaching to grab your hand just for you to swat him away with a maliciously sly expression, quickly hopping to your feet as you made a stance dramatic enough to rival his own exaggerated impressions.

“You’re gonna regret not telling me you would love me if I was bangboo, Asaba Harumasa!” You declared before thrusting your thumb into your chest, “Cause I’m about to go rearrange your entire medicine cabinet.”

He shot up to his feet, the lethargy of the day vanishing in the blink of an eye at threat of you upending his perfect (to him) system of organization. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me, bitch!” Was the final declaration as you zipped around the corner of the couch in a mad dash to prove your point. It was times like this that you really hated that he was a well trained hollow-exploring, ethereal-fighting machine, because it made chases all the more terrifying as you heard the telltale thump! of his feet hitting the floor again as he cleared the couch in a single jump, in hot pursuit.

Your hands barely grazed the door handle before you let out a shriek, his arms wrapping around your midsection before your feet left the floor entirely, body now upended and dangling where he tossed you over his shoulder. You kicked your feet helplessly for a moment, your shrieks devolving into a fit of laughter as his hand connected firmly with your ass.

“This is not fair, Haru!” You huffed out, fisting the back of his work shirt.

“Who said anything about fair?” He countered, jostling you on his shoulder once for good measure as you squirmed before he marched you right past the bathroom and into his room. “You wanted to play dirty, so let’s play dirty.” He said as he flipped you unceremoniously onto his unmade bed, laughing at the little “oof!” you made before you immediately attempted to wrestle him away with a devious little grin.

He pinned your hands with ease, resting his full weight on you in an even more irritating manner as he leaned in for a kiss, his hands releasing your wrists in favor of sliding up under the hem of your shirt as you keened into lips, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth as you turned to putty beneath him.

“You,” he began breathlessly as he broke away, nibbling at your glossy lower lip as you whimpered, “need to stop jumping to conclusions. Who ever said I would stop loving you?”

lighter

“What’d ya say, babe?” He called over his shoulder, the roar of the wind and his motorcycle having carried away the sweet tone of your voice from where you sat behind him, arms secured snugly around his waist as you raced across the flat expanse of the Outer Ring.

It was the first time you both were free in the past few weeks, his work for the Sons of Calydon having kept him away even as your schedule at one of the pump stations in the Old Oil Field opened up. Dinner in Blazewood and a cruise through the desert back to your place was always a nice little treat, your body warm against his back as your eyes danced across the dunes and hollows that decorated your home territory.

You propped your chin against his shoulder, wind whipping your hair wildly around your face. “I’ll tell you when we pull over!” You half-yelled over the wind, his head tilting just enough for you to catch that sly look in his pretty eyes that made your stomach flip as one of his hands squeezed the fat of your thigh coyly.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Maybe you should have tried to ask again before you got back, timing would have been a little more prime than when you were straddling his lap on your dusty couch, hands fisted into his hair as he licked into your hot mouth like a man starved of affection, calloused hands directing your hips to grind against his own as you both moaned like a couple bitches in heat.

His zeal shouldn't have surprised you, after all it was kinda your fault that you ended up here. You knew better than anyone how much he loved being needed, wanted even, and had absentmindedly played it up beautifully all evening. Asking him first to help you change a part on your car and later dismissing another man’s attempts at flirting with you over a can of nitro fuel by waltzing right over to your dear Champion and slinging a leg over his lap, throwing your arms around his neck and placing a searing kiss against his lips as you declared yourself taken?

He would never consider himself one for public displays of affection, but he couldn’t deny that something about you openly proclaiming yourself his had him itching to get you alone.

You broke from the sloppy makeout, his hands drifting up your spine to push you right back into his waiting grasp impatiently before you planted your palm against his chest, shoving him back into the couch as you righted yourself.

“I’ve got a question for you.” You drawled, earning a hum of acknowledgment from him which you doubted to be him actually listening considering the glazed over expression in his eyes and the way he still fiddled with the button on your shorts.

“Lighter, I’m serious!”

“Alright,” his hands raised in faux defeat as he let his head hang back against the couch. “I’m all ears, what is this burning question ya got?”

It was your turn to grin now. “Would you,” you started as your fingers tracing his clavicle teasingly as you leaned in, now you were certain you had his undivided attention because his eyes were firmly fixed on your swollen lips.

“Still love me if I was a bangboo?”

He was silent for a beat, brow furrowing momentarily in a way you could only describe as cute before he gave you the best treat of your evening. His chest rumbled under your hands, one of his own raising quickly to try and smother the laugh that burned through his throat.

“This is a serious question!” You quickly asserted, only for him to fully turn his face away from you all the more entertained at your disgrace at his laughter. It took one inhale before you knew you had him good, getting another little glimpse at your “big bad champion” who snorted and teared when he laughed hard enough as you devolved right alongside him.

He sucked in a shaky breath, wiping at the corner of his eyes as he relaxed beneath you, hands rubbing little circles against your hips as he stared you down with the warmest look in his eyes. “Would I still love you if you were a bangboo, huh? Yeah, I think so, if you kept that fiery personality ya got, but I sure would miss a lot of things about my baby.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, fingers lacing behind his neck as your twirled the hair at his nape, enjoying the empowering feeling of having him shiver under your touch.

“Mhm. Like your arms that are just long enough to wrap around me when I wanna take you for a ride, or all that hair of yours that blows in my face when you decide it’s your turn to drive, can’t forget these pretty thighs of yours that you try and smother me with when—,”

“Lighter.” You warn, but it falls on deaf ears.

“And I would definitely miss a few other things about you if you know what I mean.” As if you hadn’t caught on enough he ground his hips up into your ass for good measure as you swatted his chest.

“Lighter Lorenz, stop being such a tease!”

“Oh, I’m the tease?”

Before you could respond he had already flipped you off his lap and onto your back against the couch, prizing your legs apart to settle between them as he leaned in, lips brushing just against yours as he spoke.

“Well if that’s what you want, who am I to keep it from ya?”

Rey 2024

[mingumis]

waves of you | kmg

you're called to the ocean, like a sailor to a siren's song. kim mingyu's soul is made of the same stuff as yours.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader genres/themes: slow burn, pining, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, eventual fluff (suggestive bonus at the end!) tw: brief mentions of mental health and medication, unhealthy coping mechanisms a/n: my first fic ever posted! pls let me know if this is any good,, wc: 7.4k

You were born on an island, and although growing up, you rarely visited the beach once a year, in adulthood, something about the ocean calls you back to it and eases your nerves. The salt in the air that you taste with each breath, the fine sand hot between your toes, the waves that lap at your ankles, everything is familiar and puts your soul at peace. 

It’s what enabled you to become friends with Mingyu, you think, because he’s also inevitably led to the coasts and the sands and the water. Because otherwise, the popular, well-loved sports junkie that he is would never have even looked your way back in freshman year, you tell yourself. 

“Oh, how beautiful,” your friend, Yujin, breathes out a gasp as the car rounds the corner and turns onto a road that overlooks the beach that you’re headed towards. Minghao, her boyfriend and the current driver of the car, takes a peek and hums in agreement. It rouses you from your half-asleep daze, and you sit up a little to crane your neck to the side to look out the window. 

She’s right. The cabin that your group of friends has rented for the weekend sits cozily along a row of other identical lodgings, dotting a beautiful shoreline that meets the eastern sea. The sunrises are gorgeous, Yujin had insisted, and that had been enough to convince you to come along. Of course, the mention of Kim Mingyu’s presence on the trip hadn’t been omitted either. The view, further solidifying the reality of this upcoming weekend, and the recollection of the conversation sends a flutter of anticipation in your stomach, which you try your best to swallow away. 

Once Minghao pulls into the designated parking stalls for the campgrounds, you’re pulling at your belt buckle and all but scrambling out of the backseat. Instantly, you take a lungful of the salty air, feet surging forward and leading you towards the water. You barely hear and acknowledge Yujin’s amused murmur, “There she goes again.” 

As you near the beach, you crouch to pull your sneakers and socks off, planting your bare feet into the sand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief. You almost feel instantly healed from the headache of work and life. There’s a few remaining minutes of the sun left, so a few stragglers saunter along the beach still. A family with two squealing children, a couple quietly sharing a blanket around their shoulders, and a singular, tall silhouette that you would recognize anywhere in the world. 

Almost as if he’s been expecting you, the man turns his head over his shoulders at the same time that you distinguish him. The grin that splits Mingyu’s face takes your breath away, more than the purple and orange and blue of the twilight sky overhead. 

“Hey,” he calls your name with a wave to accompany it, his own shoes dangling from his other hand. “About time you guys showed up!” He’s in a white linen cardigan, sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his jean cuffs are folded up to his ankles neatly. A pair of sunglasses hang from the vee of his collar, and his hair is wind tossed and salt ruffled. He looks every part a resident of this sleepy, seaside town. 

You will your racing heart to calm as you take each footstep towards him carefully and intentionally, so as not to rush and trip. Once you get close enough to see the moles on his nose, cheeks, and forehead that you love so much, you return his smile easily. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

Mingyu just agrees and laughs. 

When the sun finally disappears behind the mountains to the west, the two of you can’t linger any longer, especially as the wind picks up with a bite. Mingyu lets you take the lead as you trudge through the cold sand, barely satisfied with the glimpse of the ocean. 

You enter the house first, kicking your shoes clean outside, and immediately, a warm body crashes into you forcefully and nearly knocks you clear off of your feet. Thankfully, you’re held upright by a sturdy surface behind you, as you grasp at your chest, where your heart lurches in surprise. 

“Seokmin,” you hiss out, mid-complaint, but the man already apologizes at a million words per minute, arms looped around your shoulders. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Seokmin mumbles sheepishly, hugging you properly, as if it’s consolation for giving you the fright of a lifetime (it is). “I just missed you so much!” 

A quiet rumble of a laugh breaks you out of the moment, and it’s with mild horror that you realize that the surface that caught you from crashing to the floor is actually Mingyu’s broad, firm chest. With a jolt, you straighten up under Seokmin’s hold and shuffle farther into the hallway, leaving the two men behind and pretending to huff as you go. 

In the kitchen, Yujin and Minghao quietly tuck away the groceries and drinks into the fridge and freezer, and you study them for a moment, watching as they work effortlessly in tandem without saying a single word. Their movements come practiced and easy, through years of patience and work and fighting and loving. Despite the smile that curls onto your lips, you wonder cynically if you’ll ever find that sort of love for yourself. 

“Oh!” Yujin has turned to place something onto the kitchen counter and has caught sight of you lingering. “And how’s your estranged lover doing?” 

You snort out a laugh, broken from your reverie, just as Mingyu and Seokmin catch up to you and crowd around the counter. 

“You have a lover?” Seokmin gapes innocently, eyes bright with confusion. He turns to glance at Mingyu, who responds with a shrug and a nibble along his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, and his name is the ocean,” Yujin deadpans with a quick roll of her eyes. “Can’t get enough of him, really. Maybe that’s why she can’t seem to find a guy.” She bites playfully, knowingly shifting her gaze from you to Mingyu and back. 

You wince, “Ouch.” Pretend not to notice the way Seokmin offers you a sympathetic smile nor the sag of Mingyu’s shoulders. Instead, you plaster on the brightest grin you can manage and change the subject. 

“So, what’s for dinner?” 

–

You sit on the deck railing, half-ignoring and half-laughing at Yujin’s shrill warnings for you to be careful because if you fall and break your leg, nobody’s taking you to the ER. Behind you, Mingyu mans the grill, and Minghao sets the table up for dinner. Seokmin, bless his heart, sidles up behind you and mumbles sweetly that he’ll drive you, if it comes to it. You thank him with a grin, popping open your can of seltzer and knocking a mouthful back. 

The darkness that you stare into is dizzying, but there’s a certain calm that it brings. You swing your legs back and forth, balancing yourself on the wooden beam carefully, and sip away at the can, listening to the distant waves crash and break. 

“Doin’ alright?” 

The voice comes without warning, and you jump at its proximity which jostles you an inch forward, teetering a bit off balance. Before you have the chance to right yourself, an arm snakes around your waist, holding you back firmly. 

“Mingyu,” you breathe. “You scared me.” The motion has made your drink spill all over your hand and pants, and you pull a face, bringing your arm up to lick away at the stray droplets clinging to your skin. 

The man besides you giggles a little sheepishly, “Sorry. Dinner’s ready, but you seemed so peaceful and I didn’t want to bother you.” He pulls away once you twist around to come down from the rail, and you instantly mourn the loss of his warmth. 

Nonsense, you quickly admonish yourself. As smitten as you may be with the man, you have to remind yourself constantly that he’s been seeing another girl for almost the better part of a year now. The day that epiphany had come, through a careless slip of Wonwoo’s tongue, had gone over rough. You had spent an entire weekend moping on the couch, as Yujin and Minghao, Seokmin and Soonyoung, and Chan and Seungkwan took rotating shifts to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely and do anything stupid.

You know that you’re pathetic, pining after the only person you know who comes close to being perfect, but you’re anything but weak so you tried to take it in stride, laughing easily at jokes and eating all of the sweet treats that your friends brought you to cheer you up. It was only after you shut the door behind Seungkwan and Chan taking off for the night with lingering hugs and quiet murmurs of comfort that you allowed yourself to unravel, heaving through dry sobs that shook your entire body until the tears followed. 

You let yourself cry over Mingyu that one night and never again. 

Now, as you trail along back inside to the dinner table, eyes glued to the wide expanse of his back, you wish you could cry. Mingyu’s perfect, you’re realizing all over again, as if the distance and time away from him had made you forget. Perfect, but not meant for you. 

You gulp down the rest of your seltzer just as you sink into your designated chair to chase away the bitterness that pools in the back of your throat. Seokmin leans into you, bumping his shoulder against yours with a concerned furrow to his brow, but you wave him away with a smile. 

“Eat up,” you urge him, nodding towards the piles of barbequed meats that Mingyu has grilled. 

You quickly realize that the dining table, despite being long and wide enough to seat all five comfortably, is still too small because you can hear every word, giggle, grumble coming from Mingyu. It gets to the point where you’re just one more seltzer in, barely having nibbled on a short rib or two, and you’re all but sagging into Seokmin’s side, hanging off of every word that comes from Mingyu’s mouth as he recounts some funny story. 

At one of the punchlines, you squeak out a giggle, unable to hold it in, and the whole table turns to glance at you, which then makes the others laugh too. 

“Oh, man.” Mingyu grins, visibly pleased by the reaction to his story. “She’s gone.” 

You snort a puff of air out, mumbling, “M’right here!” Your friends laugh again, and Seokmin snakes his arm around your back to hold you up in your seat, snickering as he does. 

“Don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” he muses, chewing on his lip, before he dips his face close to yours to whisper. “You alright?” 

You merely smile, head bobbing once. He’s so warm and gentle besides you, and you’ve been so starved for touch like this that you all but melt into him. “Never been better.” 

By now, Minghao and Yujin have started up another one of their stories, and you listen along in a half-daze, eyes shut and cheek against Seokmin’s shoulder. 

You don’t see Mingyu’s gaze lingering on where you’re pressed into Seokmin. 

–

You wake before the sun, mouth dry as if you’ve eaten sand. Someone has carried you from the table to the room with the giant king-sized bed, tucked you into the sheets next to Yujin. Quietly, you slip out of bed, brush your teeth, and shower, and without even meaning to, your feet lead you out of the house, onto the shore. 

It’s still too early for the sunrise, and the sky yawns above you, navy blue and speckled with stars. You crane your neck back, mouthing out the few names that you know. Orion’s Belt, Canis Major, Sirius. Once you’ve exhausted the constellations that you know, you find a dry spot in the sand, sit with your legs folded and knees hugged to your chest. 

You finally let your guard down, breathing in through your nose, letting out a shuddering sigh through your teeth. Maybe this was a mistake, you ponder, running your fingers through the sand absently. It really is nice seeing your friends after so long, and the ocean welcomes you back home with open arms, but Mingyu’s presence, his beauty, his easy smiles leave the wound in your heart raw and open. Festering. 

Another few moments pass by lost in thought, until you pick up your head and notice that the sky has started to lighten overhead. Just then, a short whistle catches your attention, and when you turn, you suppose you’re not even surprised to find Mingyu crossing over the beach towards you. 

Your heart pulses and aches as you take him in. He’s in his checkered pajama pants still, a giant gray hoodie pulled on over his head. In the crook of his elbow are two water bottles, as if he knew you’d be here. Something about that thought unravels you even more. 

“You’re up early,” you mumble in greeting, nodding your appreciation when he hands you one of the bottles. 

Mingyu clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Wanted to see what the fuss about the sunrise was about. You?” He comes right beside you, planting himself into the sand and taking up the same position as you, elbows perched onto his knees. 

“Woke up dehydrated as fuck,” you say around a mouthful of water, grinning when he laughs. The man doesn’t say anything else, tilting his head up to watch as the sun begins its ascent. 

Despite the ache in your chest, it’s so easy to be Mingyu’s friend, to act like you don’t love him so much that you could die. It’s easy to sit here in silence with him, shoulder to shoulder, elbows brushing, pretending that the moment, and the world, belongs to the two of you. 

You zone out, concentrating on keeping your breath steady and thoughts reigned in. It isn’t until a tiny gasp catches in Mingyu’s throat that you’re looking away from the waves, first to him and then up above. Overhead, the sun has risen just enough to send a million colors across the sky. It’s a different palette from yesterday’s sunset, as orange and pink and blue swirl around each other. You stare, enraptured by the sight, and for a second, everything is perfect.

“Okay,” Mingyu says softly. “I get the hype now.” 

You glance at him, trace your gaze along the cheeky smile, the wonder in his eyes. Your heart squeezes, and you nod in agreement. 

Being here in this moment with him alone loosens your tongue, or maybe you’re still not completely sober because the words are escaping before you even have the thought to stop them. 

“Why did you come, Mingyu?” Your eyes widen in horror as you hear your own voice above the gentle push and pull of the waves, but it’s too late to take anything back now. 

The man blinks in surprise once, twice, leaning his cheek against a knee to fully look at you. “For the sunrise, silly.” 

No, you want to exclaim. Why did you come this weekend? Why did you come alone? But you’re a coward, and you always have been, so you swallow away the rest and hum in response. 

–

“Hey, Tiny. Come say hi.” 

If the rasp of Mingyu’s voice isn’t enough, that dumb, aggravating nickname that he insists on teasing you with sends your stomach tumbling. He peers over at you innocently as he sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, holding his phone in one hand, his chin in the other, elbow propped up. You cut him a glare, peeking at the screen that he turns to you to find Seungkwan and Chan’s faces peering back at you. 

“Oh!” You smile, pleasantly surprised. “Hi, Kwannie, Channie.” 

“Hi, Tiny,” comes their response in unison, Chan’s mouth quirking up into a smirk and Seungkwan’s eyes widening mockingly. Little shits. 

You scowl immediately, turning away with a sigh. “Sorry, I don’t talk to mean people.” 

Thankfully, Chan and Seungkwan know exactly when to indulge someone, and they paw at the screen, blasting the speakers out with incoherent shrieks of apology. You chuckle, dipping behind to put your face besides Mingyu’s. 

“Much better,” you nod. “Miss you guys.” 

Chan’s grin softens, and Seungkwan splutters at the sudden tenderness, lips jutting out into a pout. “Wish we could’ve come too,” he ends up murmuring, gaze swimming with affection. “It’s been a while since we all got together.” 

You chat with the two, and Mingyu interjects occasionally with his own quips until a notification drops from the top of his screen. His thumb swipes it away before you can fully make out the contact, but you do catch the purple heart emoji tagged after the end and your heart drops. You must freeze because Chan pauses in the midst of his sentence and his brow creases a little. 

Mingyu takes advantage of the lull in conversation to mumble out a quick excuse and apology, “Hey, guys, I gotta go make a call real quick. Can we call back later?” 

You both hurriedly say your goodbyes, before Mingyu’s pushing himself up and away from the kitchen counter without another word. Left alone, you hover for a few seconds, disappointed, before shuffling through the house to find your other friends. 

You’re not going to let your weekend getaway be ruined by something like this. 

And that’s how you find yourself, clinging to Seokmin’s shoulders as he marches deeper and deeper into the water. His arms hold strong, looped under your knees, and he just giggles, skin warm beneath your fingertips. Just ahead, Yujin teeters precariously atop Minghao’s shoulders, teeth flashing as she shrieks giddily. 

“You’re quiet,” Seokmin notes, tilting his head back to look at you. “Everything alright?” 

You just hold tighter, hiding your face away into his shoulder. It’d be so much easier to love Seokmin. You already do love him, for his infinite joy and compassion for others, for his positive, sunny presence. But it’s not the same, and it never would be the same. You hate yourself for these thoughts. 

“Is it Mingyu?” 

You frown and mumble his question away, “No, it’s just my dumb head thinking too much.” With a ruffle of his damp hair and a quick kiss to the cheek, you assure, “I’m okay. Thanks for worrying about me.” 

Seokmin merely shies away at the touch, cackling bashfully. He drops his voice to a whisper, “Let’s go dunk those two.” Tightening his hold on you, he surges forward to the unsuspecting couple, and you lunge for Yujin, toppling her off of Minghao and into the sea, which sets off a round of screaming and splashing that makes you forget about everything. It’s hard to be lovesick when your friends are around, grabbing you by the waist to throw you into the water. 

–

I can see that you’re hurting. 

Your thumbs hover over the phone screen, eyes roving everywhere, anywhere, but that particular gray bubble in the message log with Lee Chan. Lee Chan, who’s so perceptive that he can read you like an open book through a fifteen minute video call. Lee Chan, who’s so in tune with his own emotions that he’s not afraid to call you out on your own. 

Breathing a defeated sigh, you type out a response. 

I’m doing alright, Channie. I’d rather see him and hurt than never see him again. 

His message back is instant: You’re torturing yourself. 

You dig a knuckle into a temple, easing the sharp jab that arises from the conversation. With another halfhearted attempt of reassuring Chan, you shut your phone off and pocket it, switching it out for the two pill bottles you’ve carried out with you. You continue what you were doing before Chan’s concern interrupted you, reaching for a mug in the cabinets and filling it with water. 

In the midst of shaking out a single pill from each bottle, a gentle voice quivers out from the hall, making you jump and tense. As your luck would have it, it’s Mingyu, forehead creasing as he looks from your face to the labeled orange prescription bottles to the tiny pills in your palm. He holds an empty glass, as if he’s also come out for a drink of water. His face, initially cautious and guarded, opens up, confused and worried and devastated. 

“Hey, Tiny,” he mumbles, padding closer and closer. “Everything alright?”

No, no, no, no. You had purposefully crept out of bed once the house settled into a prolonged silence, afraid that you'd run into one of the others. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, pinned by Mingyu’s searching gaze on you. 

When he gets close enough, you finally force yourself to move, hurriedly pocketing the bottles and tossing the pills into your mouth and swallowing them dry. In your panic, they get stuck halfway down your throat, and you have to gulp desperate mouthfuls of water down to dislodge them. Fuck, you’re making a mess of yourself. 

Pull yourself together, you chide before urging a smile onto your face. 

“Hey,” you murmur back, careful to keep your voice even. “I’m okay, just getting ready for bed. What are you doing up?” 

He mutters a quiet reply, “Was on a call.” Right. He’s been on and off his phone all afternoon and night, ever since he scrambled away from the kitchen counter earlier in the morning. He had missed out on the entire beach session, only joining in with the group briefly for dinner, wearing a permanent furrow to his brow. 

Despite your attempt at steering him away, Mingyu’s appraisal of your expression penetrates your soul, gaze slow and intentional. He doesn’t press, he never does, but his presence is firm and it’s clear that he’s not backing down without answers. 

You shut your eyes in defeat, breathing through a few moments of working up the courage to vocalize something you haven’t told any of your friends. Not even Seokmin or Chan. Because saying it out loud, telling someone else, means that it’s real, means that you’re acknowledging that you are weak after all, despite all of your bravado. 

As a last ditch attempt, you wince, “Do you have to know?” 

“Yes,” Mingyu insists. 

“Why?” 

A long silence stretches between the two of you. 

“Because you–” Mingyu cuts his words off abruptly, and when you glance up at him, his eyes widen imperceptibly, surprised. He hesitates, which is weird to see because Mingyu never dithers. He always, always barrels through things, whether he’s prepared for them or not. It’s one of the things you admire most about him, so when he falters, it’s your turn to give him a strange look. “Because I’m your friend,” he finally settles on, which makes your stomach sink in disappointment, “I’m worried about you, but you never let people worry about you, which frustrates me.” 

Your chest could have been torn, ribs pulled apart to bare your aching, bleeding heart, and it would probably feel the same as you do now as you speak, throwing the words out into the cold, midnight air hollowly. “I take antidepressants. Helps with my anxiety.” 

Mingyu exhales forcefully, as if his breath has been punched out from him. He moves automatically, reaching a hand up to cup your face, palm warm against your cheek. “How long?” 

His touch is searing, and you ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from tearing yourself away from him or running or throwing up. 

“Almost six months now.” 

The day after you cried over Mingyu, you had promptly scheduled yourself a slot into a therapist’s office, who had been recommended to you by Yujin. About four months of therapy alone had proven insufficient, and your therapist had suggested medication, which you had greedily, almost desperately, accepted. 

“Nobody else knows,” you start blabbing, stomach suddenly lurching with fear because now that one person knows, it’s only a matter of time before others do. Mingyu’s not a snitch, you know this somewhere deep inside your head, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll think that this is information that needs to be shared. 

“Hey,” he rasps, but you barely acknowledge it, thoughts racing and dipping deeper and deeper into the swirl of dread and misery that exists constantly inside your head. 

“Tiny.”

Only the slight irritation that spikes at the sound of the nickname rouses you from the spiral, and you return to the moment, frowning. Mingyu smiles, despite it all. 

“I won’t tell a soul.” 

He stays true to his word and doesn’t even bring it up the following morning, but he may as well be screaming at the top of his lungs that something is wrong, through his newfound devotion to hovering beside you at all times. You’ve been brushing past Yujin’s curious hums and dodging Minghao’s side eyeing all morning, but during lunch out at the beachside town, Mingyu pulls your salad away to manually cut the chicken breast into bite-sized pieces in front of everyone before handing the plate back over to you wordlessly. When Seokmin’s eyes appear to be bugging out of their sockets, you decide to intervene. 

You have to catch him by the elbow, pulling him aside momentarily as the others step into a gift shop to hiss, “Okay, you’re freaking everyone out.” 

Mingyu merely blinks his huge, guiltless eyes at you. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re hovering. Stop that. I’m depressed, not dying.” 

The man scratches at his neck sheepishly, swiveling his head from side to side to see if anyone has overheard. “Just trying to take care of you is all,” he shrugs. 

You sigh. This is exactly why you’d chosen not to tell your friends anything. “I appreciate it,” you say, poking a fingertip against his chest (pretending that you don’t notice the way his firm skin barely gives way beneath the pressure). “But please, at least try to be subtle about it?” 

Mingyu merely lets a grin split his face like an overjoyed puppy, as if he’s just glad you haven’t refused his special treatment. 

You turn away and into the gift shop, ignoring the way the tips of your ears burn red-hot. 

–

“So…” 

You groan loudly, lifting an elbow out of the jacuzzi water to tuck your face into the crook of it. 

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Yujin protests as she quietly slips into the tub beside you, knees knocking against yours. She holds out a can of beer to you, which you politely refuse, having already had a moment of weakness on the first night. 

“But!” She continues, gaze burning fierce with curiosity. “I think everyone has caught onto you guys, so spill.” 

You blink owlishly, wondering what ideas your other friends have come up with. “Sorry to disappoint,” you say mildly, shrugging, “but nothing’s going on.” 

Yujin gasps, scandalized. “Then why is Mingyu trailing after you like a lovesick puppy?” 

Is that what it looks like? You want to laugh it off, but your friend’s words only lodge a tight knot in your throat that you can barely swallow around. 

“He is not.” 

“He totally is! Minghao told me that he saw you guys coming in together from the beach yesterday morning, so we assumed something happened then!” 

You watch, pained, as Yujin excitedly spins a theory, and you must look pathetic enough because her own expression falls. “What?” Her voice lowers into a concerned whisper, and she reaches for your hand beneath the surface of the water. 

“He’s definitely still with that girl.” You try not to sound bitter, squeezing at her fingers. “I saw her texting him, and they were calling the other day.” 

“Oh,” she calls your name sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.” 

You merely smile at her, wave away her concern. “Don’t be,” you insist, “It’s about time that I get over it anyway. I can’t keep living my life like this, right?” 

“Right,” she affirms. “I’m proud of you.” 

The two of you soak in the hot water for a few more minutes, chatting about everything and nothing at all, before Yujin complains about her wriggled fingertips. You’re just about covering up the jacuzzi, having sent your friend back inside the house ahead of you, when a patter of bare footsteps up the stairs to the deck from the beach catches your attention. 

Mingyu has just climbed up from a night swim with the boys, hair drenched and tousled, water still clinging to his tan skin, shorts pressed to his strong thighs. His eyes are bright when he catches sight of you, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of your own stare and quickly cast your gaze away. 

“How’s the hot tub?” The man makes easy conversation, bending to pick up a towel from a stack that they’ve left conveniently on the deck. He roughly dries his hair, and you pointedly do not look at him as he does. 

“Insanely nice,” you breathe honestly, pulling your own towel tightly around your shoulders to keep yourself concealed. “You and the boys should try it out.” 

Mingyu hums in agreement, throwing his head over his shoulder to look towards the beach. Seokmin and Minghao are still chasing each other, kicking up sand as they go, voices pitched up in joy. “They don’t seem like they’ll be heading back anytime soon.” He shakes his head mirthfully. 

Your stupid heart betrays you, mere minutes after you just told Yujin that you’d start trying to get over him. Defeated for now, you’re opening your mouth to bid him goodnight, when Mingyu speaks first. 

“Listen,” he starts. Hesitates again. He crosses over the deck to tower right above you, standing so close that you can smell the salt on his skin. Mingyu reaches, hand resting heavy on your hip, and you’re beyond glad that your towel is wrapped tightly around your torso because if you felt his palm on your bare skin, you might have lost yourself completely. 

Your breath catches, and you don’t take another, afraid that any movement will break the moment. 

“I did some research,” Mingyu’s voice dips low, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. “Read somewhere that you shouldn’t mix alcohol and antidepressants, but you drank, didn’t you? The first night? That’s not good for your, Tiny.” 

You freeze. This is the type of person that Mingyu is, you remind yourself. Someone whose physical touch comes as a natural instinct. Someone who notices and remembers things. Someone who looks things up out of concern. 

The weight of his hand on your waist, the scent of his skin and the salt on it, the cloying uncertainty in his voice is all so dizzying that you might as well have been five drinks in now. He is your ruin, your undoing. So long as you are friends with him, you’ll never heal, you realize with dread. 

Frightened, you take a few steps back, unable to look at him anymore. You manage a strangled squeak to wish him good night, before you’re all but running away.

When the next morning comes, you feign being sick, which isn’t completely a lie, since the incessant throb in your head is enough to keep you in bed. Yujin fusses over you, suggesting to call Minghao in and make him drive the three of you back to the city to take you home. 

“No, no,” you insist, waving your hands up frantically. “It’s the last day that we’re here! Just enjoy yourselves without me. I think I just need to sleep in a little longer.” You even crack open your eyes to smile at her. 

Yujin, thankfully, tucks you beneath the comforter tightly, leaving you with a soft kiss on the forehead and a promise that she’ll bring you back something to eat. 

–

Mingyu’s very confused, and a little nervous, as his friends give him varying expressions of frustration and disbelief when he tells them that he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago. Minghao holds his face in his hands, as if he doesn’t even want to look at him when he asks why. 

He twists his lips from left to right as he ponders the question. What he told his ex were assorted excuses of “I just don’t see us being a long term thing” or “I think I just have too much on my plate right now”, but after this weekend, he’s not so sure anymore. Mingyu cautiously offers, “I don’t think she was the one. She keeps texting and calling me, though. I shouldn’t respond, but I feel so bad.”

Yujin cuts a glare at him, looking like she’s all but ready to kill him with nothing but the spoon clutched in her hand. She’s evidently a few mimosas in, and she hisses, “Kim Mingyu, you dumb, idiotic moron!” 

He blinks in surprise. “Okay, you just called me stupid three different ways in one sentence.” 

Seokmin sighs from beside him, poking his fork into the puddle of yolk leftover from his eggs benedict. “Well, you are pretty dumb,” is what his best friend tells him. 

Mingyu pouts, a little hurt by the way his friends are treating him, especially when he just told them that he’s going through a breakup. “You guys are being mean,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tiny wouldn’t treat me like this.” 

At the sound of his nickname for you, everyone at the table looks at him, and now they’re all glaring at him. His poor little heart shrivels up in his chest, and Mingyu finally lets out a cry, “Can you guys just tell me what’s going on?” 

“You have no right.” Yujin slurs angrily, jabbing her spoon in his direction. “No right to treat my girl like that!” Her voice pitches up a bit too loudly at the end, which causes patrons at the surrounding tables to turn and look. Minghao reaches to clap a palm over her mouth, using his other hand to pull her into his side and calm her down. 

Seokmin, gentle soul that he is, softly mutters, “Have you ever considered that you might mean more than just a friend to her?” 

Mingyu’s mind goes blank, as he falters. A million thoughts run through his head at a million miles per hour. 

You’re the only one in the world who understands what it’s like to be led to the water by the ocean’s siren song. He doesn’t have to use words to explain what he feels to you, when he lets himself wander and finds himself skirting the edge of the beach, where the waves lap at his feet and pull away, leaving nothing but foam and bubbles. You’re the one who confided in him first, all those years ago, that you found the city too suffocating and heavy, that you were considering moving back to the island you were born on, despite your entire life being on the mainland. He had smiled and murmured that he wished he could do the same, and would want nothing more in life than to do that.

You, who he can always count on finding at the beach, as if magnetized to one another because your souls are made of the same stuff. 

Mingyu’s breathless because his friends are right. He is a dumb, idiotic moron. 

He runs back to the campgrounds ahead of his friends, all the way from town. He doesn’t bother checking your room or even going into the cabin because in his heart of hearts, he knows exactly where you are. Sure enough, he’s just coming up the small dune towards the shore when he catches sight of you, sitting with your knees tucked to your chest, head lolled to the side as you watch the water. 

He can only see your back from where you are, and you look so tiny. That’s why he had started calling you it in the first place, so fond of how little you are compared to him, how your nose would inevitably scrunch up in objection whenever you heard the name. 

Mingyu cannot believe how stupidly blind he’s been. 

–

You hear your name being called, but your heart limps along, immune to the sudden appearance of his voice. Tightening your arms around your bent legs, you wait until Mingyu comes by to sit beside you, just like that morning you watched the sunrise together. His back rises and falls rapidly, huffing as if he’s run all the way back from town. Even when his breath settles, he doesn’t say a word, as if waiting for you to speak first. 

You inhale shakily and then unload everything before you have the chance to doubt yourself. 

“I can’t be friends with you anymore, Mingyu.” 

The man soaks in the words, before he says plainly, “Okay. Because I can’t either.” He then leans forward, to crane his head and peer right into your face. Mingyu grins, bright as the sun. Your heart cleaves in two and you’re grasping at the remnants of your sanity to hold it together, and he’s smiling. 

“–The fuck?!” 

You bite your tongue to prevent hurling more expletives because this is certainly not the Kim Mingyu that you know and love. 

His smile only widens, and he’s suddenly talking, words spilling from his mouth and stumbling over his lisp, “I know, by the way. I know that you love me. I know that you’re trying hard to pretend that you’re fine, when you’re not. I know I’ve been so, so stupid, and I’m sorry for that.”

Mingyu reaches across the space that he’s politely left between the two of you, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other sweeping your hair back from your face gently. He holds and looks at you so tenderly, as if he’s scared of shattering you, and for the first time ever, you feel seen. 

“What’s going on?” You manage to work out, but your voice comes out very small. 

“I broke up with her months ago,” Mingyu says, as if that explains everything. “She didn’t understand who I was. But you…” A thumb delicately brushes over your cheekbone to catch a tear, and only then do you realize that you’re crying. The man’s smile crumples, and he dips to press his lips onto the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

You gasp for a breath, forcefully trying to swallow away the sobs. All day, as you tossed and turned in bed alone, you had been working yourself up towards ending your friendship with Mingyu once and for all, to protect whatever pieces of your heart were left. 

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you warble, finally holding onto him, fingers tightening around his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

Mingyu chortles, and it rumbles throughout his entire body. 

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” 

–

“Um. What is that?” 

Chan’s voice comes through, shrill and scandalized, from the other end of the line, and you can see the cogs turning in his head, as you quickly move to turn the collar of your shirt up and cover the burgeoning mark that Mingyu’s teeth have left on your skin. When Chan leaves the screen momentarily to frantically call Seungkwan over, you whip your head around to glare at Mingyu, who lounges in the armchair beside you lazily, a pleased grin curling onto his lips. 

“I’m never hearing the end of this,” you mutter, just as Seungkwan enters the frame. 

“What’s this about a hickey I’m hearing?” Seungkwan clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What kind of low-grade, classless loser did you bring home with you?” 

At that, Mingyu jolts up, straight as an arrow, brows furrowing. He starts whining his complaints as he comes over to your side. 

You watch with amusement as the recognition of the voice registers in Seungkwan’s eyes first, then Chan’s. Then, Mingyu peeps his face into the camera. It’s actually quite comical, the way Chan and Seungkwan both slap their hands over their mouths, eyes stretching wide. 

“What the–”

“–actual fuck?!” 

You snicker a little, cheeks flushing as you catch sight of the little window on the phone screen that mirrors back your face pressed against Mingyu’s. He must notice it too because he catches your eye through the screen and leans in to smile against your mouth. A cacophony of groans and gags come from Chan and Seungkwan, but your heart swells, tight with love and affection. 

bonus:

“Can’t believe I got called a ‘low-grade, classless loser’,” Mingyu mutters, laving his tongue over the mark on your throat. “Could a loser do this?” His voice drops low and raspy, deep inside of his chest, as his hands dip beneath your shirt and his fingers leave sinful trails along your stomach. As soon as Seungkwan and Chan had hung up the call, Mingyu had immediately pulled you onto the armchair, pinning you into the seat with his weight, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of your thighs. 

You squirm, throwing your head back against the armchair in an attempt to create some space, but Mingyu just follows. His hooded gaze burns bright with affection, with desire, as he peers up at you. 

Good lord, those eyes of his. 

“H-Hey,” you stutter out when you feel the drag of his teeth against your clavicle, the sharp bite of his pointy canines. “Hey,” you repeat, pressing your hands firmly against his shoulders to push him back. “We never talked about the emoji.” 

Mingyu’s half-listening, you can tell. He pretends that he’s looking at you, but he can barely meet your eyes, gaze dipping lower to your lips and then your throat. A tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth, just before he’s trying to lean back in. 

You scowl, threading your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his skull and tugging to pin him in place. Head forced back, Mingyu finally focuses, chest heaving. A soft whine catches in his throat and the tips of his ears flare bright red, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t trying to get answers. 

“Baby,” he purrs. “That was so hot.” 

“Down, boy.” You roll your eyes, loosening your grip on his hair. “The emoji. Explain it.” 

“What emoji?”

“The heart emoji, next to your ex’s name in your phone.” 

Mingyu pulls his brows together in thought, before he nibbles at his bottom lip sheepishly. “Okay, you’re not gonna like the answer.” 

Your stomach turns uneasily, but you shrug anyway. “Tell me.”

The man sighs. “She’s the one who put it there in the first place, and I honestly, swear on my life, forgot that it was there. But she’s since been blocked and deleted!”

You narrow your eyes, contemplating his words. “Hm,” you say, watching Mingyu squirm under your scrutiny. 

“Can I show you what you’re saved as in my contacts? Maybe it’ll make up for it.” 

You nod, waiting as he taps at his phone to pull it up. When he turns the screen around to show you, and your gaze focuses on “the littlest tiny” with five blue hearts next to it, you can’t decide if you should kick him or kiss him. 

Balking at your silence and lack of reaction, Mingyu pushes himself off of the chair to fall to his knees at your feet. He clasps his hands together and places them in your lap, eyes wide and shining with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he whines pitifully. “It was a joke, I promise!” 

You regard him coolly, thoroughly enjoying the way his bottom lip quivers into a pout. Before you can stop yourself, you’re pressing a thumb against the seam of his mouth, watching with acute interest as it parts and his tongue, warm and soft, peeks out to meet the pad of your finger. The image sends your stomach tumbling. 

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbles, extending an olive branch. “Only you, baby.” 

You bite. “Prove it.” 

You barely catch the glimpse of the smirk curling across Mingyu’s lips, before his strong arms lift you up and out of the armchair, into his chest, and towards your bedroom. 

[theorist-fox]

A little scrap of inexperienced Simon (my beloved, my baby, I love you) because it stuck to my brain like glue.

Simon, who comes back from deployment, and his anxieties slowly ebb away the moment he sets foot in the house—because there's an extra pair of shoes by the door, an extra set of keys on the shelf. 

You're already tucked in by the time he's silently walking in the bedroom, quiet like a mouse, dropping duffle bag and wind jacket on the floor. His clothes follow soon after, and before he even knows it, he's under the bedsheets. 

Shower be damned, he'll have plenty of time in the morning.

Naively, he thought sex would be off the table because he is too bloody tired to even concoct the thought—but you look heaven-sent, the first scrap of peace life has given him in ages.

And fuck, you're asleep, but his cock suddenly isn't. He has to get adjusted to that—arousal rearing its head only when you're close enough to smell.

Selfishly, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, hoping it would be enough to gently wake you up—but he should've known better, because you swivel around quicker than his reflexes and elbow him in the face. 

Only seconds later, when your ears perk and your eyes peel open, attentive and aware, you recognize the familiar shorn blond hair and the string of curses that leaves his lips, big hands cupping his nose. 

Curses and apologies flow down your tongue so anxiously he can't help but drawl a "S'nothin', s'fine," followed by "Been through worse, swear it."

And then you're peppering apologetic kisses all over his cheeks, and he can't help but deflate because, after all, he's had plenty of elbows in his face but not as many lips. 

He chuckles, a rough sound that rarely leaves him, and your giggles follow soon after. Until your kisses land on his lips, and he sighs in pure contentment. 

It's a slow dance you welcome him home with—tender touches that make his stomach tingle all the way to his scalp. He almost falls asleep, but the feel of your skin on his has his body think otherwise.

Which is why gentle turns urgent, and you comply because, for some reason, you seem to want him as much as he does you.

And then he has you on your back, all wrapped around him, like a bow on a present. Frantically struggles to untie the drawstrings of your sweats, grumbling something about his fingers being too big, to which you reply with a cheeky remark that has his cock twitch in his briefs.

He crashes his mouth onto yours because words aren't his forte, nor are his actions—however, he'd like to try.

But your teeth knock together so hard that Simon feels his skull vibrate. He's disoriented and in pain, and, while not many, he surely doesn't recall any past sexual experiences leaving him this sore before they even began.

As soon as he starts worrying about your well-being, he finds you hysterical, holding your stomach in a laugh that exposes pink-stained teeth. You try and spectacularly fail (several times) to recollect yourself.

He thinks you look beautiful, even if you're struggling to form sentences. But he gathers you don't need words, because you finally pull him down to meet you halfway, and he lands softly this time.

He's cracked your lip, and your tongue tastes of copper, but still you smile. And while once he might have questioned your sanity because you're bleeding and his nose is throbbing, now he sees no wrong in it.

Happiness comes in different boxes, after all. And his own is shaped like you—bleeding lips, hysterics, and all.