#one part filled out and that the rest wasn't necessary

[sweet-pea-channie]

Shadows of the Exile - Part 11

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N waits anxiously at Azriel’s bedside, hoping for a chance to speak with him once he wakes. When Azriel finally stirs from his injuries, the moment is quiet and tender—full of unspoken emotion.

Warnings: injury/healing, emotional vulnerability, emotional intimacy, mutual pining, “He fell first” energy, soft!Az

Word count: 4.9k

A/N: One more part and this story will be finished! Can't believe this story is coming to an end :( Also, tysm for your feedback! I love reading your comments! Can't wait to find out what you think about this part.

series masterlist

The days passed like a fog. Always the same, always heavy. Y/N had barely left the room. The chair by her bed was no longer just a seat – it had become an anchor. Her refuge. Her watchtower.

Azriel slept. And she watched.

The external wounds healed slowly, Madja came regularly, checked his condition, renewed bandages, and provided him with light elixirs. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta came and went. Rhys often stood by the door, silently watching before disappearing again.

But Y/N did not leave.

That evening, Cassian sat next to her. For the first time, longer. He had pulled the second chair beside the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on Azriel. The soft ticking of the old pendulum clock was the only sound that filled the silence until Cassian quietly began to speak.

"I lost him," he said in a hoarse voice. "In the middle of the chaos. I thought he was behind me, like always... but then he was just gone."

Y/N turned her head slightly toward him but said nothing. She knew Cassian needed this moment.

"I would have given anything to find him right away. But I... I couldn't leave, not while the fight wasn't decided. So I kept fighting, but my eyes kept searching. Everywhere. In every movement, in every shadow, I thought I’d see him reappear. And eventually..." – his voice nearly broke – "there was only blood. Everywhere, blood."

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her hand still loosely around Azriel’s.

"I've never been so afraid," she whispered. "Not even when I was trapped. Not even when they took my wings." Her voice was brittle, dry.

Cassian looked at her – really looked at her. "You love him."

Y/N nodded ever so slightly. "I don't know if it's love. Or if it's just... more than words could ever grasp."

Without saying much, Cassian put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently to him. No words were necessary. No comfort better than this simple, constant "I'm here."

Y/N closed her eyes. For the briefest moment, she allowed herself to feel the exhaustion, the weight of the last few days. The warmth of Cassian’s embrace was like a whisper of safety, of family.

Then she heard it. A soft, raspy sound. Barely more than a groan. But it was there.

Her eyes snapped open. Her body tensed instantly. The sound came again – weak, raspy. And then something moved.

"Azriel?"

Cassian immediately jumped up, noticing it too. Azriel’s hand twitched slightly. His forehead pulled into a weak expression of pain. His lips moved soundlessly.

Y/N jumped up as if she had never been sitting in the chair. She was instantly at his side, kneeling on the bed, her hand tightly clutching his.

"Azriel! Hey – hey, I'm here! I'm here." Her voice trembled, but she smiled through the tears that immediately welled in her eyes. "Come on... wake up."

Azriel’s eyelids fluttered. Then – very slowly – his eyes opened. Weak. Flickering. But there.

"Thank the goddess," Y/N whispered, pressing her forehead against his hand, while Cassian silently stepped back, his eyes also glassy. In that moment, he knew something much greater had been saved than just the life of a brother.

"Hey, buddy..." Cassian’s voice was rough, but he forced a small smile as he stood again next to Azriel’s bed. "You scared us."

Azriel blinked slowly, his eyes still glassy, the shadows in them dull and tired. But when his gaze landed on Y/N, there was suddenly clarity. A whisper, barely audible, but so full of weight that it stopped time in the room for a moment.

"Y/N."

Y/N’s heart squeezed. She kept holding his hand, brushing her thumb over his knuckle, as if she needed to assure herself that this was really happening. That he was there. Cassian gently placed his hand on Y/N’s shoulder – a quiet gesture, a promise that he was there when she needed him – then he nodded to Azriel, almost reverently, as if stepping away from something sacred.

"I’ll leave you two alone." His voice was soft. Then he left the room, and a deep peace settled over the silence like a warm blanket.

Azriel tried to sit up. His muscles protested, his breath came in short, strained gasps – but before he could, Y/N placed her hand on his chest and gently but firmly pressed him back.

"No, don’t. Don’t get up." Her voice was soft but firm.

Azriel winced slightly. "I just want to sit up."

Y/N sighed quietly, a faint smile on her lips, and carefully helped him. Her movements were sure, familiar – as if she had done this countless times before. She pulled out two soft pillows, gently lifted him with quiet strength, and placed them behind him so he could lean back a bit more comfortably.

Azriel let out a weak, exhausted groan, but something flickered in his eyes – gratitude. Closeness. Maybe even a trace of peace.

Y/N briefly walked to a small cupboard by the wall, grabbed a dark blue glass bottle, and returned. Her fingers were calm, but her shoulders were still tense, as if she were still holding the pain of the past days deep within her.

"You should drink this. It’s for the pain," she said quietly as she unscrewed the small cap. She placed the bottle at his lips, and Azriel opened his mouth, taking the elixir – without flinching, even though it was bitter.

As he swallowed, he leaned back again, his eyes seeking hers once more. "You didn’t leave."

Y/N sat back in the chair beside his bed, her hand once more in his. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I couldn’t."

Azriel closed his eyes. A deep, trembling breath left his chest, and his fingers weakly gripped hers.

He was alive. And she was there. And for a brief moment, that was all that mattered.

The light was soft, as if even the sun had decided to be quieter today. The shadows that fell through the window danced over the ceiling, over Azriel’s chest, which now rose and fell steadily. It was quiet – a rare, precious silence in which nothing needed to be said, but everything could be felt.

Y/N sat again in the chair beside him, her fingers again on his hand, as if each touch could bring him back to life just a little more. She had been silent for a long time – they both had. But now, she took a deep breath and slowly let go of his hand. Her voice was quiet but steady.

"I’d like to check your bandages again."

She stood slowly, the movement almost reverent. "I think a few need to be changed."

Azriel only nodded, his dark eyes searching her face as she began to pull the thin blanket aside. With skilful, gentle fingers, she opened the clasps of his shirt, which she had eventually put on him to keep the cool night air off his wounded skin. Carefully, she lifted the fabric and began to remove the first bandage from his side.

Azriel watched her silently as she worked, her magic flickering quietly over her fingertips – golden light, soft yet powerful. He saw how her lips trembled slightly, how her shoulders were still tense. It was not just care – it was relief. But also fear, slowly ebbing from her bones.

"Thank you," he said quietly. His voice was hoarse from the long sleep, but clear. "For everything. For what you did for me."

Y/N’s fingers paused, midway through changing the bandage across his chest. Her eyes searched his, cautious, uncertain. Azriel nodded again, more seriously now. "Did anyone help you?"

Y/N breathed in, as if considering how honest she should be. Then she sank back into the chair beside him, unwrapped the next bandage, and laid it ready before speaking softly.

"Only at the beginning. Rhys was there. Feyre. Mor helped me stabilize you. But... most of it... I did on my own."

Azriel blinked. His voice was hoarse. "On your own?"

Y/N nodded. As she spoke, she gently lifted his side to undo the next bandage. Beneath it, red lines, still not fully healed, appeared – deep, but clean. She let her magic flow, golden light sinking into the wound and remaining where destroyed nerves still lay under the skin.

"The external wounds were bad," she began quietly, her fingers steady as she continued healing. "A dagger hit you in the side. Almost to the kidney. Two broken ribs. Your shoulder was dislocated. And the cut on your thigh was nearly three hand widths deep. But... it was the shadow magic, Azriel. It had eaten into your nerves. It tore you apart from the inside. As if something... was slowly trying to devour you."

Azriel’s expression tightened. Not from pain – but because of the thought of what she had to endure to bring him back.

"I didn’t know if I would make it," Y/N admitted, her voice barely audible. "It was... too much. I took your pain because I thought I could bear it. But at some point..." She hesitated, lowering her gaze briefly. "At some point, I didn’t know where yours ended and mine began."

A tremor passed through her fingers as she sent the magic one last time, deep into his fabric. Azriel flinched slightly, not from pain – more because the warmth flowed through him. Like the first fire after a cold winter.

Y/N continued, her voice more detached now. Gentle. "The nerves in your side and leg are still damaged. It will take time. You’ll be able to stand again. But not immediately. Your body needs to relearn the connection."

Azriel said nothing. His eyes were simply on her. Still. Watching. Full of something that couldn’t be put into words. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and placed it over hers, which was still resting on his side. "I’m alive because you didn’t give up."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly. Her fingers curled around his. "You can never do something like that again, Azriel," she whispered. "Never again."

He nodded. And this time, he meant it.

Y/N carefully pulled the shirt back together, her fingers gently gliding over the edges as she slowly closed it. Azriel’s skin was pale, the wounds well-treated, but she knew the deeper healing would still take time. With a soft, almost tender look, she placed the thin blanket over him. Her movements were calm, almost mechanical, but inside, she felt chaotic. The room was silent – only the quiet sound of his steady breaths and her own calm in-and-out breathing broke the stillness.

When she sat beside him on the edge of the bed, the closeness to him felt even more intense. The warmth of his body, which she could still feel, even though he had almost died a few days ago. She stared into his eyes, trying not to let the weight of the moment overwhelm her. Azriel met her gaze, but there was something in his expression – something she had never seen before.

He didn’t know what to say.

The silence stretched like an invisible bond between them, a barrier of unspoken words and gestures. And then, like an echo in her mind, Y/N heard the last words he had said to her before he had collapsed in her arms.

"I’m sorry," he had said over and over. "I’m sorry that I didn’t…" Then he had choked, coughing up blood or simply too weak to finish the sentence. She remembered the feeling of holding him, as his will to live seemed to fade.

Now, in the silence of the room, she could no longer just remain quiet. "Azriel," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "What did you want to say?"

Azriel looked at her, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was searching for the answer in her. As if he wanted to pull away from her, but at the same time, like in an inner battle between what he knew and what he could say.

It was so close. So damn close that he almost said it. The words he had kept back over and over. What he had never allowed himself to admit – that Y/N was his Mate.

He remembered the moment he realized it. When he knew it was her who completed him. The person he wanted to be with eventually, without knowing if it was ever the right time for it. But in this situation, in this moment, he couldn’t tell her.

He would have put her in too much danger. He should never have risked her finding out – not now, not in a world where he could be called into battle at any moment, and she could be lost to him every day.

He looked at her, and in that look, there was an entire world of unresolved feelings, of unsaid words, tangled in his heart. And then, after a short, agonizing pause, he finally whispered, "It wasn’t anything important."

Y/N stared at him, feeling the emptiness in his answer. She knew it wasn’t true. But she also knew that Azriel was refusing to share what he really felt.

Y/N took a deep breath and stared at him, as if reading in him everything he couldn’t say out loud. Her voice was calm, but determined, as she responded: "I know, Azriel."

Azriel blinked, his eyes widening as he looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You can’t know what you’re saying, he thought. You can’t know that you’re my Mate. Unless Cassian told you… that fool.

Y/N looked at him steadily, the softness in her gaze mixing with a determination that led Azriel to feel both deep fear and relief at once. Then, without hesitation, she spoke clearly and distinctly: "You’re my Mate."

Azriel stared at her, his heart stopping for a moment. The words echoed inside him as he tried to comprehend them. What had she said? Had she really said it?

Then he felt it – the slight, almost imperceptible pull inside him. The bond. But it was different. This time he could really feel her, not just a glimpse of her feelings he always felt during the last few months. No, he could really feel her. Her presence, her feelings, the delicate threads of the Mating Bond stretching out, as though he had found her again.

"Y/N... what did you just say?" His voice was rough, almost unbelieving, as he looked at her.

"The bond snapped for me, right before you closed your eyes. I could feel you for only a few seconds. And then I felt nothing. Because you were..." Y/N whispered the last words almost imperceptibly, her eyes filling with tears. But she remained calm, her voice clear and firm as she continued: "I’ve never felt anything so extreme. Normally, you’d be happy when the Mating Bond is revealed, when you know you have a Mate. But in that moment... in that moment, I cursed the Cauldron that the bond only became visible to me now – when you almost died."

Azriel lowered his head. He could hear the pain in her words, in her voice. And it tore him apart. He had known that the moment the bond would become visible to her would be difficult and painful, but he had never thought it would happen this way. Never would he have thought it would come during a moment when he was almost dead.

"I... I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice broken. "I’m sorry I never told you what you mean to me. But I couldn’t..."

"Why?" Y/N asked, her voice cutting through the silence of the room like a soft whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me, Azriel?"

He looked at her, and in his eyes was a mixture of guilt and something else – something she couldn’t fully grasp. "Because I didn’t know if I could ever bind you to me," he finally said, the words barely audible. "You deserve someone who doesn’t live on the edge between life and death. You deserve someone who doesn’t withhold anything from you, someone who will never scare you. And I... I always had this fear that you would eventually lose me. But now..."

"Now?" she asked, her voice cutting deeply into him.

He looked at her, hesitated for a moment before quietly continuing: "Now I don’t know how I can fight without you. And knowing that... it’s making me into a different person. It changes everything. And I... I don’t know what that means for us."

Azriel sat there, his gaze fixed on Y/N, yet in his eyes was an unspoken weight. The pain, the loss, the constant feeling of inadequacy. When he spoke, his voice was rough, as though each word was a struggle.

"I’ve always doubted myself," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I’ve always hoped I would eventually find a Mate, but at the same time, I’ve always been afraid of it. How can someone love me when I can’t even love myself?"

Y/N stared at him for a long time, her eyes seeming to look right through him. She knew he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but she couldn’t just accept the weight of those words. And she wouldn’t let him remain trapped in that self-destructive thought loop. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard," she said firmly, without hesitation. "How can you even say something like that, Azriel?"

He looked at her in surprise, as if unsure if he had heard her right. "What do you mean?"

"You deserve love, Azriel. Endless love. And you never deserved to believe that you weren’t worthy of it." She straightened up for a moment, her eyes sparkling as she looked him in the eye. "You’re loyal. You’re strong, even when you think you’re weak. You fight for those you love, without ever asking for anything in return. You’ve carried so much pain, for all of us. You give everything to protect us – and that deserves to be returned."

Y/N let the words hang in the air as she leaned further toward him, carefully placing her hand on his arm. Her touch was warm and firm.

"You never gave up, even when you damn well deserved to. You’re someone who cares for those he loves, and he fights to the end, even if he breaks in the process." Her gaze softened, but her voice remained unwavering. "You deserve love, Azriel. And you never doubted yourself because you couldn’t love. You doubted because you were afraid of getting hurt. But you know what? Every one of us has that fear. And still, still we give each other the chance to be loved."

Azriel opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but found no words. Instead, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to truly comprehend her words.

Y/N leaned forward, her gaze fixed on him, as she finally said to him, "And I hope that I can be the one to give you the love and show you that you are more than enough, Azriel. That you deserve it. That you are loved, not only by me, but by all the people who know you and appreciate you."

Azriel felt something shift inside him as her words flowed through him like a gentle stream. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something he had almost forgotten. It was love. True love. Not the love he could hardly admit to himself, but the love that shone in the eyes of another person who believed in him.

But Azriel still couldn’t find the right words. He wanted to say something, but everything seemed so heavy and tangled inside him. Y/N sensed he was overwhelmed with his own thoughts, and she realized it was almost impossible for him to put all of it into words. She sighed softly and continued speaking, as if trying to lift a little of the burden off him.

"I... I’ve always felt something for you," she said quietly, almost hesitantly, but determined. "But I was 100% sure that I fell in love with you when you took care of me, in the cabin. You held me in that moment when everything around me was falling apart, and I knew that there would be no turning back for me. From that point on, I knew you were the one, Azriel."

Azriel looked at her, his gaze softening as he heard her words. He suddenly felt lighter, as if a part of the pressure in his chest had released. But still, it wasn’t enough to give him the words he needed to say what was inside him.

"I..." he began, but then stopped. After a moment, he said it. "I’ve actually always known. I knew you’d make me lose my mind. I can’t even tell you exactly when I realized it. It’s just always been there."

He looked at her, a small smile playing at his lips. "But when the bond snapped for me... when you gave me the cream and rubbed my hands, that’s when everything changed. That’s when I knew. For forever."

Y/N stared at him, utterly surprised. "Wait, what? You knew that long ago? That was months ago!"

She shook her head and gave him a light smack on the arm, as if to show him that she couldn’t believe it. But the smack echoed into his shoulder, and Azriel groaned lightly as the pain from his injured shoulder shot through him.

"Damn it, Y/N," he muttered, but there was a quiet smile in his eyes. "You’re really impossible."

"Maybe you should reconsider that, Azriel," she said with a hint of mockery in her voice, but there was something else in her eyes – something that came from the depth of her heart.

Azriel laughed softly, but he felt the pain in his shoulder easing. Despite the injuries, despite the confusion and the fears, in that moment, he felt as if everything was falling into place. The loss of words, the self-doubt – all of it began to fade as he looked into her eyes and saw what he had long known.

"You should know that I..." he began, and this time, he found the words. "I’m glad that you’re the one giving me this love. That you’re helping me see that I deserve it."

Y/N grinned and leaned back a little. "You should have known that long ago, Azriel. But now that you know, I hope you’ll never doubt it again."

Azriel's eyes softened, and for a moment, a shadow of regret passed across his face. "I wanted to tell you during Solstice," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "I wanted to tell you that you were my mate then. I really wanted to." His gaze dropped for a moment as he remembered the night so vividly. "But after I gave you the gift, after I saw how happy you were when you walked through the greenhouse... I couldn’t. In that moment, you were so happy, so full of life, and I knew that telling you then wouldn’t have made you any happier. So, I kept it to myself, thinking it was the right thing to do. But... it was never about me. It was about you being happy."

Y/N blinked, taking in his words, then gave him an incredulous look. "Okay, I'm taking it back. That's the stupidest thing you could ever say."

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound light and warm despite the heaviness in his chest. Y/N’s playful retort was just what he needed to hear. She was so fiercely her own person, and he adored that about her. A smile on his lips, as he leaned a little more against the pillow, watching Y/N. For the first time, he truly felt present – in the moment, and no longer just as who he had always been: a warrior, a shadow, someone who never believed in himself.

Azriel stared at Y/N for a moment, and although he had understood her words, there was still an unspoken wish deep within him. Something he couldn’t let go of, something he wanted to hear again to make sure he truly believed it.

"Can you say it again?" he finally asked softly, almost like a whisper.

Y/N immediately knew what he meant, and she looked at him for a moment. In his eyes, there was a silent pleading, a longing for confirmation, for something he had never quite grasped deep within himself. She had always known, but now she understood why he wanted to hear it again.

A small, gentle smile played on her lips as she leaned closer to him. She rested her forearm on the bed and came so close to his face that her breath almost brushed against his cheekbone. Her eyes looked deeply into his, full of affection and truth.

"I love only you, Azriel," she whispered, her voice soft but firm.

In that moment, everything changed for Azriel. It was as if he forgot everything around him. The pain, the injuries, the struggle. None of it mattered anymore. There was only her, her words, and the feeling that, for the first time, he was truly whole.

His heart began to beat faster as he felt her closer to him, her breath against his skin. Without another thought, he pulled her closer and kissed her, a kiss that took in all the words and all the unspoken fears he had ever had. It was a kiss that healed everything that had been broken inside him, a kiss that bound him to her in a way he had never thought possible.

When their lips parted, he felt the slight tug in his side, but it was nothing compared to what he was experiencing. She was now so close to him, their bodies almost touching as he gently pulled her to his side. He no longer felt like the shadow who had always doubted, no longer the warrior who had always been alone. Now, he felt whole. Complete.

"You have no idea how much I love you," Azriel said softly, his voice full of sincerity, as he gently pressed her to him while she lay next to him in bed. Her body nestled against his injured side, but he didn’t care. In that moment, it was as if the world consisted of just him and her.

Y/N rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart, beating in a familiar rhythm that she never wanted to miss again. It was a moment of peace, a moment in which she knew she was exactly where she belonged – by his side.

Azriel closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, he no longer feared the future. Everything he had ever wanted was right here – in this woman who loved him, and in the certainty that he would never let her go.

Cassian hummed as he climbed the stairs to the Town House, a bag of fresh food in hand that he had picked up on the way. He knew that Azriel and Y/N had eaten little in the last few days, and he wanted to make sure they both ate to regain their strength. Azriel had told him that Y/N was his mate, but he hadn’t known that Y/N also knew. And although he was sure she would support Azriel in everything, he didn’t want to risk giving her something she might have prepared for him.

With quick, quiet steps, he made his way to Y/N’s room. It still felt surreal how things had developed. Just days ago, everything had been so unclear, so full of pain and uncertainty. But today, there was something else. A feeling he couldn’t quite grasp, but it gave him faith in the good and in the future again.

When he reached the door, he paused for a moment to listen. Then he could hear it – the soft breathing of Azriel and Y/N. But when he opened the door, he stood frozen.

Y/N was lying in Azriel’s arms, his eyes closed, but Cassian could see the gentle smile on his lips, and it was clear: Azriel was in good hands. The fear that had accompanied him for the last few days began to fade. For a moment, Cassian simply stood there, the bag of food in his hand, watching the scene before him.

He knew that everything would be alright now. Azriel would make it. Y/N had saved him, not just with her healing hands, but with her heart.

Suddenly, the shadows of Azriel brushed along the door, and without warning, they slammed it shut with a loud bang. Cassian jumped back, shocked, but then couldn’t help but chuckle. It was always surprising how the shadows protected Azriel, how they connected with him so deeply that they defended him in a way that sometimes even Cassian found baffling.

"Okay, okay, I get it, no interruptions," he muttered with a smile, as he slowly approached the door and with a slight tug, took the food into his hands. "I brought food. I’ll leave it in the kitchen. You can rest in peace."

He couldn’t resist taking one last glance at the closed door. It was a scene full of silence and security, and Cassian knew that Azriel would soon be back to his old self – strong, determined, but also surrounded by a love he never could have dreamed of.

-

Taglist: @princesssunderworld@tele86@quiet-because-it-is-a-secret@rose-girls-world@iluvyewman-blog@gluecksbaerchieee@lreadsstuff

[bobomcfoe]

At this point i think maybe I'll just let the bank repossess my car. The dmv is going to kill me

[orphicsun]

cait making u get off on her boot while shes busy doing whatever tf 🤭🤭🤭

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN / FEM READER

warnings: clit stim (with boot), humiliation kink, dom cait + sub afab reader.

Caitlyn gives you a lot of attention. You feel lucky to spend your nights wrapped up in her arms or underneath her.

With that, however, comes a bit of entitlement. You don't mean to be spoiled. You don't even realize that sometimes, you ask for her at times you shouldn't. Especially now, as you walk into her study, hoping to claim your seat on her lap and feel her hands on you.

Instead, she hardly looks up at you as she mutters out, "I'm busy, darling."

"You're..busy?" You ask, as if the concept of your commander girlfriend actually having work to do is completely foreign.

"Yes. Plenty of enforcers patrolling areas we've got covered, so I have to assign them to new necessary spots." She informs you, breaking her attention to glance up.

"Right. Sorry." But before you can turn away, her hand wraps around your wrist.

"Did I say I wasn't going to take care of you, dear?" Her smile is almost playful, and it makes your head spin on its axis.

"But, you're busy-"

Caitlyn taps your ankle with her boot, giving you a smile as if to challenge you. Are you so desperate that you'll use my boot to cum?

Yeah, you definitely are.

"Cait.." Breathy and a bit humiliated, you grasp her thigh. You get no response in return, your girlfriend busy with things she explained to you previously, something about enforcers and blah blah blah. You can't remember now. You'd never admit it to her, but that turns you on even more-not that she needs to be told. She senses it in the way your nails dig into her skin, leaving crescent marks for her to scold you for later.

Your wetness seeps through your cotton panties, rubbing onto the tip of her boot at each swipe. Caitlyn doesn't tell you to stop nor encourage you, as she seems to actually have found her focus in her work while you get off.

Each shift of your hips, back and forth, sends sparks of pleasure through you. Though your body craves the heat of her palms caressing your hips and the the feeling of her stretching you open, tormenting you as she fills you, this feels nice. It isn't the action itself that will make you cum, and she knows that. It's the thrilling humiliation.

"Please, I need to cum. I'm gonna cum." You whimper, humping against the polished leather at a frantic pace. You one of your cheeks, dark with embarrassment, presses against her kneecap as you move.

"Keep it down, or I won't fuck you tonight." Caitlyn threatens you, though her tone isn't scolding. It's actually the opposite: calm. It makes your tummy flutter, and your clit twitch even more so than if she were scathing.

"Mhmm.." You moan out, though you muffle it with your front teeth against your bottom lip. You are so close to cumming, but you don't know if simply riding Caitlyn's boot will be enough to send you over.

A sudden shift as she adjusts in her seat, and it positions the tip of her boot snug against your clit. You pick up the pace and fall over.

You nuzzle your mouth against her skin as your orgasm causes you to rut against her like you're in heat. You crave being able to moan her name, but part of the game is staying quiet so that she will call you a good girl after. You end up distracting her more as the vibrations of your muffled whines and whimpers travel through her leg, temporarily putting a pause on her focus.

When you recover from your orgasm, you simply rest against her for a few minutes. You always feel clingy after Caitlyn has made you cum, so you can't help yourself. You begin planting kisses all over her thighs, hoping to convince her that you're a good girl who deserves to taste the wetness you know she has currently.

Instead, your head is pulled back, and Caitlyn only has one final order for you.

"Go wait for me in the bedroom."

[enhaflixer]

hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 2

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART ONE HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

-

The night before the department dinner, after the children were asleep, Riki found you in the study reviewing your class notes—a habit you'd developed to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your students.

"We should probably practice," he said from the doorway, startling you.

"Practice what?"

"Dancing." He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "If this is a formal department thing, there will probably be dancing."

You set aside your notes reluctantly. "Is that really necessary?"

"These people know us—know our future selves," he pointed out. "If we're awkward or stepping on each other's toes, they'll notice."

You sighed. "Fine. But just a quick run-through."

He nodded, then flicked his wand at the wireless in the corner. Soft, melodic music filled the room. With another wave, he pushed the furniture against the walls, creating a small dance floor in the center of the study.

"Shall we?" He extended his hand formally, a hint of his usual confidence returning.

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his, allowing him to draw you to the center of the room. His right hand settled at your waist while his left held yours aloft. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, careful to maintain a respectable distance between your bodies.

"I'm not going to hex you," he said with a slight smile. "You can stand a bit closer."

"This is fine," you insisted, though you knew real couples wouldn't dance with a foot of space between them.

He shrugged and began to lead, moving with surprising grace. After a few moments of stiff movement, you found your rhythm, matching his steps as you circled the makeshift dance floor.

"You're not terrible at this," you admitted grudgingly.

"Pure-blood family," he reminded you. "Dance lessons from age six. Mother's orders."

"That explains why you didn't completely embarrass yourself at the Yule Ball," you said, remembering how he'd danced with Olivia Greengrass for most of the evening.

Something flickered in his eyes. "You noticed me at the Yule Ball?"

"Hard not to notice when someone transfigures the punch bowl into a singing toad halfway through the evening," you countered, deflecting the implied question.

He laughed. "McGonagall's face was priceless."

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Riki's hand at your waist exerted the slightest pressure, drawing you incrementally closer.

"People will expect us to dance like we've done it a hundred times before," he said softly. "Like we know each other's movements by heart."

"And how do we do that?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.

"For starters, not like we're afraid of each other." Before you could protest, he eliminated the space between you, bringing your bodies together from chest to knee.

Your breath caught as he adjusted his hold, his arm now encircling your waist completely. Your joined hands moved to rest against his chest, while your other hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. The new position was undeniably intimate—you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers, the warmth of his skin beneath your palm.

"This is how married people dance," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair.

You couldn't formulate a response as he began moving again, the steps simpler now—less formal waltz and more just swaying together to the music. Your bodies moved in sync, with none of the awkwardness you'd expected.

"See?" he said after a few moments. "Not so difficult."

You made a noncommittal sound, not trusting your voice. Because it wasn't difficult—that was the problem. It felt easy. Natural. As if your body remembered dancing with him like this before, even if your mind didn't.

The music swelled, and Riki spontaneously spun you out and back into his arms. You returned smoothly, your back now pressed against his chest, his arms crossed over your waist, holding you securely. The move had been unexpected but you'd followed his lead instinctively.

"Perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine. "You see? Muscle memory."

You turned in his arms to face him again, intending to create some distance, but found yourself caught in his gaze. There was something new there—a heat that hadn't been present in your previous interactions.

"Riki..." you began, not sure what you intended to say.

His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering just long enough to send your pulse racing, before he stepped back, releasing you as the music ended.

"That should be sufficient practice," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "For tomorrow."

"Right," you agreed, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the sudden chill of his absence. "For tomorrow."

-

The next evening found you in the bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your appearance while Riki took the girls to The Burrow. You'd opted for the green gown after all—silk that flowed like water, with a modest neckline but a back that dipped daringly low. Your hair was arranged in an elegant updo, and you'd applied makeup with more care than you'd ever bothered with at seventeen.

The effect, you had to admit, was striking. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror—this poised, elegant woman seemed worlds away from the student who'd spent most of her time in the library with ink-stained fingers.

The sound of the Floo activating announced Riki's return. You took a steadying breath and descended the stairs, feeling oddly nervous.

Riki stood in the living room, adjusting the silver cuffs of his midnight-blue dress robes. The tailoring was impeccable, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame—clearly, these robes had been made specifically for him. He looked up as you entered, and the expression that crossed his face made your stomach flutter unexpectedly.

"Wow," was all he managed at first, his eyes traveling slowly from your face to your feet and back again. His gaze lingered on the way the deep emerald and black silk draped across your body, the Grecian-inspired cut accentuating your figure while the open back added an unexpected touch of allure.

"Just 'wow'?" you supplied when he didn't continue, turning slightly to show the full effect of the gown.

"Devastating," he finally said, his voice rough. "You look absolutely devastating."

He swallowed visibly, and you noticed with satisfaction that his usual quick wit seemed to have abandoned him entirely. The thought flashed through his mind, surprising even himself—did he have a previously undiscovered kink for seeing you in Slytherin green? The rich emerald color that had once represented rivalry now stirred something entirely different in him.

"You clean up decently yourself," you offered, aiming for casual despite the charged atmosphere.

"The robes that make my ass look fantastic," he confirmed with a flash of his usual humor, though his eyes never left yours. "Ready to convince a room full of Aurors we're madly in love?"

"As I'll ever be," you replied, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach.

-

Theodesia's turned out to be an elegant restaurant with crystal chandeliers and goblin-wrought silver place settings. You were greeted effusively by the maître d' who clearly recognized you both and led you upstairs to a private dining room already buzzing with conversation.

"Riki! Professor!" A man detached himself from a group near the bar—Jake, from the Floo call yesterday. He approached with a broad smile, a striking woman with dark skin and elaborate braids at his side. "About time you two showed up. Cutting it close as usual."

"Some things never change," Riki replied with surprising ease, clasping Jake's hand. "Traffic in the Floo network was awful."

"You look gorgeous," the woman—presumably Seera—said, embracing you warmly. "That color is perfect on you. I've been telling you to wear more green for ages."

"I decided to take your advice," you improvised, returning her hug.

"Where are the little menaces tonight?" Jake asked. "With Molly?"

"Yes, we dropped them off earlier," Riki confirmed. "Sara was already eyeing the cookie jar when we left."

His effortless lying impressed you—he sounded completely natural discussing children he'd only known for two weeks.

"Smart move using your anniversary as an excuse for a night off," Seera said with a knowing smile. "Though I still can't believe it's been five years since your wedding. I remember it like yesterday—you two dancing under those enchanted cherry blossoms, looking disgustingly in love."

"Time flies," you managed, leaning into Riki's side as his arm slipped around your waist.

"Speaking of which," Jake said, checking his watch, "we should find our seats. Kingsley will be starting the presentations soon."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, small talk, and desperately trying not to reveal your ignorance of people who clearly knew you well. Riki proved surprisingly adept at navigating conversations, deflecting personal questions with humor and redirecting topics when things veered into dangerous territory.

His hand remained a constant presence at the small of your back, his thumb occasionally brushing bare skin through the open back of your gown, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine each time.

Dinner was served—an elegant multi-course affair with wine pairings—as various department heads delivered speeches and presented awards. You were relieved to discover that Riki wasn't receiving any special recognition, though he was mentioned several times for his team's recent successful operations.

"Your husband's quite the rising star," whispered the witch seated on your other side—a senior Auror named Claudia. "Youngest division head in thirty years. Though I suspect he'd give it all up if you decided to have another baby."

You nearly choked on your wine. "Another—"

"Oh, I know, I know," she said hurriedly. "You've said two is your limit. But the way he dotes on those girls... Well, just saying. Never seen a man more besotted with fatherhood."

You glanced at Riki, deep in conversation with an older wizard across the table. The idea of him as a doting father had seemed absurd two weeks ago, but now... You'd seen how he was with Suki and Sara. How natural he seemed with them, how his entire demeanor softened around the children.

Your contemplation was interrupted as Jake stood, tapping his glass for attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention for a moment," he called over the chatter. "As is tradition at our annual dinner, we take a moment to celebrate not just professional achievements, but personal ones as well. And tonight, we have a very special milestone to recognize."

He turned toward your table, raising his glass. "Riki and Y/N Nishimura are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary this month. Five years of proving that even when you start as sworn enemies, love finds a way."

A ripple of laughter and applause moved through the room.

"For those who don't know their story," Jake continued, "these two spent seven years at Hogwarts hexing each other at every opportunity. Their legendary prank war culminated in what we now affectionately call 'The Great Time-Turner Incident' where they accidentally sent themselves ten years into the future."

Your blood ran cold. Riki's hand found yours under the table, squeezing tightly.

"When they finally managed to return to their time," Jake went on, oblivious to your shock, "something had fundamentally changed. As Riki tells it, 'Seeing a future where we were happy together made me realize I'd been fighting my feelings all along.' Three years later, they were exchanging vows with half the faculty of Hogwarts in attendance."

The room awwwed appreciatively.

"So please raise your glasses," Jake concluded, "to Riki and [Your Name]—proof that sometimes the person who drives you absolutely crazy is exactly the person you're meant to be with."

"To Riki and Y/N !" the room echoed, glasses raised.

You managed a smile, lifting your glass automatically as your mind raced. The Great Time-Turner Incident? Your future selves had experienced something similar—had, in fact, ended up together because of it.

Riki's hand was still clutching yours beneath the table, his knuckles white. He'd clearly reached the same conclusion.

"And now," Seera announced, standing beside her husband, "as is tradition, a few words from our anniversary couple!"

The room erupted in applause and expectant looks.

Riki recovered first, rising to his feet and pulling you gently up beside him. His arm went around your waist, steadying you.

"Thank you all," he began, his voice remarkably steady given the bombshell that had just been dropped. "Five years doesn't seem possible, does it, love?" He looked down at you with such convincing affection that your breath caught.

"Sometimes it feels like yesterday," you managed, finding your voice. "Other times, like we've always been together."

The room sighed appreciatively at your response.

"I won't subject you all to the story of how this brilliant, beautiful woman finally agreed to go out with me after years of turning my hair various colors," Riki continued, drawing laughs from the audience. "But I will say this—Jake's right. Sometimes the person who challenges you most is exactly who you need."

He turned to face you fully, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. "Every day with you is an adventure, even when it's just making pancakes with the girls or grading papers by the fire. I wouldn't trade our life for anything."

The raw sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't just a performance for the crowd—there was something real beneath his words.

"Neither would I," you said softly, surprising yourself with the truth of it. "Even when you drive me crazy."

The room laughed again, but Riki's smile was just for you—small, private, and achingly genuine.

"Thank you all," he said, turning back to the audience. "For celebrating with us tonight."

As you both sat down, the room burst into a chant: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Riki looked at you, a question in his eyes. A public kiss hadn't been part of your planning, but refusing would seem odd for a celebrating couple.

"We should," you whispered. "Just a quick one."

He nodded, then leaned in slowly, giving you time to prepare. You expected a brief peck—the bare minimum to satisfy the crowd.

What you got instead was a revelation.

His lips touched yours gently at first, a whisper of contact that sent a shock wave through your system. Then, as if unable to help himself, he deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw. Your eyes fluttered closed as you responded instinctively, your lips parting slightly beneath his.

The kiss lasted only seconds, but it felt like an eternity—an eternity where nothing existed but the warmth of his mouth on yours and the dizzying sense that something fundamental had shifted between you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils dilated. You could read the same stunned recognition in his face that you felt coursing through your veins.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, breaking the spell. Riki's thumb brushed your cheekbone once before he withdrew his hand, turning to acknowledge the crowd with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Under the table, your fingers touched your lips, still tingling from the contact. That hadn't been a performance. That had been... something else entirely.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. People stopped by your table to share anecdotes about your relationship, each one a piece of a puzzle you were desperately trying to assemble. You learned that you'd started dating in your final year at Hogwarts, after returning from your accidental time travel. That you'd worked as a curse-breaker before taking the teaching position at Hogwarts. That your wedding had featured cherry blossoms and fairy lights, with Hagrid sobbing so loudly during the vows that no one could hear them.

When the orchestra began playing a slow, haunting melody, Riki stood and offered his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked softly, all pretense stripped away in that moment.

You took his hand without hesitation, letting him lead you to the dance floor. His arm slid around your waist with practiced ease, drawing you close as you began to move together. All your awkward practice from the night before had vanished—your bodies knew this dance, knew each other, moving in perfect synchrony as if you'd done this a thousand times before.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, noticing the fond glances directed your way.

"Let them," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "They're seeing what they expect to see—the department's most disgustingly perfect couple."

"Is that what we are?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Something shifted in his gaze, a vulnerability you'd glimpsed only in rare moments. "Maybe not yet. But..."

He didn't finish the thought, didn't need to. As the music swelled around you, he guided you into a graceful turn that made your dress billow around your ankles. When you returned to his arms, you were both smiling, caught in a bubble of shared connection that felt startlingly genuine.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered, so quietly that only he could hear, surprising yourself with the sincerity behind the words.

His eyes widened slightly, genuine shock flashing across his features before his expression softened into something warm and unguarded. For a moment—one perfect, suspended moment—you both forgot that this wasn't really your life, that you hadn't actually been married for five years, that the memories everyone was celebrating weren't truly yours.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours, meaning it in ways neither of you could fully understand.

As you continued to dance, you noticed a small group of witches watching you from the edge of the dance floor, smiling affectionately at what they clearly considered a romantic moment between longtime lovers. Without overthinking it, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Riki's jaw—ostensibly for your audience, though the flutter in your stomach suggested other motives.

You felt his sharp intake of breath, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around your waist. When you pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction, the heat in his eyes made your pulse skip.

The song ended too soon, breaking the spell as applause rippled through the room. But as Riki led you back to your table, his hand resting lightly on the bare skin of your back, something had changed between you—something that couldn't be dismissed as merely playing a part.

Through the rest of the evening, Riki remained close—his arm around your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing yours, his body angled toward you in the unconscious way of couples accustomed to each other's presence. You found yourself responding in kind, leaning into his touch, laughing at his jokes, exchanging glances that somehow conveyed entire conversations.

It was frighteningly easy to play the role of his wife, you realized. Too easy.

And that kiss... that hadn't been playing at all.

By the time you said your goodbyes and stepped into the cool night air outside Theodesia's, you were both quieter than usual, lost in your own thoughts.

"Well," Riki finally broke the silence as you walked toward the apparition point. "That was... informative."

"The Time-Turner Incident," you said, focusing on the practical rather than the confusing emotional aftermath of the evening. "Our future selves experienced something similar."

"And it changed everything for them," he added. "Or us. Time travel pronouns are confusing."

You laughed despite yourself. "That's your takeaway?"

"No," he admitted, stopping beneath a street lamp. The warm glow illuminated his features as he turned to you. "My takeaway is that we need to talk about what happened in there."

"The toast? The revelations about our apparent history?"

"The kiss," he said simply.

Your heartbeat quickened. "It was just for show."

"Was it?" His voice was soft, his eyes searching yours. "Because it didn't feel like just for show."

"Riki..."

"I know we're supposed to be finding a way back," he continued. "I know this isn't our real life. But—" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "What if Jake was right? What if the person who's been driving me crazy for seven years is actually..."

"Don't," you whispered, not ready to hear the end of that sentence. Not ready to confront the growing realization that your feelings for Riki had become far more complicated than simple animosity.

He studied your face for a long moment, then nodded once. "We should get back. Check on the girls."

"Yes," you agreed, relieved by the return to practicality. "Molly's probably wondering where we are."

He offered his arm for side-along apparition. As your fingers curled around the rich fabric of his sleeve, you couldn't help remembering how it had felt when those same fingers had tangled in your hair as he kissed you—how perfect it had felt, how right.

And how terrifying the implications of that rightness might be.

-

The days following the department dinner passed in an increasingly elaborate dance of avoidance.

You began waking up earlier than necessary, slipping out of bed before Riki stirred and volunteering for morning duties with the girls. He, in turn, started staying up later, buried in case files at the kitchen table long after you'd retired to bed. The bedroom became a transition space—a place you occupied in shifts rather than together, despite the fact that you still technically shared it.

At breakfast, you'd focus intensely on helping Suki with her cereal or wiping Sara's sticky hands, using the children as buffers. Riki would read the Daily Prophet with unusual thoroughness, suddenly fascinated by Ministry policy updates and Quidditch standings he'd normally disregard. If your fingers accidentally brushed while passing the tea, you'd both flinch away as if burned, murmuring awkward apologies before finding new reasons to be elsewhere.

The kiss—that unexpectedly genuine, heart-stopping moment at the department dinner—hovered between you like an unacknowledged presence, impossible to address yet impossible to forget.

Neither of you mentioned the way you'd whispered "happy anniversary" and meant it, or how his hand had lingered on your bare back during the dance, or how natural it had felt to lean into his touch throughout the evening. Those moments contradicted the narrative you'd both silently agreed upon: that this was all temporary, that your real lives waited elsewhere, that the growing comfort and connection between you was simply muscle memory from bodies accustomed to each other.

In the evenings, you'd grade papers in the study while Riki handled bedtime stories with elaborate sound effects that made the girls squeal with delight. You found yourself lingering outside the nursery door sometimes, listening to his patient voice as he answered Suki's endless questions or soothed Sara with a gentle lullaby. These glimpses of tenderness made avoiding him both more necessary and more difficult.

When you did occupy the same space, conversation remained strictly practical, delivered with exaggerated casualness.

"Suki's daycare is closed on Friday," you'd mention, focused intently on stirring your tea. "Teacher training day."

"I can work from home," he'd offer, eyes fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. "No problem."

"Great. Thanks," you'd reply, already moving toward the door. "I should prepare for tomorrow's lessons."

You weren't hostile—quite the opposite. There was a new carefulness between you, a politeness almost painful in its restraint. You both said "please" and "thank you" with formal precision. You complimented his cooking; he praised your patience with the children. But beneath the courtesy lay a current of tension neither of you was willing to acknowledge.

Sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you wouldn't notice—a speculative look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. Other times, you'd find yourself staring at his hands as he helped Suki with a puzzle, remembering how those same hands had felt on your waist during the dance, and you'd have to excuse yourself to another room until your heartbeat steadied.

The weekend arrived with blessed relief. Riki announced he had paperwork to complete for an ongoing smuggling investigation—a transparent excuse, but one you gratefully accepted. You responded with equal transparency about needing to revise lesson plans. The mutual agreement to separation was welcome, even as the strained atmosphere grew increasingly unbearable.

By Saturday afternoon, the house felt too small despite its magical extensions. You found yourself wandering into the study, ostensibly searching for reference materials but really just seeking a space Riki wasn't occupying. That's when you discovered a cabinet tucked in the corner that you hadn't fully explored.

Inside were rows of small crystal orbs—magical recordings, similar to Pensieve memories but viewable without immersion. You'd seen similar devices in the Hogwarts archives, used to preserve important lectures and ceremonies.

Curious, and perhaps a bit desperate for distraction, you selected one labeled "Suki's First Steps." Perhaps watching family memories would help you better understand the life you were temporarily inhabiting—or at least provide a reprieve from the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the household.

You placed the orb in the viewing stand on the desk and tapped it with your wand. Light bloomed from the crystal, expanding into a three-dimensional projection. There was your future self, sitting on the living room floor, arms outstretched toward a wobbly Suki who couldn't have been more than a year old.

"Come on, sweet girl," your voice encouraged. "Come to Mama!"

Behind the camera, Riki's voice: "She's going to do it this time, I can feel it."

Sure enough, Suki took one hesitant step, then another, her little face a mask of concentration before breaking into a delighted giggle as she tumbled into your waiting arms.

"She did it!" the recorded you exclaimed, scooping her up and spinning her around. "Riki, did you get that?"

"Every second," came his proud reply. The camera moved closer, capturing your radiant smile and Suki's chubby hands patting your cheeks. "Our little prodigy, walking at ten months."

The projection faded, leaving the study quiet again. You sat back, a strange melancholy washing over you. These were your memories—would be your memories—yet they felt like glimpses into a stranger's life.

"What are you doing?"

You startled, turning to find Riki in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand.

"I found these recordings," you explained, gesturing to the cabinet. "I was just... curious."

He hesitated, then entered the study, setting his tea down. "Anything interesting?"

"Suki's first steps." You smiled faintly. "She was early, apparently."

"Not surprising," he said, the first hint of normal conversation between you in days. "She's rather determined about everything."

You nodded, relieved by the break in tension. "Want to see another?"

It was an olive branch of sorts. He recognized it for what it was, settling into the chair beside yours. "Sure. You choose."

You returned to the cabinet, scanning labels. "Baby's First Quidditch Match," "Sara's Naming Ceremony," "Holiday in Greece." One caught your eye, labeled simply "The Surprise." Intrigued, you selected it.

The projection revealed your future self in the kitchen, setting up what appeared to be a camera. You wore casual clothes, hair pulled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you adjusted the angle.

"Is this recording?" On-screen you leaned close to the lens, then stepped back, satisfied. "Perfect. Operation 'Prank the Prankster' is a go."

You quickly arranged several items on the counter—a potion vial with a mysterious pink liquid, a book titled "So You're Expecting: A Magical Guide," and what looked like a sonogram image, though you carefully hid these under a dish towel. Your recorded self was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

The kitchen door opened, and Riki entered, setting down a grocery bag. "Got everything, including those weird pickled radishes you suddenly can't live without."

"My hero," recorded-you smiled, reaching up to kiss him with easy affection. "Hey, can you help me with something? I brewed a potion and I need a second opinion."

"Is it for those bizarre cravings? Because the clerk at the apothecary already thinks I'm running some kind of illegal lab with all the ingredients you've been sending me for." He began unpacking groceries, oblivious to your barely contained grin.

"No, it's for a special project." You casually removed the dish towel, revealing the blue potion. "It's supposed to change color based on certain... conditions."

Riki looked up, intrigued but suspicious. "What kind of conditions? This isn't like the time you made me test that 'harmless' potion that turned my eyebrows purple for a week, is it?"

"Would I do that to you?" you asked with exaggerated innocence. "I just need you to verify the color. What shade of pink would you call this?"

He approached reluctantly, peering at the vial. "I don't know... fuchsia? Why does it matter?"

"Because," you said, sliding the book into view, "according to page 94 of this particular guide, cerulean fuchsia means it's a girl."

For a moment, Riki just stared at the book, his brain not quite making the connection. Then his eyes darted to the sonogram image you'd nudged forward, back to the potion, then finally to your face.

"Wait..." he said slowly, realization dawning. "Are you... is this... are you pranking me right now?"

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and tears. "Well, yes, I'm pranking you. But also no, because..." You reached into a drawer and withdrew a pair of tiny Slytherin green booties. "I'm actually twelve weeks pregnant."

The sequence of expressions that crossed his face was extraordinary—confusion, shock, disbelief, and then pure, unadulterated joy. He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You—" he started, shaking his head in amazement. "You used a prank to tell me we're having a baby? That's—"

"Fitting?" you suggested, eyes dancing with mirth. "Given our history?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you in two strides, lifting you off your feet in a spinning embrace that made you laugh and protest simultaneously.

"Careful! Morning sickness is still a thing!"

He set you down immediately, but his hands remained on your waist, his eyes searching yours with wonder. "We're actually having a baby? You're not just pranking the prankster?"

You took his hand and placed it gently on your still-flat stomach. "We're having a baby," you confirmed, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "Suki's going to be a big sister."

The look of pure joy that transformed his face made your throat tighten just watching. He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

"A baby," he whispered, voice choked with emotion. "Our baby."

Then he looked up at you, eyes shining with tears and laughter. "I can't believe you out-pranked me for something this important."

"Had to make it memorable," you replied with a watery smile. "Got you good, didn't I?"

He rose to his feet, cradling your face in his hands with such tenderness it was almost painful to witness. "You got me good," he agreed softly. "Best prank ever."

The kiss he bestowed upon you was reverent, his hand drifting down to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I love you so much."

The recording faded, leaving you and present-day Riki sitting in stunned silence. The intimacy of the moment you'd witnessed felt almost invasive, like you'd eavesdropped on something sacred.

"That was..." Riki began, then cleared his throat. "That must have been when you—they—found out about Sara."

"Yes." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say next. After a moment, Riki reached for the cabinet. "Mind if I choose one?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction.

He selected an orb labeled "Wedding Night Promises." Before you could suggest something less potentially intimate, he'd placed it on the stand and activated it.

The scene that materialized made you both inhale sharply. A hotel room, clearly luxurious, with rose petals scattered across a massive bed. Riki lay on his back, dress shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled, and his face adorned with lipstick marks in the same shade you'd been wearing in earlier wedding photos you'd seen. The camera appeared to be held by him at arm's length, capturing both his face and you as you leaned over him, adding another kiss to his jawline.

"You missed a spot," recorded-Riki said, pointing to his left cheekbone. "Can't have an incomplete masterpiece."

Your future self laughed but obliged, pressing your lips to the indicated spot and leaving a perfect imprint. "Better?"

"Much," he said with a satisfied grin. "But this area is still tragically unmarked." He tapped the corner of his mouth.

"You're ridiculous," you told him, but leaned in to place another kiss where he'd pointed.

"And here," he continued, touching his other cheek. "Symmetry is important in art."

You were laughing now as you worked your way across his face. "Are you planning to have me cover every inch?"

"That's the general idea, yes," he confirmed without a trace of shame. "I want everyone at breakfast tomorrow to know exactly what my wife thinks of me."

"Your wife thinks you're insufferable," you teased, but contradicted your words by pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

"You know," he said, his free hand playing with a strand of your hair, "you were so beautiful today. When you walked down the aisle, I forgot to breathe."

You paused in your kisses, visibly touched by his sincerity.

"Who told you to stop?" he protested immediately.

"I thought you were being serious for a moment," you said, shaking your head with fond exasperation.

"I am being serious," he insisted. "Deadly serious about how stunning you looked. That dress..." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "And your hair with those little flowers woven through it. I've never seen anything more perfect."

You rewarded him with another kiss, this time at the corner of his eye.

"And when you started crying during your vows," he continued, his voice softening, "it took everything I had not to just drop to my knees right there."

"Stop," you murmured, clearly embarrassed. "I was a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he corrected. "My beautiful mess. Forever, as of today."

You leaned in to kiss him properly on the lips this time, but he turned his head slightly. "Not yet. I still have unmarked territory here." He pointed to his chin.

You rolled your eyes but complied, adding another lipstick mark.

"What are you doing with the camera, anyway?" you finally asked, looking up with mock exasperation as you pulled back.

"Documenting," he replied, voice warm with affection and something deeper. "So you can never deny how utterly irresistible you find me."

"As if your ego needs more inflation," you teased, but your expression was impossibly tender.

"Actually," Riki's voice grew serious, "I wanted to record a promise."

Your future self settled beside him, head propped on one hand. "A promise?"

"I know we did vows today," he said, camera steady on both your faces. "But there are things I wanted to say just to you. Not for an audience."

The raw emotion in his voice must have affected your future self as it did you now, because her playful expression softened into something solemn and attentive.

"I promise," he began, "that no matter how busy we get, how many cases I take, how many students you teach, I will never go a day without making sure you know how much I love you."

He shifted slightly, making sure the camera still captured both of you. "I promise that every morning when I wake up next to you, I'll remember how lucky I am that you saw past the idiot who turned your hair pink and found whatever was worth loving beneath."

Your future self's eyes had filled with tears, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

"I promise that when we fight—and we will fight, because we're both stubborn and opinionated and that's part of why I love you—I will always fight fair. I will never go to bed angry. I will never use your vulnerabilities against you."

His voice had grown husky. "I promise that when we have children, I will be the father I wish I'd had, and I will cherish every moment of creating a family with you."

Your recorded self was crying openly now, tears sliding silently down your cheeks.

"And I promise," he finished, his own eyes suspiciously bright, "that fifty years from now, I'll still look at you the way I'm looking at you right now—like you're the greatest adventure of my life, and I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you."

The recording ended as your future self leaned down to kiss him, the camera tumbling forgotten to the side.

In the study, you became aware of wetness on your cheeks. You were crying, you realized with distant surprise. Beside you, Riki's breathing had gone shallow, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

Neither of you spoke, the weight of what you'd witnessed pressing the air from the room.

Without discussion, you reached for one more orb—this one labeled "Baby Talks with Papa, Night 213."

The projection revealed a darkened bedroom—your bedroom in this house. Your future self lay on your side in bed, clearly pregnant, with Suki fast asleep beside you. Riki knelt on the floor, his face level with your rounded belly, his mouth close enough that his lips occasionally brushed the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"—and that's why Mama's wrong about the Holyhead Harpies' chances this season," he was saying softly. "But don't tell her I said that. She's very sensitive about quidditch, especially now that she can't play."

Your sleeping form shifted slightly, and Riki froze, waiting until you settled before continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Anyway, little one," he murmured, one hand spread reverently across your stomach, "your big sister finally learned to say 'dada' properly today, which is excellent timing since I was starting to worry she'd call me 'baba' forever."

He paused, smiling as something—presumably the baby—moved beneath his palm.

"That's right, kick for your dada." His voice dropped even lower. "You know, when your mama told me she was pregnant with you, I cried like a baby myself. Don't tell anyone that part. Aurors have a reputation to maintain."

The tenderness in his expression was almost painful to witness.

"I hope you have her eyes," he whispered. "And her courage. And her laugh that makes everything better even on the worst days." His thumb traced small circles on your belly. "I hope you don't have my impatience or my tendency to act before thinking. But maybe a little of my charm wouldn't hurt."

A barely audible chuckle escaped you. "Are you corrupting our unborn child again?" your drowsy voice asked, one hand reaching down to touch his hair.

"Never," he protested with mock innocence. "Just telling her about quidditch."

"Him," you corrected sleepily. "It's definitely a boy."

"We'll see," he replied, pressing a kiss to your stomach before rising to slide into bed beside you. The camera, apparently charmed to follow him, captured how he gathered both you and sleeping Suki into his arms, creating a protective circle. "Either way, they're going to be as perfect as their mother."

"And as humble as their father," you murmured, already drifting back to sleep.

The recording faded to darkness, leaving the study in crushing silence.

You realized you were still crying, tears flowing unchecked down your face. You couldn't look at Riki—couldn't bear to see if he was affected as deeply as you were by these glimpses into a life that felt both impossible and inescapably real.

When his hand found yours, you nearly jumped. His fingers twined with yours, grip almost painfully tight, as if he needed an anchor in the emotional storm these recordings had unleashed.

"I wouldn't have thought..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I never imagined I could be that person."

Summoning your courage, you turned to face him. The raw vulnerability in his expression broke something loose inside you—some final defense against the truth that had been building since you first woke in this timeline.

"I never imagined you could be either," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you are. With the girls. Every day, I see glimpses of him—that man in the recordings."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "And I see her in you. The way you know exactly what Suki needs before she asks. How you sing Sara back to sleep after nightmares."

"This isn't real," you said, but the protest sounded hollow even to your own ears. "We're just... playing parts."

"Are we?" His dark eyes searched yours, more serious than you'd ever seen him. "Because it doesn't feel like playing anymore."

You couldn't answer—couldn't find words for the confusion swirling inside you. This was Nishimura Riki, your nemesis, the bane of your Hogwarts existence. Except... he wasn't. Not entirely. Not anymore.

"I don't know what's happening to us," you finally managed. "I don't know who we're becoming."

"I think," he said slowly, "we might be becoming the people in those recordings. The people we're apparently meant to be."

The thought should have terrified you. A week ago, it would have. Now, it filled you with a complicated mix of fear and something dangerously close to hope.

"What if we get sent back?" you asked, giving voice to the question that had been haunting you. "What happens to... this? To them?" You gestured toward the orbs, the tangible evidence of a future built on love rather than animosity.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think McGonagall might have been right."

"About what?"

"About this being an educational opportunity." His smile was rueful. "I'm definitely learning things about myself I never knew."

You found yourself returning his smile, fragile though it was. "Like the fact that you apparently cry at pregnancy announcements?"

"Like the fact that I can make pancakes with faces and that I apparently give excellent pep talks to unborn children," he corrected, a hint of his usual humor returning. "The crying is clearly fake news."

The tension broke, a small laugh escaping you. Riki's expression softened, his hand still holding yours.

"I don't know what happens next," he said quietly. "McGonagall said we only have fourteen more days before we get sent back. Two weeks to reconcile the person I was with the person I apparently become." His eyes met yours, something vulnerable and urgent in his gaze. "But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes met yours, steady and certain. "I don't hate this life. I don't hate it at all."

The simple admission hung between you, weighted with implications neither of you was quite ready to explore fully.

"Neither do I," you confessed, the words both frightening and freeing. "And that scares me more than anything."

From upstairs came the sound of Suki's voice, calling for her father to come see the tower she'd built. The moment broke, reality reasserting itself.

Riki released your hand reluctantly. "Duty calls," he said, rising from his chair. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at you. "For what it's worth... I think we could do worse than becoming those people."

He left you sitting among the scattered orbs, each one a window into a future that felt less impossible with every passing day. The wedding night promise echoed in your mind: I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you.

Maybe, you thought as you carefully returned the recordings to their cabinet, that wasn't such an outlandish sentiment after all.

-

That night, after the emotional revelation of the memory orbs, neither of you mentioned the pillow barrier that had separated your sides of the bed for the past three weeks. When you emerged from the bathroom in your pajamas, Riki was already in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Are the girls asleep?" you asked, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the mattress.

He nodded. "Suki made me read 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' twice. Said Grandma Molly does all the proper voices."

You smiled despite yourself. "And do you?"

"I try," he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "My Amata is apparently 'too growly.'"

The shared moment of normalcy eased some of the tension between you. You slipped under the covers, careful to maintain a respectful distance, and turned off the bedside lamp with a wave of your wand.

For several minutes, you both lay in silence, the events of the day—the memories you'd witnessed, the glimpses of a shared future—swirling through your mind. You were acutely aware of Riki's presence beside you, his breathing, the faint scent of his soap.

"Do you think they're happy?" you asked suddenly, your voice sounding loud in the darkness. "Our future selves, I mean."

Riki was quiet for a moment. "They look happy," he finally said. "In those memories... they seem genuinely happy."

"It's strange," you murmured. "A month ago, I would have said there was no possible future where you and I could..."

"Be anything but enemies?" he finished when you trailed off.

"Yes."

"And now?"

You turned onto your side, facing him though you could barely make out his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Now I'm not so sure."

He turned to face you, and you could feel his gaze even if you couldn't clearly see his expression. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence had changed quality—no longer awkward, but contemplative, almost comfortable. You weren't sure who moved first, or if perhaps you both did, but somehow the space between you shrank until your head was resting against his shoulder, his arm curled around you.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Yes," you replied, relaxing into his embrace. It should have felt strange, being held by Riki, but instead it felt... safe. Right. As if your body remembered this comfort even if your mind didn't.

You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, the barriers between past and present, enmity and affection, blurring with each shared breath.

The sound of crying woke you sometime in the deepest part of the night. Sara's distressed wails coming through the baby monitor. Before you could fully register what was happening, Riki was already sitting up.

"I've got her," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded from the room, the gentle concern in his movements so different from the arrogant boy you'd known at Hogwarts. Your body felt cold where his warmth had been, and you found yourself missing his presence with unexpected intensity.

Unable to fall back asleep immediately, you listened to the monitor as Riki entered the nursery.

"Hey, little star," his voice came softly through the speaker. "Bad dream?"

Sara's cries subsided to hiccupping sobs.

"Shh, it's okay. Daddy's here." The creaking of the rocking chair told you he'd settled in with her. "Let's not wake up the whole house, hmm? Your mama needs her sleep. She works so hard, you know."

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't for show—he didn't know you were listening. This was just Riki, caring for his daughter, speaking about you with genuine affection.

"Should we sing our special song?" he continued. "The one that always makes you sleepy?"

And then, to your astonishment, Riki began to sing—a gentle lullaby in Japanese, his voice low and surprisingly melodic. You'd never heard him sing before, never imagined he could sound so... vulnerable.

When the song ended, Sara had quieted completely.

"That's my girl," Riki murmured. "You know, you have your mother's smile. All sunshine, even at midnight."

He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed—softer, more introspective, as if he were confessing something even to himself.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he said quietly. "Your mama... she was always special, even when we were kids. I used to drive her crazy just to see the fire in her eyes when she'd yell at me. Stupid, right? But I didn't know how else to get her attention."

Sara made a small cooing sound, as if encouraging him to continue.

"And now... now I see how amazing she is. How strong and brilliant and kind. The way she takes care of you and Suki, the way she teaches her students..." He sighed. "I'm not sure I deserve any of this, little star. But I think... I think I want to try to be worthy of it."

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words. This wasn't the Riki who'd turned your hair pink during exams or charmed your quills to write love poems about himself. This was a man—one who'd grown from that boy, who'd learned to love and care and put others before himself.

"Time to sleep now," he whispered to Sara. "Dreams of chocolate frogs and flying carpets for you."

You quickly sat up as you heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. Some tide had turned inside you, some barrier broken by his unguarded words. You'd spent years pushing him away, and now all you wanted was to draw him closer.

When he entered the room, his silhouette outlined in the dim hallway light, you didn't hesitate. You crossed the bed in two movements and met him at the doorway, your hands finding his face in the darkness.

"You're awake—" he began, but you silenced him by pressing your lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he froze in surprise. Then his arms encircled you, pulling you against him as he responded with a fervor that stole your breath. This wasn't like the careful, public kiss at the dinner—this was something raw and honest, years of tension dissolving into something entirely new.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against yours.

"What was that for?" he whispered, his voice unsteady.

"I heard you," you admitted. "With Sara. What you said."

His body tensed slightly. "Ah."

"Did you mean it?" you asked, your hands still framing his face, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "About wanting to be worthy of this? Of us?"

In the darkness, you felt rather than saw him nod. "Every word."

"I think..." you began, then gathered your courage. "I think maybe you already are."

For a split second, Riki went utterly still—like the admission physically struck him. Then, his exhale came out ragged. That was the only warning before he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all pent-up longing, confusion, and overwhelming hope released at once.

You melted into him, letting go of everything you’d clung to since you woke in this impossible timeline: your rivalry, your assumptions, your fear. Because beneath your fingertips, you felt Riki tremble. He was as affected by this as you were.

His mouth slid over yours, hot and searching, stealing your breath. His hands dropped from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you flush against him. The moment your body pressed to his, he made a low, desperate sound at the back of his throat—like he’d been starving for this touch.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled by your lips. There was no space left between you—no air, no doubt, just heat and him.

When you whispered his name—Riki—he groaned, deep and guttural, a hand sliding under your shirt, up the curve of your spine. His palm was hot and possessive on your skin. It felt scandalous and necessary all at once.

Your kiss turned filthy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a push and pull of half-formed moans. Riki lifted you without warning, guiding your legs around his waist. You could feel how hard he was, the pressure against your core dizzying.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, sucking on your bottom lip until a bolt of sensation sparked through your entire body. Your fingers twisted into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging, and he growled—a low, feral noise that spurred you both into something deeper.

He backed you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head for support while the other stayed locked around your hips. You rolled your hips to meet his, eliciting another ragged groan from him.

“Careful,” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a desperate breath. His forehead rested against yours, eyes heavy-lidded, blown wide with desire. “I don’t have much self-control left.”

You swallowed hard. “Then don’t.”

It was all he needed to hear. Riki claimed your lips again, this time slower, deeper. The slide of his mouth was hot and wet, an intimate dance that sent tingles down your spine. You curled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, never close enough.

When he finally carried you to the bed, it felt like the world had narrowed to just heartbeats and frantic breathing. He lowered you onto the mattress, crawling over you with that same mixture of filth and reverence, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or ruin you. Possibly both.

You watched, chest heaving, as he peeled off his shirt, exposing the lean lines of his torso. A slight flush stained his cheeks, but his gaze never left yours. You fumbled with your own top, but your fingers trembled too much. Riki’s hands caught yours, guiding them aside, then took over—slowly, carefully lifting the fabric away. His eyes traveled down your newly exposed skin, and he exhaled shakily.

“You’re--” he started, then stopped, swallowing back words he couldn’t say. Instead, he leaned in to kiss a path down your throat, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the small bites he left.

Goosebumps flared over your entire body at the quiet, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. The friction was maddening, each press of your bodies a reminder of the tension building below your stomach.

He slid his hand under the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitched. The filthy edge returned, overshadowing any last trace of caution. A ragged moan escaped your throat when his fingers brushed lower, teasing. Even fully clothed, the sensation threatened to snap whatever fragile composure remained.

“Riki,” you whispered, voice choking on raw need. The sound of his name seemed to unravel him.

His eyes lifted to yours, dark with want, but also swirling with something dangerously close to tenderness. You pushed a shaky hand through his hair, pulling him in for another deep, sloppy kiss. Tongue, teeth, shared breath—you both devoured it all.

Suddenly, he groaned, half-cursing. “We shouldn’t—”

“We should,” you interrupted, barely able to think straight. Because if you stopped now, if you allowed sense to creep back in, you might never let yourself have this again.

He pressed his forehead to yours, each pant of air mingling. “You’re… you’re all I can think about.”

A desperate laugh bubbled from your lips. “Same.”

His mouth captured yours once more, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize every corner of you. With a growl, he moved against you, and you felt everything—every ridge, every hard line straining through his pants, pressing right into your hips. An electric jolt shot through you, drawing a high-pitched gasp from the back of your throat.

You felt him smile against your lips, a grin that was half cocky, half wrecked, before he nipped your lower lip again. He guided your hand down, letting you feel just how hard he was—a silent confession of how far gone he’d become. A dizzy wave of heat flooded you in response.

Then, all at once, the kiss slowed, shifting from ravenous to agonizingly tender. His movements became deliberate. His tongue slid over your lips, gentler now, coaxing you to let go of tension you didn’t know you were holding. You shuddered, letting your eyes drift shut, melted by the softness that peeked through the lust.

When he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “You don’t hate me at all, do you?”

A smile trembled on your lips. “Not anymore.”

He made a sound halfway between relief and longing, then carefully laid you back against the pillows. You felt him settle against you, one leg between yours, the rhythmic press of his hips leaving you dizzy and clinging. He kissed you again—soft, consuming—like he planned to stay there forever, tasting your every breath.

Your heart pounded at the realization that you had two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks before you’d return to being seventeen, to the version of yourself that loathed Nishimura Riki. But in that moment, with his body heavy and warm over yours, with his tongue gently lapping at your bruised lips, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was that, for now, he was yours—and you were his—and the dark weight of your previous hatred had turned into something far more potent: raw, desperate desire, laced with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

So you let him kiss you until you were lightheaded. Let him press you deeper into the mattress, let your bodies align in a flush of friction, let the sweet, filthy moans echo between your parted mouths. Because if time was running out, you’d take every second you could get.

Two weeks left. Two weeks before you returned to the rivalry, the misunderstandings, the wide chasm you once thought separated you. Maybe you’d lose these memories. Maybe he would too. But for now, you poured yourself into him, letting the lines between past and present blur, letting the possibility of something more overshadow every bitter word you’d ever exchanged.

And when you finally made your way back to bed, tangled in each other’s arms, the question of hatred or love no longer loomed so large. In the hush of that moment, with your lips still buzzing from his, the only thing that mattered was him—Nishimura Riki, the man who had once been your enemy, but who now kissed you like you were his only future.

But now you knew what could be. What might be, if you chose a different path.

And for the first time since waking in this strange future, you weren't sure you wanted to go back at all.

-

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed where you lay entwined with Riki. For a moment after waking, you felt only contentment—the warm weight of his arm across your waist, his steady breathing against your neck, the comfortable fit of your bodies together.

Then memory rushed back—the memory orbs, his confession to Sara, the kiss that had changed everything—and your eyes flew open.

Riki was already awake, watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. Gone was the cocky smirk of your school nemesis, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable, yet somehow more intense.

"Good morning," he said quietly, his voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you replied, suddenly self-conscious. In the light of day, the boldness that had propelled you into his arms last night seemed both distant and startlingly real.

You made to move away, to create some space to collect your thoughts, but his arm tightened around your waist.

"Don't," he murmured. "Please."

You stilled, acutely aware of everywhere your bodies touched—his legs tangled with yours, his chest pressed against your side, his fingers splayed across your hip.

"About last night," you began, not entirely sure what you wanted to say.

"I meant every word," he interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Everything I said to Sara, everything I... showed you afterward." A faint flush colored his cheeks at the memory of your kisses, but his gaze remained steady. "The question is, did you?"

You took a breath, searching for the right words. "I think I've been fighting this—whatever this is between us—since we arrived. Maybe longer."

"Me too," he admitted. "It seemed easier to hold onto who we were than to acknowledge who we might be becoming."

His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, the casual intimacy of the gesture making your pulse quicken.

"I've been holding back," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Trying to maintain some distance, some semblance of our old rivalry, because it felt safer than admitting how much I've come to..." He paused, seemingly unwilling to name the emotion. "Care about you. About this life."

You understood completely. You'd been doing the same thing—clinging to old animosities as a shield against these new, terrifying feelings.

"But I don't want to hold back anymore," he said, his expression growing determined. "We have two weeks left in this timeline, and I don't want to waste another day pretending that I'm not falling for you."

Your breath caught at his directness. "Riki—"

"No, let me finish." His hand moved from your hip to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I know this isn't how either of us expected things to go. I know we're supposed to hate each other. But I can't keep acting like a reluctant houseguest in what's supposed to be our life together."

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"From now on, I'm going to be the husband you deserve—the one you see in those memory orbs. The one who looks at you like you're the most extraordinary thing he's ever seen. Because right now, you are."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "What exactly are you saying?"

His smile was slow, confident, yet tinged with a vulnerability that made it utterly disarming. "I'm saying that with your permission, I'm done holding back. I'm going to court you properly, the way a man should court his wife—with everything I have."

The old Riki—the boy you'd known at Hogwarts—had never looked at you this way, had never spoken with such sincerity. This was the man from the memory orbs, the one who promised forever on your wedding night, the one who spoke to his unborn child with such tenderness.

"Are you sure?" you asked, needing to know this wasn't just the influence of your surroundings, of playing house in borrowed lives.

"I've never been more sure of anything," he said. "The only question is... will you let me?"

The vulnerability beneath his confident words touched something deep inside you. This wasn't just about physical attraction or the strange circumstances that had thrown you together. This was Riki—proud, stubborn, brilliant Riki—offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Yes," you whispered, the word feeling like a leap from a great height. "Yes."

The smile that illuminated his face was like sunshine breaking through clouds—radiant and transformative. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You won't regret it," he promised. "I'm going to make these next two weeks so incredible that when we go back, you won't be able to look at me without remembering."

Before you could respond, the patter of small feet in the hallway announced Suki's approach. With a rueful smile, Riki pressed a quick kiss to your lips before rolling away just as the bedroom door flew open.

"Mama! Daddy! It's pancake day!" Suki announced, launching herself onto the bed. "You promised!"

"Did I?" Riki asked, catching her mid-bounce and tickling her until she shrieked with laughter.

"Yes!" she insisted between giggles. "With chocolate chips and strawberries!"

"Well, if I promised, then I better deliver," he said, setting her down and ruffling her hair. "Why don't you go pick out your clothes while Mama and I get ready?"

"Okay!" She darted from the room as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving a whirlwind of energy in her wake.

Riki turned back to you, his expression soft. "This is what I want," he said quietly. "Not just now, in this borrowed time, but someday. For real. With you."

The simple sincerity of his words stole your breath. This wasn't a declaration of undying love—it was something more grounded, more honest. A recognition of possibility, of potential.

"We should probably get up," you said, not quite ready to examine the way his words made your heart swell. "Before Hurricane Suki returns."

He nodded, but before you could move, he caught your hand. "Just one more thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a hint of his old mischief returning. "I hope you realize that as your properly devoted husband, I now have full license to be utterly, embarrassingly romantic at every opportunity."

You groaned, but couldn't suppress your smile. "I'm already regretting this arrangement."

"No, you're not," he said confidently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing your hand. "But you might when I start serenading you at breakfast."

"You wouldn't dare."

His answering grin was pure Nishimura—challenge accepted.

As you headed to the bathroom, you couldn't help but marvel at the strange path that had led you here—from bitter rivals to reluctant co-parents to... whatever you were becoming now. Something new, something unexpected, but something that felt increasingly right.

Two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks to explore what might have been—what might still be, if you were brave enough to reach for it when you returned.

For now, though, there were pancakes to make, children to wrangle, and a husband who had apparently decided that making you blush was his new favorite pastime.

And for the first time since arriving in this future, you found yourself looking forward to whatever came next.

-

The days after your mutual decision to embrace this borrowed life took on a bittersweet urgency. Each morning, the calendar on the kitchen wall served as a silent reminder—crossing off another day meant one fewer remaining before your inevitable return.

At first, Riki stayed true to his word about courting you properly—leaving wildflowers on your pillow, preparing your favorite meals, stealing sweet kisses when the children weren't looking. It was charming, thoughtful, and absolutely maddening in its restraint.

By the fifth day, your patience had worn dangerously thin.

You found yourself hyperaware of his presence—the way his shoulder brushed yours when you passed in the hallway, how his fingers lingered when handing you a cup of tea, the sound of his voice reading bedtime stories to the girls. Each small interaction sparked something within you, a slow-burning heat that grew more difficult to ignore.

At night, you'd fall asleep in his arms, your bodies pressed together in increasingly intimate arrangements, only to wake tangled even more closely. Yet he maintained a gentlemanly distance that made you want to scream.

On the sixth day, you both clung to Sara a few seconds longer during morning goodbyes. On the seventh, Riki spent an hour teaching Suki a charm to make paper butterflies, carefully recording her delighted laughter with a memory orb. Neither of you acknowledged the reason for this sudden preservation of moments—the looming reality that soon these children wouldn't be yours anymore.

At Hogwarts, you found yourself distracted during lessons, your mind drifting to Riki—wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, how his hands would feel on your skin if he ever abandoned his infuriating self-control.

The breaking point came on the eighth day.

You'd returned from work to find Riki in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, humming a tune you recognized from one of the memory orbs. The simple domesticity of the scene—this man who had once been your greatest rival now cooking in your shared home—hit you with unexpected force.

"Where are the girls?" you asked, setting down your teaching bag.

"With your parents for the evening," he replied, turning to offer you a warm smile. "I thought we could use a night to ourselves. Maybe stargaze in the garden after dinner? The Cassiopeia constellation is particularly clear this time of year."

Stargazing. Another sweet, thoughtful, perfectly restrained activity.

Something inside you snapped.

"No," you said firmly, approaching him with determined steps.

His smile faltered. "No? I thought you liked astronomy—"

"I don't want to stargaze, Riki." You reached him and took the wooden spoon from his hand, setting it aside. "I don't want to be courted anymore."

Hurt flashed across his face. "I don't understand. I thought—"

"We have six days left," you interrupted, your voice steady despite your racing heart. "Six days before we go back to being seventeen and all of this disappears. I don't want to spend them pretending we have all the time in the world."

Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, but you needed to be absolutely clear.

"You keep treating me like we're starting from the beginning, but we're not. We're already married. We already have children. We already love each other in this timeline." You stepped closer, eliminating the space between you. "I don't need courtship. I need you to be present with me—right here, right now—while we still can be."

His breath caught audibly. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying fuck the courting," you replied bluntly, satisfaction coursing through you at his shocked expression. "Everything you do—every look, every touch, every sound you make—lights a fire in me, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, with a muttered curse, he closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other pulled you flush against him.

The kiss was nothing like the careful ones you'd shared before—this was raw, desperate, years of tension finally finding release. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if afraid he might pull away.

He backed you against the kitchen counter, his body pressed against yours in a way that left no doubt about how much he wanted this too. When you finally broke apart for air, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Because if you are, I won't be able to go back to just holding your hand."

In answer, you reached for your wand and cast a quick charm toward the stove, extinguishing the flames beneath the pots.

"Dinner can wait," you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs. "We can't."

Your heart was still hammering from the last kiss, your mind spinning with the realization that you didn’t truly hate him—Nishimura Riki, your longtime rival, the one person you were supposed to despise. But after waking in this future and discovering your lives entwined? All that bitterness had morphed into a pulse-pounding tension you could no longer deny.

Riki’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning before he crashed his mouth into yours, claiming your lips with a force that stole every coherent thought from your head. He gripped the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until your chests were flush. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it between his own, making you gasp into his mouth. You tasted something raw and electric on his tongue—years of pent-up rivalry fueling a desperate kind of need.

When you finally broke apart, panting, he pinned you with a dark, unwavering stare. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated with hunger you never imagined seeing from him.

“If we do this—” he started, words low and ragged, “there’s no coming back. I can’t go back to just ignoring you, or acting like we’re not…”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” you whispered, the confession surprising even you.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a curse and a prayer—and grabbed your wrist, leading you to the bed. Each step felt like a collision of hearts, the air heavy with unspoken promises. The second your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, breath coming in harsh pants. His body pressed you down, hips snug between your thighs, letting you feel just how achingly hard he was through his clothes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that had you shivering. “You feel so good… can’t believe we waited this long.”

You barely got a chance to respond before he slid down your body, fingers deftly working to peel away the barriers between you. Clothes were tugged off with clumsy urgency—your shirt up over your head, his hoodie tossed aside. His mouth followed a path down your torso, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

By the time he settled between your legs, you were trembling with anticipation, your head spinning from the low, filthy groan he let out at the sight of you. He pushed your knees apart, lips skimming the inside of your thigh, sending jolts of pleasure right through your core.

“Riki…” you moaned, voice cracking.

His name seemed to snap something in him. With a growl that bordered on feral, he lowered his head, pressing his mouth to your center with no hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue was slow but deliberate, an experimental lap that had your toes curling. He moaned softly against you, the vibration making you gasp, and you dug your heels into the bed, hips bucking upward in a silent plea for more.

He gave you more.

Open-mouthed kisses replaced gentler licks, each one wetter, louder, dangerously addictive. Your breath caught when he focused on just the right spot, swirling his tongue, then flattening it in a heavy, dragging motion that left you whimpering his name. His hands crept up your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as if to anchor you—as if to keep you from floating away under the intensity of his mouth.

“You taste… so fucking good,” he murmured, half to himself. Heat coiled low in your belly at the filthy timbre of his voice.

He licked, sucked, nipped lightly—alternating between decadent slowness and feral bursts of pressure—making your mind go blank. Every moan or sob of pleasure you gave him, he seemed to swallow greedily, redoubling his efforts. Your fingers knotted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him closer.

When you rolled your hips against his face, desperate for friction, he groaned, a shamelessly erotic sound that sent sparks through your entire body. He pressed his hand against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he focused his tongue with maddening precision. Your vision blurred; your only tether to reality was the slick, relentless glide of his mouth and the thunder of your heart.

“Oh God,” you gasped, head thrashing on the pillow. “Riki—”

He hummed in response—a rumble that made your thighs shake. The sensation built, rising to a point you were sure you couldn’t handle. Your breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut. You were so close, the tension in your muscles near bursting.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, momentarily pulling back to suck a bruising kiss along your inner thigh, before returning to lave his tongue exactly where you needed.

That was all it took.

The coil snapped. Your body arched off the bed, a ragged cry tearing from your lips as the orgasm crashed over you—long, pulsating waves of ecstasy that left you gasping for air. Riki held you through it, unrelenting until the last aftershocks made you shiver, your mind wholly surrendered to sensation.

By the time the world drifted back into focus, you realized he had kissed his way up your trembling body, peppering lazy kisses on your skin. His face hovered over yours, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d done. A flush colored his cheeks, and his breathing was ragged, as though he’d been lost in it as deeply as you were.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning down to brush his lips over yours in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of how intimate you’d just been. You let out a weak moan, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you just breathed each other in—sweat, sweetness, the faint tang of desperation still clinging to every shared breath.

“You okay?” he murmured, running a hand gently down your side. There was a tenderness in his tone that caught you off guard, considering how filthy the moment had been just seconds ago.

“More than okay,” you managed, voice cracked with leftover tremors. You shifted, still dizzy with pleasure, arms and legs like jelly.

A soft, relieved laugh escaped him. He nuzzled your cheek, pressing another lingering kiss to your jaw. “I’m not done with you yet,” he teased, though his voice held a trace of nervous sincerity.

You swallowed, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “Then don’t be,” you replied softly.

And just like that, the tension began to build again, a quiet, throbbing promise of more. Because if there was one thing this impossible future had shown you, it was that Nishimura Riki was no longer just your rival—he was the man who could unravel you with a single stroke of his tongue, and you never wanted him to stop.

-

Later that night, lying tangled together in the sheets of your shared bed, you traced idle patterns on his chest while he played with your hair. The desperate urgency had given way to a peaceful contentment that felt all the more precious for its transience.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?" Riki murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Wasting time with flowers and stargazing when we could have been doing that."

You laughed softly. "To be fair, the flowers were lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he replied, his expression growing more serious. "I just... I didn't want to push. Didn't want you to think I was only interested in the physical aspect of... us."

"I know," you assured him, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. "But we don't have the luxury of a normal courtship timeline. We're doing everything backwards and on an accelerated schedule."

He nodded, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of your hair. "Speaking of backwards—is it strange that I feel like I'm falling in love with my own wife? Like I'm both meeting you for the first time and rediscovering someone I've known forever?"

The casual mention of love should have frightened you. Instead, it felt right—inevitable, even.

"Not strange at all," you said softly. "I feel the same way."

For a moment, you both lay in comfortable silence, absorbing the weight of the admission.

"What happens when we go back?" he finally asked, voicing the question that had been hovering between you for days.

You sighed, settling your head against his shoulder. "I don't know. Will we even remember this? Or will it feel like a dream we can't quite recall?"

"I'll remember," he said with fierce certainty. "I refuse not to. Even if I have to brew a memory potion or create my own pensieve."

"And then what? We go from this—" you gestured between your entwined bodies, "—to being seventh-year students again? From parents to teenagers?"

"We find each other again," he said simply. "Maybe not right away. Maybe we need time to grow into the people who can truly appreciate each other. But we find our way back."

The conviction in his voice made your throat tighten with emotion. "How can you be so sure?"

His answer was immediate and unwavering. "Because now I know what's possible. And I'm not willing to live in a timeline where we don't end up together."

-

The remaining days passed in a blur of intense emotions. By unspoken agreement, you both devoted your days to Suki and Sara—memorizing their laughs, recording their milestones, storing away every precious moment with the girls who had somehow become your children in every way that mattered.

But the nights—the nights were for each other.

On those nights, once Suki and Sara were sound asleep, you and Riki would quietly slip away to your bedroom, hearts pounding with an almost desperate urgency. Each evening blurred into the next, infused with a need to capture every last second of this borrowed future.

It began the moment you closed the bedroom door. He crowded you against it, mouth searching for yours, a low, heated groan rising from his chest. You gasped at the contact—your bodies pressed tight, as if you had to make up for all the time lost in the past.

Clothes were peeled away in hurried, clumsy motions. The bed beckoned, but neither of you reached it immediately; you made it halfway across the room before Riki’s hands gripped your hips and he lowered you to the soft rug, the raw ache of your kiss fueling every frantic thrust. It was urgent and wild, a crash of breathless moans echoing in the dim light.

After you unraveled beneath him, panting, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, eyes reflecting a jumble of relief and longing.

The second night, you found each other in the very early hours, awoken by Sara’s soft cries—but once she was fed and settled, you and Riki lingered in the bed, half-lidded with sleep.

He coaxed you onto his lap slowly, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The way he kissed you—soft, indulgent—made your entire body tingle. This time, the pace was slower, sweeter, each roll of your hips drawn out, every shared breath reverent. When you let go, he followed seconds later, whispering your name like a vow.

A random pillow fight after Suki fell asleep turned into a tangle of sheets on the living room floor, laughter morphing into sharp gasps when you straddled his lap, feeling him already half-hard against you.

He murmured something about you being the most infuriating person he’d ever loved, and you answered by kissing him with a grin. Before long, your back hit the cushions, his lips traveling down your neck, your chest, leaving you breathless. You tried to keep quiet—worried about waking the girls—but the desperate friction of your bodies made you moan louder than intended. Riki chuckled, pressing a finger to your mouth, but his own voice shook with suppressed groans.

The release was quick and intense, your nails leaving faint crescents in his shoulders, both of you dizzy from the risk and thrill.

The next day, once Sara and Suki were tucked in, you coaxed Riki into a late-night shower, the water cascading over your entwined bodies. The steamy, cramped space made every movement more intimate.

He pressed you to the tile, nipping along your jaw, water drenching your hair as he lifted your leg around his waist. Each slick slide of his hips was both filthy and tender, the warm rush of water muffling your shared gasps.

You bit your lip, fighting to stay balanced, but Riki pinned you gently, murmuring soft curses at how good you felt. By the time you both tumbled out, the bathroom mirror fogged beyond recognition, your limbs trembled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

On the final night, you could almost feel the looming separation weighing on you both. That awareness fed a fierce, almost frantic edge to your lovemaking—hands clutching, mouths hungry, as if you wanted to burn the memory of each other into your very souls.

Riki rolled you onto your stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine, his breath hot against damp skin. You whimpered his name, already aching for the inevitable end that lurked in tomorrow’s sunrise.

When he finally slid inside you, the cry you let out felt like a broken confession, the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. Every thrust reverberated with the ache of goodbye. When you came apart, you clung to him like a lifeline, and he followed with a ragged moan, arms wrapping around you, holding tight as though he could shield you both from time itself.

Every touch, every whispered confession, every moment of connection was infused with an almost desperate intensity, as if you could somehow store enough memories to sustain you through the separation that loomed ahead.

On your final night, you lay awake long after Riki had fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In just a few hours, you would return to your original timeline—to being seventeen and full of misunderstandings and rivalry, with the entire story of your lives together yet to be written.

Would you remember this? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you across the breakfast table? How his hands felt, strong and sure, when he pulled you against him? The sound of his voice singing lullabies to Sara or patiently answering Suki’s endless questions?

You traced the lines of his face with gentle fingers, committing each detail to memory. Whatever happened tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret a single moment of the time you’d spent in this borrowed future—this glimpse of what could be, if you were brave enough to reach for it.

As dawn approached, you finally closed your eyes, your body curved protectively around his, as if you could somehow shield him—shield both of you—from the inevitable separation that morning would bring.

Six days had become five, then four, then three, until finally you’d arrived at the last day of your borrowed time together. Tomorrow you would return to being students, to being rivals, to being separate.

But tonight—tonight you were still husband and wife, still partners, still two people who had found each other across time and circumstance.

And that, you decided as sleep finally claimed you, was something worth fighting to remember.

-

Your heart pounded as reality settled over you. You were back at Hogwarts—in the Room of Requirement, specifically, which had transformed itself into a bedroom much smaller than the one you'd shared for the past month. Morning sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, illuminating your school uniforms draped over nearby chairs.

School uniforms. Not adult robes. Not your teaching clothes or his Auror gear.

"We're back," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"The girls," Riki said, his voice cracking. "Suki. Sara."

The names hung in the air between you, impossible weights on your hearts. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the warm room. "They're not... they don't..."

"They don't exist yet," he finished, his face ashen. He looked younger, you realized with a jolt. The subtle maturity that had marked his adult face was gone, replaced by the smoother features of a seventeen-year-old. Still handsome, but less... weathered.

You touched your own face, feeling the slight differences. No fine lines around your eyes. Fuller cheeks. You looked down at your hands—no faint scar from where you'd burned yourself making potions with Suki. No wedding ring.

"It's like it never happened," you said hollowly.

Riki stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "No. It happened. It was real. I remember everything." He turned to you, eyes wild. "You remember too, right? Please tell me you remember."

"I remember," you assured him, your voice steadier than you felt. "Every moment."

The relief on his face was palpable. "McGonagall said we would. She said the displacement would resolve itself naturally, but our memories would remain intact."

"McGonagall," you repeated. "We should talk to her. She'll know—"

The door burst open before you could finish. Professor McGonagall herself stood in the entrance, her stern expression softening slightly at the sight of you both.

"Ah, good. You're awake," she said crisply. "I see the temporal spell has resolved itself as expected."

"Professor," you began, a thousand questions crowding your mind. "The future we saw—"

"Is one possibility, Miss [Last Name]," she interrupted gently. "One of many possible futures that may come to pass."

"But it felt so real," Riki said, his fists clenching at his sides. "Those people—our children—"

"They may still come to be, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall said. "Or they may not. Time is not fixed. The future you glimpsed was formed by choices neither of you has made yet." Her gaze sharpened. "The question is whether your experience has taught you anything about the consequences of your actions."

You exchanged a glance with Riki, a silent understanding passing between you that would have been impossible a month ago.

"I believe it has, Professor," you said quietly.

"Good." She nodded briskly. "Then perhaps this entire ordeal was not without value." She checked her watch. "You've missed breakfast, but there's still time to change for your first classes. I suggest you both make haste."

With that, she turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Oh, and ten points from both your houses for the reckless spellcasting that caused this mess. Try to remember that magic is not a toy, even when provoked by..." she glanced between you, "...strong emotions."

The door closed behind her, leaving you alone with Riki once more.

An awkward silence descended. He looked so different in his rumpled school uniform, his prefect badge slightly askew. Yet his eyes were the same—the eyes that had gazed at you with tenderness as you fell asleep in his arms just last night.

Except it wasn't last night. That version of him—that version of you—was more than a decade away.

"So," he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "What happens now?"

It was the question neither of you had fully answered even during your last night together. What would you do when you returned? How could you possibly navigate the strangeness of being seventeen again, with all the memories of an adult life together?

"I don't know," you admitted. "Everything's different. But also the same."

He took a half-step toward you, then stopped himself. "Is it... are we...?" He couldn't seem to complete the thought.

You understood his hesitation. In the future, you had been equals—partners in every sense. Here, now, you were just teenagers again. The depth of feeling, the intimacy you'd shared, felt both precious and impossible in your current bodies.

"I think," you said slowly, choosing your words with care, "that we can't just pick up where we left off. We're not those people yet."

Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "You're right. We're not."

"But," you continued, needing him to understand, "I don't want to go back to hating you either."

Hope bloomed in his eyes. "I never really hated you," he confessed. "Even before all this."

"I know." You managed a small smile. "You were just trying to get my attention."

He laughed, a sound that made your heart ache with its familiarity. "It worked, didn't it?"

"A bit too well." You gestured around the room. "Got us thrown ten years into the future."

"Best mistake I ever made," he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. This was still Riki—your Riki—just younger, less certain, with all the growing up yet to do.

"We should get to class," you said, not because you wanted to leave, but because staying felt dangerous—like you might forget all the reasons why jumping back into your relationship was a bad idea.

He nodded, reaching for his school robes. "Right. Wouldn't want to lose more house points."

You gathered your own robes, hyperaware of him just a few feet away. "Riki?"

He looked up, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features. "Yes?"

"Maybe we could..." you hesitated, then pushed forward. "Maybe we could talk later? After classes?"

The smile that lit his face was so reminiscent of his older self that your chest ached. "I'd like that."

As you both prepared to face the day—the first day of your new, old lives—you couldn't help feeling that this wasn't an ending at all. It was a beginning. A chance to build the future you'd glimpsed, but this time with your eyes wide open.

Suki and Sara might not exist yet. The house with the magical extensions, the teaching career, the shared breakfasts and bedtime stories—all of it lay in a potential future, one you might or might not reach.

But as you caught Riki's eye one more time before leaving the Room of Requirement, you felt something settle in your heart. A certainty that hadn't been there before your temporal displacement.

Some paths were meant to be walked together, even if the journey began again.

-

The day passed in a blur of familiar yet suddenly strange routines. Sitting in classes you'd once taught, surrounded by peers who had no idea the person beside them was mentally a decade older—it was disorienting to say the least.

You caught glimpses of Riki throughout the day—across the Great Hall during lunch, passing in the corridor between Charms and Transfiguration, in the library during your free period. Each time, your eyes would meet briefly, a world of understanding passing between you before someone would interrupt or you'd have to move on.

News of your overnight disappearance and return had spread, of course, but the details remained vague. Most assumed it was just another chapter in your long-standing rivalry—a prank gone wrong, perhaps, or a duel that had sent you both to the hospital wing. No one could have guessed that you'd spent the missing hours living an entire month in your future.

By the time classes ended, anxiety had settled in your stomach like a lead weight. You'd told Riki you'd meet him by the lake, away from the curious eyes and gossip of your housemates. As you walked down the sloping lawn toward the water's edge, you spotted him already waiting, skipping stones across the still surface.

He looked impossibly young in his school robes, his tie loosened and hair slightly tousled by the breeze. Yet when he turned at the sound of your approach, the look in his eyes was anything but childish. It was Riki—your Riki—the one who had held you through the night and promised to find you across time.

"Hi," you said, stopping a few feet away, suddenly shy.

"Hi," he replied, letting the stone in his hand drop back to the ground. "You came."

"I said I would."

An awkward silence fell, the weight of everything you'd experienced together—everything you'd lost—hovering between you. The easy intimacy you'd developed over the past month seemed both immediate and impossibly distant.

"This is weird," he finally said, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "So weird. I keep wanting to check on the girls, and then remembering..."

"That they don't exist," he finished, pain flashing across his features. "Yet."

That single word—yet—contained so much hope, so much uncertainty.

"I went to Defense Against the Dark Arts and kept wanting to correct Professor Mays," you admitted. "I almost offered to demonstrate the Shield Charm variation I'd been teaching my fifth years."

"I sat in Potions thinking about a case I worked on last week—will work on in a decade, I guess." He shook his head. "Time travel pronouns are still confusing."

Another silence, less awkward but weighted with things unsaid.

"So," you ventured, "what happens now?"

Riki took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether it was all just the circumstances," he said, his voice low and intense. "Whether what happened between us was just because we were thrust into those roles, or if it was something real. Something that could exist here, now."

Your heart began to race. "What do you think?"

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think I've been falling for you since fifth year, but I was too stubborn and immature to admit it. I think aggravating you was the only way I knew to get your attention. And I think seeing who we could become together—who we are together—just brought to the surface feelings that were already there."

His raw honesty stole your breath.

"What about you?" he asked, vulnerability evident in every line of his body. "Was it real for you?"

You thought about the last month—the confusion, the gradual understanding, the growing affection that had blossomed into something deeper. Had it all been circumstantial? Just two people playing the roles they were thrust into?

"At first, I thought it was just the situation," you admitted. "That we were just adapting to the reality we found ourselves in."

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, accepting your words.

"But then," you continued, needing him to understand, "somewhere along the way, it changed. It became about you—not future you, not my supposed husband—just you, Riki. The way you were with the girls. The way you looked at me. The person I saw beneath all the bravado and pranks."

Hope bloomed in his eyes, cautious but undeniable.

"I want to be your boyfriend," he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "Not in ten years. Now. Here." He stepped forward and took your hands in his, his grip almost painfully tight. "I don't want to be anyone else's, and I don't want you to be anyone else's either."

The intensity in his gaze nearly buckled your knees. This was Riki stripped of all pretense—raw, vulnerable, offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a plea. "Kiss me, kiss me, please. I've been thinking about it all day—wondering if it would feel the same, if you'd taste the same—"

You silenced him the only way you could, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips to his. The kiss was different from those you'd shared in the future—more hesitant, less practiced—but the spark was the same, the connection immediate and electric.

His hands released yours to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you with increasing certainty. You curled your fingers into the front of his robes, anchoring yourself to him.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you go completely.

"So," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips, "is that a yes?"

"Yes," you confirmed, your own smile breaking free. "But on one condition."

"Anything."

"No more turning my hair pink during exams."

He laughed, the sound lightening something in your chest. "I make no such promises. Besides, you looked good with pink hair."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't maintain your stern expression. "We're going to have to tell people, you know. Our friends. Our families eventually."

"Let them talk," he said, unconcerned. "They'll get used to it. Might even win a few bets—I'm pretty sure half the school has money on when we'd finally figure things out."

The casual way he spoke of your relationship—as if it was inevitable, as if you were always meant to find each other—settled something inside you. The future you'd glimpsed might not happen exactly as you'd seen it, but the essential truth remained: you and Riki belonged together, in any timeline.

"So," he said, taking your hand as you began to walk back toward the castle, "think we'll name our first daughter Suki when the time comes?"

"Don't push your luck, Nishimura," you warned, but you squeezed his hand all the same.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just planning ahead. I've got a lot of memories to make real."

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear. "Speaking of memories... are you planning to keep me 'thoroughly fucked' in this timeline too? Or was that just a future perk?"

"Riki!" You glanced around, mortified though no one was within earshot.

"What?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. "It's a legitimate question about our relationship parameters."

You elbowed him, but couldn't completely hide your smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're dating me now." His grin widened. "Just wondering if I need to earn certain... privileges again, or if there's a temporal grandfather clause."

"You're definitely earning everything from scratch," you informed him primly.

"Challenge accepted," he replied without missing a beat. "Though I do hope you'll give me hints. Like whether you're wearing the same slytherin green underwear from our future, or if I need to charm them off you to find out?"

"You wouldn't dare."

His laugh was warm and intimate, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening chill. "No, I wouldn't. Not without your permission." His voice softened. "I remember what you like. What we like together. And I'm looking forward to rediscovering every bit of it—properly this time."

As the castle rose before you, warm light spilling from its windows into the gathering dusk, you felt a curious mixture of loss and hope. You had lost a life, but gained a future—one that you would build together, step by step, choice by choice, with all the patience and passion that your journey had taught you.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

[citysuk]

a baby?! | logan howlett

pairing: xmen!logan howlett x pregnant!reader

summary: some headcanons of logan with a pregnant partner.

notes: logan is so husband (not actually married) material 😭😭😭 i needed to write this for my man.

warnings: pregnancy kajsksa (it scares me to death), so much fluffy fluff. no proofread. no use of y/n but no oc neither.

Logan's protective nature would go into overdrive when you are pregnant. He'd be extra vigilant, watching your every move and refusing to let you out of his sight. "You ain't goin' nowhere, darlin'," he'd growl.

Logan would be constantly fussing over you, making sure you're eating right and taking care of yourself. He'd become a regular at the grocery store, stocking up on the necessary supplies for your pregnancy. "Can't have my baby going hungry," he'd say, tossing another loaf of bread into the cart.

Logan would be a pro at soothing you through the uncomfortable parts of pregnancy. He'd rub your back when you had cramps, hold your hair when you were sick, and provide as much comfort as he could. "It's gonna be okay," he'd murmur. "Just a few more months."

Logan would be eager to feel the baby kick and move inside your belly. He would place his hand on your stomach, feeling every little movement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Hey there, little one," he'd whisper.

Logan would take you for late night walks in the gardens, his arm protectively around your waist, your steps slow and measured. He'd breathe in the night air, a rare peacefulness settling over him. "Can't wait to meet our kid," he'd say quietly, squeezing your hand.

Logan might be a bit nervous about being a father, but he would never let it show. He'd put on a brave front, masking his fears with his usual gruff exterior, but would secretly be reading every parenting book he can find.

As the due date got closer, Logan would become increasingly anxious. He'd be extra cautious, carrying you up and down the stairs and insisting that you rest as much as possible. "Can't have anything happen to you or the baby," he'd say, his eyes filled with worry.

Despite his tough exterior, Logan would be secretly excited about decorating the nursery. He'd take you to every baby shop in town, helping you pick out the perfect crib and the perfect color for the walls (he's the one putting everything together).

When the baby is finally born, Logan would be there, holding your hand, coaching you through the delivery. He'd whisper words of encouragement, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You're doing great, darlin'."

As soon as he lays eyes on his child, Logan's heart would instantly fill with love. He'd be torn between staring at the baby and checking on you, a range of emotions playing on his face.

Logan would be the ultimate doting father. He'd change diapers, give baths, and rock the baby to sleep. He'd sing lullabies and tell bedtime stories, his voice gruff but his words soft.

Logan would have a love/hate relationship with the baby's first word. When they said "Dada" for the first time, he'd puff up with pride, but then be secretly disappointed that it wasn't "Mama."

He would have a collection of silly nicknames for the baby, ranging from "Cub" to "Little One". He'd sometimes slip into Wolven mode and playfully growl at the baby, making them giggle.

Logan would be incredibly overprotective of the baby. Anytime someone tried to hold them, he'd hesitate and watch hawkishly. He wouldn't let anyone but his partner and the X-Men near the child, always on high alert for any potential threat. "Ain't nobody touchin' my kid, bub," he'd growl, eyes narrowed.

Logan would be the one to handle the late-night feedings and soothe the baby back to sleep. "Can't let your mama get too exhausted," he'd mutter as he rocked the baby in his arms.

Logan would be careful when the baby started walking and crawling, especially around the danger-prone X- Mansion. He'd constantly be on edge every time the baby would try to grab something sharp or crawl towards a dangerous area. "Watch yourself there, squirt," he'd say, scooping them up before they could get into trouble.

Logan would also be a very hands-on father. He'd want to teach the child everything he knows, from fighting to the wilderness. He'd take them camping and teach them how to survive in the wild. "Gotta be tough like your old man," he'd say.

Even though Logan would claim he wasn't the type to get attached to kids (LIAR), he'd secretly have a soft spot for the one you had created together.

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[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!

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : STAY WITH ME (PT.5) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ 2017!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and smut ;))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Explicit, 18+, smut, piv, Sad Logan, mentions of violence, strong language

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: you wake up to find Logan trapped in a violent nightmare, accidentally injuring you in his panic. Overcome with guilt and fear of losing control, Logan is calmed only when you use your powers to soothe him, reassuring him of your safety and love. This moment of vulnerability deepens into a passionate and tender encounter, where both of you reaffirm your bond and commitment to face the darkness together.

Previous Part | Next Part

YOU WOKE UP ABRUPTLY, YOUR SENSES JOLTED INTO ALERTNESS BY LOGAN’D RESTLESS MOVEMENTS.

He kept turning over, his body twisting and turning as if trying to escape some unseen terror. His mumbling was incoherent but urgent, the sound filled with distress.

Gently, you tried to wake him, but he remained ensnared in his torment. You tried again. “Logan wake up.” You whispered while holding onto his arm. Nothing. Desperation mounting, you reached into your own untapped potential and used your mind-reading powers on Logan for the first time. Horrific images flooded your mind—dark, chaotic scenes of violence and loss, echoing Logan's troubled past.

Determined, you tried once more to wake him. “Logan please wake up.” You said a little louder this time while being hunched over him. This time, Logan startled awake, his metal claws unsheathing instinctively.

One claw grazed your arm, leaving a thin line of blood, but relief washed over you as he returned to the present, the nightmare finally dispelled.

Logan's eyes flew open, wild and unfocused at first, but then they locked onto your face. Relief washed over his features as he realized he was no longer trapped in his nightmare. But his gaze quickly dropped to your arm, where a thin line of blood marked the path of his claw. "Fuck, I hurt you." he whispered, his voice thick with self-recrimination.

Panic and guilt flooded his eyes as he pulled away slightly.

You reached out to him, trying to calm him down. "Logan, it's okay. It's just a scratch." But he wasn't listening. "I hurt you." he repeated, his voice growing louder and more frantic. "I can't believe I hurt you."

Seeing that words alone weren't enough, you focused your powers once again. Gently, you reached into his mind, soothing the turbulent emotions. “Calm.” You breathed. Gradually, his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed. He looked at you, the anger and panic in his eyes subsiding. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice breaking, but this time he was calm enough to hear you.

"It's okay, Logan. I'm fine," you assured him, your hand resting gently on his. "I'm fine."

Logan's eyes, still shadowed with guilt, softened as he took your arm gently in his hands. He moved quickly, retrieving a first aid kit from the nightstand. With careful precision, he cleaned the scratch, his touch tender and methodical. He applied a bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as if to reassure himself that you were truly okay.

Despite his efforts, you could see the lingering fear and anger in his eyes, his jaw clenched with self-reproach. Wanting to soothe his troubled mind, you moved closer, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. "Logan, I'm okay," you whispered, looking into his eyes, trying to convey the depth of your sincerity. You leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

Logan immediately kissed back, a desperate urgency in his touch as if he needed to feel your presence, to be reassured of your safety. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you closer. The intensity of the moment grew, the air thickening with shared need and passion. As you melted into each other, the kiss turned into something more intimate.

Logan's lips moved with a fierce intensity, his need palpable, but you could feel the vulnerability beneath it, the deep-seated fear of losing control again.

You responded with equal fervor, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed yourself closer to him, desperate to reassure him with your touch.

His hands were everywhere, mapping the familiar terrain of your body with a newfound urgency.

He pulled you impossibly closer, his mouth trailing down your jaw to the sensitive spot on your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the tremor in his hands, the way he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if afraid that he might hurt you again.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

His gaze softened, the wildness in his eyes slowly giving way to something more tender, though the storm within him was far from gone.

You could see it, swirling just beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—an undeniable hunger, a need that went beyond physical desire. It was a need for connection, for reassurance, for the intimacy that had always brought the two of you together.

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the feel of his lips against yours. His response was immediate, but this time it was gentler, more controlled.

His hands slid under your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he explored your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. It was as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you, to remind himself that you were real, that you were safe.

You arched into him, your own need growing with each passing moment. “Logan,” you breathed against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet plea. His name was a prayer, a plea for him to continue, to take what he needed and to let you give him what he so desperately sought.

He seemed to understand, his grip tightening on your waist as he gently laid you back against the bed. He hovered above you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission. You nodded, your hands reaching up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

With a soft growl, Logan dipped his head to capture your lips once more, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he began to undress you. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with an intensity that made your heart race, but there was also a gentleness to it, a carefulness that showed just how much he treasured you.

His lips followed the path his hands had taken, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You could feel the tension in his body, the barely contained restraint as he held himself back, his every movement measured and controlled. He wanted to savor this, to take his time, and you were more than willing to let him.

Your hands moved over his broad chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his skin, the scars that marked his body telling stories of battles long fought and survived. He was a warrior, a protector, but in this moment, he was just a man—a man who needed to be reminded that he was loved, that he was cherished, that he was more than the sum of his past.

As he moved lower, his mouth tracing a path down your body, you let out a soft moan, your fingers tightening in his hair. The sound seemed to spur him on, his hands gripping your hips as he settled between your thighs.

He took his time, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving you to the brink again and again until you were trembling beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

When he finally moved back up to kiss you, you could taste yourself on his lips, the intimacy of the act sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

He lined himself up with you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming, the slow stretch of him inside you almost too much to bear, but it was perfect, the perfect blend of pleasure and pain.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you arched into him, needing to feel him as deeply as possible. His movements were slow, deliberate, each thrust measured and controlled as if he was afraid of losing himself, of letting go and giving in to the darkness that always seemed to linger at the edges of his mind.

But you weren’t afraid. You knew him, all of him—the light and the dark, the man and the beast. You loved every part of him, and you wanted him to know that, to feel it in every kiss, every touch, every whispered word of encouragement.

“Logan,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you urged him on. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His response was a low growl, the sound vibrating through his chest as he picked up the pace, his control slipping just enough to let the intensity of his need show.

The rhythm between you became faster, more desperate, the connection between you deepening with each movement.

You could feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building to a crescendo as you clung to him, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

Logan was close too, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck as he buried his face in your hair, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body shuddering beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan followed soon after, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside you, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he collapsed against you, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you lay entwined in each other’s arms, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Logan’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

But you weren’t going anywhere. You were his, and he was yours, and together, you would face whatever came next.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest, your voice soft but filled with conviction.

Logan tightened his grip on you, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and your heart beating in time with his, you knew that everything would be okay. The nightmares would come again, and the darkness would always be there, but you would face it together, and that was all that mattered.

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wet dreams - (pg8)

summary: pedri's special way of waking you up ;)

warning: smut. minors do not interact!!

It wasn't often that you slept in. Whether it was because of uni or because you wanted to make your boyfriend breakfast before he leaves for training, early mornings were a part of your routine.

Today was an exception, you didn't have to go to university until the afternoon, so it was finally the day when it wasn't necessary to put an alarm.

When Pedri stirred, stretching his muscled arms out with a small yawn, his dark brown orbs fluttered open, immediately turning to his side to look at you. You looked so peaceful, your chest rising and falling with every breath you took. Pedri smiled to himself, reaching out to put a strand of hair that was in your face behind your ear, his touch soft and tender, careful not to wake you up.

The moment you laid from your side to your back, the covers slid just enough to reveal your chest, your perky nipples immediately making Pedri's pupils dilate, his mind going to the night before.

He bit down on his lower lip, fighting back the urge to run a hand over your breasts. He wasn't a fan of touching you in such an intimate way without having your consent, no matter how many times you'd told him you wouldn't mind to wake up to his face between your thighs.

You've taken him by surprise when a quiet hum left your slightly parted lips, his chocolate eyes moving from your tits to your face, taking in your messy bed hair. Even in moments like this, when his morning wood physically hurt him, he couldn't help but look at you lovingly, his gaze filled with eternal love.

Pedri smirked, and he stated 'why not?' as he started lowering himself to press wet, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone, moving lower to the valley between your breast.

Your peaceful dream has suddenly taken a turn between dreamland and reality, your mind still half asleep as you tried to figure out if what you were feeling is real or just a dream. Regardless, you hummed, laying on your back more comfortably and nuzzling your head into the pillow, giving him more access to your body. Pedri took this as a sign to continue, he looked up at you, seeing that your eyes were still closed, his tongue darted out to tease your nipple, while his hand took care of the other one.

That sensation alone was enough to convince you of reality, your lips curling into a sleepy smile as Pedri pulled the covers to the side, revealing your bare body to him as he continued to kiss down your body, his tongue tasting your skin ever so lightly as he settled between your thighs, his lips leaving love bites. He finally looked up at you, his hands softly caressing your thighs as you hummed and whimpered, a smirk on his lips as he saw your sleepy-lust filled expression.

"Abre las piernas para mí, muñeca," he instructed and you couldn't help but do so, your thoughts filled with the dirtiest images the human brain could imagine. (spread your legs for me, doll)

Pedri's fingers ran over your inner thighs, his touch light and teasing as he eyed your glistening core, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip in anticipation. One of his hands moved to your hip, holding you down against the soft mattress as his finger ran over your folds, producing a dirty, wet sound that made his blind go blank for a second before regaining composure, his two fingers spreading your pussy in front of him. He enjoyed how desperate you were for him, how you bucked your hips begging for more, and he was going to give you everything you asked for.

His breaths came out in short pants, seeing you leak your juices around his fingers as you clenched around nothing. Pedri smirked up at you, obviously loving how you responded to his touch, he was filled with pride and arrogance, knowing he is the only one that gets to see this side of you.

Ending the cruel teasing, he finally lowered himself to your pussy, his brown eyes locked on yours, his fluffy and messy hair (😔😔) resting on his forehead. He ran his tongue over your folds, collecting your juices with the tip of his tongue as you moaned and arched your back into him. Pedri closed his eyes for a moment, savoring your taste against his tongue as he groaned, the vibration only making your thighs tremble even more.

His tongue moved up to your clit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced skill as his mouth sucked on it. Pulling away slightly, Pedri tore his eyes from you, instead, he looked at your pussy, his finger teasing your entrance, making you whimper with need. He smiled wickedly, his chin and stubble glistening with your juices as he did so, slowly sliding a finger inside of you and groaning at the warm, wet place.

"Estás tan necesitada, nena. Tan preparada para mí, tan mojada," he groaned, his middle finger starting to move in and out of you at a slow, steady pace. (you're so needy, baby. so ready for me, so wet.)

"Más," you managed to breathe out, looking down at him through your eyelashes as he rested between your thighs, watching his middle finger move in and out of you with sloppy sounds that seemed to fade away in the background of your moans.

You gasped and tilted your head back, your eyes closing shut as not only did you feel him add his ring finger, but also felt his tongue and mouth on your clit again, moving more rapidly this time. You moaned, his name rolling off your tongue like honey as his fingers seemed to hit every single one of your sweet spots, curling in that perfect way to push you closer to your orgasm, your sleep long forgotten.

The knot in your stomach tightened, making you clench around his fingers tightly, your hand tangling in his hair and guiding his movements to prevent him from edging you, your moans becoming more loud and desperate as your body spasmed with the intensity of your orgasm. Pedri helped you ride it out, his fingers sliding out of you as they got replaced by his tongue, licking and slurping on your juice like his life depended on it.

As you panted, trying to catch your breath, Pedri lifted himself up, his glistening lips formed into a grin, clearly pleased by how you two started the morning.

"Creo que podría acostumbrarme a mañanas como esta," he said cheekily, kissing your stomach and chest as he towered over you, coming face to face with you, still grinning as his eyes shined with mischief.

You chuckled, wiping his mouth and chin with your palm before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Y creo que podría acostumbrarme a despertarme así," you grinned back with a cheeky giggle. (and i think i could get used to waking up like this) "Round 2?"

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ..."

Word count: 3,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

MEETING — 1. Her.

Her legs, without any command and with an unstoppable perseverance, set off through the labyrinthine corridors of the red keep towards her mother's chambers long before the phrase fully reached her ears, the one she had so longed for: "The baby has been born, my princess."

Her family was her most loved treasure and when her mother announced the big news, time seemed to slow down. She couldn't wait to have that baby in her arms and cherish every second the gods, those she fervently prayed to, would allow her to spend with him.

Every night, in silent supplications, she repeated to any who would listen: "Please, let him be born healthy. Please, take care of my mother."

Rhaenyra painfully held in her heart the memory of her mother Aemma's early departure from the world. She wanted to shield her little ones from all fear and anguish, so she didn't dwell on details about that traumatic episode, one that, despite the years, remained as a deep and open wound. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the whispers, those that seeped into her daughter's ears, creating such intense fear that she barely had room to breathe during those long nine months.

She felt a smile so wide it would ache her cheeks later and feet that weren't fast enough. Upon reaching the large wooden door, she took a few seconds to take a deep breath, calm her racing nerves, and finally push it open with determination.

Her entrance went unnoticed, as all eyes in the room were on the small human being now peacefully resting in her father's arms.

Except hers, no, those were on the woman sitting on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her hair tousled and a tired expression adorned her face; yet never, in her short years on this earth, had she seen her so beautiful.

"Mother" she murmured almost voicelessly, taking her hands in hers and seeking her gaze. She felt her eyes sting, tears threatening to spill, and a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to speak again, but her voice got lost along the way. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary; Rhaenyra knew her as well as herself and could read her like an open book.

"My love, please, have no fear, we are okay" with those simple words, her lungs filled with air, swelling her chest. She let out a sigh, laden with relief, laden with love. She could only nod in response.

"Sister, look!" Jacaerys exclaimed, drawing her attention. He lifted the lid of the large steel chest, releasing steam and revealing a dragon egg. 

"We choose an egg for the baby" Lucerys added.

"That looks like the perfect one, brothers" she said with a smile, though a bittersweet taste filled her mouth. Unlike her brothers, her own egg had never hatched, a disappointment she carried permanently with her, though she tried not to show it in these moments of happiness.

"I let Luke choose" he said, she messed up the younger one's hair and planted a kiss on his head.

"Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, my princess, I thought it best to escort the lads" intervened Harwin Strong, adorned in his imposing armor and golden cloak. It didn't surprise her seeing him there; in fact, despite having a different last name, she considered him part of her family.

He was her protector, who always escorted her to her room, pampered her with luxurious books, and listened attentively to every word she said. She had more memories of him than of her own father, but she didn't complain; she knew he was a busy man. Harwin had tried to teach her the art of the sword, insisting on the importance of knowing how to defend herself, but she always found herself more interested in books. Besides, she had the feeling that he would never neglect watching her back.

"Laenor and I thank you, Commander" she heard her mother say.

"Father, may I see it?" she asked. Laenor knelt down, allowing the three of them to meet the new member of the family. It only took one look for him to completely captivate her. She mentally swore that nothing would ever harm him as long as she breathed. "What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?"

"Another boy, I heard" Harwin cleared his throat. "Might I?" he asked, seeking her mother's approval. She thought she saw a glimpse of the same relief that filled her eyes.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey" she said, smiling. Upon hearing that name, her lips formed another smile. Of course, she would have been equally happy if it were a girl, but she was glad to still be the only one. It had its advantages.

"Of course" Laenor agreed. Rising, he gently placed Joffrey in Harwin's arms.

"Joffrey, is it?" her father nodded in agreement to the question.

"Mother, please may I hold Joffrey?" she asked excitedly, reaching out her arms towards him. A futile attempt, of course, the man in front of her easily doubled her height.

"No, mother, let me go first! I'm the strongest, I won't let him fall!" her twin brother vociferated.

"I won't let him fall either!" she countered.

Her younger brother joined in the pleas, arguing that he had the right because he was the youngest. Soon, the words melded into an indistinguishable uproar, as all three clamored in unison.

"No, no, no" her father hastened as Harwin turned his back to them, trying to prevent the disturbances from reaching the ears of the newborn.

"I think you left your septa waiting, my little lady, and back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party" he ushered the three younger ones out of the room, and gently pushed their shoulders, guiding them down the hallway. First, towards the room she had left only minutes ago, where her septa awaited along with Helaena, her mother's younger sister.

Her father left her at the door, and the expression on her face, the one she believed she was successfully hiding, betrayed her. Laenor crouched down to her height, gently taking her cheeks in his hands, making her look at him.

"You know, Leana had an egg that didn't hatch... and she didn't ride a dragon until she was five and ten. Now she rides Vhagar," he tried to cheer her up, "your time will come, dear daughter, I promise."

She was filled with hope at her father's promises. He always had the right words. She thanked the man she loved so much with a kiss on the cheek, and now with renewed energy, she entered the room.

Despite the repeated complaints from the septa, they remained on the floor; she leaned her back against the wall, while Helaena rested her head on her legs. She explored the pages of the book while playing with her hair, and when a passage caught her attention, she read it aloud to her aunt, who entertained herself by watching a long insect walk on her hands. They didn't share the same interests, not even could it be said that they understood each other, but they enjoyed each other's company and were grateful of having another princess of almost the same age as a confidante.

"This one has 60 rings and two pairs of legs on each. That's 240" remarked Helaena.

"Yes, you're right, I think... Did you know that Vhagar is 170 years old?" she responded, her eyes widening at the new information. "That's exceptional."

"The last ring doesn't have legs," Helaena pointed out, overlooking her niece, more interested in the insect "it has eyes, though I don't believe it can see."

She furrowed her brow. "Why is that so?"

"It's beyond our understanding."

She didn't know how much time they had spent in that position, but when she shifted her attention from the book due to noises approaching from the corridors, she noticed that the septa had already left and in her place was Alicent. The new companion was sitting a few meters away from them, holding a cup of tea and with her gaze lost in the window.

Suddenly, two king’s guards burst into the room, each holding one of Aemond's arms, alarming her.

"Your Grace" they left without waiting for any response, closing the doors behind them.

"Aemond, what have you done?" Alicent approached him quickly, scrutinizing him, and exclaimed exasperatedly while gripping his shoulders firmly, "after how many times you’ve been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?"

"They made me do it!" the young prince shouted in his defense.

"As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding" she furrowed her brow again upon noticing the same phrase that had come out of Helaena's mouth minutes ago.

Returning her attention to the argument in front of her, she noted that the prince's platinum hair and his green garments were stained black. Realization fell into her, she widened her eyes, astonished. Had he really ventured into the dragon pit? Alone?

"They gave me a pig!"

"A what?" the queen asked.

"They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig" detailed, his voice breaking slightly.

She knew Aegon and she knew her brothers, and even though she was certain the last two had only been pawns used in the prank, a mixture of anger and disappointment washed over her. How could they tease and deceive the good prince in such a way? Worse still, with something that was also the cause of her tears.

"If he wants one, he'll have to close one eye" the princess beside her said, her gaze still fixed on the tiny entity. She spoke loud enough for only her to hear.

Her words were puzzling, and she didn't know how to interpret them. They could either indicate that she was still in her little world or suggest something deeper; it wouldn't be the first time for either option. She had heard her say... things before; at first, they seemed like mere nonsensical words, and suddenly something happened, something that reminded her of her words, something that led her to believe that her aunt had some kind of magic. No one had paid much attention to her when she shared her theory, dismissing it with disdain, saying they were just coincidences. But to her, it seemed like more than mere chance connections.

"Everyone laughed" Aemond murmured, trying to hide his sadness. Her anger now replaced by deep empathy. Alicent wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back.

The prince looked just as distressed as he left the hug and walked away as he did when he entered. It reminded her of her own feelings of desolation and loneliness, and she thought that there was no one in the kingdom who could understand her like he did. Not really.

She always had a special connection with Jace, a twin connection, as they enjoyed calling it. They understood each other with just looks, laughed at the same jokes, and shared the same tastes, except for the obvious; he loved his sword, she preferred her books. On the other hand, Luke had always been her little and spoiled one, her sweet and innocent child. That's why the situation had affected her so much. She didn't believe her brothers had meant to hurt Aemond, but they did anyway. They were insensitive, and she didn't want to see them grow up like Aegon, who with his character showed that he didn't know the true meaning of consequences.

It had been a few days since the incident in the pit and the birth of her brother, who was under the care of Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting.

She tried not to lift her gaze from her plate and ate in silence, ignoring her brothers, offering them only monosyllabic responses. She was furious and intended to make it obvious. She huffed in frustration, trying to get her mother's attention so she could bring up the issue to the table.

"My dear, what troubles your mind?" she heard her mother ask as she gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Mother, have you heard about the incident in the dragon pit?" noticing her mother's concerned and confused look, she hurried to reassure her, "no one is hurt... not physically, at least."

"What happened?" her mother looked inquisitively at her sons, their heads looking down, ashamed.

"Jace, Luke, and Aegon played a prank on Prince Aemond. They told him they had a dragon for him and gave him a pig with wings, they even named it! Pink Dread." The children couldn't contain their laughter at the memory, which only made her angrier.

"Is that true?" her mother asked, wiping the smile from both their faces. It wasn't common to hear her upset or see her with a serious expression.

"It was just a joke!" Jace tried to justify.

"Aegon planned it!" Luke interjected.

"I don't want to hear justifications" she silenced them. "What if that joke had been towards your sister? Would you still be laughing?"

"It's different" Jace muttered, while Luke's lip trembled in a pout.

"No, it's not. Tomorrow during training, you will offer the appropriate apologies. From the heart. Aemond is family, and we must look out for each other. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, mother" they chorused, serious and repentant.

"Now you may retire to your chambers and think about what you've done," their mother pronounced, and before they could respond, she added, "no complaints." They nodded and left in silence.

"I think Aemond could use some kind words, don't you agree?" Rhaenyra suggested minutes later, breaking the silence. She responded with a smile, thanking her for understanding the importance of this to her. "Who better than you to do it?" She rose from her seat and embraced her gently, for she could see her still in pain. She planted a kiss on her forehead, the kind she cherished so much.

"Rest, mother. I'll ask the maester to make you some tea."

She smiled after hearing her daughter, thinking that any pain felt and to be felt would be an insignificant price to pay considering all she had gained. Jace, the next heir to the throne, who would reign with peace and intelligence; Luke and Joffrey, who would be the greatest and most honorable knights; and her daughter, her eternal and sweet companion.

There was no need to ask questions; she knew where to find him. A few floors up was the library, her second room, her refuge, where the world became a little quieter and she could transport herself to other times, places and lives.

She ascended the long stairs quickly, and within minutes, she stood at the door. This hallway had always been one of the least traveled, practically deserted, except for them and the king’s guards. It seemed there weren't many avid readers in the keep.

They used to be at opposite ends of the table, immersed in each of their books. She had always wanted to talk to him, ask him what he was reading and maybe ask him to teach her High Valyrian. However, she never did; she had been too shy in his presence, and Aemond's distant form didn't help. Perhaps he was shy like her.

Or perhaps he simply didn't want to talk to her.

She tried to push those thoughts to the back of her mind as she entered the library. She smiled to herself when she saw she hadn't been wrong.

"Good morrow, uncle" she announced her arrival as she headed to the usual shelf and picked up the book she had left halfway through a few days ago.

"Good morrow, niece" he responded with his usual seriousness.

She walked to the table and hesitated. Should she sit closer to him this time? She didn't want to invade his space, but she also didn't believe that a conversation should start at a distance.

She arrived at the table before deciding and stood there for a few seconds. She ended up placing her book at the usual spot and sat down, feeling uncomfortable.

Why was she feeling this way? She wasn't the one who played a distasteful joke, besides, he was family; they had grown up together in the castle, it shouldn't be so difficult.

Suddenly, she felt warmth engulf her when she noticed Aemond looking at her, puzzled. With the book still closed, her cheeks turned red as she realized she had been staring at him all this time, lost in her thoughts. She mentally cursed herself and searched for the page she was on. He looked away, not saying a word.

Her mother had asked her to talk to him and she had really wanted to, so she didn't understand why she found it so hard to approach him.

She audibly sighed and abruptly closed her book. He did the same seconds later. As always.

It was curious; every time they were here, they seemed… united, connected in their readings; when she finished, he did too, shortly after. They put away their books, and he walked to the exit, hurriedly, and then held the door, patiently waiting for her to exit. They parted ways upon reaching the floor of their chambers, all without exchanging a word other than greetings or thanks.

The king and the queen did a good job with him and Helaena. She couldn't say the same about Aegon, unfortunately.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before he got up from his chair, so, with her book in hand, marched towards him.

Aemond furrowed his brow; he didn't seem upset, rather bewildered by the new proximity when she took the seat to his right and opened her book again, an action he imitated seconds later.

She found it impossible to read; she observed the page, but the words blurred together as her mind was occupied with something else. How should she start? It was clear they had something in common. Two things, in fact. Long conversations weren't necessary to know it, so she ventured there.

She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention, without success. Then, timidly, she placed her hand on his, causing an immediate reaction.

He remained still, stunned by her movements. He just looked at her, with eyes wider than usual. It was then that she realized how different they were from the rest of their family. Her grandsire, her mother, Aegon, Helaena, they all had eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day. But not him, his were darker, bluer, with a trace of purple in them. As deep as the sea, and as beautiful as a sapphire. His hair was straighter, platinum, and even softer, she would dare to say.

How she wished to have the Targaryen attributes, just as distinctive as they were beautiful. Another one of her biggest insecurities and sorrows. It wasn't uncommon for people to be surprised when they saw her and her siblings next to their parents, as they hadn't inherited such beauty. They were equally pale, but with a tumultuous mane, full of curls, of the darkest black and eyes sometimes green, sometimes brown.

Once again, she felt the red fill her cheeks, her gaze lost in him as her thoughts swirled.

"Do you know that my father's sister also had an unhatched egg? Just like us," she said, softly, looking him in the eyes and trying to comfort him, "now she's the rider of Vhagar, the oldest, largest, and most feared dragon in the entire kingdom." 

She waited for a response that didn't come. "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" then added. He only nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers, "I wanted to apologize."

Now with a confused look, Aemond finally decided to respond, "why?"

"They shouldn't have done it... It was cruel." Understanding dawned on him.

"No need to apologize for something that you did not do, niece." She couldn't help but smile at his words. Was he always so serious and formal? She thought he was like an adult trapped in the body of a little boy. An old soul.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired.

"Yes, of course."

"Did you really enter the dragon pit? Alone?" she asked, curious. She noticed his face changing, a smirk of pride forming, his lips curling up into a small smile as he straightened up in his chair, now more upright.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you see any?"

"Yes, but it was too dark to know which one..." he began, with a spark in his eyes, and noticing her attentive gaze, he decided to continue "it throwed fire in my direction" he added, her eyes wider than before, conveying her astonishment.

"Gods! You must have been so terrified."

"Not really" he simply responded.

"That was... you're incredibly brave, my prince. I wouldn't have had the courage" she said and received a wide smile in return. She had never called him "my prince" before and she had never seen him smile.

She continued to listen attentively. No history book had ever excited her as much as the prince's adventures, and seeing him so enthusiastic about telling them filled her chest with something she didn't know how to name. Something warm. She liked it.

Despite it being their first real conversation, and the first time they looked each other in the eyes, there was a mutual understanding, a connection, different, special. One that went beyond being dragonless riders or relatives raised under the same roof.

It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when she felt a knock on the doors and a voice announcing that it was supper time and Alicent awaited for her son's presence. Both of them showed disappointment at the interruption; he seemed to have so much more to say and she hadn't had enough of his words. She thought she could listen to him for the rest of her days.

"Forgive me, niece, I must have tired your ears," he said before standing up, "and I didn't ask about your stories; you must think me rude." His words elicited a laugh from her lips, as it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Not at all, I would have liked to keep listening to you. Besides, I don't have stories as brave as yours, and I wouldn't want to bore you to exhaustion" she replied.

Once they had put the books back in their place, they walked to the door.

"I do not think that's possible" Aemond communicated with his hand on the doorknob. There was silence as they descended the stairs with the guards behind them.

"Goodnight, my princess" he said once they reached the floor, calling her that way for the first time.

"Goodnight, my prince."

"Perhaps tomorrow we could... continue?" It came out almost as a whisper from Aemond's lips. A smile on hers.

"Nothing would make me happier."

[eiralunaire]

Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind they shared when words were unnecessary. Damian raised a hand to touch one of the braids Reader had made, noticing the care with which she had woven them. It was such a simple gesture, and yet filled with an intimacy that unnerved him.

“What was the worst part of that mission?” he asked suddenly, breaking the calm.

Reader lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him with a soft smile, though her eyes shone with something deeper, a mix of tiredness and sincerity.

“Seeing a little girl trapped in the rubble,” she said quietly. “She was alone, crying… It reminded me of me when I was little.”

Damian looked at her silently, his green eyes taking in every detail of her expression. He knew Reader avoided talking about her past unless it was strictly necessary. He had learned not to push her, but every time she let it slip, he felt a knot in his chest that he couldn't undo.

"Were you able to get her out?" he asked softly, even though he already knew the answer. If he hadn't managed to do so, Reader wouldn't be there, calmly, telling him about it.

She nodded, her smile returning, albeit with a melancholic tone.

"Yes. She was terrified, but when I told her everything was going to be okay, she stopped crying. I took her to the nearest shelter." He paused, playing with the hem of his shirt before continuing. "But I couldn't stay long. There was more to do."

Damian reached out a hand and placed it over hers, squeezing it lightly. He wasn't one for displays of affection, but with Reader, he felt he could make exceptions.

"You did more than most would have done," he said, with a seriousness that brooked no doubt. "You saved her life. That's what matters."

Reader looked at him, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, she squeezed his hand in response and leaned into him, resting her forehead against his.

“Thank you, Damian. Seriously.”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. But as always, he couldn't help but be himself.

“That doesn't mean you should neglect yourself in the future. If you fall off a roof again, I promise I'll lecture you until you regret telling me.”

Reader laughed, her light, melodious voice filling the space. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her dimples making an appearance.

“And I promise to keep surviving so you can lecture me all the times you want.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a slight smile. Though he would never admit it, the chaos Reader brought to his life was exactly what he needed. And as long as she was safe, he could put up with anything, even braids.

Part One

[bloodbenderz]

there was a lot of mistakes made in the live action but the worst one without reservation was that the creators did not understand patriarchy and they did not understand women's liberation outside of an american context ( or any context if we're being honest )

it's easy to see on a surface level how that fucked up katara's whole character how she wasn't allowed to have her character defining moments how she wasn't allowed to be angry or even excited or impulsive but i think it doesn't really become clear how deeply wrong the show's conception of gender & patriarchy is (and the implications for the political landscape of the show) until you get into how they destroyed sokka's character too

sokka's whole Complex is born of patriarchy. i'm not trying to do men's rights advocacy here but in my experience when a people is under constant threat, constant assault, constant violence (much of which is gendered) and the traditional "protectors" or "providers" of that people are men, the masculine role becomes protecting women and children. i am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing but it is true the narrative of violent resistance is overwhelmingly about men. to be a man in a time & place like this means fighting to protect your women, & to die for them is honorable. that is where sokka gets this idea that he has to be a warrior & he has to fight & if necessary die for katara & the rest of the tribe. it's about duty. everyone has a part to play, a role to fill

everyone including women! which is the other half of this. the duty of women is to keep up the home, to maintain a country worth fighting & dying for, to raise children so that the community can have a future. it becomes especially obvious in the context of the show when you see how the nwt lives & in specific how yue lives and dies.

many women participate in patriarchy. many colonized women participate in patriarchy. most of my family comes from or still lives in a country completely devastated by colonialism & its aftereffects & many women in my family believe wholeheartedly in the idea that everyone in the house has a role to play. it's not because these women are stupid or they hate themselves. but when you grow up believing that men & women are fundamentally different, and seeing that women are in specific danger because of their gender, it actually makes a lot of sense to expect the men in your family to protect you, and to raise your sons that way.

in practice that means that men aren't really expected to do anything around the house, especially when there's no actual danger. my aunt literally 2 days ago told me this lol like she doesn't make her sons do anything bc she wants to let their lives be easy before they have to go out into the world & take care of their wives & children.

what does women's liberation look like when an entire community is under threat? colonized women have been dealing with this question as long as colonialism has existed. the writers of this show don't even pretend to understand the question, much less to formulate a thoughtful response to it. they just say oh, well, katara, yue, & suki are all the exact same type of liberated girlboss for whom patriarchy is no significant obstacle.

which brings us back to sokka lol. sokka, at the beginning of the show, has completely subscribed to patriarchy, has integrated it into his sense of self. he has a lot of flaws, but he also has a lot of really good traits. his bravery, sense of honor, loyalty, work ethic, selflessness, all of this came from him striving to be a good man. he would die to protect katara, because she's his sister. he also has her wash his socks & mend his clothes, because she's his sister. even after he meets suki, humbles himself, & expands his view of the role a woman can play, he doesn't completely disengage from patriarchy. at the end of the day he believes in his soul that a good man's duty is to fight & if necessary die for his people, & that's exactly his plan. this is a very real psychic burden. pre-aang, it's also largely fictional & completely ridiculous. we're SUPPOSED to think it's ridiculous. he's spending his time training babies & working on his little watchtower. the swt hasn't been attacked since their mother was killed because it has been completely stripped of all value or danger it once held for the fire nation, & everybody knows this. there is very little "men's work" left, aside from hunting & fishing, which is so damaging to sokka's self image he resorts to toddler bootcamp to feel useful. the contradiction here is comical. it's also completely devastating. that's supposed to be the fucking POINTTTT like colonialism & patriarchy convinces this young boy he needs to be a soldier & die for his family. & you know what he does? He acts like a young boy about it. they didn't just leave this unexplored in the remake they completely changed the circumstances to 1. make sokka incompetent for some reason 2. make his "preparations" seem less ridiculous. Which ruins the whole character. Possibly the whole show.

all this makes the writing of katara & the other women infinitely more offensive to me. katara is a good character because she believes in revolution. she wants to liberate her people from imperialism, & she wants to liberate women from colonial gendered violence, traditional patriarchy in her own culture, & the complicated ways those things interact. it is LITERALLY the first thing you're supposed to learn about her. she's the PERFECT vehicle to address the question of women's liberation under colonialism. one of the things i was most looking forward to seeing in this show was how labor is distributed in a place where almost everything that needs to get done is "women's work" & how it affects katara & sokka's day to day relationship when their lives weren't at risk constantly. what actually are her responsibilities every day, & how do they compare to sokka's? how does her grandmother enforce these traditions with katara & sokka, & how is that informed by her own experiences in the nwt? what does patriarchy look like in a tribe made up of mostly women & children? it's so important to who katara is & what she believes! but why bother exploring any of that when u could instead make her a shein model who has nothing in common with the source material except her hairstyle lol.

yue is actually even worse to me bc yue is supposed to be sokka's counterpart. she's supposed to show you how destructive it is for women specifically to internalize this gendered duty so completely. it sucks for sokka, but he is a man & thus his prescribed role gives him some agency. yue's role affords her no agency whatsoever, & this is the POINT. to make her someone who's allowed to break things off with her fiance if she likes, who sneaks off to do what she wants when she's feeling stressed, whose will is respected as a monarch, like what is even the point of yue anymore? in the original the whole reason she was even allowed to spend time with sokka was because her father knew she was with a trustworthy boy. her story completely loses all significance when the dimension of patriarchy is removed from it. the crux of her whole story is that she is not just a princess but the literal & spiritual representation of the motherland. that's what women are supposed to represent during wartime, at the cost of their own sense of self. in order to fulfill her duty to her people she gives her life to them in every single way that matters.

it's just so unbelievably frustrating (and WRONG) that the only types of characters for these writers are "soulless misogynistic fuck" and "liberated american-style feminist." there's no nuance at all! they don't bother exploring how real love manifests in patriarchal communities, & how patriarchy defines the limits of that love. or how for so many of these people their idea of goodness, morality, & honor is gendered. or how imperialism affects not just individuals but entire cultures & their conceptions of gender. but why do any actual work when you could completely change sokka & katara's general demeanors, their entire personalities, & their roles in the tribe so you can dodge any & all nuance

Anyways. in conclusion. it was bad

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 7

Contents: relationship, establishing feelings, slow burn, office kisses.

Warning: Things get a little ... spicier from here on out. Content warnings will be given for the relevant chapters.

You lingered with him in the little alcove, listening to the rhythm of his breath in the grooves of your ear. You lingered on the stairs leading back to the car. You traced the elusive outline of his fingers with yours, again and again, committing them to memory. There were no words passed between the two of you, from the moment he'd kissed you outside the restaurant, until you parted ways outside your apartment. There was no need for words. Neither of you wanted to break the spell that this evening had cast upon you.

When he finally said goodbye, the hoarseness of his voice, the softness of it, was enough to tell you how much he wanted, how much leaving you there was costing him. It was the same in your mind, of course. Discipline, control over desires, the measuring of love in increments until some vital point was reached, what was the need for it all?

You'd happily open your front door to him, lead him into a place you'd make sure he'd never want to leave. And yet, there was still something holding you back. It must be the same for him. Something that had been slinging you both in natural trajectories, the orbit of celestial bodies that slowly swayed each other's tides until the season came for you to be closer than ever.

You could be patient for this. You could watch this sweet, gentle unfolding between the two of you, as patiently as a predator in ambush. If nature was to take its course, then it was well worth the wait.

The way Kento walked you to your door without touching you, but then snatched up your fingers and pressed them to his lips, told you how much he valued your time together. It wasn't so much that he had kissed your fingers, it was more like he was committing the feel of them to his lips, as if he'd drink from the sensation on every night he'd spend without you.

Until the night it wouldn't be necessary any longer.

He began to make an effort, of course, to bind your lives more fully together. The things that were important to him were things he wanted to share with you. Sometimes, those moments of sharing were performed unconsciously on his part, in ways that made you want to take his face between your palms and plant soft kisses on his eyelids.

On one fateful afternoon, he'd purchased some specialty mochi from a store near where he'd been posted for duty. He knew how much you loved them freshly made, with red bean filling.

You hadn't seen him for almost a week at this point, messaging him regularly to check up on his safety and whether he was eating and sleeping on time. He always replied promptly, unless deeply occupied with something.

When he strode into your office that evening, the small parcel in one hand, tie slightly askew, you knew he'd rushed to catch the last train to be here. Jujutsu Tech vehicles were not always on call at this time. You stood and beamed at him, watching his shoulders relax and the tension that hung about his face disappear.

At work, you both were very careful to keep gestures of affection to a minimum. Not that you were concealing what was growing between you. It was simply a matter of not wanting anyone else to intrude on the moments between you that were truly special. Nanami couldn't help himself, though.

Drawn across the room, as if in each other's magnetic pull, you both met halfway, his hands coming up to enclose your own. You gently extricated one of them and brushed it lightly over his forehead, smoothing out some of the lines there.

"What's this in the bag?"

"Mochi. The kind you like."

"You should have gone home and rested. The mochi could wait."

The soft smile you were giving him took the edge off your strict words.

"Hmm. But it was fresh. I saw them stocking the shelves."

"Come, sit. I'll make you some tea."

He sank onto the couch set to one side of the room with a sigh, loosening his tie. Unable to help yourself, now that he was in your presence, you traced the line of his jaw delicately on your way to the kettle. Kento leaned slightly into your touch. He didn't have to tell you how much he'd missed you.

The kettle was soon boiling merrily while you prepared the cups and saucers. You kept many different tea blends in your office, and you knew, by now, which ones he preferred. You could feel his gaze tracing down, over your shoulders and back, down to your hips and then to your fingers on the smooth porcelain.

He insisted that the mochi was for you, and that he wouldn't eat any of it. Kento could be as stubborn as a bull when it came to things like this. Sighing slightly, you took a sip of your own tea, then a bite of the mochi, Kento's eyes now following the shape of your lips over the rim of his cup.

You almost choked.

Now this was unexpected. Glancing down, you desperately fought the urge to burst into laughter when you realized what had happened. He'd purchased mochi filled with natto instead of red beans. In his rush, he must have got them mixed. Natto wasn't a common filling either, but this was a specialty shop, so it must have been made on the day.

"Something wrong?"

"Not at all. They're so soft and fresh. It's been a while since I've had any like this."

"Oh?"

He looked so pleased with himself that you silently patted yourself on the back for managing to conceal that so well. At that moment, the door to the office burst open and Gojo strolled in. Tall and charismatic as ever, he glanced around, gaze almost traveling right over you as he focused on the target of his attention.

"Nanami! Why are you holed up in here? I've been looking for you all over. Where's the report?"

The tension lines on Kento's forehead were back in full force.

"I'm attempting to sit down and take a break after a long day, as you can clearly see."

Gojo grinned and knocked Kento's knee with his shin.

"Okay, Mister Grump. But where's the report?"

"Filed with Ijichi, obviously. I always send my paperwork in first thing. You know this."

Gojo clicked his tongue and Kento's eye twitched alarmingly.

"Why you gotta be so proper. Now I have to go find Ijichi."

"You could have - "

"Ooohh, what's this?"

To your immense alarm, Gojo had spotted the mochi. Everyone and their grandmother knew about the special grade sorcerer's penchant for all things sweet. You attempted to push them aside slowly.

"Uh, you don't want these. They're - "

"Huh?" He pointed at you, scandalized. "Are you trying to keep them all to yourself?"

"What? No, I - "

Kento stood and folded his arms in a manner that showed just how much he meant business.

"Gojo, leave those mochi alone."

"Oh hell no. You go all the way to the mochi store I've been dying to go to all week, and you don't even get me any? What kind of friend are you?"

Before either of you could stop him (for very different reasons) he grabbed one of the mochi and popped it into his mouth. He chewed happily before stopping suddenly, face crumpling, gagging slightly.

"What the hell? Why is there natto in these?"

Kento turned, very slowly, in your direction. Studiously avoiding his gaze, you cleared your throat.

"That was at my request. I love natto mochi. That's why I tried to stop you from eating them."

Grabbing your half-full cup of tea, Gojo took a large gulp in an attempt to wash away the flavour.

"Natto mochi? Why? Just .... why? Oh, never mind. Thanks for trying to stop me anyway. Oi, Nanamin, you owe me some strawberry mochi for next time, okay?"

So saying, the whirlwind that was Gojo exited your office, footsteps shuffling away on the floor outside. You examined your fingernails. Kento's gaze was burning into the back of your head.

"Ahem. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"No?"

"Why didn't you tell me these were natto?"

"I like natto."

"Liar."

You huffed out a small laugh, finally meeting his disapproving expression with a mischievous one.

"Fine. I'm not a fan of natto. But you were so happy to give them to me, Kento. I just wanted to see you smiling and looking relaxed for a change, so I - "

Before you could utter another word, he had plucked the glasses away from his face with a decisive motion and taken two strides into your space, his arms coming up and surrounding you in an embrace that pulled you like a vice into his chest.

"Kento?"

Your voice was a little shaky, not in an unpleasant way, as he leaned forward without hesitation, tilting his head. You swiftly dodged away, your breathless laugh mingling with his own unsteady breathing.

"The door isn't closed all the way. And I've just... wait! I've just eaten natto, you - "

His mouth was positively hungry on yours this time. Regardless of whatever flavour was lingering there, he was pushing you back until the desk collided with your thighs, his hand coming up to grasp and tilt your face until your mouth fell open helplessly against his. He was licking into you like a man starved, pausing in between to whisper to you about how he'd missed you, how he wanted you, how you looked so beautiful today and now his lips were on your throat, then on your mouth again, teeth knocking against yours, clumsy in his passion. There was something so fierce, uncontrolled, so primal about the way he was touching you, as if every restraint he had placed on himself (and by extension, yourself) had come crashing down among the rapidly narrowing spaces between your bodies.

Your hands were on his shoulders, and it probably looked as if you were trying to push him off you, but you were actually bracing yourself as something warm and molten started to run straight down the middle of your body, making you hyper-sensitive to his touch, to the feel of him on you. He was so large, so warm, so solid, the ripple of sinew against underlying muscle so evident under your fingers. You could run your hands over him like this forever, mapping out every new delight he laid bare for you.

Something like sanity was beginning to make itself known to the both of you now, the awareness of where you were, of the rules of propriety, and Kento removed his mouth from yours with a twist of his neck, looking away from you, breathing hard. He was now murmuring a soft apology, but you weren't having it. You covered his mouth with your hand and tugged slightly, making him look at you again, forcing him to take in your appearance, as he'd left you. He was none the better.

You removed your hand and took him in, the flushed cheeks, the blonde strands coming down around his ears, the glazed molten honey of his eyes and moistened lips. This man was so beautiful, he'd be the death of you. You told him so, and he gave a small, slightly disbelieving chuckle. But you let him read the truth in your regard of him all the same, the way you were drinking in the sight of him.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say Kento was overcome with a little shyness then. He lowered his face and his nose found purchase on your collarbone. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly, but gently. After a few moments of him basking in your embrace, he pulled away and cleared his throat, smoothing out his shirt. You took in a steadying breath and did the same to your own rumpled appearance.

He spent the remainder of your shift seated at a safe distance behind the other desk in the room, using the desktop PC to order up a replacement for his leather blade holster that was showing signs of wear. At times, your eyes would catch his, regarding you with a certain kind of tenderness in the dim glow of the office lamps. That expression was new. You delighted in it, as you did in every new aspect of himself he revealed to you.

When your shift ended, he insisted on walking you to the train.

Of course, he apologizes for his behaviour later. Even though the thought has long since ceased to bother you, he has been going over it in his mind, as you expected. He was the one who initiated the kiss in your office, after all. When you arrive home, warm up the food you'd pre-prepared in the fridge and finish with your bath, your phone is lit up with a small, insistent reminder.

Unable to help the small laugh that escapes you, you read his message.

"I don't know what came over me earlier. Please pardon my behaviour. I'm not offering excuses, but I did miss your presence."

The infinite sweetness that wells up inside you threatens to have you type something that you might want to take back. Like inviting him over so that he can fall asleep in your lap while your fingers card through his soft hair.

"Please don't apologize. I enjoyed that as much as you did, and you know it."

"You did?"

"Absolutely."

There is a pause before his next message.

"I did miss you."

"I missed you terribly, Kento. Was it a tough week?"

"Not difficult. Just draining. On surveillance."

"Please go to sleep soon."

"Are you already tired of me?"

"Are you already being melodramatic?"

"Nobody has ever called me melodramatic before."

"You just hide it well."

"As well as my desire to hold you?"

Your fingers still for a moment. How brazen.

"Not as much as my desire to kiss you all over your handsome face."

"You find me handsome?"

You can clearly picture that subtly pleased expression of his and almost roll your eyes. Of course Kento wouldn't take much note of his own appearance.

"Can you think of anyone who wouldn't find you handsome?"

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Name one. Go on."

"Gojo."

"Now you're playing dangerous games."

"How so?"

"If he were to receive an anonymous email asking him to sing praises to your beauty all week ... "

"All right. I take it back."

"Too late. Now go to sleep."

"Have mercy on me."

There is a small pause before his next reply comes.

"Goodnight, my darling."

For a long time, before you go to sleep, your heart hums a pleasant, warm rhythm to that word.

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @actuallysaiyan @g-kleran

[nightwriter357]

Just friends 9 - We should talk. About What?

So for the first time in a while on a friday, another chapter of my Damien Haas x reader story Just Friends. This part contains smut(18+), I know FINALLLLLYYY.

Do you want to talk? About what?

You press your palm against the door, steadying yourself. Coming back a week earlier wasn't part of the original plan, but it was necessary. With Shayne gone for now, you and Damien had time—time to figure this out, whatever "this" was, without someone barging in or offering unsolicited opinions.

The thought of seeing Damien again quickens your pulse. Would he act like nothing had happened? Would he avoid it entirely? Or would there be some unspoken understanding that neither of you could ignore?

When you finally push open the door, the warmth of the room washes over you, familiar and comforting. He's there, sprawled on the couch in that way only Damien could manage—casual but somehow inviting, as if he'd been waiting for you.

"You're back," he says, a grin tugging at his lips as he sits up a little straighter, his eyes filled with a kind of warmth that you can't ignore.

His voice catches you off guard, but the sight of him—so effortlessly Damien—grounds you. The week of overthinking evaporates for a moment, replaced by the simple joy of being near him.

You feel your smile grow as you step further into the room, the rush of excitement mixing with the sudden nerves. You still haven't figured out what to say after the kiss last week, the one that had left things unresolved, but the light teasing you always shared with Damien helps settle the tension.

"How are you still in the same spot I left you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you stand near the door.

He gives you a lazy smile, stretching his legs out further and leaning back against the cushions. There's a casual, almost playful air about him, as if he's not bothered at all by being stuck in the same position for so long.

"What can I say? I'm loyal. Like a dog waiting for you to come home. " He replies, his grin wide and mischievous, eyes sparkling with humor.

You chuckle, crossing your arms as you let the image settle in. The playfulness in the air is so familiar, but there's still something else lingering, something unspoken between you two.

"Well, thanks for not humping my leg," you tease, a playful grin forming on your lips.

Damien raises an eyebrow, feigning offense but unable to hide his own grin. He shifts a little, leaning forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees.

"Thanks for not getting me neutered," he responds, his voice mock-serious.

You can't help but laugh at his deadpan delivery, as you sit down leaning against the armrest of the couch.

"Careful, I might change my mind," you say, raising your eyebrow at him.

Damien's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens slightly . He leans in just a bit, voice dropping a little lower. "Same," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He moves closer, settling in a little too close, His shoulder brushing against yours.. You glance over at him, eyes scanning his face, the way his hair falls just a bit messier than usual, the slight curve of his lips still holding that grin.

"Hey," you say, your voice light but with a hint of amusement, "You're on my side."

Damien chuckles softly, nudging you with his elbow, his grin widening at your comment. There's a softness in his expression, like he's genuinely pleased to be so close to you again.

"I'm always on your side," he replies, his voice smooth, teasing but with an undertone of sincerity that makes your stomach flutter just slightly.

You turn your head towards him, "clever."

You feel the space between the two of you grow smaller, his body language shifting as he subtly leans in, the weight of unspoken things beginning to press down on both of you. His gaze softens, and you notice his lips part slightly as if he's preparing to say something important. The air feels thicker now, charged with a quiet intensity.

"We should talk," Damien says, his voice low and earnest, his eyes locking onto yours.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence, even though you both know exactly what he's referring to. "About what?"

His eyes flicker with a hint of uncertainty, but his words are steady. "Us kissing."

A small laugh escapes your lips, but there's an edge to it, a mixture of nerves and curiosity. "The first time?"

Damien smirks, the edge of humor still there, but something else lingering beneath. "The second time."

You tilt your head slightly, pretending to think for a second before leaning in just a little, your voice teasing but with a subtle undertone. "The third time?"

Damien's smile fades slightly  and he's so close now you can feel his breath, a soft exhale brushing over your skin. "We never had a third ti—"

Before he can finish, you close the gap, pressing your lips to his in a kiss. This kiss is hungry, desperate, as though everything you've been holding back has been released in that single moment. You feel Damien's hands slide down your back, pulling you closer to him, your bodies pressed tightly together, the heat between you two impossible to ignore. His lips move to your neck, the soft bite of his breath against your skin making your pulse quicken, the soft hum of his moan vibrating through you.

You try to pull back, needing air, needing space to think, but his hands catch you, keeping you in place as he trails his lips lower, over the sensitive skin of your collarbone. His voice is low when he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

"This is probably a bad idea, we should probably talk about this first," he mutters, the words shaky but full of want. He looks at you, his eyes dark with need, as if he's waiting for you to tell him to stop.

But you don't.

Instead, you bite your lip, barely able to think past the need that's rising inside you. "I know," you breathe, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "But please don't stop."

His gaze flickers over your face, searching, but you're already reaching for him again, your lips capturing his in another kiss, deeper this time. It's desperate, as if neither of you can stand the distance anymore. His hands roam over your body, exploring with more urgency, finding the soft curve of your waist, the smooth line of your thigh as you shift, pressing closer.

You feel yourself start to tremble, every inch of your body yearning for him. Damien lets out a low groan as you shift against him, your movements telling him exactly what you need, what you want. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his voice rough when he speaks..

You feel his hesitation melt into something warmer, something more desperate, and when he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice is rough, barely above a whisper. "I'm trying so hard to do the right thing."

A soft smile tugs at your lips, and your fingers begin to toy with the first button of your shirt, slow and deliberate. "You don't want to touch me?"

His eyes snap to yours, dark and smoldering, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "You know that's not what I mean," he murmurs, his fingers flexing against your waist, betraying the restraint he's trying so hard to hold onto.

Your smile grows, your fingers slipping the second button undone, revealing the edge of a delicate lace bra beneath. His gaze drops, his breath hitching, the space between you almost nonexistent.

You tilt your head slightly, letting your lips hover just shy of his, a breath away from touching. "Don't you think it will feel good?"

Damien's breath quickens, his hand moving slowly but surely down your side, his fingers grazing your skin. You shiver under his touch, your body responding to him in ways that have you losing track of everything else. The moment feels suspended in time, each touch and movement laden with anticipation.

Finally, his hand moves to your chest, gently cupping your breast through the delicate lace of your bra. The feeling is electrifying, and you let out a soft breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort to stay grounded.

"Damien..." you whisper, your name barely more than a breath, both a question and an answer, asking for more while giving him everything in return.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark with desire, and his thumb brushes over your jaw, a soft, tentative touch, as if searching for something, something he needs from you. "Tell me this isn't just me," he breathes, his words filled with a vulnerability that pulls at your chest. 

You pause, the weight of his question sinking in. His gaze is almost pleading now, his vulnerability laid bare. You can see how much this means to him, how much he needs to hear that what he's feeling is mutual.

You reach up slowly, your hand resting lightly over his, offering him the reassurance he's craving. You let out a soft breath, your voice just above a whisper, tinged with sincerity and something deeper.

"It's not just you, Damien,"

And then, he moves. The shift is sudden, yet it feels like it has been building for so long. The feeling of him guiding you down onto the couch, his body pressing you deeper into the cushions, sends an electric jolt through you. You're on your back now, and his weight hovers over you, every inch of him hard and pressing against you, a promise of more.

His hands find your hips, fingers digging in, pulling you closer to him, desperate to feel you. He shifts between your legs, the weight of him pinning you in place, and his eyes never leave yours. The tension between you is thick, the anticipation hanging in the air, nearly suffocating. You can feel his breath on your skin, the slight hitch of it as he watches you, waiting.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he mutters under his breath, his voice low, almost reverent, as his hand slides lower. His fingers trace the fabric of your panties, feeling the wetness there, the evidence of just how much you want him.

He hisses, his breath sharp as he feels the heat radiating from you, and his grip tightens on your hips. "God, I can't believe how badly I want you," he murmurs, his fingers brushing against your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin.

You bite your lip, barely holding back the sounds you want to make, but you can't anymore. You shift against him, your hips grinding into him, desperate for more.

"Damien," you gasp, your voice a soft plea, feeling your body respond to him in ways you can't control. He's torturing you slowly, dragging it out, and all you want is for him to give in.

His eyes darken, his thumb tracing your clit through the fabric of your panties before he slowly pushes a finger into you, his gaze locked onto yours, watching your every reaction. "Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice raw, his desire clear. 

You feel yourself shiver, the tension inside you growing as he moves slowly, deliberately. The sound of his breath mingles with the soft moans you can't hold back, each one a testament to how much you need him. Your body arches towards him, desperate for more of his touch, for more of him.

"Please. Damien, I want it. I want you," you whimper, unable to keep the desperation out of your voice. You feel yourself getting wetter with every movement, every little shift of his finger, and it's almost too much. You want him to go faster, harder, but you can't bring yourself to ask. Instead, you let out a breathy moan, rolling your hips against his hand. "More..."

He groans, his eyes darkening even further as he watches you, and his finger curls deeper, pushing in just the right way. You gasp again, a beautiful sound escaping your lips that makes Damien's eyes flicker with something like awe.

"Fuck, you sound perfect," he breathes, his voice rough with desire. "I want to hear you. Let me hear you, baby."

You can't help it, the sounds spill out of you, a mix of gasps and moans that seem to encourage him, making him push deeper, faster, his pace quickening. His other hand moves to your chest, gently caressing the side of your breast, feeling your heart race beneath his palm.

"God, you're perfect. You have no idea how much I need you," Damien growls, his thumb brushing against your nipple through your shirt. The combination of his fingers inside you and the way he's teasing your chest has you melting under him, your body responding to him in ways you never knew possible.

You gasp, your back arching, your hand reaching for him, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on yours. "Please, Damien," you beg, the need in your voice undeniable now. "I need you. I need more."

He looks down at you, his chest heaving as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. You're a mess of desire, breathless, desperate, your body trembling with anticipation. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes scanning your face as if he's looking for any sign of hesitation, though he knows you want this just as much as he does.

You nod eagerly, your voice barely a whisper. "Please," you beg, your hand sliding down to his waistband, tugging at the fabric, your touch sending a jolt of need through him.

"God, you drive me crazy," Damien mutters under his breath, his hands quickly pushing your panties aside. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air as he lines himself up with your entrance, his gaze flicking between your face and where you're joined, his eyes dark with hunger and reverence. "This is everything I've wanted," he says, his voice shaky, raw with the intensity of the moment.

You feel the head of him press against you, teasing, and your body bucks upward, desperate to feel more, to feel all of him. You breathe his name like a prayer, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His eyes flicker with an emotion you can't quite place, something between awe and disbelief, before he shifts again, slowly guiding himself inside. The feeling of him stretching you is slow, intense, the delicious burn filling you, and you can't stop the soft gasp that escapes your lips.

He moves just an inch deeper, a groan slipping from his throat as he feels the tightness of you around him. "Fuck," he breathes, barely able to hold back as the sensation of being inside you hits him like a wave.

Damien stills for a moment, his eyes searching yours, almost as if asking for permission to move further. The weight of the moment feels immense, the connection between you two deeper than words could ever convey. You feel full, stretched in the most delicious way, and you can't help but shift beneath him, urging him to take the next step, to take all of you.

With a low groan, he pushes in a little further, inch by inch, stretching you, his hand gripping your hip to steady you both. Each movement feels like an eternity, as if time is stretching out with every inch he slides into you. "So tight," he mutters, his voice strained as he feels you around him, the sensation overwhelming.

You gasp again, your body arching beneath him, and he finally sinks all the way in. You both pause, the air thick with the tension between you, as if you both need a moment to process just how perfectly you fit together. His eyes are wide, staring down at you as if he can't quite believe this is real.

"Fuck," he whispers again, his voice full of wonder and awe. His body shakes with the effort to control himself, but when he speaks again, it's with a new desperation. "I didn't think it would feel like this."

You feel him twitch inside you, and the slow burn of his thrusts sends shockwaves through you. His hands tighten on your body, pulling you closer, urging you to move with him. You feel the heat rise between you, the desperate need to move, to get closer, to feel more.

Damien pulls back slowly, a slight hesitation before he pushes forward again, the rhythm deliberate at first, savoring the moment, but it doesn't take long for the need to build, to intensify.

You feel yourself tightening around him, a gasp leaving your lips as he moves deeper, harder. He watches you closely, captivated by the way you react, the way your body shudders under his touch. Your  sounds are muffled by the pressure building in your chest, but you can't help but make noise—soft, breathless moans that seem to urge him on, make him move faster, harder.

Damien brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, watching you closely. "I need to hear you make that sound again," he whispers, his voice rough, the desperation clear in his tone.

You gasp, overwhelmed by the feeling of him moving inside you, the sensations building to a point where you can't think, can't breathe without him. And then, the noise escapes you, a breathless sound of pleasure and need, and it's enough to push him over the edge, enough to make him lose himself in the feeling of being so close to you.

"God, you're perfect," Damien mutters, his hand moving to your hair as he pulls you closer, his lips crashing against yours again, drowning in the sensation of finally having you completely.

Damien's movements grow quicker, more frantic, the need in his eyes matching the urgency in his touch. Every time he shifts, you feel yourself tightening around him, your body reacting in ways that only fuel the fire between you. His breath is shallow, lips pressed against your neck as he tries to keep himself in control. But it's impossible. The sensation of you, the way you feel, the way you respond to him—he can't hold back.

"God," he mutters, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves, each thrust deeper than the last, driving you both closer to the edge. You can't help but moan, the sound slipping out before you can contain it. His hands find your hips again, steadying you as his body moves against yours with a frantic urgency, the rhythm between you two getting lost in the heat of the moment.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it together, but the pressure inside you builds, each movement bringing you closer to the breaking point. Your body arches up against his, the feeling of him inside you so overwhelming that you can't think of anything else, just the pleasure, just the intensity of this moment.

"Damien, you're making me cum" you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair as you tug him down to kiss you, desperate, hungry.

He groans into the kiss, his hand sliding down to your thigh as he moves again, deeper this time. The sound of your breathless moans fills the air, and Damien can't get enough. He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, his gaze filled with something fierce, something raw.

"You're killing me," he growls, his voice low and strained, barely able to keep himself together. "I want you so fucking bad..."

You look up at him, your own breath ragged as you meet his gaze, the intensity of the moment making your heart race. "You have me," you whisper, your voice shaking with anticipation, with need.

With a low growl, Damien presses his forehead against yours, his body driving into you with a force that has you gasping, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage as your body trembles beneath him. He's relentless, each thrust pushing you higher, faster, until you feel like you might lose yourself completely in the sensation of him.

The air between you two is thick with lust, both of you lost in the feeling, in the connection that's built over weeks of tension, of unspoken words and shared glances. And now, it's all come to this.

You feel it building, that tension in your core, the pressure that's been building between you two finally ready to break. You can't hold it anymore. Your body shudders, a strangled cry escaping your lips as you reach the edge, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body convulses, clenching around him as you lose yourself, your hands pulling him closer as if you can't get enough of him.

Damien's voice is strained, barely a whisper as he continues to move, his own release building. "Fuck, I can't believe I get to see you like this," he murmurs, his breath ragged against your ear.

His words only fuel the fire inside you, prolonging your climax, the pleasure rippling through you as you clutch at him, the feeling of him inside you making everything else blur away. You hear him gasp, his grip on your body tightening as he finally gives in, his release coming in a wave of heat as he groans your name, his body shuddering as he collapses against you.

You both lie there for a moment, breathless, sofa cushions scattered on the floor, the weight of the moment sinking in. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, the heat of his body still pressed close to yours. Neither of you says anything for a while, the silence between you both full of everything that's been left unsaid.

Damien pulls back slightly, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes soft but filled with that same intensity. "You're fucking incredible," he whispers, his voice low and raspy.

You smile softly, still breathless, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as you look up at him. "So are you."

For a moment, the only sounds are your breaths mingling and the distant creaks of the boat. His thumb strokes lazy circles against your hip, grounding you.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his voice lighter, “I think you might’ve broken me.”

You arch an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? How’s that?”

“Well,” he muses, pretending to consider, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go back to anything else after this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your head against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.” His fingers skim your back, teasing. “There’s no way I’m leaving this couch the same man I was when I sat down.”

“too bad, I liked him,” you tease, your voice dripping with mock seriousness.

"So.. " he pauses, his lips curving into a smile. " We should talk"

You raise an eyebrow, still feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "About what?" you murmur, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

He smiles at you, "About that time we had sex on the couch."

You smirk, still feeling that quiet charge in the air. "The first time or the second time?"

Damien's smile falters for a second, his eyes darkening as you lean in closer. "There hasn't been a second ti—"

[veevrsee]

❝ ⎯⎯ Clingy Comfort ! ꞌꞋ ࣪ 투어스 　❞

┈ All they want is to be close. Quiet, cuddling… no rush. A moment just for yourselves.

› Pairing: TWS x 7thmember!Reader

› Word Count: 4.8K

› Warning: non. just fluff.

┈ Note ! ꞌꞋ ࣪ Hi, this is my first time writing something for TWS, and it's just that since I met them I'm a little obsessed. And it just came to my mind how they would be like when they are feeling clingy. And being very honest with you, like Shinyu biased, Dohoon's, Kyungmin and Hanjin have me completely blushing and kicking my feet.

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so there will probably be several typos or it will look very formal; an apology for that. Without further ado I hope you like it and have a nice night/day.

vee﹒ᵔᴗᵔ﹒

Shinyuㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤShin Junghwan !

Days off were rare.

More rare than Shinyu would like to admit.

There was always something: practices, meetings, recordings, schedules full of things to do.

But not today.

Today, by some perfect alignment of the stars, the group had the day off, and they were making the best possible use of it: doing absolutely nothing.

Just the seven of you, spread out in the living room, enjoying a quiet moment while deciding what to have for breakfast.

He was leaning back on one end of the couch, his phone in hand, flipping through the menu with the others. He was barely paying attention to the discussion of what to order. It was a din of mingled voices and banter thrown into the air. You were at the other end, lounging against the armrest, with a sleepy expression that made him smile without realizing it. The dim light of the room highlighted the contours of your face, and Shinyu found his gaze straying to you more times than necessary.

It wasn't unusual. It happened to him all the time.

The conversation flowed smoothly, until Jihoon asked you to help Shinyu confirm the final order.

Shinyu barely registered the request.

His attention was on you, on the way you gently sat up to reach over and take his phone. It was a simple, everyday movement even, but for him it was enough. As if his body acted before his mind, in a single, fluid motion he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to him effortlessly, sinking you against his chest naturally.

The contact was warm. Your body fit over his as if you had always belonged there. There was no resistance on your part, only a small initial startle before you gradually settled against him. Shinyu felt an almost instinctive satisfaction run through his body as you rested your head on his chest, letting yourself fall completely on top of him.

Yes. That was better.

He loved this. He loved you.

-Mmm… it's good like this, isn't it? -you murmured, still checking the phone.

-Mhmm… -Shinyu barely answered, his voice distracted, too focused on you to pay attention to anything else.

You confirmed the order, and the others, satisfied, scattered around the room, each minding their own business while waiting for the food. But Shinyu had not the slightest intention of moving. Not when he had you like this, perfectly wedged against him.

He could feel the rhythm of your breathing becoming slower, more relaxed. The heat of your body against his was addictive.

With a relaxed motion, he reached out to take control when Dohoon challenged him to a game of Mario Kart. Perfect. He could play without thinking too much. He moved just enough to grab the controller, but not enough to alter the position you were in. If anything, his grip on your waist became tighter, making sure you didn't move too much. Kyungmin and Jihoon joined in right away, but even as the competition began and laughter filled the room, his mind wasn't quite on the game.

Sure, his reflexes were still good, his fingers pressed the buttons as nimbly as ever, but a large part of him was distracted.

How could he not be?

He had you lying completely on top of him, breathing softly against his chest, not complaining about his grip or the way he was holding you close. Without realizing it, his hand moved, his fingers tracing small circles on the fabric of your shirt. He wasn't sure if he was doing it to reassure you or himself. Maybe both.

And then you did.

Without warning, you moved just a little, seeking more comfort, fitting better against him. It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible, but Shinyu felt it as a direct blow to the heart. A shiver ran down his back as you made yourself even smaller in his embrace, as if you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Oh.

Oh.

Shinyu barely blinked, barely reacted. His character on the screen crashed into a wall and Dohoon let out a victorious laugh, but he didn't even flinch. He just looked down, watching you with a tenderness he had no right to display so openly. His attention was on the way his own heart began to beat a little faster.

It couldn't have been more obvious. He was completely lost for you.

He let out a slow sigh, one that was lost amidst the sound of the game and the voices in the room, but which inside him echoed like a silent surrender. Because deep down, there was no point in fooling himself anymore.

It was ridiculous how much he liked this. How much he liked you.

The game went on, the others laughed and complained about unfair plays, but to him, it was all background noise. He didn't need to say it out loud, but if it were up to Shinyu, the whole world could stop in that instant, and he wouldn't mind at all.

He just needed this moment. Just the simple fact of feeling you so close was enough.

Dohoonㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤKim Dohoon !

Mornings always had a different rhythm for Dohoon.

They were slow, sleepy, with the warmth of the sheets still clinging to his skin and the feeling of drowsiness weighing down his eyelids. Not because he was tired-though sometimes he was-but because in the mornings he wanted you close. Closer than was reasonable, closer than others would surely consider normal. And today, with a whole day off until evening, there was no reason to hold back.

He opened his eyes heavily and, before he even thought of getting out of bed, he noticed your absence. You were gone. He frowned, still drowsy, and without even thinking too much about it, he stood up. He didn't need to ask anyone where you were; his instinct led him straight to the kitchen.

And there you were.

Standing in front of the counter, opening the bags with the coffees and drinks the manager had ordered for everyone. The morning light filtered through the window, illuminating you in an almost unreal way. To Dohoon, who was not yet fully awake, the image was too pretty, too perfect.

Without much thought, he approached you silently, shuffling his feet with the laziness of someone not yet fully awake. And then, as soon as he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist and dropped down against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

God, it felt so good.

Your warmth, your smell, the way you fit perfectly against him as if you were a magnet he always ended up sticking to… Everything about you was addictive to him. He closed his eyes, gently inhaling the scent of your skin mixed with that of coffee, and smiled against your neck when he felt you wouldn't pull away. You didn't make the slightest effort to break free from his grip, you just went about your business, as if you were used to him clinging to you like a koala bear every morning.

And you were.

Gently, without opening his eyes, he rubbed his nose against your skin, taking deep breaths.

There was no way he could start the day without this.

He opened his eyes when he saw your hand move, bringing your latte to your lips. He watched intently, not moving an inch from his place on your neck, as you calmly took a sip. And then, without a word, you brought the straw close to his mouth in a gesture so natural that it made his heart beat faster.

Without hesitation, he caught the straw between his lips and took a sip straight from your drink, his eyes narrowing in pleasure at the sweet, warm taste of the latte. But more than the coffee itself, what he really enjoyed was the gesture itself.

The fact that you shared with him without thinking about it.

There was something intimate in the way you shared these little things. In how they didn't need words, in how you just knew what he wanted, in how he could be glued to you without seeming to make you uncomfortable.

God. How lucky he was.

He drank some more before releasing the straw and sinking back against you, this time squeezing you a little tighter, enveloping you with his body as if he wanted to become part of you.

Your soft laughter vibrated against his chest and, without warning, you caressed his face, your fingers sliding gently down his cheek, along his jaw, a light but loving touch. Dohoon closed his eyes at the sensation, letting himself be pampered, letting you do whatever you wanted with him, because he was already completely yours.

If it were up to him, he could stay like this all day.

But then, his stomach decided to betray him.

Dohoon pouted a little, stirring against you before muttering in a low, sleepy voice:

-I'm hungry…

You just smiled, amused, and barely moved to go get your phone, surely to order food for everyone. But Dohoon had no intention of letting go.

Like a koala clinging to his favorite tree, he stayed glued to you, following you wherever you went, his arms still around your waist, his body still against yours as you tried to open the ordering app.

It was ridiculous how easy it was for him to stay that way, entangled with you even when you were on the move.

-What do you want to eat? -You asked, looking at the screen of your phone.

Dohoon rested his chin on your shoulder, watching the screen lazily. But actually, he wasn't looking at the menu.

He was just looking at you.

Stunned, completely absorbed in the way your brow furrowed just barely as you chose the food, in the way your mouth curved subtly as you read the choices. You knew him well enough to know exactly what to ask him without him having to say anything, but you still asked, because you cared about his opinion.

And that, that was what finished disarming him completely.

He snuggled closer against you, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his weight rest against your body without fear that you would push him away. Because he knew you wouldn't. Because, like him, you enjoyed this too.

If the rest of the day was going to be like this, glued to you, feeling your warmth, sharing every little moment of the morning, then for Dohoon, this was already the best day off of all.

Youngjaeㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤChoi Youngjae !

The day had ended earlier than expected, but Youngjae was in no hurry to leave.

Not when he could seize a moment like this.

Not when you were there, so close, so… perfect for him.

The practice room was still illuminated in the soft afternoon light, and Jihoon, as always, had energy to spare to keep dancing, moving with enviable ease as he improvised steps in front of the mirror, and Youngjae… well, Youngjae was just tired. He watched out of the corner of his eye, amused by his dongsaeng's witticisms, but his mind was elsewhere.

Or, rather, on someone else.

You were there, leaning against the mirror, relaxed, not paying much attention to anything but Jihoon. Youngjae watched you silently for a few seconds, noticing the way your expression softened when you were deep in thought, how your lips curved into a smile when Jihoon did something silly. It was nothing serious, just fun. But Youngjae wasn't particularly interested in that right now.

The only thing he was interested in was you.

He didn't know how or why, but whenever you were around, he needed to find an excuse to be attached to you somehow.

And Youngjae, he wanted you close.

He didn't have a clear reason; he simply wanted you close.

Without a word, he came over and lay down on top of you, resting his head carefully on your lap.

The relief was immediate.

And, as if you were perfectly in sync with him, you lifted your arms a little to give him space, allowing him to settle in better. Youngjae wrapped his arms around your waist leisurely, breathing deeply against the fabric of your clothes, letting your warmth envelop him. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the contact, the feeling of being close to you without needing to say anything.

Youngjae sighed softly, as he listened to Jihoon's laughter, so lively and full of energy. He could hear the jokes and the silly things he was doing; And he couldn't help but smile at the scene.

But even as he did so, his mind was still on you.

It wasn't more than a few seconds before he felt your hands move, instinctively moving down to his hair. And there it was, that gesture he so adored. The brush of your fingers through her locks, the light pressure of your nails against her scalp, the slow, steady rhythm that made every muscle in her body relax little by little.

Yes. Just like that.

It was almost ridiculous how much he enjoyed this. The way your fingers ran through his hair as naturally as you breathed, in how your nails gently grazed his scalp, sending little shivers of pleasure down his back. Each caress was like a silent confirmation that he had every right in the world to be here, glued to you, claiming your attention without needing to ask for it.

He opened his eyes just a little, just enough to see you laughing at some nonsense of Jihoon's; moving in an exaggerated way just to make you smile, and Youngjae felt a pang of tenderness in his chest to see you like that.

God, he adored your laugh.

He couldn't see you completely from his position, but he could feel your laughter in the subtle vibration of your body against him. But he didn't have the energy to join in the antics at that moment. Not when he was so comfortable, not when your fingers kept sliding through his hair with a gentleness that made him sink deeper and deeper into the sensation of being with you.

He didn't need you to do anything else.

He wasn't thinking about anything else, just that.

About how it felt when he held you close, when he felt your body so close to his. All he could think about was the warmth of your body under his head, the softness of your fingers sliding through his hair, how each caress felt like a gesture of affection that he didn't ask for, but needed.

It was that feeling, that simple, genuine attention, that had him completely spellbound.

And, for an instant, he thought that maybe, if he could, he would stay that way forever.

He didn't want to move.

He didn't want that moment to end.

And best of all, you weren't even making him uncomfortable about it. You liked it. It was like a kind of silent language that only the two of you shared: you taking care of him without thinking about it, him soaking up the comfort of your company.

And he enjoyed every second of it.

But, of course, something told him that eventually he would have to get up, that Jihoon would stop his madness and the rest of the group would return to the dormitories. For now, though, as you gently caressed him, as his mind completely melted away in that warmth that only you provided, everything seemed perfect just the way it was.

It is perfect.

Hanjinㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤHan Zhen !

The dorm was quiet, an unusual tranquility after days filled with practices and tight schedules. Everyone was scattered around the apartment, each doing their own thing, taking advantage of the rare free time. Hanjin, however, only had his attention on one thing - or, rather, one person.

You.

You were sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, with his Korean book open between you.

Technically, he was studying.

Technically, you were helping him.

But in reality, Hanjin was just enjoying the perfect excuse to have you around.

At first, everything had been normal. You were correcting his pronunciation, patiently explaining grammatical structures, and he was nodding, making the effort to repeat them correctly. But honestly, he was having a hard time. Not because he didn't want to learn, but because his attention was elsewhere.

On you.

In the way you spoke patiently, explaining every detail with that sweetness that disarmed him. In how your voice sounded so natural when you explained to him in Mandarin so that he would understand better the meaning of the words, so comfortable, so you. In the closeness between you, in the warmth of your body next to his, in how easy it was to be with you like that.

As the lesson progressed, Hanjin felt more and more… comfortable.

Almost too comfortable.

Everything about you had him completely caught up.

At some point in the lesson - without even thinking too much about it - he reached out and pulled you to his side, drawing you in as easily as he breathed.

You said nothing. You just let yourself go, settling against him without complaint or question. As if this kind of contact was something as natural as the air between you.

Hanjin liked that.

He felt comfortable with you.

He liked how easy it was to touch you, how easy it was to envelop you with his presence without you pushing him away. He rested his head against your shoulder at one point, feeling the warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your breathing, the simple fact of having you there.

Your warmth, your familiar scent… It was so easy. It was so easy that he almost forgot they were still studying.

And then, he felt your hand move.

Your fingers gently ran through his hair, a brief touch but enough to make him feel that you were there, acknowledging his presence, responding to his need for contact without him having to ask for it.

Such a simple gesture.

But as your hand ran through his hair, Hanjin seemed to have no intention of letting go. On the contrary, he pulled you to him more tightly, pressing you even tighter against his side. A shiver ran down his back, he liked it too much when you did that.

But then, you broke the balance of the moment with a few words.

-我去拿点吃的，我们休息一下吧 - (I'm going to go get a snack, let's get some rest).

No.

Before you could even move, his body reacted on its own. His arms around your waist tightened subtly, drawing you back effortlessly. He needed no words, only the weight of his grip, refusing to let go, as if letting you go was simply an unacceptable option.

You looked down at him with amusement. Hanjin noticed it. He noticed it in the way your lips curved just barely, in the mischievous light in your eyes, as if you were waiting for him to say something else.

And he did.

-不要，待在这儿 - (No, stay here.)

His voice was low, almost a whisper against your skin. The way he said those words, his tone soft but firm, made your heart beat a little faster.

And you… you couldn't resist.

He smiled without another word, enjoying the way you settled back in next to him.

He wasn't one to ask for things with grandiose words. He wasn't usually pushy about what he wanted. But with you, everything was different. With you, he had the luxury of being a little more selfish, of wanting more than he normally allowed himself.

And Hanjin knew what he wanted, and it was simple: he wanted to stay that way, glued to you.

-好吧 - (It's okay.)

You whispered with a smile, surrendering easily to his grip.

He didn't have to say much for you to understand.

Because, in the end, you wanted to stay that way too.

Jihoonㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤHan Jihoon !

After weeks of work without a break, the arrival of this rare day off had given Jihoon a much-needed respite.

He emerged from the bathroom with his hair still damp, feeling the warmth of the shower still clinging to his skin. The hot water had relaxed his muscles, but it had also left him with a drowsiness he could barely conceal. His eyelids drooped slightly as he toweled his hair dry, but as soon as he looked up and saw you in his bed, all the heaviness seemed to fade for a moment.

You were lying there, laughing at something Dohoon had said from the other bed. Your voice, your laughter, the mere sight of you there made Jihoon feel a tug in his chest.

The scene was so domestic, so quiet… That his mind had only one clear thought….

He wanted to be there with you.

He didn't think about it too much. In fact, he didn't think at all.

With lazy steps, he crossed the room and, without warning, dropped his full weight on you. Not gently, not with any warning, just with the full weight of his body, as if you were a pillow made exclusively for him.

The air left your lungs in a surprised gasp, followed by a burst of laughter as you tried, unsuccessfully, to protest between guffaws, but that only made him smile against the fabric of your clothes.

It didn't bother you at all, and he knew it.

-Jihoon -you said, your voice cracking -You're too heavy, get off! -you finished with a chuckle, patting him gently on the back. But he didn't move.

Not immediately, at least.

He just got more comfortable.

-No -he murmured in a sleepy voice, letting his arm wrap lazily around your waist, making sure you weren't going to slip away.

Dohoon, from his bed, chuckled as well, surely enjoying the scene, but Jihoon was already too comfortable to pay attention to you. His attention was completely on you, on how your breathing was still agitated by the laughter, on how your body was slowly relaxing under his. He could feel the steady beat of your heart under his cheek, a rhythmic, comforting sound that made his own eyelids feel heavier, plus the way that, despite your playful complaints, you made no real effort to push him away.

Jihoon sighed against your skin, completely content with the position he was in.

And just as you knew would happen, you ended up surrendering with a sigh and, without thinking too much about it, started playing with his damp hair.

If he wasn't so tired, he probably would have smiled self-satisfiedly. But instead, he just closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, completely surrendered to the gesture.

God.

It was his weakness.

He didn't need words, he didn't need anything else. Just your hand in his hair, the gentle rhythm of your caresses and the sound of your voice returning to the conversation with Dohoon as if you didn't have a whole human being lying on top of you.

He enjoyed this very much.

But he couldn't fall asleep.

He forced himself to open his eyes, though his sight was a blur of shadows and warm lights in the room. He didn't want to surrender to sleep so quickly. Not when he could stretch this moment out a little longer.

He heard your voice conversing with Dohoon, though the words became a distant echo, a soft melody that cradled him unwillingly. He felt your laughter vibrate against his chest, your breathing slow as you continued to play with his hair.

He blinked slowly, clinging to the feel of your touch, the sound of your voice, the way your body molded to his.

But it was useless.

As exhaustion overtook him more, his breathing grew heavier, slower. Every caress on his hair dragged him deeper into drowsiness, every brush of your fingers made his body feel heavier, more relaxed. He wanted to protest, to tell you to stop, that if you kept this up he was going to fall asleep on you, but all that came out of his mouth was an incoherent mumble.

And then, without being able to help it, his eyelids gave way.

His breathing slowed, his body completely surrendered against yours. In the last moment before he fell asleep, he felt the brush of your lips on his forehead - soft, fleeting, like a whisper that carried away any attempt at struggle.

He lost.

But if falling asleep meant being like this, glued to you, with your warmth enveloping him and your fingers in his hair… then maybe losing wasn't so bad after all.

Kyungminㅤ ❛❛    ──── ㅤLee Kyungmin !

Kyungmin couldn't sleep.

The rented house was completely silent. Well, not complete silence-the sound of his hyungs' leisurely breathing, mixed with the occasional murmur of Jihoon moving in his sleep, reminded him that he was trapped in a confined space with three other people.

And that was the problem.

Dohoon, Hanjin, and Jihoon, in their infinite trust, had decided that it didn't matter that the bed was clearly for one or two people at most -they would sleep there anyway.

And they had done so without any respect for the concept of “personal space.”

There was no space. Not a shred of it.

He stirred for the umpteenth time between the bodies of Jihoon, Dohoon, and Hanjin, trapped in a ridiculously small space in the bed they shared. It had been fun at first, pushing and shoving, teasing and laughing until they were all completely exhausted. But now, with Dohoon glued to the other end of the bed, Jihoon completely unconscious, one arm draped over his stomach and Hanjin wedged next to him, Kyungmin could only think of how uncomfortable the situation was.

Four people on a single mattress had never been a good idea.

And he definitely wasn't going to survive the night like this.

With slow, careful movements, he managed to slip out of the tangle of bodies without waking them. His feet touched the cold floor, and he felt a shiver run down his back as he finally stretched.

He needed air.

Space.

Something.

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even more than it already was, and without much thought, he left the room, dodging the creaking of the wood beneath his feet.

His steps were silent as he walked down the dimly lit hallway, his eyes still half closed from sleep as he made his way to the one room he knew he could get a good night's rest in.

Your room. Your room was the biggest room in the house, the prize for winning the chaotic game of deciding rooms.

And besides, it had become a habit. Every night, after everyone had retired, he used to come into your room, cuddle with you for a while, and then go to his. It was his little ritual. One that had started unintentionally and eventually became a sort of silent habit between you.

He hesitated a moment before knocking, but the sound was soft, almost shy. In the silence of the early morning, it felt louder than expected.

A small silence and then your sleepy voice from within:

-Come in…

Kyungmin opened the door cautiously and peeked out, finding you sitting up in bed, rubbing your eyes with one hand. Despite how sleepy you were, a smile appeared on your face as soon as you saw him. He felt your chest tighten warmly.

Without a word, he looked at you with deer eyes, silently hoping you would understand his motive.

And, as always, you did.

He didn't even have to explain.

Without saying anything, you made a small gesture with your hand, inviting him to come closer, and he didn't think twice about it.

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room with silent steps before slipping under the sheets beside you. The mattress was big, roomy, but as soon as he got into bed, he glued himself to you without thinking. His face hid in the hollow of your neck, his arms relaxed around you, and as soon as he felt the warmth of your skin and the leisurely rhythm of your breathing, his body loosened completely.

This.

This was what he had been looking for.

One arm of his fell lazily around your waist, and when he felt your chin rest gently on his head, he knew there was no turning back.

It was too comfortable.

Your hand slid down to his hair, stroking it in slow, gentle movements, and he instantly closed his eyes, enjoying every second of that gesture. He bit his lip to keep from smiling too much. There was no way his hyungs wouldn't tease him in the morning when they found him here, but honestly… he didn't care.

They would surely provoke him and make him blush with their teasing, but he didn't mind at all.

If the price of sleeping comfy and warm with you was putting up with their teasing… then so be it.

© veevrsee — All rights Reserved.

[burner141]

Read part 1 here

Amongus x 141 is def not something I should be thinking bt as much as I am but erm emergency meeting w them when youre the imposter...

You dropped your spoon when blaring red lights, and deafening sirens went off. An emergency meeting. The creamy pink substance that was about to enter your mouth splattered across the table. Great. No yogurt for you. But maybe it was better that way. You felt like you were going to puke up what very little you had in your stomach.

These days, being the imposter was getting more and more difficult. Sure, the tasks were the same, and you'd argue you were getting faster at sabotaging the others, but those four guys... They were everywhere.

When you were walking the halls, looking for blind spots, Ghost appeared in your peripheral. When you just wanted something to eat, Soap materialized out of nowhere and insisted on joining you. When you were coming out of the damn bathroom, Gaz was conveniently walking by and stopping for a chat. When you were in the middle of mucking up a task, the worst of them all, Price, caught you.

You couldn't do anything without a pair of eyes on you. And now an emergency meeting was called. Was this the end of your road?

All of you circled around the middle table in the caf, scrambling around like headless chickens. Except for them. Always them.

"I have something to report!" One of the crew mates announced. You kept your eyes steady but couldn't stop your jaw from tightening. At times like this, it was best to stay silent. Nobody had suspected you so far, and you'd been so nice to everybody, keeping a friendly demeanor and everything, so maybe you were fine, or maybe they had-

"Go on, who is it?" You startled at the gravely voice next to you. It wasn't necessary to turn your head. You knew who it was. Price.

When had he gotten there?

You turned away from him, a subconscious act of nerves. Grey fabric filled your vision. Your eyes flitted up quickly, once again, your nerves acting up and betraying your blank face (as blank as you could get it). Ghost's eyes bored down into your face.

Trapped.

A rat in a cage. That's what you were.

"I saw Rodney going to Eletrical the other night, looking around like someone was going to catch him doing something sketchy."

Your chest deflated as soon as someone else's name entered this dog pit. Small mercies.

The accuser and the accusee went back and forth, spitting curses and recountings of the night. You just watched, a slither of satisfaction mending your rattled thoughts back in place.

"All right, so are we all in agreement? Rodney is the imposter?" Gaz's voice cut through the others' squabbling. It was a wonder how his tone managed to remain upbeat despite the tense air.

It was probably because he knew. He knew what you were, he'd talked with Price and Soap and Ghost, and they all knew. How could they not? They'd been watching you all this time, and they probably saw you messing up tasks, and darting your eyes, and-

"We can't have him on board." Ghost's tone was dictatorial. It wasn't a suggestion or a question. It was an instruction to everybody present. Rodney couldn't be on board. Because he was the imposter.

"What- what do you think we should do?" Stacy glanced around to the others, checking if they felt as uneasy about this as she did.

You did.

What were these men planning?

"He needs to be let go. Simple. Can't have somebody on board who's trying to sabotage the rest of us, can we?" Price said. And all of a sudden, like a disgusting virus, his sentiments spread through the rest of the crew mates.

Something you had noticed from day one was the effect Price had on others. He was almost hypnotic with the way he spun words. Magnetic with the way he attracted others and kept them right where he wanted them. Dangerous with the way his ideologies quickly became everybody's.

"Alright, let's open the door then." A simple phrase. It could have meant anything in any other context. But right here, right now, it meant one thing. You were all sending Rodney to his death in outer space.

Soap and Ghost grabbed Rodney by the arms, he was no match for those hulking figures. What about you? Could you fight them if they wanted to throw you to the dark abyss? Could you use your words to gain a few more moments of life?

No, you couldn't.

That was the conclusion you came up with as Soap and Ghost's eyes peered over Rodney's flailing figure to stare at your trembling body. Like blue novas, their eyes spelled beauty, and destruction.

Everybody watched as Rodney was dragged to the outer chamber, following like sheep in a herd. Soap and Ghost locked him in, and then Price unlocked the door connected to the room. Rodney floated out like a piece of paper, inconsequential and weightless.

The others dispersed as soon as possible, not wanting to watch a former friend drift away. Did they believe he was the imposter? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was too late.

You stood a few feet away from Price, unsure of who to blame. They were the judges, the jury, and the executioners. They killed Rodney.

Yet, you created the doubt, the suspicion, the paranoia. You killed Rodney.

"So glad that nightmare is over, bonnie." Soap saddled up to you, looking oddly refreshed.

"No more trouble on board." Gaz smiled next to Soap, smiling like he'd just returned from a spa day.

"How can you both be..." Be what? Your question trailed off. Were you feeling guilt? Were you scared of how ruthless they were?

No. You were scared you were next.

"S'alright, love. Just getting rid of dead weight." Price's heavy hand fell on your shoulder, lacking any reassurance that he probably didn't even mean to give you.

"The imposter..." You whispered.

"Not quite." Ghost's deep grunt echoed from behind you.

If you were the imposter... what the hell were they?