#there’s just something about their dynamic

[stellarsecrets86]

All About Venus In Natal Chart

{PS: These are my own interpretations. For entertainment purposes only. Have Fun💚.}

[Venus is the planet of love, beauty, harmony, relationships, values, and pleasure. Its placement in a birth chart offers insight into how one expresses affection, what one values in relationships, and one's approach to aesthetics and enjoyment. Venus demonstrates through which way you love, what you expect from a partner, and your style in romance. It rules your artistic nature, taste, and the way you appreciate beauty around you. Venus indicates something that is pleasurable to you, your values, and your attitude to possessions. This planet possesses grace, tact, and social skills.]

Venus in Aries

They  are bold, passionate, and fearless when it comes to matters of the heart. These individuals are driven by the thrill of the chase and are drawn into dynamic, energetic, independent partners. They enter their love connections with great enthusiasm and sometimes may get a little too spontaneous, as they prefer leading roles in all affairs. Their charm can be magnetic, while directness might be refreshing; often they appear as impatient and impulsive.The gestures are grand, quick, and heartfelt, though they may fight with consistency over time. For them, freedom in love is a quintessential factor, and they thrive in relationships where they get to be themselves. In creative interests, boldness usually shines through in innovative or competitive artistic expressions. The passion is one of the high sides, but they have to learn patience and balance for the endurance of long-term connections.Aesthetically, they are drawn to bright colors, energetic designs, and anything that reflects their fiery personality. Their confidence is contagious, often inspiring others to embrace their own passions. However, they might struggle with possessiveness, especially when their need for excitement is unmet. Growth comes from understanding that love, just like fire, needs careful tending to thrive.

Venus in the 1st House

Venus in the 1st House gifts them with an instinctive, gracious charm and beauty. This placement often makes them well-liked from the first meeting, since people generally see them as warm, approachable, and charismatic. They have a rather sophisticated taste in personal style and aesthetics, and it becomes another source of expressing themselves.They look for balance and harmony in a relationship. Admirers are easy to attract, and they fare well in relationships where they are built up. Their instinctive need to please could lead to over-accommodating, and that can bring boundaries into question. But again, their politeness and graciousness make them good in conflict resolution and reconciliation.They are inspired by beauty and harmony, often in fields of art, fashion, design, or performance. Love and relationships deeply affect their life as these themes help develop a sense of self and career direction. Of course, they do appreciate admiration from others, but the key to their growth would be toward self-love and inner acceptance.

                Venus at 1°, 13° and 25°

                    Venus in these degrees emphasizes pioneering love. These individuals are adventurous romantics who value courage and directness in partners. Their relationships often begin with an intense initial spark. They are the leaders in love. They often guide their partners emotionally or inspire them creatively, bringing a dynamic, take-charge energy to relationships. Magnetic and fiery, these individuals attract partners who admire their independence and boldness. They thrive in relationships where both parties encourage personal growth.

Venus in Taurus

Venus in Taurus is earthy, sensual, and attached to the physical world. Individuals with this placement want stability, comfort, and loyalty in a love relationship. They express love steadily and patiently, often creating long-lasting and profound connections over time. Their romantic nature is expressed through touching, giving thoughtful gifts, cooking for loved ones, or simply creating cozy environments.Sensuality is a hallmark of this placement, and they usually have an immense love for beauty, art, and luxury. While loyalty is one of their great strengths, at times they may resist changes or become overly possessive in relationships. Quite often, creative abilities are realized through hand work: craftsmanship, gardening, and cooking.They are attracted to earthy types, the natural beauty, and unobtrusive elegance. In love, they need consistency; they feel most comfortable when their relationships are secure and can be predictable. Growth for them involves embracing flexibility and learning that change is part of love and life, too.

Venus in the 2nd House

Venus in the 2nd house, on the other hand, connects love with self-esteem and worldly possessions. People with this sign feel secure in relationships that can offer them emotional and economic stability. They have a natural ability to attract abundance and may experience good fortune in financial matters-particularly when they align their passions with their work.In love, they are loyal, dependable, and deeply appreciative of their partners. They express their affection through tangible gestures, such as giving gifts or creating luxurious experiences. However, they must avoid the tendency to equate material possessions with emotional satisfaction or self-worth.They can easily combine functionality with aesthetics, and often find much success in interior design, designing jewelry, or even as a chef. They truly appreciate the aesthetic of their environment and like to be surrounded by things that give them comfort and joy. Growth for them is learning to experience self-worth without attachment to material possessions.

                Venus at 2°, 14°, and 26°

                    Venus in these degrees signifies a deeply rooted love for nature and beauty. These individuals often seek relationships that feel grounded and stable.A powerful creative energy emerges here. These people often possess a natural talent for art, music, or design, and their relationships reflect their appreciation for harmony.They are intensely loyal and may have a protective instinct in relationships. Their love is enduring, and they cherish meaningful commitments.

Venus in Gemini

Venus in Gemini is curious, and mentally stimulating. These individuals crave variety and mental engagement in relationships, often being drawn to partners who can keep up with their quick wit and love for conversation. They are natural charming others with their humor and playful energy.To them, romance is natural, and where their intellect is kept interested, there they will be thrilled. Highly adaptable in love, they bring excitement and creativity to a relationship.Venus in Gemini obviously shines in creative pursuits somehow related to writing, speaking, and generally anything to do with communication and telling a story. Aesthetically, they like youthful eclectic styles that reflect the dynamic nature of their personalities. Growth for them involves embracing emotional control, learning to stay present in one's relationships, even through times of routine or predictability.

Venus in the 3rd House

Venus in the 3rd house emphasizes grace and eloquence in one's communication. These individuals express love through words-be it mushy letters, deep conversations, or an exchange of intellectual ideas. They are often skilled at diplomacy, using their natural charisma to navigate social interactions with ease.They find themselves drawn to people with whom they share mental stimulation in life and relationships. They just love engaged discussions and might make quite a few acquaintances through one's neighbors, siblings, schoolmates, and friends of the family. Creativity is often poured into writing, teaching or communication. Lively and light-hearted and can lean to wit and humor most readily through artistic expression.Growth would come through learning to share mental stimulation harmoniously with emotional, their relationship needing to be stimulating on every level.

                Venus at 3°, 15°, and 27°

                 Venus in these degrees is curious. These individuals thrive in relationships that feel youthful, deep and dynamic.A natural storyteller, they may express love through words or gestures, often finding joy in shared intellectual pursuits.Quick-witted and adaptable, they attract partners who enjoy their lively conversations and open-mindedness.

Venus in Cancer

Venus in Cancer symbolizes profound attachment, nurturing love, and strong attachment to family and home. Individuals with this placement are caring and empathetic in their relations, often putting their partner's needs before their own. They are sentimental and attach a lot of importance to emotional security, forming bonds that are profound and lasting.Their love language is all about acts of care: cooking meals, creating a cozy home, and offering a listening ear. They seek out partners who can provide stability for them and who share their family values. But their emotional sensitivity can make them moody or fearful of rejection, especially if they feel unappreciated.They would be brilliant in areas involved with nostalgia or the care of others, such as storytelling, culinary arts, or interior design. Their aesthetic will run toward classic, homely, and comforting styles. Growth for them lies in a balance of their nurturing with self-care, making sure emotional needs are met, too.

Venus in the 4th House

Venus in the 4th house reflects a very strong attachment to home, family, and tradition. They find their love and beauty in domestic life and mostly put their energy into making the home warm and hospitable. Relationships are deeply connected with their sense of emotional security, and they thrive in relationships that feel like home.The planets' nurturing nature makes them very caring, and they are attracted to activities that involve building and maintaining a peaceful family life. They may be interested in house decoration or investment in property. In love, they seek deep emotional connections and are happiest with partners who share their love for stability and tradition.They are very generous and giving; however, there is an issue with dependency or perhaps an overly strong need to please their family. The lesson that can be derived is related to a balancing between pleasing themselves and their commitment to others without losing one's identity in that relationship.

                Venus at 4°, 16°, and 28°

                 These individuals value emotional security above all. Their relationships are built on trust and mutual care.Romantic and artistic, they often channel their deep emotions into creative expressions.Highly intuitive, they form deep connections and seek partners who understand their inner world.

Venus in Leo

Venus in Leo is warm, passionate, and dramatic when it comes to love. They give out their affection liberally and many times shower their partners with grand romantic gestures. The thing they want and like in a relationship is admiration; thus, they like being the focus of attention. With magnetic charm, confidence, and flair for drama, this guy naturally attracts people.To them, romance is an art, and they simply adore being in a relationship where they feel special and appreciated. Besides this, their need for recognition sometimes causes friction when they are ignored or undervalued. They are attracted to a partner who can match their enthusiasm and shares their zest for life.They can be very proficient in the performance arts, fashion, and anything that displays their skills. Aesthetic-wise, they are often drawn to styles that are extravagant, plush, and king-like. Growth for them involves learning to balance a need for validation with honest self-love, and understanding what respect means in a mutual relationship.

Venus in the 5th House

Venus in the 5th house amplifies the love, creativity, and self-expression of a person. Individuals with this placement of Venus live life in a playful and romantic manner. Many are drawn to artistic and theatrical pursuits. They simply love to share their passions with other people and thrive under relationships that are fun and inspiring.They are passionate and romantic, usually wearing their hearts on their sleeves. They love the romance of it all and are usually drawn to partners who appreciate their creativity and zest for life. There may be ups and downs in their love life, but they will always remain optimistic about the same and stay enthusiastic in trying to derive joy out of it.They tend to excel in areas that require performing arts, music, or visual design. They surely have a keen sense that evokes beauty and creativity in others by using their vision. Growth for them is really about understanding that love and creativity are as much about giving as receiving, ensuring they stay grounded on the path of happiness.

                Venus at 5°, 17°, and 29°

                Bold and expressive in love. They seek partners who inspire them to be their best and reciprocate their devotion.Artistic and charismatic, they are often drawn to creative outlets and romantic partners who admire their talents.Exudes magnetic confidence in relationships and creative ventures, making them unforgettable lovers and artists.

Venus in Virgo

Venus in Virgo is practical, humble, and detail-oriented in love. These people show their love through acts of service and small gestures; most often, they attach much importance to being useful for their partners. They value stability and are drawn to relationships based on mutual respect and shared values.They are probably not the most expressive people in the world when it comes to showering love in grand dramatic gestures, but their loyalty and dedication scream volumes. They possess keen eyes for detail in noticing the little things within a relationship and thus appreciate such. At times this can be overdone-to be too self or partner-critical.They get attracted towards crafts, writing, or other forms of expression requiring precision and refinement. Their aesthetic taste is subdued and leans toward simple yet elegant designs. Growth for them involves learning to embrace imperfections and focusing on the emotional depth of their connections rather than perfection.

Venus in the 6th House

Venus in the 6th house shows love being expressed through service and routine. They find beauty in the mundane and often seek harmony in their work and relationships. They are committed and practical in love, showing their care mostly through helpful actions rather than words or grand gestures.They attract similar soulmates in relationships who can meet their growth-oriented focus head-on. They are only set to blossom in such relations when mutual support and cooperation in every situation come to the fore. Most probably, a similar approach toward health may extend in their interest in creative living: they especially will enjoy any activities benefiting both their bodies and their minds.While admirable in many respects, that sense of looking out for others should not get in the way of taking one's needs into consideration.The balance they need to learn is to tend the garden of themselves while nurturing and deepening the intimacy of their close relationships.

                Venus at 6°, 18°

                Focused on perfecting relationships. They value commitment and shared goals.Quietly romantic, with an appreciation for small, meaningful gestures. A healer in love, often inspiring their partners to grow and become their best selves.

Venus in Libra

Venus in Libra is the quintessential placement for love, beauty, and harmony. These individuals are charming, diplomatic, and deeply appreciate the aesthetics of life. Relationships are of utmost importance to them, and they often seek balance and equality in their romantic partnerships. They thrive in connections where mutual respect, intellectual harmony, and shared values are present.They can see both sides of an issue and go well mediating conflicts in their relationships. They are just, abhor conflict, and seek to avoid it at all costs. In love, they seek a partner who reflects their need for peace and who values cooperation rather than competition.They're drawn to art, design, and anything that promotes balance and beauty. They innately understand symmetry and often are found in fields such as fashion, interior design, or the arts. Aesthetically, they lean toward refined, elegant, and classical styles. Growth for them comes in learning to cultivate self-worth and independence rather than relying too much on others to define their happiness.

Venus in the 7th House

Venus in the 7th house really puts great emphasis on relationships, partnerships, and emotional balance. These people are just drawn into partnerships, personal or professional, and seem to attract harmonious relationships throughout their lives. They seek love and fulfillment with others, and their well-being tends to be linked with the dynamics of their closest bonds.They have a deep urge for justice and equality in relations and are mostly very adaptive, seeking to make peace and understanding. In love, they look for a soulmate who shares their values and aspires to long-term stability and commitment. Their diplomatic nature makes them skillful at resolving conflicts and creating harmony within partnerships.They may express themselves through projects done with others or artistic efforts with others. Their aesthetic tastes run to the balanced, the elegant, and the tasteful. Growth for them is in learning to balance a deep need for companionship with a healthy dose of self-sufficiency and independence.

                Venus at 7°, 19°

                Masters of compromise, they create harmonious and balanced partnerships.Romantic and idealistic, they seek beauty in all forms, from relationships to art.Deeply committed to fairness and aesthetics, they thrive in creative and relational harmony.

Venus in Scorpio

Venus in Scorpio loves intensely, passionately, and transforms. Individuals with this placement bring huge emotional involvement to their relationships and often experience their love on such a deep level it can change their life. They don't get excited about superficial contacts, and they are interested in partners who can return their intensity and share their longing for depth in their feelings.They are loyal and protective of the people they love, but sometimes struggle with trust issues or possessiveness. Their love life often consists of periods of transformation in which they want to transcend the ordinary by merging with their partners. The biggest strengths in their lives are passion, and yet, they have to learn about vulnerability and not allow their tendency to control or manipulate a relationship.They will be drawn to the deep, taboo, or trans formative subjects and usually excel in areas such as psychology or the occult or anything that has to do with the mysteries of life. Aesthetically, they like bold, dark, mysterious styles. Growth for them is to learn to trust and find healthy constructive ways to channel their emotional intensity.

Venus in the 8th House

Venus in the 8th house reflects a profound, trans formative connection with love and shared resources. People with this placement experience relationships at a very deep level; their relationships are usually intense, profound, and transforming. They can be drawn to powerful, magnetic partners who stir their emotions to a great degree.They may desperately want closeness in their romantic life and are usually attracted to mystery, secrecy, or complicated emotional dynamics. While they do well with passionate connections, they need to beware of over-identification with partners or loss of self to them.They often turn out to be those who can excel in the deeper aspects of human nature, such as psychology, research, and anything that deals with uncovering hidden truths. Their aesthetic: dark, alluring, or enigmatic. Their growth comes from learning to balance their emotional intensity with personal autonomy and self-awareness.

                Venus at 8°, 20°

                Intense and magnetic, they value deep emotional bonds and loyalty in relationships.Passionate and creative, they excel in emotionally charged artistic expressions.A healer in love, capable of profound emotional transformation and growth.

Venus in Sagittarius

Venus in Sagittarius is adventurous, freedom-loving, and optimistic in love. These individuals value independence and seek relationships that allow them to explore the world, ideas, and experiences without feeling constrained. They are drawn to partners who share their love for adventure and intellectual growth.To them, romance is playful, spontaneous, and an opening to more. They love the thrill of new experiences, be it traveling, learning new philosophies, or indulging in a variety of activities. While generous and loving, their need for freedom can sometimes make them gun-shy of commitment with traditional relationships.They are inspired by exploration, philosophy, and travel, often drawn to artistic expressions that reflect their broad interests and diverse experiences. Their aesthetic preferences are often eclectic, embracing a wide range of cultural influences. Growth for them lies in finding balance between their need for freedom and the stability that comes from deeper emotional connections.

Venus in the 9th House

Venus in the 9th house emphasizes love through exploration, intellectual growth, and the sharing of ideas. These individuals seek relationships that expand their horizons, whether through travel, education, or philosophical discussions. They are drawn to partners who stimulate their minds and share their curiosity for the world.They are drawn to expansive, open-minded relationships that allow freedom and growth. They may be attracted to people from different cultures or backgrounds, or even those who share their love for adventure and discovery. A relationship in their understanding is not just sharing emotions; it is learning, teaching, and growing together.They are inspired by philosophy, travel, and higher learning. They can find success in writing, education, or any field where they share knowledge or ideas. Their aesthetic sense tends to be eclectic and inclusive, incorporating elements from a wide variety of cultures and philosophies. Growth for them involves embracing the deeper emotional aspects of relationships while keeping their intellectual and adventurous spirit alive.

                Venus at 9°, 21°

                    Free-spirited and optimistic, they value growth and adventure in love.Philosophical and creative, they inspire others with their expansive vision of beauty.A seeker of wisdom in relationships, often using love as a path to self-discovery.

Venus in Capricorn

Venus in Capricorn is practical, reserved, and ambitious in love. These subjects approach relationships with a feeling of duty and responsibility; stability, commitment, and long-term goals are treasured by them. They seek those who share their values of hard work, ambition, and loyalty.The love life is serious and takes time to develop as they take all the time needed to weigh up the possibilities of longevity in a relationship. Once they choose a partner, they are deeply committed, though not always easy with showing their emotions or taking chances in love. Above all, they esteem loyalty and integrity.They might enjoy more structured or traditional forms of self-expression and often excel in business, design, or architecture. Their sense of beauty is classic, timeless, reflective of their responsible and ambitious nature. Growth for them would be learning to surrender their emotional vulnerability, letting the heart lead as well as their pragmatic side.

Venus in the 10th House

Venus in the 10th house links love with career and public life. The person may find a lover through professional life, or they express creativity and tenderness through their work. Recognition is important, and building a reputation based on one's ability to create beauty and harmony in the world will be striven for.In relationships, they seek out a partner who will fit into their future plans and goals. They are usually drawn to individuals who have the ability to facilitate the realization of their career or business plans or share in their vision regarding the future. Their personal and public life almost always merges and they find their success in the areas involving entertainment, art, or design.They find their forte in the areas of life which marry beauty and success, like fashion, business, or media. They can naturally present themselves with grace and poise in the public eye. Growth for them involves finding balance between personal ambition and emotional fulfillment in relationships.

                Venus at 10°, 22°

                    Serious and goal-oriented in love, they seek stability and mutual respect in relationships. A natural leader in creativity, often excelling in structured artistic projects.Loyal and enduring, they value partnerships that stand the test of time.

Venus in Aquarius

Venus in Aquarius is inventive, detached, and idealistic in love. These people come into relationships by asserting their individuality-strongly, and often just as much valuing friendship and intellect as emotional intensity. They are attracted to people with an unconventional approach to life and a new idea or progressive cause that interests them.For them, love often has much to do with freedom and mutual respect, and what they often look for in their relationships is the ability to be independent. They may not express their love conventionally but through shared ideas and objectives. They are tolerant and open-minded and enjoy diversity, finding themselves frequently involved with someone quite out of the ordinary or from a different walk of life.They could also be creatively drawn to avant-garde art, technology, or anything challenging the status quo. Aesthetically, their preferences may lie with everything modern, eclectic, or even from the future. Growth for them is in balancing their needs of independence against the emotional depths and intimacy that sustained partnerships require.

Venus in the 11th House

Venus in the 11th house emphasizes love, beauty, and friendship through social networks, groups, and shared humanitarian aspirations. These individuals seek out relationships that are intellectually challenging and often develop profound attachments with people of similar convictions and interests. Often, their romance starts from a very close friendship that gradually blossoms into something more serious.They lean towards social causes, and the feeling is mutual mainly with those people who know how to feel responsible and answer for social causes. The relationships that offer them development, friendship, and jointly pursued goals give them utmost satisfaction. They need much freedom and individuality within their relationships, which should be well understood by the partner, too.They are often involved with projects or causes that somehow help others or benefit society in general. They may be particularly good at social activism, team-oriented work, or any field that requires innovative thinking and collaboration. Their aesthetic tends toward the contemporary, progressive, or community-focused. Growth for them comes through learning to embrace the deeper emotional side of relationships and to balance that with their desire for social involvement.

                Venus at 11°, 23°

                   unconventional in love, they seek relationships that break societal norms.Charismatic and inventive, they excel in creative and social endeavors.Visionaries in beauty and relationships, they inspire others to embrace individuality.

Venus in Pisces

The Venus-in-Pisces person in love is dreamy, empathic, and deeply romantic. People with this placement approach relationships very idealistically, often seeking to attain a connection with someone that transcends the physical and touches the soul. They can be super empathetic and may even take on your emotional vibration like it's their own. Venus-in-Pisces is extremely generous in relationships. They seek a deep spiritual connection in love and often find themselves drawn to those who are understanding and sympathetic to the sensitivities of their nature. Their love life may be tinged with idealism regarding their partners, which may disappoint them when reality does not meet their dreams. Beauty in all its forms draws them, and they may find inspiration from art, music, or nature.They are found to be creatively excellent in fields that involve the expression of emotions or artistic works, such as music, poetry, or visual arts. The aesthetic preferences of the Venus-Neptune individual are soft, ethereal, and often inspired by fantasy or mysticism. Growth for them involves learning to maintain healthy boundaries in relationships and finding a balance between giving and receiving love.

Venus in the 12th House

Venus in the 12th house brings a profound and often hidden approach toward love and beauty. Individuals with this placement are highly sensitive and intuitive in their relationships and often experience love in a private or secretive manner. They may have a tendency to idealize their partners, sometimes seeing them through rose-colored glasses.Love for them can be a spiritual or transcendental experience, and they may seek out partners who offer them an escape or a connection with something greater than the mundane. They may struggle to express their feelings openly or are afraid of rejection or abandonment that makes them keep their relationships private.They could be drawn to spiritual, mystic, or occluded modes of artistic expression, such as poetry, dream analysis, or work with the subconscious mind. Their aesthetic sense tends to be soft and ethereal, delicate as the inner world they dwell within. Growth for them, basically, means learning to share love and affection fearlessly and being vulnerable but also finding ways to bring submerged talents into the world.

                Venus at 12°, 24°

                   Romantic dreamers who seek transcendent love and emotional depth.Mystical and artistic, they channel their emotions into beautiful creative expressions.Empathetic and intuitive, they often inspire others through their selfless approach to love.

All Aspects Of Venus In Natal Chart

Venus Conjunct Sun

This aspect combines love and self-expression. These people are naturally charming and sometimes admired for their beauty or charisma. A relationship somehow completes them, and they blossom in an atmosphere of harmony. They may be drawn to artistic fields or situations that allow them to showcase their creative talents. Yet, they still have to avoid overindulgence, conceit, or dependence on others' approval. Their warmth and ability to spread love make them appealing to other people, but they will also struggle to balance their own needs with the need to please.

Venus Conjunct Moon

Emotional security and romantic satisfaction go hand in hand. They possess a natural flair for the nourishment of others and beauty around them. They are in touch with their emotions and may attract loving relationships with ease. On the downside, they may cling to close relationships for comfort and reassurance. They have a natural talent for creating peace and harmony around them and may find ideal careers as artists or caregivers.

Venus Conjunct Mercury

In them, the energy of love and communication blend. They can express their affection and appeal with words, thus, easily be convincing and charming with words. Many gain artistic or literary talents through this aspect, which also can cause an attraction toward stimulation in romance on an intellectual level. While they are easily able to be friendly, over-intellectualizing a romance often happens.

Venus Conjunct Mars 

The combination of love and passion turns out to be dynamic and bold in personality. Individuals are quite aggressive in pursuing what they want, be it romance, art, or other creative pursuits. They have confidence and magnetism that draws intense relationships. While this aspect instills passion and creativity, the energy can become impulsive or conflicted when desires are not in a balanced state. Channeling this energy constructively could lead to incredible personal and artistic achievements.

Venus Conjunct Jupiter

This is a very fortunate aspect, bringing optimism, generosity, and love for life's pleasures. These people are generally surrounded by beauty and abundance and attract positive experiences and relationships without much apparent effort. Naturally romantic, they love giving and receiving love, though they do need to balance tendencies toward overindulgence or extravagance. Their charisma and warmth make them often popular, and they frequently find joy in creative or social endeavors.

Venus Conjunct Saturn

This aspect brings seriousness and discipline into matters of love and beauty. Loyal and enduring relationships are valued highly, and commitment often overrides transient connections. Delays or restrictions in love early in life instill important lessons in patience and self-worth. With time, a deep appreciation for enduring bonds develops, and structures of beauty, such as architecture or design, may be created with great talent.

Venus Conjunct Uranus 

This aspect electrifies love, making it quite unpredictable. People with this aspect are attracted to unconventional relationships, and they flourish in partnerships that allow freedom and independence. They might go through sudden, unexpected changes in their love life, often learning to embrace spontaneity. Their creativity is innovative, and they can excel in those spheres that combine artistry with technology. While relationships with them can be exciting, they will probably need to work at emotional stability and consistency.

Venus Conjunct Neptune

The most sensitive, imaginative, romantic idealistic, and enchanting aspect of them heightens. Dreamers on the inside, love or beauty may be regarded as more or less otherworldly for them. They are spiritually drawn towards the arts, music, poetry, or the art of painting. On the minus side, unrealistic expectations will bring disillusionment in love since idealism may run too high. Their compassionate nature makes them deeply empathetic, and they often inspire others with their vision of a more beautiful world.

Venus Conjunct Pluto 

This aspect creates powerful, trans formative experiences in love and relationships. These individuals are magnetic and deeply passionate, often attracting intense connections that challenge and change them. They have a profound understanding of emotional depth and may explore themes of power, control, and vulnerability in their relationships. While they can facilitate a lot of emotional healing, they must also avoid a tendency toward possessiveness or obsession. The same aspect also inspires creativity and fuels deep emotional release into creative resources. Trines represent an effortless expression of harmony between Venus and other planetary energies that energize love, beauty, and creativity.

Venus Trine Sun

These native people are confident and have charms that make them pleasingly attractive to others, are full of self-respect, and are in an environment where they keep getting love and admiration; thus, relationships come easily with others. They are able to excel in artistic fields, social fields, and anything with ease. Their disposition in life is easy; therefore, harmony prevails within the family. They perhaps don't take their easygoing talents or relationships for granted.

Venus Trine Moon

The emotional and romantic energies blend well, creating a very loving and nurturing personality. The individual is naturally empathetic and easily creates supportive and harmonious environments. The relationships are very fulfilling, and mostly the people around them consider them emotional pillars.

Venus Trine Mars

The natural ease between love and passion equates to self-assuredness and magnetic charm. These individuals can be lively and creative in their personal or professional relationships, with a vivacity for life that makes them admired. They are, many times, at the forefront of community respect.

Venus Trine Mercury

These individuals have a communicative gift, especially in expressing love and creativity. Sweetness with words endears them as good poets, writers, or speakers. Their articulate affection and charm draw people to them. Relationships run smoothly, and they can resolve conflicts with ease through open dialogue. This aspect often indicates a talent for blending logic and beauty, such as in design, diplomacy, or storytelling.

Venus Trine Jupiter

Love and generosity flow. These people possess a type of optimism that makes being around them quite pleasant. They are mostly lucky with love and financial issues, since opportunities for growth and happiness find them. They have an expansive nature that makes them very generous with their time and their resources, although they should try not to overextend. Artistic pursuit is usually crowned with success; travel and cultural exploration satisfy them.

Venus Trine Saturn

Stability and loyalty define the relationships. The grounding nature of these individuals in an approach to love is to build connections that are long-lasting in nature and based on mutual respect and commitment; this makes them really patient and dependable, often a source of strength for their loved ones. The aspect nurtures a great appreciation for tradition and structure and may manifest in careers related to design, architecture, or management.

Venus Trine Uranus

Creativity and excitement run freely in their love life. They thrive in the most unconventional of relationships where freedom and individuality are allowed. They are usually ahead of the times in their artistic vision, bringing innovative ideas into being. Their relationships are thrilling and inspiring, though they may need to ensure they maintain emotional depth and consistency.

Venus Trine Neptune

Romantic and artistic energies blend harmoniously. Highly imaginative, these individuals usually find their place in the world of music, painting, or other creative activities. Their idealism in love is inspiring, though they remain sufficiently grounded not to be disillusioned. Compassionate and empathetic, they bring healing and beauty into their surroundings.

Venus Trine Pluto

Emotive depth and passion meet love and beauty in a harmonious balance. The individual is trans formative in the relationship with others, allowing others to grow while growing themselves. They possess a powerful charisma that attracts deep, meaningful connections. The creativity is often intense and impactful, and they may excel in areas involving psychology, art, or healing.

Venus Sextile Sun

This is a naturally charming and artistically talented individual. Love and admiration are drawn to them, but they need to make an effort to develop their talents in life fully. Artistic and social skills fall into place when encouraged.

Venus Sextile Moon

The emotional and romantic vibrations complement each other and work well in nurturing relationships. They are good at providing emotional security in relationships and may have a flair for interior decoration or looking after people.

Venus Sextile Mercury

They are fluent, expressive, and eloquent in relationships by nature. This makes them charming, convincing, and a pleasure to know. Many may find their calling in either the arts or sciences.

Venus Sextile Mars

Their affection and passion are nicely balanced, leading to satisfactory love and creative lives. Dynamic and inspiring, they get much done if their energies go into useful channels.

Venus Sextile Jupiter

Love, joy, and abundance are within easy reach. Naturally optimistic, they attract positive opportunities in relationships and finances. Their generosity brings mutual growth in return.

Venus Sextile Saturn

Hard work and discipline will pay off in long-lasting rewards in love and career. Loyal and stable, these individuals often shine in roles that require responsibility and attention to detail.

Venus Sextile Uranus

They innovate and excite their relationships, often thriving in non-traditional partnerships. Creativity is enhanced by embracing new ideas.

Venus Sextile Neptune

Artistic and spiritual inclinations thrive with effort. These individuals have a tender, compassionate approach to love, often inspiring others with their vision of beauty and harmony.

Venus Sextile Pluto

Love and creativity allow access to depth and transformation. These people can reach deeper layers and stimulate further growth in themselves and others.

Venus Square Sun

This aspect tends to create tension between the need for beauty, love, and personal identity. Persons with this aspect may feel pulled between their need for self-expression and the demands made by relationships. There can be difficulties in balancing the personal desires with the expectations of others. Self-esteem might be linked with how loved or admired they are, and this may bring insecurity. Growth can result if learning integration is developed, integrating an ego identity and the need to love and be loved compatible. An overwhelming sense of wanting to be appreciated due to one's charisma or creative ability tugs sometimes irreconcilably in the other direction from inherent self.

Venus Square Moon

The emotional and relational needs may consistently feel antagonistic. There will be ups and downs in a romantic affair that may confuse or dissipate emotions. A person of such nature may easily idealize or fantasize about having perfect love, and finally, when things get practical, may end up disheartened. Balancing emotional security with romantic desires is one balancing that will be carried throughout your life. There could be stress in reconciling personal needs with the desire for love that might result in mood swings or turmoil.

Venus Square Mercury

There may be troubles in relationships concerning communications, specifically. Subjects may struggle in putting affection and love in ways other people understand. They are likely to misunderstand their love life or rationalize their love life so it creates space between lovers. Creativity is shut as your emotions will be off in one corner and then ways to effectively communicate down here. This may cause people to overthink romantic relationships.

Venus Square Mars

There is a lot of conflict between passion and love. This aspect may make them intensely emotionally and sexually attracted, but it also sets them up for a whole lot of friction in their relationships. These people are often prone to power or impulsive issues in the way they approach love, which makes finding a balance hard. They might have the desire for affectionate closeness but struggle to work out how to go about it in a healthy, grounded manner. There is the tendency to act impulsively in relationships, leading to arguments or misunderstandings.

Venus Square Jupiter

This aspect may create overindulgence or excess, though the natural optimism and generosity in love are well placed. These individuals may have to work against the tendency to idealize romantic partners or love as an idea. There might be a tendency to "overdo" love or beauty, setting one up for disappointment or non-alignment with reality. They may also face some problems in maintaining boundaries in relationships, at times putting way too much energy into the relationship without getting equal returns.

Venus Square Saturn

This square might speak about love and relationships being hampered in some manner or not allowing complete expression. There would come a time in one's life when one must suffer the coldness of heart, the distance from people, or just an impossibility of satisfying their urge in life. Love matters quite seriously and caution-processes that at times create an unrest and a sense of being dislocated to exercise freely the power to express. More simply said, in time, the connection can be deep based abidingly on commitment and loyalty, but it could be heavy and hard to win.

Venus Square Uranus

This makes relationships unpredictable and often unstable. These people may want freedom and excitement in love, which may make them seek unconventional or nontraditional relationships. Sudden and unexpected changes in romantic life can stress or raise uncertainty. The strong desires for novelty and excitement may be at odds with finding stability in relationships. There's this tendency to fight conventionality in love, and such can bring friction with other people who strive for stability.

Venus Square Neptune

Idealism in love can often come up against reality, leading to confusion or disillusionment. They may have fantastic expectations from love or a partner that may lead to disappointments or emotional disarray. A person with this placement may project an idealized version of love onto others and then be disappointed when a relationship doesn't live up to their ideals. There is also the possibility of losing themselves in dreams or escape mechanisms due to an inability to balance romantic ideals with the reality of their relationships.

Venus Square Pluto

The aspects are all about intensity and change of emotion. People having Venus square Pluto usually go through very intense, transformative relationships that may turn out to be overwhelming, manipulative, or abusive at times. Power struggles or jealousy may come up within a partnership due to some deeper fears or desires to gain control. This can definitely make a balance difficult between love, desire, and personal power. It is in this intense emotional experience that they may achieve profound self-awareness and healing.

Venus Opposition Sun

This immediately sets up a tension-a push-pull dynamic-between one's need to be themselves and the desire for affection and connection. Individuals in such positions may feel torn between self-expression and people-pleasing, between their identities and others' approval of them. They might not find that right balance between their need for self-expression and their need for partnership. A romantic relationship can be likened to a mirror reflecting both one's strengths and insecurities. Personal growth for him will depend upon how he learns to balance these two competing energies.

Venus Opposite Moon

The pulls of emotional security and romance are opposite in direction. This position may bring internal emotional tension into your life, moodiness, or a confused feeling about love. Here, the emotional wishes contradict with the desire to be loved or acknowledged. They might also be torn between their own personal needs and the emotional requirements of their partners. This generally involves balancing one's private emotional life with one's public life of romance.

Venus Opposition Mercury

Hardly any ease in communication-especially about love matters-could be the case, and the poor thing cannot clearly state what's on his or her mind or what is desired, which might give way to misunderstandings in a love relationship. They might be prone to intellectualize feelings, set themselves apart from deeper contact. Learning ways to naturally express their affectionate and loving feelings will overcome this opposition.

Venus Opposition Mars

The tension between love and desire often makes for an intense and passionate relationship. The deep longing for affection might often turn to frustration or conflict. This is an aspect that may result in a battle of wills in partnerships: one will may be more forceful or dominating, while another yearns for affection and intimacy. There can be a fine line between desire and control, and this opposition often brings up issues of power dynamics in relationships.

Venus Opposition Jupiter

This opposition sometimes faces over-optimism and overindulgence in love. On most occasions, individuals with this opposition battle between ideal relationships and a reality check of their limiting factors. They always tend to overindulge in love or idealize their partners to the core, only to get disappointed in the end. Learning how to balance enthusiasm with moderation in relationship matters is important.

Venus Opposition Saturn

Love and emotional expression can be experienced as restricted with this opposition. These people can feel that they do not get the emotional support in a relationship or possibly feel that love has to be hard-earned. There is a tendency for these individuals to feel loneliness and a disconnection with others on an intimate level. While over time this opposition can give rise to long-term, committed relationships, they may feel to require a lot of effort and emotional discipline.

Venus Opposition Uranus

This position is known to generally make the relationships quite unconventional, thrilling, and unpredictable. There is an inborn longing for freedom in love that contributes to instability and tension in romantic relationships. Their love life may comprise sudden turnarounds and unexpected happenings, which give a roller coaster feeling both excitingly and disturbingly. A balance between freedom and togetherness in love has to be achieved as too much unpredictability in love can cause emotional exhaustion.

Venus Opposition Neptune

This romantic ideal can sometimes collide with harsh realities, and thus might create a kind of disappointment or confusion regarding love matters. There is a tendency to idealize the partner or project fantasies onto them and later get disappointed because reality cannot live up to expectations. They might not clearly understand the true nature of love and relationships; it takes introspection to differentiate fantasy from reality.

Venus Opposition Pluto

This is an intense aspect in relating, signaling transformation. There is a deep-seated desire for passion and connections, but it will often be associated with some kind of power struggle or emotional manipulation. These people are likely to find themselves in relationships that confront them with their own wounded psyche or deeply buried desires. The way to grow into this opposition is to allow the transformation without getting caught up in control or struggles for power.

[harmonysanreads]

Chiaroscuro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dr Ratio x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

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

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

i. Panorama.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That earned him a laugh and messier hair.

ii. Anamorphosis 

Little Veri.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don't really understand but alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And is that your sole ambition in life?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that realization appalled the young scholar.

iii. Tenebrism 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They did what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Veritas simply nods to that conclusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

iv. Tachisme

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

v. Sotto in su

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“— Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon ;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not yet attained his noon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi. Trompe l'oeil

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Veritas… Ratio?”

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

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

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

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

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

A breeze passes through the gap between you two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did they…” he began, uncertain.

“Give you a bouquet of bluebells?”

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

(He felt a twist somewhere in his heart.)

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until the encounter at the cafe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A distant tug held him back.

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

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

—

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

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

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

A zephyr whispered to him, “Asphodels,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That sobers him.

“Your…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your confusion only increases, “What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vii. Sfumato

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idiocy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A withered daffodil lamented rationality’s fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ignorance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ratio concurs he deserves it.

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

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

Perhaps, you were at peace now at last.

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

Perhaps, you had closed your eyes without any regrets.

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

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

Foolishness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just kidding, my bluebell.”

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

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

Thank you so much for reading!

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

[essiemclaren]

watch me win

in which lando was paid to fake date y/n!

pairing: mean!lando x reader

tw: super mean/rude lando and ofc angst

day 2

lando's text with the bros

lando's text with the reader

Life is unpredictable, but for Lando Norris, there was always a backup plan. He didn’t need to waste time stressing over what could go wrong; his mind was always three steps ahead. Quick moves, sharp thinking—that’s how he kept control. So, when he asked her out for Saturday, it wasn’t because he liked her. Far from it. He didn’t even find her interesting enough to care. She wasn’t some elusive beauty that had him tongue-tied. No, Lando asked her out because he was helping a buddy out, someone too spineless to handle their own situation. She was a tool, a temporary convenience to get what he needed.

Right after their day 1 of meeting, Lando... Oh, Lando instantly knew the way she clung to every word he said, the desperate way she hung on to each fleeting moment of attention—Lando could practically see it. She was that type, the one who’d find validation in any scrap of it, always eager to be the center of someone’s universe. It wasn’t even a challenge; she was a walking cliché, all wide eyes and innocent smiles, pretending she was so much more than the attention-seeker she really was. And Lando? He was just playing along, a momentary distraction, a little fun to help out his friend.

Nothing personal.

She wasn’t anything special—just someone who’d fall for the smallest gestures, starved for a taste of something that made her feel wanted. Lando didn’t mind giving her that. He knew she'd eat it up, desperate for it, clinging to the idea that this meaningless gesture somehow meant something more.

And for day 2? Since he asked her out for Saturday, he’d get a brand new motorbike—a sleek, custom bike, the kind that screamed luxury and power. Because why not take advantage of the situation, turning a simple play into something even more valuable than her fleeting attention?

Saturday

lando's text with the reader

lando's text with the bros

lando's post on x/twitter

After the whole thing was over, Lando leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips as he replayed the night in his head. Did he regret it? Not for a second. She missed her precious dinner party, but that wasn’t his problem. He couldn’t care less. Her disappointment was just a footnote in his evening, barely worth a second thought. What mattered was the new ride waiting for him—shiny, powerful, and all his. He’d played the game, entertained her for a bit, and now he had what he wanted.

He didn’t regret a thing. Not for a second.

--

a/n: Hey everyone! I’m sorry this chapter is shorter than usual – I’ve been super busy, but I hope you understand! I really enjoyed writing this part and I hope you did too. I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday break! Please let me know what you think about this chapter – your feedback means a lot. Again, happy holidays, take care, and I’ll be back soon! xx

-essie the elf 🎄

taglist: @5sospenguinqueen @bluethperson @mayusaatma @mountvesuvu @styl1shl1v @hotgirlslikemax @creamsteam3 @kravitswhore @issi-loves-dynamic @llando4norris @sunlithearts @osclerc @hurtblossom @miiaex @somerandomf1fan @nataliambc @saachiep81 @ironmaiden1313 @s-awturn @c4tc0re @dannyleclerc @lexiecampos @loloekie @idontknowanythingsblog @grovelingmen @cchewhaz @linneaguriii

[fangdokja]

🔞He says it’s love, but the scars on your skin tell a different story.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in his obsession, your brother’s love is a cage—burning, possessive, and unyielding. Every kiss is a claim, every touch a warning. You’re his, and he’ll make sure the world knows it.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Older Brother x Reader

♡ Novelette. Sins of the Silent Heart - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,010

♡ TW. incest, non-con, rape, overstimulation, isolation, kidnapping, confinement, forced marking, dacryphilia, bondage, sexual punishments, BDSM, sadism, unhealthy power dynamics, loss of virginity, toxic relationship, spanking, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, physical assault and abuse, sexual violence, knife play, blood play, permanent injury, choking / breath play

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay. You struggle against his ironclad grasp, but he's too strong.

He shoves you onto the bed with a force that steals your breath, pinning your arms above your head with one hand while the other clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams. "Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"You're only making this harder for yourself. You need to understand." His eyes bore into yours, searching for something—fear, submission, perhaps even love. But all you feel is a cold dread unfurling in your stomach, a horror that threatens to consume you whole.

Your brother's grip on your face tightens, his thumb digging into your cheek as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours.

"You're mine," he repeats, the words a chant that seems to fuel his rage. His other hand begins to roam, skimming over your body in a way that makes you feel violated and disgusting. You try to kick, to fight, but he's everywhere, his weight pressing down on you like a mountain.

"You think you can just go out there and give yourself to someone else?" he snarls, his eyes wild with jealousy. "You're too good for them. You're too good for anyone but me."

His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Panic sets in as you realize the full extent of his intentions, your eyes widening in horror.

You manage to break free from his hand over your mouth, gasping for air. "No, please, stop," you plead, your voice shaky with fear and desperation.

"I'm your sister! Please don't do this!" But your words only seem to fuel his rage further, his grip on your wrists tightening until you think your bones might snap.

"Your mouth will be the only thing that's used for speaking my language tonight," he sneers, his free hand ripping at the fabric of your shirt, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. The sound of buttons popping off and fabric tearing fills the room, echoing your own silent screams.

You feel a warm wetness between your legs, not from desire but from fear and the humiliation of knowing what's about to happen. "You're going to learn your place," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he straddles you, his weight pinning you to the bed.

You writhe beneath him, trying to find an inch of space, any way to escape, but his body is like a vice, trapping you in this twisted nightmare. He reaches for your pants, his hand fumbling with the button before he yanks them down with a rough jerk, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

"You're going to love me," he says, his voice a twisted mix of anger and lust.

"You're going to forget all about those other boys. They're nothing compared to me." His words are a knife to your heart, each syllable twisting the blade deeper.

Tears stream down your face as he pulls his own pants down, his erection straining against his boxers. You can feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressing against yours, his arousal against your thigh.

The room feels like it's spinning, the walls closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the monster above you, but his touch is everywhere, invasive and repulsive.

He pulls your panties to the side with a cruel efficiency, and you can't help but sob out loud. "Please, brother, no," you whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears.

He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "You're going to scream my name. You're going to beg for more."

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the pillow, the fabric smothering your cries. You feel his hand move away from your face and grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards your entrance.

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is a violation so profound, it feels like your soul is being torn apart. The tip of his cock nudges against your folds, and you tense up, trying to resist, but your body is too overwhelmed with fear to do much more than shiver.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes inside you, the pain tearing through you like a bolt of lightning.

You scream into the pillow, your nails digging into the mattress as he starts to thrust, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance.

You can feel the fabric of your ruined panties wedged between your thighs, a sadistic reminder of your innocence lost. His rhythm is punishing, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You try to hold back the tears, to hide your pain, but they come anyway, soaking the pillow beneath your face.

He drives through your hymen without mercy, the fabric of your innocence ripping away as he claims you as his own. The pain is unlike anything you've ever felt before—sharp, searing, and unrelenting.

Your eyes fly open, and you scream into the pillow, your body arching off the bed as he buries himself deep within you. The sensation is a mix of agony and unwanted fullness, a violation that sets every nerve ending on fire.

His grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you, thick and demanding. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a harsh whisper.

You force your eyes to meet his, and what you see there is a twisted mix of satisfaction and rage. He watches you, his pupils dilated with lust, as he continues to fuck you without care for your pain.

"Say it," he hisses, his hips grinding against yours in a punishing rhythm. "Say you're mine."

Your throat is raw from screaming, but you manage to croak out the words he wants to hear. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice a broken echo of the defiance that once burned within you.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you know it's what he needs to hear.

His eyes flash with triumph, and he releases your neck, allowing you to gulp in a desperate breath. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sick parody of affection as he starts to move faster.

You feel his hand snake around your throat again, squeezing gently before sliding up to cradle your face. "I'll always take care of you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he pushes deeper into you, each stroke a declaration of his ownership.

You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to focus on anything but the pain. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and his grunts of pleasure.

He's so deep inside you that it feels like he's touching your very soul, and you can't help but wonder if there's any part of you that will ever be yours again. You want to fight, to scream, to push him away, but your body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and unresponsive to your will.

He leans down, his mouth crushing against yours in a kiss that's more claim than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you taste the salt of your own tears.

You try to pull away, to bite him, to do anything that will make him stop, but he only grinds against you harder, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. "You're mine," he says against your lips, the words a dark benediction that sends a shiver of revulsion through your body.

Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your face is a mascara-stained mess, your hair a tangled halo around your head, and your body is a canvas of bruises already beginning to blossom.

The sight only seems to excite him more, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he watches your reflection, his eyes glinting with a malicious pleasure. You feel yourself start to detach, floating above the scene like a ghost, watching as your body is used and discarded by the person who's supposed to love you the most.

"Please," you manage to gasp out, the word a pathetic plea that hangs in the air, unheeded. "It hurts."

But he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care, his hips pumping faster, his breathing growing ragged.

The pain becomes a living entity, a monster that consumes you from the inside out, reducing you to a trembling wreck beneath him.

He shifts his weight, his hand moving from your face to your hip, his fingers digging in as he pulls you closer to him. "You're so damn tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You were made for me."

His thumb slides between your thighs, finding the bundle of nerves that had once brought you pleasure, and you feel a spark of hope—maybe if you can just make him finish, it will all be over.

But his touch is rough, almost punishing, and any hint of pleasure is drowned out by the agony of his invasion.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more frenzied with each passing moment. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a mix of demand and question.

"You're going to come and show me how much you want this." You feel his thumb circle your clit, pressing down hard as he continues to fuck you, his other hand squeezing your hip so tightly that it feels like he's trying to leave a permanent imprint of his fingers on your skin.

The pain and the pleasure meld together into something twisted and unrecognizable, and you can't help but whimper as your body starts to respond despite your mind's screaming protests.

His eyes never leave yours, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and pain like it's his lifeblood. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Show me how much you need me."

And you do—your body betrays you, arching up to meet his touch, your walls tightening around his cock as the beginnings of an orgasm build against your will.

You want to hate him for reducing you to this, for making you feel like a whore, but the pleasure is too intense to fight.

With a final, brutal thrust, he releases your hip, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand still working you into a frenzy. "You're mine," he says again, his voice a hoarse growl.

"Say it. Scream it." And as if on cue, your body shatters, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest, stealing your voice along with your dignity. The only sound that escapes you is a strangled cry, a sound that's half-pain, half-pleasure.

His eyes widen with triumph as he feels your body clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening as he starts to come, filling you with his seed. The feeling of his release only adds to the horror, his hot cum a declaration of his claim on your body.

You lay there, trembling and sobbing, as he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and his own, his weight a suffocating presence that makes it difficult to draw in air.

As the fog of pleasure fades, the reality of what's happened crashes down on you like a tidal wave of despair. You feel soiled, used, and utterly broken. Your eyes fill with fresh tears, and you struggle to find the strength to push him off.

But he's still inside you, his cock now limp but still a violation of the most intimate kind. "Don't," he says, his voice suddenly gentle as he rolls off you and pulls you into his arms.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore." His touch is tender, almost loving, but it's tainted by the knowledge of what he's just done.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, your face buried in his chest, your body shaking with sobs. He strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings that only serve to make you feel more disgusted.

"It's okay," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. "You're safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again."

His words are a mockery of comfort, a twisted parody of the brotherly love you once knew.

You want to scream, to push him away, but all you can do is cry.

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he says, his voice a soft command.

"I'm not going to let anyone else have you. You're mine. You always have been." His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of understanding, some spark of the love he believed you owed him.

But all you see is the monster he's become, the predator that's stolen your childhood trust in him.

"I know you didn't mean to," he continues, his tone earnest. "But you can't leave me. You can't love anyone else. Do you understand?"

You nod, the tears still streaming down your face, the taste of defeat coating your mouth like bile. "Y-yes," you manage to whisper, the words barely audible. "I understand."

It's not what he wants to hear, not the declaration of love he craves, but it's all you can give.

For now.

────────────

The weekend stretches before you, a prison of his twisted love and dominance. Each moment is a silent scream of agony and degradation, as your brother takes you again and again.

The bedroom, the kitchen table, the living room couch—every corner of your shared home becomes a battleground for his obsession.

He fucks you in every position imaginable, his hunger insatiable, his need to claim you complete.

You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, used and abused at his whim, your body a canvas for his depravity.

────────────

On the first night, he ties your wrists to the bedposts with the usual belt he uses to punish you, spreading your legs wide as he looms above you. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise.

"Every inch of me, until you're screaming my name." He pushes into you, his cock thick and unforgiving, and you bite back a whimper, your eyes squeezed shut.

He's gentle at first, almost loving, but as the night wears on, his strokes become more forceful, his grip on your hips tightening.

You're too tired to fight, too broken to resist. When he finally releases you from your bonds, you collapse onto the bed, your limbs trembling from the exertion.

────────────

The next day, he takes you into the shower, the water a scalding caress against your bruised skin. He soaps you up with a tenderness that feels like a slap in the face after what he's done. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl.

You do, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the water cascading down your breasts. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say you love me."

The words stick in your throat, a lie that feels like acid. But you whisper them anyway, because it's what he needs to hear, because you're too scared not to.

────────────

In the kitchen, he bends you over the counter, your hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. You can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the jingle of his belt loops echoing through the room. "You're going to learn to crave this," he says, his voice a harsh promise.

You feel the head of his cock against you, and your body tenses, bracing for the pain. "You're going to want me more than anyone else."

His hands are everywhere, pushing into your hips, squeezing your breasts, his thumb circling your clit.

You hate the way your body responds, the way your pussy clenches around him, begging for more even as you silently pray for it to end.

He enters you from behind, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. You grit your teeth against the pain, your knuckles turning white as you hold onto the counter for dear life.

He's deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan despite the fear choking you.

"That's it," he says, his voice thick with pleasure. "You like it, don't you?" You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the kitchen tiles beneath your feet.

But the orgasm builds, unwanted and unstoppable, stealing your voice as it rips through you, leaving you trembling and sobbing.

────────────

Later, in the living room, you're forced to straddle him on the couch, his cock buried inside you as he watches TV. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes flicking from the screen to your face, watching you with a perverse fascination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the horror of his actions.

You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words won't come. Instead, you stare blankly at the TV, trying to lose yourself in the flickering images, trying to forget the reality of your situation.

────────────

On the second night, he takes you to the floor in the hallway, pushing you onto your knees. "You're going to suck me off," he says, his voice cold and demanding. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

You hesitate, your throat tight with fear, but his hand wraps around the back of your head, pushing you closer to his erection.

"Do it," he growls, and you have no choice but to comply, your mouth opening to take him in.

You can taste the salt and the bitterness of his lust, and you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow, to keep going until he's satisfied.

When he finally comes, you feel his hot cum spurt down your throat, and you have to fight not to throw up.

He pulls out, his hand releasing your head as he watches you, his eyes filled with a perverse satisfaction. "Good girl," he says, his voice a taunting whisper.

You crawl away from him, your body trembling, your dignity shattered beyond repair. You can't believe this is your life now, that you're nothing more than a toy for his sick games.

────────────

On the final day of the weekend, you're lying on the floor of his room, your body bruised and sore from his relentless attention. He's sitting on the bed, watching you with a strange mix of love and possession.

"Look at you," he says, his voice almost gentle. "So beautiful, even when you're broken."

You force yourself to meet his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, any shred of the brother you once knew. But all you find is a monster, a creature consumed by his own desires.

He stands up, walking over to you with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's time to go back to your room," he says, his voice a command.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, as he helps you to your feet. The room spins around you, the pain making it difficult to stand.

"You're mine," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Always remember that." He gives you a final, bruising kiss before releasing you, his eyes never leaving your face.

You stumble back to your room, feeling his gaze on your back like a physical weight.

The door closes behind you, the soft click echoing in your ears. You collapse onto the bed, your body a mass of pain and despair.

You can't believe what's happening, can't believe that the person you trusted the most has become your worst nightmare.

But even as you cry into your pillow, a part of you knows that this is only the beginning.

────────────

Days turn into weeks, and the abuse continues. You try to find ways to resist, to fight back, but his control over you is absolute.

He's always watching, always waiting for the slightest sign of disobedience. You start to feel like you're going mad, trapped in a cycle of fear and pain that never ends.

But you keep the secret, hiding your bruises beneath layers of clothing, smiling when you know he's watching.

────────────

One evening, as you're serving dinner, a knock at the door pierces the tension that's become a constant in your home.

It's a friend from school, someone who's been worried about you since you stopped hanging out. You can see the concern in his eyes as he asks about your well-being.

Your brother's grip on your wrist tightens, a silent warning not to say a word. "She's just been busy," he says, his voice too cheerful. "Aren't you, little sister?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had a lot of... stuff to do."

The friend's gaze lingers on you, searching for the truth behind the forced smile. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me," he says, before finally turning to leave. The door closes, and the room feels smaller, suffocating.

He pulls you closer, his grip painfully tight. "You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You don't need anyone else."

His eyes bore into yours, demanding assurance, and you nod, the lie rolling off your tongue like a well-rehearsed script.

"Yes," you murmur, "I know."

────────────

As the days go by, the lines between fear and obedience blur. You learn to anticipate his moods, his needs, his desires.

You become an expert at hiding your own emotions, burying your pain beneath a mask of submission. You go through the motions, cooking, cleaning, smiling when he enters the room.

But inside, you're screaming, a caged animal waiting for an escape that never comes.

One day, you're in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you prep dinner. The knife slips, slicing your finger, and blood wells up, a stark crimson against the pale flesh.

He's there in an instant, his eyes flickering with concern before they darken. "Careful," he says, his voice a low warning.

"You're too clumsy for your own good." He takes your hand, leading you to the sink to clean the wound.

But instead of the gentleness you expect, his grip turns cruel, his fingers pressing into your palm until you wince.

"You're going to be more careful," he says, his voice cold. "You're too precious to be ruined by something as stupid as an accident."

You nod, your heart racing as you watch the blood swirl down the drain. "I'll be more careful," you whisper, the words feeling like a noose around your neck.

He releases your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he says, his voice softening slightly. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

But the way he says it, you know he's not just talking about accidents.

He's talking about you leaving, about you telling someone. The fear is a living thing inside you, a creature that feeds on your hope.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" You can feel his arousal pressing against your side, his desire for you a constant, unyielding force.

You nod again, because what else can you do? He takes your injured finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut, the sensation surprisingly gentle.

The room spins around you, the line between love and hate blurring until you can't tell the difference.

His eyes never leave yours, his gaze holding you captive as his mouth works its magic. When he pulls away, you're left gasping for air, your body a battleground of emotions.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask, your voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

He looks at you, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Because I love you," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Because you're mine, and no one else can have you."

You pull away, your heart racing. "But we're siblings," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't right."

He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "Don't say that," he says, his voice a low warning. "You're the only one who makes me feel alive, the only one who truly understands me. I'm going to marry you, make it official. No one can ever take that away from us."

His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, you see the little boy who protected you from the monsters under the bed.

But the monster is him now, and there's no escape.

You nod, your voice trembling. "Okay," you say, the word sticking in your throat. "I'll be yours."

It's a hollow promise, but it's what he needs to hear.

His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, lighting up the room and your heart despite the fear.

That night, he takes you gently, as if you're made of glass. His touches are softer, his kisses more tender.

But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. You lay there, your body bruised and used, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of telling someone.

But every time you open your mouth to speak, the fear clamps down, silencing you.

────────────

As the weeks turn into months, the abuse becomes a twisted routine.

You find yourself craving the moments of tenderness he offers, the fleeting moments when he's not a monster, but the brother you once knew.

His love feels like a drug, an addiction that you can't shake, no matter how hard you try.

And he's always there, watching, waiting, making sure you know you're his.

One evening, as you lay in his arms, the room lit by the flickering TV, you feel something shift inside you. You've been playing along, pretending to be the obedient little sister and wife he wants, but the weight of the lie is crushing you.

You look up at him, his eyes closed in contentment, and for the first time, you feel something other than fear.

It's anger, burning hot and pure, a fire that's been smoldering deep within you. "I can't do this anymore," you say, your voice shaking with the force of your emotions.

He opens his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asks, his hand stroking your hair.

You sit up, pulling away from him. The words come out in a rush, the dam of your fear and anger finally breaking. "This isn't love, it's not normal. You can't just take what you want from me."

You can see the hurt in his eyes, but it's mixed with something else—a hint of anger.

"What do you know about love?" he snaps, his grip on your arm tightening.

"You're just a kid, playing games you don't understand." His voice is low, dangerous.

"You're mine, and you always will be. You don't get to decide who loves you, or how."

You try to pull away, but his hand is a vice, his nails digging into your skin. "Let go of me," you say, your voice trembling.

But he doesn't.

He pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours, looking for the submission he craves.

"You don't get it," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're all I've ever had. You're all I've ever needed. And now that I have you, I won't let anyone else touch you."

His grip tightens, and you know he's not just talking about love anymore. He's talking about possession, about control.

You try to fight back, to push him away, but he's too strong. "Please," you whimper, the word a pitiful sound in the quiet room.

But it's not enough.

He's already decided what you are to him, and he won't be swayed.

He yanks you closer, his breath hot and sour in your face. "You're going to learn," he says, his voice a snarl. "You're going to learn to love me, to want this."

His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch, the pain mixing with the fear and anger. "Look at me," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"Tell me you want it."

You can't find the words. You can't bring yourself to lie to him, not when you're so close to breaking free of this psychological cage of hoping he'd change.

Instead, you look away, your eyes filling with tears. "I can't," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

The anger in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, you think he might hit you again. But instead, he sighs, his expression softening slightly.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise and a threat. "You just need time." He releases your arm, his hand moving to gently wipe the tears from your cheek.

"But for now, you're mine. You're going to stay here, with me."

────────────

But, that doesn't mean he's not vengeful.

Your older brother drags you down the stairs to the basement, his grip unyielding. The cold concrete floor hits your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. You struggle, your body protesting, but his strength is too much.

He throws you into a dank, dimly lit corner, the scent of mold and dust thick in the air.

Ropes coil around your wrists and ankles, securing you to a rusty pipe that runs along the wall. You whimper as the metal digs into your skin, leaving a trail of cold, metallic pain.

"Why are you doing this?" you manage to ask through clenched teeth, the reality of your new prison setting in.

He paces the floor, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disappointment. "Because you need to learn," he says, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"You need to understand that you can't just decide to stop loving me."

You stare at him in disbelief, the ropes biting into your skin as you try to pull away from the pipe. "This isn't love," you spit out, your voice raw with emotion. "What you're doing to me is sick."

He stops pacing, his gaze meeting yours with a cold intensity. "You think I don't know that?" he snaps.

"But it's all I know. It's all we have." He strides over to you, crouching down so he's level with your bound form.

"You're going to stay here, and think about what you've done." His hand comes up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"And when you're ready to tell me the truth, when you're ready to love me the way you should, I'll be upstairs."

You feel bile rise in your throat at his touch, his words a twisted echo of the love you once knew. "I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, just let me go."

He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something that looks almost like regret.

"You don't get it," he murmurs, his hand dropping away. "This is for your own good." He stands, walking towards the stairs.

"You're going to thank me one day, when you realize what I've saved you from."

You watch as he ascends, the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut with a finality that makes your heart sink. The darkness of the basement envelops you, the silence deafening.

You try to scream, to call for help, but your voice is hoarse from the weekend's screams. You're alone, trapped in the cold embrace of the concrete walls.

────────────

Days crawl by, each one a blur of pain and despair. He comes down to check on you, bringing you water and the bare minimum of food to keep you alive.

He doesn't touch you, doesn't speak of love. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable.

But the silence is worse than the abuse—it's a constant reminder of the distance he's put between you. You beg, you plead, you scream, but he just watches with a detached air, as if you're nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

On the third day, he finally speaks. "You've had your time to think," he says, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Now it's time for your next lesson." He crosses the room, his boots echoing on the hard floor.

You shrink back against the wall, your heart racing.

You're not ready for this, not ready to face the monster again.

But there's no escape, not here in the dark.

He unbinds one of your wrists, pulling you to your feet. You stumble, your legs wobbly from days of disuse. He leads you over to a dusty old chair in the center of the room, the legs scraping against the floor with an eerie sound.

"Sit," he commands, his voice devoid of warmth.

You do as you're told, the chair creaking beneath your weight, as he restrains your arms and ankles to the chair. He then stands in front of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that makes your skin crawl.

"You're going to tell me you love me," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to mean it, or you're going to regret it."

You shake your head, the words caught in your throat. "I can't," you choke out. "I'll never love you like that."

His expression darkens, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you again. But instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, the silver glinting in the dim light.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise. "I'll make sure of it." He flicks open the blade with a metallic snap, the sound echoing in the basement.

You try to jerk away, but the ropes around your ankles keep you in place, the chair digging into your back. "What are you going to do?" you ask, the fear in your voice clear.

He steps closer, the knife glinting in his hand. "I'm going to show you what happens when you deny me," he says, his voice a low growl.

"You're mine, and you will say it." His hand moves to your chest, pressing the cold steel against your skin just above your heart.

The threat is unmistakable.

You swallow hard, the fear thick in your throat. "I can't," you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't make me."

He sighs, his expression shifting from anger to something almost pitying. "You're so damn stubborn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the blade's path along your collarbone.

"But I'll break you. I'll make you love me." He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear.

You shiver, trying to keep your revulsion from showing. "I'm sorry," you whisper, the words feeling like acid on your tongue.

"I love you." It's the first time you've said it, and you hate the way it feels—like a betrayal to every part of yourself that's been violated by his hands.

He pulls away, his eyes searching yours, looking for the truth he so desperately needs to see. You force a smile, hoping it's convincing enough. "I love you," you repeat, the words a little easier this time.

For a moment, you see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced with satisfaction. "Good," he says, his voice soothing now.

"Very good." He reaches down, his hand brushing against the ropes that bind you to the chair.

"Now, let's see how much you mean it." He traces the knife along the fabric of your shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine.

With one swift motion, he slices through the material, exposing your bra. The knife lingers for a moment before he cuts the clasp, the cups falling away to reveal your breasts. He cups one in his hand, his thumb circling your nipple.

You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as he pinches it, the pain mixing with a twisted form of arousal that makes you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself.

"Look at how beautiful you are," he says, his voice a hypnotic purr. "So perfect for me." His other hand moves to the fly of his pants, the knife still in his grip. He opens them, freeing his erection, which stands tall and demanding.

You feel a fresh wave of dread as he steps closer, the knife still hovering near your skin.

"Now, tell me you want me," he commands, his eyes dark with lust. The blade presses harder against your flesh, the sting of it making you flinch.

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. "I want you," you murmur, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You feel his hand tighten around your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple until it's hard and sensitive.

"Please," you add, hoping it's enough to satisfy his twisted desires.

He seems to consider your words, the knife pressing into your skin just enough to make you whimper. Then, with a smirk, he pulls away.

"Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let's make it official." He grabs the knife again, this time bringing it to the waistband of your pants. With a quick jerk, he slices through the fabric, exposing you completely.

You struggle, trying to pull away from his touch, but he's too strong. He forces you to remain still, his hand moving down to cup your sex, his thumb stroking your clit with a brutal gentleness that makes you squirm.

"You're going to tell me you're mine," he says, his eyes boring into yours. "You're going to scream it."

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words a defeated whisper.

He smiles, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sickening blend of affection and triumph. He steps closer, the knife now tracing patterns on your exposed thigh, sending shivers of fear and anticipation through your body. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, hot and insistent.

Without warning, he slams the knife into the chair, the blade sinking deep into the wooden frame. You flinch, your heart racing as you realize how close you just came to being sliced open. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now, tell me," he says, his voice a demand.

"Tell me you're mine, and mean it." He repeats.

You stare into his eyes, the fear and disgust warring within you. But the knife, still lodged in the chair so close to your body, is a stark reminder of his power. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words barely audible.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you, his breath hot and sour. You force yourself to remain still, to accept it, to survive. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his other hand still playing with your body.

You can feel the wetness between your legs, and you hate yourself for it—hate that your body can betray you like this.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You're panting, your heart racing from fear and the unwanted arousal his touch brings.

He takes the knife from the chair, the wood protesting as it's yanked free, and you can't help but feel a pang of relief that it's no longer a threat to your skin. But his gaze is on your thighs now, and you know that relief is short-lived.

"Look at me," he says, his voice low and commanding. You meet his eyes, trying to keep the fear and disgust from showing. "You're going to carry my mark," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "So you never forget who you belong to."

He grabs your chin, tilting your head back so you're forced to watch as he brings the knife closer to your skin. You flinch as the cold metal touches you, the tip hovering just above the delicate flesh of your inner thigh.

His hand is steady, his eyes never leaving yours as he traces the first letter of his name—a deep, painful groove that makes you try biting your lip to keep from screaming. The blood wells up, a crimson line against your pale skin.

But, it doesn't work.

The second you feel the searing pain of the knife digging deeply, your scream rips through the basement, echoing off the cold concrete walls.

He tightens his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep watching as he carves the next letter into your skin, the blood running down your thigh in a warm trickle. Your eyes are wide with shock and horror, your body sweating and shaking with pain and fear. He's methodical, taking his time with each stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sound of your own cries is the only thing that breaks the silence, mixing with the wet, sickening sounds of the knife cutting into your flesh.

When he's done with the last letter, he pulls back, admiring his work with a twisted smile. "There," he says, his voice smug. "Now you're truly mine."

He reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumb coming away smeared with your blood. "You're beautiful, even when you're crying," he murmurs, his tone almost tender.

You can't help but flinch at his touch, the pain from the fresh wound making your stomach churn.

You look down, the sight of your own blood and his initials etched into your flesh making you feel like a piece of meat, marked and claimed. The pain is unbearable, and you can't stop the tears that stream down your face. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this to me. No more, please, I beg you."

He frowns, his expression one of disappointment. "You're supposed to be happy," he says, his voice tight.

"This is a declaration of love, not something to be feared." He grabs a rag from the floor, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"You need to learn to appreciate this, to cherish the bond we have." His tone is firm, brooking no argument.

You can't find the words to respond, your teeth chattering from the pain and the cold. You watch as he dresses himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.

He picks up the knife, wiping the blood off on the rag before slipping it back into his pocket. "I'll be back with something to clean you up," he says, his voice gentle, as if he's just finished giving you a present instead of violating you in the most horrific way.

He leaves you alone again, the door slamming shut like a tomb. The pain in your thigh is a constant reminder of his ownership, a brand that feels like it's burning into your soul.

You slump forward in the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, and sob into your knees. The basement is cold, the only warmth coming from the throbbing in your leg and the hot tears that fall onto the concrete floor.

────────────

When he returns, you're too tired to even look up. You feel him approach, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He's carrying something, a first-aid kit maybe, but you don't care.

You're beyond caring.

He kneels in front of you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he takes the rag and replaces it with something cool and clean.

"Shh," he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay."

The pain is overwhelming as he cleans the wound, the sting of antiseptic making you whimper.

You try to jerk away, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding. "You have to let me take care of you," he says, his voice soft but firm.

"You're all mine, and I'll always take care of what's mine." He applies a bandage, his movements careful and precise, his eyes never leaving yours.

"It'll heal," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the bandage.

"But you'll always remember."

He stands up, his gaze lingering on your naked form. "I'll leave these off," he says, nodding to the ropes around your ankles. "But don't try to run. You're not going anywhere."

The door opens, and he steps back, giving you a view of the stairs leading up to freedom.

The temptation is almost too much to bear, but you know better than to try.

You nod, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with every second.

He walks over to the stairs, his back to you. "You're going to stay here," he says without looking back.

"Think about what you've done to deserve this. Think about how much I love you."

The door closes again, and you're left alone with the echoes of his footsteps.

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, a constant reminder of his control. You try to tug them loose, but they're tight—too tight.

Your eyes drift to the bandages. Hiding the deep, scarring marks just right above your pussy, his initials branded onto you like your mere cattle.

You can't believe it—you can't believe he's done this to you.

But the pain in your thigh is all too real, a pulsing, raw ache that throbs with every beat of your heart.

You can feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the bandage, a grim reminder that you're not just his sister anymore.

────────────

List of Fandoms and Characters

Ace Attorney: N/A

Blue Lock: Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Rui, Sanemi Shinazugawa

Dishonored Series: Kirin Jindosh

Genshin Impact: Ayato Kamisato, Childe / Tartaglia, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Hajime Iwaizumi, Kenjiro Shirabu, Suna Rintarou, Tobio Kageyama, Yūji Terushima, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Chrollo Lucilfer

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zenin, Suguru Geto

Kill The Hero: Se Jun-Lee

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Xavier

Naruto Shippuden: Kabuto Yakushi, Tobirama Senju

One Punch Man: Amai Mask

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: Ais

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Dust! Sans / Murder! Sans

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

────────────

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General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

[delespresso]

WHERE BLOSSOMS BLOOM ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; not exactly like elphaba (i didnt rlly wanna copy entirely) but i try hehe, took a bit from the real scene. also, part two coming?? 👀

prompts; “You’re the risk, I’m gonna take it.”

summary; fiyero always wants his best friend to bloom, but he realised he didn't want to miss it either

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

Fiyero Tigelaar was not the kind to think too much. He preferred to just glide through his days, remaining as carefree as ever.

But he wasn't an idiot. And he definitely wasn't blind.

When he met her in the garden in Shiz, while she was perfecting some technique that Morrible taught her, he knew she was different. She could grow flowers from a simple touch, creating the most beautiful of plants without even planting a seed.

She was magical. And she was beautiful.

Morrible wasn't the only one taken with her, albeit for a different reason. Fiyero found himself constantly within her vicinity, drawn to her in an inexplicable way.

He became a constant presence around her, sometimes bringing her a bouquet of sticks as a little joke, knowing she can grow the flowers as she liked. It became an inside joke, a little side project for them both — he went looking for broken branches and sticks with leaves but no flowers, and she'd grow them at will.

"You haven't done peonies," he commented one day as they were outside in a secluded corner of the university field, under a tree.

She was sitting against the bark, a book in her lap about magic from Morrible's own shelf. Fiyero was coming back from a bush, holding up another stray branch for her.

She laughed then, accepting it from him.

"My dorm is becoming a jungle," she mused.

"Then I'll keep some in mine," he shrugged, before urging again; "peonies."

The smile on her face was enough to make his typical cheeky and charming self soften into something more genuine. There was something about her that felt bright, warm — like a new bloom in spring.

She let her fingers gently glide along the small branch, intending deep in her mind and heart for it to bloom into a peony. It sure did — a beautiful, vibrant blue one.

"To match your eyes," she commented with a smile as she tucked it in his breast pocket.

He never let that peony go from that day onwards. It was an ever present part of his attire, always in his breast pocket. He quickly discovered whatever she grew, never wilted. It just remained as alive as ever, real long-lasting flowers.

She'd wanted to do something more. To grow something bigger. Or something with more flowers. She wanted to push the limits of her power, find out how far she could go.

Especially after another session with Morrible who told her about the Wizard. Meeting the Wizard was always a dream of hers since she was a child. Honestly, who in Oz didn't want to? But Morrible did say if she wanted to meet the Wizard, she should prove herself. Be better.

So that's what she was aiming to do. But, naturally, she didn't go alone.

She found Fiyero with some other students as he talked at them, because everyone wants to listen to the Winkie Prince. She was amused, but she couldn't let it prolong. So she went over and politely dragged him away from the others.

“Where to, flower?” Fiyero asked with a smile as he willingly went off with her.

“Forest. I have homework.”

His brows furrowed as he looked down at her, a little confused at the situation.

“You want to do homework in the forest?” he repeated, checking if he was correct.

She looked up at him, still linking their arms together as she led him out of the campus gates and towards the treeline. The only response he got was a smile and nod.

He chuckled at how nonchalant she was. He was curious, but by now he learned not to question it. That was exactly how their dynamics ran. Their. . . friendship. Best friendship.

Yeah. Just that.

She was trying to find a nice spot. He'd moved his arm so he could hold her hand instead, making it easier for them to navigate the terrain. Eventually she seemed satisfied with what she found, a small area by a little pond surrounded by bushes.

She led him to it, making them put their bookbags down on the grass before she knelt down by the pond. He might still be lost as to why they were here, but he was always one to go with the flow. So he took off his blazer and set it carefully over their bags, before coming to join her side.

“Morrible wrote a letter to the Wizard,” she finally informed.

With a smile full of hope, she looked over at him.

“She thinks I have a chance to meet him. But of course, I still have to be better. Prove myself worthy,” she continued.

He gave her his full attention as she talked, his eyes locked on her the whole time. Something bloomed in his chest as he saw how hopeful and excited she looked, like a child finally getting what they wanted.

“You're more than worthy,” he said softly.

She met his gaze, her smile so genuine and bright that Fiyero was certain she was the embodiment of the sun itself.

“I wanted to try something. Experiment some more,” she explained why they were there in the first place.

So Fiyero sat right there with her, keeping her company and giving encouragement as she tried multiple tricks. Trying to do bigger and better things. She often got frustrated when it didn't work, but he was always there to reassure her.

Like some kind of angel on her shoulder all the time.

It felt like a dream.

They were at the train station, a lot of her classmates seeing her off as she waited for the bullet train.

The Wizard had invited her to the Emerald City to see him — an absolute dream come true.

She was happy. Why wouldn't she be? This was what she's always wanted, everything she's worked for. To meet the Wizard and be his apprentice. To make Oz an even better place than it was.

Dreams, dreams, dreams.

Except something was missing. She looked around the platform, trying to find a pair of familiar blue eyes but they were absent. It didn't feel right to leave if she didn't see him first. She didn't even see him at Shiz earlier.

It was almost as if he was avoiding her.

Until she heard some thudding footsteps on the platform coming up behind her, making her turn her head and finally — there he was.

“No, I'm not late,” Fiyero spoke before she could even greet him. “I'm a prince, everyone's always arriving before me.”

She raised her brows in amusement, looking up at him knowingly. He had that usual charming persona again. The Winkie Prince everyone adored. But she knew better.

“Of course,” she went with it anyway.

They both simply chuckled together, standing in front of another with an odd sense of understanding. She was going off, chasing her dreams. They both knew this.

“You're going to do wonderful things, flower,” he said softly.

His eyes were looking at her like she was the only thing in existence at the moment. He was looking at his best friend like nothing else mattered. She was almost sure she saw a hint of longing there already, and she hadn't even left.

“Here's hoping,” she nodded with a soft smile.

“No, I know it,” he assured. “You're a remarkable person, you know?”

She gazed up at him with a gentle smile. Her eyes shone with something unspoken. She had so much she wanted to say before she left. She didn't even know how long it'd be until they saw each other again.

She suddenly wanted more time.

“It'll be different without you.”

She didn't quite expect him to be the one to admit that first. She knows. But she couldn't quite say it.

“You'll be fine. You've got the entirety of Shiz wrapped around your pinky,” she smiled softly.

Though it was more bittersweet than the usual bright ones that lit up even the darkest days. He noticed — he always would.

“They are,” he admitted, forcing a chuckle.

“None of them are you though.”

Her heart fluttered. His addition was so casual, but she could tell he wasn't just being charming as he always was. He was being sincere. He didn't think they compared to her. Not a single one.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then the train conductor called out for the passenger to board.

“Go,” he urged, giving her a smile when her head turned back to him instead of the train.

“Do what you do best. Bloom,” he said earnestly, reaching out to put a flower in her hair — the blue peony he'd been holding onto so dearly.

She nodded, about to step forward. She wanted to do something. One last thing. But instead she smiled, wishing him goodbye for now and got onto the train.

Fiyero stayed, watching her go. She was standing by the doorway of the train, waving everyone goodbye as it started a slow departure.

Her eyes were mainly on him though, a million unspoken words between them. He put his hands in his pocket, and only then did he realise he'd forgotten something.

“Wait!”

He jogged to get to her before the train could get past the platform, holding out a piece of paper. She held onto the railing, taking it from him.

“Keep it,” he said simply.

She unfolded the paper, finding it to be a drawing. She never realised he drew. It was a clear, pretty detailed drawing of her in pencil. It was probably from the day they were in the forest, when she was trying to do bigger tricks with her powers. There was a note in his familiar writing at the bottom;

'I hope you never stop blooming, wherever you find yourself to be — Your Fiyero'

She looked up, catching his eyes again.

Now or never.

“Come with me!”

Fiyero's eyes widened, before he jogged a little further to get closer to her. He was sure he heard wrong. She couldn't be asking that of him. Right?

“C'mon! You'll miss it,” she urged, holding a hand out.

They were inches away from the end of the platform. Inches away from her going away to the Emerald City indefinitely.

Fiyero hesitated. This was her dream. He'd never considered meeting the Wizard, not once. But he was starting to realise — he'd do just about anything for her.

Going off with her now was a risk. It could go badly, but then again, since when did he stress over rules?

He sped up, reaching out to grab her hand and letting her help him as he jumped right into the train. She nearly fell back when he jumped, both of them stumbling in.

His arms were quick to grab her, wrapping around her waist and keeping her close as he raised a hand to keep them both standing by holding onto a railing. Her own hands gripped onto his jacket, a laugh leaving her as she realised he just took that leap.

“I'll say, I didn't think you'd do it,” she admitted.

They were still flush against one another. Not that either of them minded.

His lips curved into a smile, almost flirtatious as he held her close like that.

“You underestimate what I'd do for you.”

She couldn't help it — she beamed up at him, feeling oddly happier now. Seeing the Wizard was always her dream. It's just that today, something felt odd. Until now, the second he took that leap to join her.

Fiyero had always found her fascinating. He was intrigued with her powers, first. Then he got to know her, finding out the kind of person she was. Oddly enough, they mellowed each other out perfectly. A good balance of reckless and organised.

They were perfect together. In every sense. He'd never been scared about making moves before. Usually it'd only take hours before he was shooting his shot with someone.

Not her though. It's been months of pure friendship first, despite the obvious attraction. But as he stood here, holding her after doing what was possibly the craziest thing in his life — which was saying something because he's done a lot in his short lifetime — he realised he wanted more.

Just friends wasn't enough anymore.

His eyes were locked with hers. She didn't look or move away. Her smile remained, even as her gaze momentarily drifted to his lips. She was sending all the right signals on purpose.

So he wasn't throwing away his shot this time. One hand went up to cup her cheek, caressing the swell of it gently before leaning in. A second's pause, just in case she changes her mind — she didn't.

His lips met hers sweetly. Finally. He kissed her like he was handling the most precious cargo, soft and slow yet they could both feel all the yearning that's been burning like a candle all this while.

He knew then and there; she was certainly a risk worth taking.

“I'll follow you anywhere, flower.”

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[nxtt2-u]

hush

your boyfriend loves to play with you in bed for hours on end. it’s not your fault you get loud after so much teasing, right?

yang jeongin x afab!reader, 1.4k words, 18+ mdni!!

cw: smut, pre-established relationship, reader has a tummy, no gendered terms but reader has a vagina & boobs

a/n: i return from my hiatus bearing this drabble-turned-oneshot as penance. i completely missed kinktober AND kinkmas.... sigh :( oh well, enjoy this lil snippet of dom jeongin!! ^^ smut warnings under the cut

ʚɞ

sw: dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, subspace, fingering, overstimulation, ruined orgasm, heavy petname usage sorry.., face slapping, crying, dacryphilia if you squint, a sprinkle of cockwarming, rough sex, praise and the teensiest bit of degradation(?), tummy cumshot, light aftercare (more done offscreen), mm i think that's it!

ʚɞ

“a-ah, ‘yennie, ‘s too much,” you sniffle pathetically, pawing weakly at the hand that’s been toying between your legs for the better part of the last two hours. jeongin coos down at you from where he props himself up on an arm near your side, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smile, deep dimples popping out as if to mock your pitiful state. his other hand stays occupied with your silky heat, and just the sight of the veins protruding in his busy forearm as he works you has you soaking the sheets alone.

“it’s too much, baby?” he echoes condescendingly, eyes crinkling into mirthful crescents at the sound of your pussy squelching obscenely when he finally works two fingers inside your pussy with no resistance. you moan loudly at the delicious stretch of his long, dexterous fingers, delighted at finally having something inside after only being rubbed at and rubbed at up until now, and he grunts in response.

“shit… tight little cunt,” he mutters, crooking his fingers just right to prod at that gooey spot deep within. your whole body jolts as if connected to a live wire, and he moans breathily at the sight. “ah, fuck, is it there, baby? that’s what you want?”

you cry out in response, eyes slamming shut as you nod desperately. your hips begin to hump embarrassingly fast against his palm, but you’re so far gone you can’t even consider stopping yourself. jeongin chuckles at the tears welling up in your eyes as you fuck on his hand like a rabbit in heat, eagerly chasing your orgasm as it draws closer and closer.

he surprisingly allows it without complaint; if you had a drop of coherency left in your cotton-filled brain, you'd question his merciful behavior, but you're submerged too deep in the fuzzy headspace you oh so love to even think about anything other than the pleasure he's giving you. you babble out your incoherent thanks and rut impossibly harder against his palm, but just as your stomach begins to contract and the heat in your abdomen roars to an inferno, he pulls away.

you nearly scream aloud in frustration when your clit pulses angrily at the ruined orgasm. “jeongin!" you wail. "please, don’t be c-cruel,” sniffling, you shove your own hand down to swipe needily at your clit, pretty little head swooning with so much pleasure you can't even consider the consequences your desperation may bring. “need you, daddy, please, please please!” you cry out, frame thrashing wildly against the sheets with how sensitive you are now.

your boyfriend grunts and shifts to loom over you, brushing away his dark bangs so he can see how fucked out you are beneath him. he scoffs once, disbelieving at how you're still babbling and even beginning to drool onto his sheets, before he lands a harsh slap to your cheek. "hush, baby," he spits out, palming his flushed cock right over your heaving soft tummy. the hit leaves your skin hot and stinging in its wake, and you gasp. "god, you're so fucking needy, huh?" he drawls, polishing his tip with a sensitive hiss.

you didn't even realize the slap brought fresh tears to your eyes until they start falling right over the delicate spot where you were struck and you whine, clit pulsing with renewed delight at the pain. it finally manages to shut you up and he smirks when you eventually manage to still and fall silent, save for your intermittent sniffles and heavy breathing. he groans and tips his head forward to press an uncoordinated kiss to your lips at the sight of you peering up at him through wet lashes, patiently waiting for whatever he'll dish out next.

"ah, you're so good to me, sweetheart," jeongin murmurs into your mouth before tangling his tongue with yours. you moan against his lips as he sucks filthily on your tongue, and your noises only grow louder when you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. you break the kiss to pant and stare down at where he pushes in until your head subconsciously falls back against the pillow at the stretch. despite him preparing you with his digits not long ago, it's still a tight fit every time you fuck your boyfriend simply because of his sheer size.

the soaking wet warmth that envelops him must take a toll on him too, especially with how long he's been working the both of you up. jeongin moans at the feeling and his arms begin to shake as he bottoms out. he leans down to lap sloppily at the crook under your jaw while you both catch your breaths. "just warm my cock for a li'l, okay, baby?" he mutters, abs clenching erratically as he does his best to stave off his orgasm. you nod, eager to please and be good, but it doesn't take long before you get squirmy.

who can blame you, though? with his hard cock finally sheathed inside after endless teasing, it's a wonder how you've even held on this long at all. you find yourself writhing again before you know it, fingers threaded into the sheets near your head as you begin to mindlessly beg and tilt your hips up, eager for stimulation. "daddy, please move, plea--"

"sh, shh, angel," he cuts you off, pulling back to loom over you once again. "i know, i know," he croons sweetly when you begin to cry again at the first gentle rolls of his hips. he kisses those salty tears away and begins to thrust harder, rougher, until you're eventually being shifted up the bed with the force and the headboard is rattling against the wall in a steady rhythm.

you don't even register your volume until jeongin is pressing a clammy palm against your mouth to muffle you, still fucking into you like a toy. "shhh, shh," he soothes again, and your eyes roll back when a slight shift of the angle has his tip suddenly pounding into your g-spot. "that's it, sweetheart, just take it. i'll let you come soon, okay? y-you.. fuck," he pants, cock twitching deep inside when you clench hard at his words, "you're so beautiful. milkin' my cock for me, bein' such a good girl, hm?" you whine, eyes slammed shut and brows furrowed in pleasure, and the pornographic moan he lets out at the sight finally tips you over the edge.

"oh, o-oh," jeongin gasps at the way your walls flutter around him, sucking him in deep and demanding his seed. "shit, baby," he grunts, thrusts growing erratic and losing their rhythm as his own orgasm builds impossibly fast. "cream all over my cock like that, and i'll-- ah, fuck- cumming cumming--!" he cries; just before you can feel warmth flood your poor, abused pussy, his cock is sliding out of you with an embarrassingly loud noise and he's painting the plush skin below your bellybutton with ropes of white, warm cum.

he jerks and milks himself above you with his eyes pressed shut and mouth wide open as a long, drawn-out groan escapes him. when he's finally spent, he collapses beside you in a sweaty heap with a sated sigh. it's the last thing you see before your eyes drift shut in exhaustion, and when they crack open again he's plastered against your clean stomach, head pillowed happily on a naked boob.

your throat clicks dryly when you try to speak, and he's quick to snap up and fumble with a nearby water bottle, swiftly unscrewing it and pressing it to your lips. when he deems you adequately hydrated, he pulls away and sets it down as you roll your neck around, stretching out your limbs. "hey, sleepyhead. you enjoy your nap?" he grins, returning to his spot amongst your chest. your eyes roll but you give a dopey smile right back, fucked out and soft from the afterglow.

"mhm..." you sigh, tilting his chin up for a kiss. jeongin complies with a happy noise and you pull back before things can get heated again. your poor cunt can't handle another round just yet.

"love you," he murmurs, tucking his face into your neck. you thread your hands through his dark tresses, mussed and a bit smelly from all the activity, but you love it all the same. as his breath begins to peter out into a slower, more even rhythm, your own breath begins to sync as you all but melt into the mattress under his comforting weight. "love you, too," you mutter before slipping off into sleep once more, satisfied, warm, and sated in the arms of the man you love most.

ʚɞ

tags: @pochaccomin

[kiwriteswords]

I kinda need Hotch accidentally hurting shy!Readers feelings…I need angst with a happy ending!

What's Left Unsaid [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: Love to write some shy!reader/hotch dynamics! Also playing out with the gifs and graphics I make for fics a little bit more. Thanks for the request!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, alcohol mention, team outing, bar setting, fear of commitment (stemming from both sides), happy ending but left a little open to interpretation, shy reader, mentions of Beth, mentions of the breakup with Beth, mentions of Jack, Dad!First!Mentality!Hotch, Friends with Benefits, Secret Relationship, Hotch's POV

Summary: When Hotch reveals to the team the reason he doesn't want a relationship, it hurts your feelings because the two of you have been secretly seeing each other, and you're wondering if it is going anywhere.

Hotch sipped his beer, trying to appear relaxed as he leaned back in the booth. The chatter of the team mingled with the ambient noise of the bar, but his attention was subtly tuned to you, sitting just a bit too far away for his liking. In his peripheral vision, he watched you laugh softly at something Rossi said. The sound was like music, and it made him smile, albeit briefly.

You and Hotch had been seeing each other secretly for a few months now. It started casually, two colleagues seeking comfort in each other after long, taxing cases. But slowly, the physical connection had deepened into late-night talks, shared dinners, and quiet evenings watching movies on the couch after Jack had gone to bed. Neither of you had put a label on whatever this was blossoming into, both hesitant to complicate things further. Hotch, especially, feared the implications of wanting more.

The first time it happened, it was almost by accident. You and Hotch had been the last to leave the BAU after a grueling case that had stretched over several weeks. The weight of the ordeal was palpable, lingering in the air like a thick fog. Hotch had offered to walk you to your car, a gesture of simple politeness, but when you reached the parking lot, neither of you seemed ready to part ways just yet.

"Want to grab a late dinner?" Hotch had suggested, his voice low and a bit hesitant. You were surprised; Hotch was always reserved, focused on the job, rarely stepping beyond the professional boundaries he so rigidly set for himself. But that night, something in his eyes—a shared tiredness, a mutual need for decompression—made you nod in agreement.

That dinner marked the beginning of what would become your secret connection. It wasn't planned or discussed; it just naturally evolved as you both found comfort in each other’s presence outside the high-stakes environment of the FBI. The diner meals became a routine, a way to unwind, and slowly, those meetings shifted to more personal settings. Hotch invited you over to watch a movie one evening when Jack was away at a sleepover. You brought over a classic film and takeout and found comfort in the quiet companionship that filled his living room.

You were naturally shy, a trait that often made you a listener rather than a speaker in the noisy dynamics of the team. Hotch noticed this early on. He learned quickly that you communicated more in silence than most did in conversation. He appreciated the quiet moments with you, how you seemed to understand the weight of words left unspoken. But he also knew he sometimes had to coax thoughts out of you, especially when he sensed something was troubling you.

One such evening, as the credits rolled on the screen, he turned to find you lost in thought, a distant look in your eyes. "What’s on your mind?" he asked gently, careful not to startle you out of your contemplation.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Just... thinking about the case," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. But he knew there was more—you often carried the emotional burdens of your work longer and deeper than most.

"It’s more than just the case, isn’t it?" Hotch prodded softly, giving you the space to open up at your own pace. Over time, he had become adept at navigating your shyness, offering you security in his steadiness.

You looked at him, the trust in his gaze encouraging you to share your fears. "Sometimes, I wonder if we ever really make a difference," you confessed, your voice tinged with the fatigue of the many losses you had witnessed.

Hotch listened, nodding, never pushing too hard, always patient. He shared his own doubts and hopes, a rare glimpse into his inner world that made you feel even closer to him.

These moments deepened your connection, transforming it from a simple comfort into something more profound. Yet neither of you dared to define it. Hotch, especially, was cautious, weighed down by the responsibility of being a father to Jack. His previous relationship with Beth had ended amicably but not without its scars—particularly for Jack, who had grown attached and then had to cope with the loss when she moved away.

So, Hotch held back, fearful of repeating the past, even as his feelings for you grew. And you, understanding his concerns, reciprocated the silence on the nature of your relationship. But as the months passed, the unspoken bond between you became a silent promise of support and companionship, even if neither of you yet had the courage to give it a name.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a reminder of an unread message from earlier in the day—something mundane about Jack's soccer practice. He glanced at you again, taking in your shy smile, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. He wanted more, so much more, but the fear of another loss for Jack held him back. It wasn't just about him or even about you; it was about Jack, too.

The conversation shifted, and suddenly the focus was on him. "Hotch," Prentiss started, her tone light but curious, "you ever think about dating again? It's been a while since Beth..."

The question hung in the air, heavier than the smoke swirling above them. The team's eyes were on him, but his flicked to you. He saw the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the curious tilt of your head as you waited for his answer.

He hesitated, his mind racing. "I... I can't imagine putting Jack through that again," he finally said, his voice more gruff than intended. "Getting attached to someone, and then... if it doesn't work out..." He trailed off, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The team nodded, understanding his protective nature over his young son, but you didn't. He saw the hurt flash across your face before you masked it with a small, polite smile. You excused yourself to the restroom, and Rossi gave him a knowing look, one that said he might have just made a mistake.

Hotch's heart sank. He wanted to go after you, to explain, but he was anchored to his seat by his own fears and the eyes of his team. He drank more deeply from his beer, trying to wash down the guilt.

When you returned, the barrier between you was palpable. You kept your answers short, your smiles forced, and though the team didn’t seem to notice, Hotch felt every inch of the growing distance.

The night ended with the team going their separate ways, and Hotch found himself walking you to your car. The air was chilly, making him wish he could reach out and pull you into his warmth. "About earlier," he started, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Hotch," you cut him off, though your voice was softer than usual. "I understand. Jack should be your priority. I wouldn't ever want to come between that."

"But you wouldn't," Hotch found himself saying, the words rushing out in a torrent. "It’s not just about protecting Jack. It's... I’m scared of asking for more and then losing it. But what I said it wasn't fair to you. I do want more with you if you want that too."

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your expression. "Really?" There was a cautious hope in your voice, one that made his heart twist.

"Yes, really," he affirmed, stepping closer. The space between you felt charged, his fear momentarily eclipsed by the need to make things right.

You nodded slowly, considering his words. "I need to think about it, Aaron. I... I want more too, but I don’t know how to... not with how things are right now."

Hotch nodded, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here," he promised.

As you got into your car, Hotch felt the weight of your words and his own fears. He watched as you drove away, the taillights a red blur in the night. Maybe it was time to confront his fears, not just for his own sake, but for Jack's, and perhaps, for whatever chance he had with you.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Lamb to the slaughter

Summary: Your husband, the Great General of the Roman Empire, wishes for you to perform your wife duties

Pairings: Dark! Marcus Acacius x Priness! Reader

Warnings: Non con, marital rape, arranged marriage, abusive and toxic dynamics, choking, riding, slight spanking, verbal abuse, forced breeding, breeding kink, I want to make this a series, reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister but there isn't any physical description, size kink, Acacius is just huge, reader is afab, legal age gap (Reader is in her 20s, Marcus is in her 40s)

"The people of Rome are hungry."

You bellowed at your brother, glaring at him amidst the climax of your fight. He wouldn't listen; Geta had been as stubborn as he was as a child. He stood before you, draped in fine silks and gold, infuriated that you had disturbed his feast to talk about these matters.

"The people of Rome wouldn't be hungry if we had enough land to import food from." He grunted at you. "Our main aim is to conquer these lands in order to have so, is that clear, my dear sister?"

You laughed at his excuses. "You greedy little bastard, you could have the entire world and still find something to blame for your poor governing."

He glared at you, fingers twisting madly as he stepped, slowly, towards you. The slap resonated through out the empty corridor, drowning the sounds of the party just at mere meters away. Before you could place your hand in your aching cheek, his ringed fingers covered your neck, quickly cutting the air.

"I believe I have granted you too many liberties, my dear sister." He whispered with trembling calmness. "I believe you forget that if you eat, it is because I feed you, if you breathe, it is because I allow you to, and if you speak...it is because I haven't cut off your tongue yet."

You attempted to remain stoic, but the lack of air brought tears to your eyes. He watched you, grinning slightly from your position, before he let go.

"I have decided your fate;" He smirked, decisively. "I am to find a man to marry you. That will tame you."

As you gasped for air, your eyes widened, fearing whichever man your brother may choose for you. And you were right to fear it.

Two days after the fight, you continued praying that your brother forgets the threat, as he most usually does; however, as General Marcus Acacius returned from Numidia, with ships filled with fresh slaves and land conquered, the gods have decided to frown upon you.

You watched as he was paraded into the main palace in dashing white robes, certainly a spectacle fit for a Hero. He reached the steps as people chanted his name, and went directly to talk with the Emperors, not sparing even a glance at you, sitting along with your brother's pet monkey, Dundus. You caught a whiff of his scent; eucalyptus, mint and leather.

You were busy observing your nails as a shadow casted itself upon you, and you glanced to see Geta and the General standing right in front of you. You had never seen Acacius so close, the battle scars smearing into his skin, the streaks of grey in his dark curls, and his piercing dark eyes as he observed you back.

"Do you think you can handle her, my General?" Caracalla questioned, perching on his shoulder. Your brows furrowed in confusion, before it all doomed on you.

"No!" you whispered, to no avail.

"If I can handle Barbarians from the other side of the sea, I think I can handle a spoiled princess." Acacius replied, his eyes wandered down the neckline of your dress, which he could see as he was towering before you. You couldn't do more than stare into those eyes as your brothers laughed, demonically.

After that evening, you had done everything in your power to postpone the wedding. Ditching tailoring appointments, sending back any flower arrangements proposed and avoiding Marcus Acacius at all costs. But you couldn't miss the games thrown in his honor.

His presence emanated an aura of masculinity and ferociousness as the Colosseum chanted his name; you smelled him before you saw him, eucalyptus, mint and leather. You were taken a back when he sat next to you, being too immersed in thought as Geta and Caracalla announced your matrimony.

You watched as a group of slaves was tossed into the arena; as they fought and as one of them was notoriously more skilled than the others; Hanno, he was called. You wished for a second that your brother had decided to marry you to one of them instead, perhaps they'd be more discreet about staring at you, unlike Acacius.

The wedding day came, a sunny morning with games planned to be celebrated in the afternoon as an honor. Acacius stood in the altar, clad in white like the day of his parade, and you couldn't help but wonder about how little you knew about him; not a single word had he crossed with you. His face was stern, not a single ghost of a smile on his face. The evening went by quickly, quicker than you expected, and soon enough you were in his Villa, the place were you would now reside.

You barely noticed the decor of his chambers, the paintings and sculptures, the soft wool cushions and the white and crimson sheets. He walked in confidently, as one walks into his room, and you stood, long white robes and golden embellishments, looking the most gorgeous you ever felt, but the fear was overwhelming.

What did he expect of you, certainly? you were well educated, but no one had ever explained you what actually happened in a wedding night. You had some idea, a naive concept, but as Acacius disrobed himself, any idea of what to do slipped your mind.

He was soon standing in all his naked glory, and your lips parted. His shoulders were broader than you have seen, a muscled stomach scarred with evidence of his battle experience, thick thighs, and a cock that slowly grew before your eyes.

"Why are you stilled clothed?" He inquired; the first words ever directed to you. As you stumbled with your words, he neared you dangerously. You felt the warmth emanate from his body as he unwrapped your dress from your body.

"Wait," you pleaded, tugging at the dress. "I have never been with a man."

He looked at you; and for the first time, he snickered.

"You think that will change anything?" He questioned, taking the silk from your hands; he ripped his way through the fabric until you were bare, only the gold on you. His hands, rough and calloused, palmed your stomach, smoothing the skin as if inspecting you. Tears welled up in your eyes.

His fingers smoothed over your nipples, making you squirm, he observed and then he pinched them, enticed as you let out a yelp. One hand trailed down your abdomen, pointer finger touching your skin until he reached your mound; tears now poured down your cheeks. His finger graced your slit, feeling sudden wetness you haven't anticipated. His scent, eucalyptus, mint and leather.

"Have you ever rode a horse?" He asked, intrigued. You nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "It would be pretty much like that."

Before allowing you to respond, his hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you behind him as he made your way to the bed. Any effort against it was futile, he would easily overpower you.

As he laid against the pillows, still gripping you, he nodded at his cock, now fully erect. You stared in awe, as even the veins on it looked huge; his tan skin melting into the red hot tip, weeping precum, standing proudly enough, you thought that if could tear you apart, reach your guts.

"Put it in." He demanded, because he couldn't just rape you like a barbarian, he had to force you to do it. You breathed, trying to recollect any previous knowledge as to how to do it. Impatiently, he grabbed a handful of your leg, forcing you to straddle him. His thighs were so wide, the stretch from your legs hurt.

You let out a breathe and grabbed it, careful of hurting him in fear of his anger. Angling his cock with your entrance, you attempted to push it in, only securing a searing pain. As more tears sprouted of your cheeks, Acacius spat on his hand and pushed yours away, pumping his cock with slick. His fingers then found your cunt, and his grip on your arm tightened. Wet with his saliva, he circled the spot that sent waves of pleasures towards your stomach. Wetness grew down there, and he slipped one of his thick fingers.

You gasped from the sudden intrusion, feeling as he pumped the digit, stretching you for him. Before you could feel pleasure building up, he had taken his hand and lined his cock. Your other hand fell to the middle of his chest, seeking support as he stretched you with his mushroom top. Every ridge and vein took its place inside of you, forcing your mouth agape. He fed your cunt slowly, inch by inch until you felt as full as you could possibly be. Your crying had seized as your body processed the new feeling, of being split open.

You felt him stop, nudging at a curve deep inside of you, and you felt a slight relief that it was over before his hands went to your hips, forcing you on the half his hand had preciously been wrapping around. Quick and rough, you doubled over, attempting to find a spot were it wouldn't press against you like it did. Acacius grunted in pleasure at how your walls fitted tightly around him.

"Was that so hard, foolish girl?"He barked, and you looked at him between the strands of your hair that had fallen away from your laurel wreath crown. His hand slapped your ass, leaving pain the size of his huge hand. "Move."

You physically couldn't; shaking your head, you tried to plead for him to stop, but all he did was seize your neck with his hand, pressing similarly to your brother months before. He gave you a warning look, eyes glossy from pleasure, and you attempted to move, guided by the grip on your hip.

"There you go,"He groaned. "Didn't think you could take it."

You attempted to keep the pace of his hand, staggering. Through your droopy eyes, you could see his face illuminated by the candle light; a scar across his cheek that didn't maim his handsome face, the grey in his scruff and his hands moved you to fuck him, his brown eyes were closed in pleasure as his cherry tainted lips parted, allowing grunts and moans to escape. You felt his desire as he increased his speed, his cock burning into you in every thrust as he commanded you with his hands. He seemed to be fighting his pleasure, his eyes rolling back every now and then as he attempted to keep his gaze on you.

"That's it," he guided, voice gruff. "You look much prettier like this."

Your gaze, that had been stuck to his chest in effort to advert his eyes, rose to look at him. Oh, he was entranced by the way your crown had knocked to the side due to his maneuvering, the way tears glistening in your blushed cheeks, and how small your hands looked pressed into his chest. And finally, how your cunt pulsed around him every time he slammed you down onto his hips along with the sweet whimpers you emitted.

His hands departed from the place they have stuck to, roaming to cup your ass for more support. You gasped as he effortlessly raised you off his cock, letting it slip out with a faint "pop". Without a word he tossed you to the side of the bed.

"Enough of my amusement," he groaned as your face slammed into the pillows. He was everywhere as he positioned you on all fours, immense chest stuck against you and hands arranging your limbs. His hand fell across your cheek, igniting fire in his touch. "I am going to fuck a heir into you, stay still."

He said it with such easiness in his command that you knew he was used to giving this type of orders.

"No no please," You attempted, thrashing around to persuade him, but his cock was already lined between your legs. "Please, please don't-"

The scruff of his chin scratched against your neck a he bottomed inside of you, quieting you definitively. You could feel him in your guts, balls sticking to your clitoris due to the wetness he had caused.

"What can make a foolish little girl like you to behave more than carrying a General's heir?"

He began his assault on your core, one hand grasping the hair on your nape as he fucked you as a animals do.

"Your brother told me-"He grunted between thrusts, allowing himself to go inside, all eight inches of him. "You doubted his reign."

As you wept into the pillows, moans escaping your mouth, against your honor. He halted, hand pressing against the back of your neck.

"Answer me." He pressed, pushing your face even deeper into the pillows. "Did you?"

"Y-yes." You choked out, cock so deep inside you couldn't string a coherent word.

"Good." He admitted, to your surprise, continuing his pace. "Your brother is a foolish man; proved it himself when he gave you to me."

Your knuckles wrapped around the bed sheets, attempting to suppress the waves of pleasure that erupted as he picked a strong pace. Your cunt became wetter and wetter as it clenched, unwillingly, around him.

"What can a war torn general do to a tiny princess like you?" He mused between his sighs and groans. "Foolish Emperor."

As he said the last part, he rested once again his chest to your back, both covered in sweat from the heat of both of your bodies. His arm, strong and rough, wrapped itself around your lower stomach, holding you in place as his lips sucked your neck. The closeness felt awry, even if you were newly weds.

"Once I have fucked a child into you, no one could deny it's place in the throne."

That took you by surprise, but your eyes were closing off from exhaustion and your lips were too busy whimpering from the hot fire he had ignited in your core.

"Oh," he chuckled against your salty skin, dipping his other hand in between your body, tracing a path until he found that spot. His pointer and middle pressed against it, recollecting moisture from your pussy before circling it slowly. You felt the pressure build, as if you urgently needed to go to the bathroom. "a gentlemen as myself needs to make a girl cum before painting her insides. How could I forget that?"

He teased, managing a rhythm with his hand and hips. You felt a knot building right where he was rubbing, spreading through your nerves to make your whole body become limp. You let him fuck you, body tired and sore and unable to pose any more resistance other than gentle whimpers, swallowed by his loud groans, the sound the bed made against the floor and the squelching of his cock drilling into you. You were too gone to process any more than the pleasure washing over your body; pain bloomed, but in the most exquisite way as you felt yourself cling around the thick thing drilling into you.

"There you go," He cooed, closing his eyes as he felt it too. "there, there..."

Your mouth suddenly opened agape, as a hoarse whine left your throat and you felt it. You came undone so easily, beneath him.

He attempted to last, at least a few minutes more, prolong his pleasure, but the way you looked over your shoulder at him, as if attempting to understand what just happened, drove him wild.

It took him three final thrusts to come; You could count them as each was more punishing and rough than the previous, despite being hammered into you quickly. With a final grunt, you felt his burning hot cum pour into your insides, and his huge body collapsed on top of yours. You waited patiently for him to pull out, but as a child smitten with his favorite toy, he rolled over and continued to hold you close, hot breathe fanning in your neck.

He panted, regaining his breathe, before he actually spoke to you, who was quietly laying in his bicep. You felt tears spring from your eyes again.

"You will birth me an heir to claim the throne after your brothers have fallen."

Marcus Acacius had spoken.

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

[prentissmultiverse]

Wrapped Up in You

Spending Christmas morning alone was never part of your plan, but neither was showing up at Emily Prentiss’s doorstep with a gift. Little did you know, Emily had a "gift" of her own to give.

tw: smut, age gap, power dynamics

words: 5155

The house was cold when Emily woke up. The central heating hummed faintly, but it always seemed to struggle against the chill of her old townhouse in the winter. She reached out to the other side of the bed instinctively, a habit she hadn’t been able to shake after years of sleeping alone. Empty. Always empty.

Emily sighed, running a hand over her face before sitting up. It was Christmas morning, but it felt like any other day. The quiet was oppressive, the kind that reminded her just how solitary her life had become outside of work. She loved her team—they were family—but Christmas mornings like this always reminded her of the stark contrast between the bustle of the BAU and the stillness of her own life.

She got up slowly, pulling on a thick sweater over her pajama top before shuffling to the kitchen. Coffee was her first priority, the smell filling the space and warming it in a way that the heating never could. As she poured herself a mug and leaned against the counter, her gaze drifted to the small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. She’d decorated it half-heartedly a few weeks ago—ornaments, a few strings of lights—but it only served to amplify the sense of loneliness in the room.

Emily sighed again, taking a sip of her coffee and mentally preparing herself for the long day ahead. She slipped out of her pajamas and into slack pants and a comfortable silk blouse, but she had no plans, no calls to make. Just her and the quiet. She was about to retreat to the couch with yet another mug of coffee when a knock at the door startled her.

She froze for a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion. Who would be visiting her? Rossi, maybe? No, he had his family to celebrate with. Curious—and admittedly a little cautious—she set her coffee down and made her way to the door. Peeking through the peephole, her breath hitched.

It was you.

You were bundled up against the cold, holding a small, neatly wrapped gift in your hands. Your cheeks were flushed from the winter air, and you looked almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure if this had been a good idea after all. Emily’s chest tightened as she opened the door.

“Y/N?” she asked, her voice thick with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Your eyes lit up when you saw her, and that simple reaction made something in her chest ache. “Merry Christmas,” you said softly, shifting the gift in your hands. “I, um… I didn’t want you to spend the day alone. And I figured out that, well, I have no one to spend the day with as well… so yeah, that we could maybe spend it together?” You rambled.

Emily blinked, momentarily stunned. She had spent years building walls, learning how to be okay on her own. But here you were, standing on her doorstep with a shy smile and a gesture so kind it made her throat tighten. “Come in,” she said finally, stepping aside to let you in. “You must be freezing.”

You slipped past her, your coat brushing against her arm, and she closed the door behind you. The sudden warmth of the house seemed to relax you, and you unwrapped your scarf as you glanced around. “Your tree is cute,” you said, nodding toward the corner of the living room.

Emily huffed a small laugh, crossing her arms. “That’s generous of you. I haven’t had much time for decorating.”

You turned to her, holding out the gift with both hands. “This is for you.”

Her eyes flicked down to the box, and she hesitated before taking it. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, her voice softer now.

“I wanted to,” you replied, your gaze earnest. “You deserve something nice.”

Emily swallowed hard, her thumb brushing over the edge of the wrapping paper. The sincerity in your voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at you. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You waved her off, looking down at your boots. “It’s no big deal.”

She smiled faintly and motioned toward the couch. “Come on, sit down. I’ll make us something warm to drink.”

You followed her into the living room, perching on the edge of the couch as she headed back to the kitchen. She busied herself making tea, the rhythmic clinking of mugs grounding her as she tried to process what was happening. It wasn’t often that people went out of their way for her, especially not someone like you. You were the youngest on the team, vibrant and full of life in a way that made her feel both protective of you and oddly envious.

When she returned, she handed you a steaming mug and sat beside you. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the tea and the faint glow of the Christmas lights creating a rare moment of peace. After a while, Emily glanced at you, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“You don’t have family or a boyfriend to spend Christmas with?” she asked, her tone light but genuinely curious.

Your eyes flicked up to hers, and she saw something flicker there—something vulnerable, but not quite sad. “No family close by,” you said finally, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “And no girlfriend”, you corrected her lightly.

Her heart gave an involuntary leap at your words, though she quickly pushed the thought aside. “Well,” she said, her voice softer now, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You looked at her then, your doe eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her feel like the air had shifted. “Me too,” you said quietly.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the heater. Emily wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions swirling in her chest. But she didn’t want to break the moment, didn’t want to pull away from the warmth you had brought into her home.

Emily sat back on the couch, her hands resting on the unopened gift in her lap. Her fingers brushed over the wrapping paper absently, as if hesitant to disturb it. You noticed her quiet reluctance and leaned forward slightly, smiling.

“You can open it, you know,” you said softly, nudging her with your knee.

Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “I guess I’m not used to getting presents,” she admitted, a bit sheepishly.

Your heart gave a little tug at that. “Well, you’d better get used to it,” you teased lightly, leaning back against the cushions.

Emily chuckled at that, her defenses lowering just a little. “Alright,” she said, carefully peeling the wrapping paper back, taking her time as though the gift was far too precious to rush.

When she opened the box, her breath caught audibly. Inside was a necklace you had chosen: a delicate gold chain with a small, elegant charm that glimmered softly in the light. Emily stared at it for a moment, her thumb brushing against the charm, before looking up at you.

“Y/N,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

You felt a flush creeping up your neck, but you kept your voice steady. “I noticed you always wear necklaces like that, and, well… it just reminded me of you. I thought you’d like it.”

Emily’s gaze softened; her usual stoic expression replaced with something gentler, more vulnerable. “I love it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

You waved a hand dismissively, trying to brush off the praise even as warmth spread through your chest. “It’s no big deal, really. I just wanted to give you something nice.”

Emily shook her head, a small, almost wistful smile playing at her lips. “Oh, but I don’t have anything for you,” she said, her tone apologetic.

You waved her off again, laughing lightly. “I don’t need anything, Emily. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

For a moment, Emily didn’t say anything. She simply looked at you, her eyes searching yours as though trying to understand why you would go out of your way for her. Finally, she cleared her throat and held up the necklace. “Would you help me put it on?”

The question caught you off guard, but you nodded quickly. “Of course,” you said, taking the necklace from her as she turned around on the couch, her back to you.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath catching slightly as your eyes fell to her salt-and-pepper hair. Reaching out, you gently brushed her hair to the side, the soft strands slipping through your fingers as you exposed the nape of her neck. Her skin was warm, and you swore you felt a slight shiver run through her as your fingertips grazed her.

You fumbled slightly with the clasp, your nerves getting the better of you, but you managed to secure it after a moment. “There,” you said softly, letting your hands fall away from her as you smoothed her hair back into place.

Emily turned back to face you, her fingers instinctively brushing over the necklace as she smiled. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice thick with emotion.

Before you could reply, she reached out and took your hand in hers, her fingers warm and firm against yours. The gesture sent a jolt through you, and you froze, your gaze snapping to hers.

The air between you seemed to shift, crackling with an intensity that made your heart race. Emily’s grip on your hand was steady, her dark eyes searching yours with an almost unreadable expression. There was something there, something unspoken but undeniable, and it took everything in you not to look away.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice soft but certain, as though she was on the edge of saying something she couldn’t take back.

The tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable, electric charge that neither of you dared to break. Emily’s fingers brushed softly against yours, her dark eyes locked onto your face as though searching for permission, or perhaps reassurance.

She leaned in slowly, her dark eyes searching yours, hesitating for just a moment as though giving you the chance to stop her. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The second her lips brushed yours, it was as if the world stopped spinning. Her kiss was soft at first, tentative, almost uncertain. But when you responded it was like something inside her shifted. The tentative softness gave way to something deeper, more assured.

Emily’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as her thumb brushed gently along your jawline. The contrast between her gentle touch and the intensity of her kiss sent a shiver through you. Her fingers threaded into your hair, tugging slightly to tilt your head. Her lips moved against yours with a quiet hunger, her dominance clear but never overbearing.

You melted into her completely, your hands instinctively finding her waist and clinging to her as though she were the only thing grounding you to the moment. The faint scent of her perfume filled your senses, mixing with the faint taste of coffee and nicotine on her lips. It was intoxicating. You couldn’t get enough.

When her tongue traced your bottom lip, asking for access, you didn’t hesitate. You opened to her, allowing her to take control as the kiss grew deeper, more desperate. She explored your mouth with a slow rhythm that left you breathless. Her dominance was palpable, the way her hand in your hair tightened just slightly, the way she leaned into you, pressing you back against the couch as though she wanted to consume you entirely.

There was an unspoken understanding in the kiss, a shared loneliness that neither of you wanted to name. Maybe that’s why you didn’t pull away, why you didn’t remind yourself of the things that made this complicated—the age gap, the power dynamics, the fact that she was your boss. None of that seemed to matter right now, not when her lips were on yours and her hands were grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as the weight of what had just happened began to settle over you. Your chest heaved, your lips tingling from the intensity of her kiss, and yet, your mind was a blur. Emily’s dark eyes searched yours, her gaze flickering with a storm of emotions—desire, vulnerability, and a touch of self-reproach.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Despite her words, her hand stayed where it was, cradling your face like she couldn’t bring herself to let you go.

Her words made your stomach twist, a pang of fear slicing through the haze of warmth and intimacy. Your mouth opened to say something—anything—but your thoughts jumbled in the mess of emotions swirling inside you. “I—Emily, I…” you stammered, your cheeks burning as you tried to form a coherent response.

Before you could finish, her thumb brushed lightly across your bottom lip, silencing your attempt. Her eyes softened, the corners of her lips quirking upward in the faintest of smiles. “But I don’t regret it,” she said softly, her voice low and rich with meaning. “Not even for a second.”

Your breath hitched, and the words you’d been struggling to find seemed to evaporate entirely. You stared at her, wide-eyed and flustered, your heart pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it. “I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment.

Emily let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating against the quiet of the room. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured, her hand cupping your face gently. “Let me...”

Before you could process her words, she leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one was different—bolder, more certain. The hesitation from before was gone, replaced with a quiet confidence that only Emily seemed to possess. Her lips moved against yours, coaxing you into responding despite your overwhelmed state.

Your hands found their way to her shoulders, clutching at her blouse. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with electricity as her hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically straddling her lap. The intimacy of the position made your cheeks burn, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when her kisses made you feel like you were floating, like nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment.

She broke the kiss briefly, just long enough to whisper against your lips. “You’re trembling,” she said softly, her hands squeezing your waist gently, grounding you.

“I-I am not…” you started, only to falter when her lips brushed your jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down to your neck. The sensation was enough to steal the air from your lungs, and you felt yourself melt further into her touch.

Emily chuckled softly at your obvious lie, the sound low and warm, vibrating against your skin. “Liar,” she teased gently, her breath hot against your throat as her lips lingered there. “I can feel it.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the way her words sent a ripple of warmth through you. Your hands clung to her blouse, desperate for an anchor as her lips continued their gentle exploration of your neck. She took her time, her movements unhurried, as though savoring the moment. It wasn’t just the physicality of her touch—it was the tenderness behind it, the care in the way her hands steadied you even as her kisses ignited a fire under your skin.

Minutes seemed to pass in a blur, the two of you losing yourselves in each other’s warmth. Emily’s hands moved with care but purpose, sliding under your sweater to trace the soft skin of your lower back. You shivered at the contact, your fingers instinctively tangling in her salt-and-pepper hair, holding her close as your lips moved together in a rhythm that felt natural and electric all at once.

But as the intensity built, you felt a shift—a need for more, for closeness beyond what the couch could offer. Emily must have sensed it too because she broke the kiss just enough to press her forehead against yours. Her breaths were uneven, her lips still brushing yours as she spoke. “Come with me,” her voice low and inviting.

Somehow, in the haze of kisses and soft touches, the two of you found yourselves moving. You weren’t entirely sure who led the way—Emily’s hands never left you, and your lips kept seeking hers, desperate to keep the connection alive. Her touch guided you, grounding you as the overwhelming emotions threatened to sweep you away.

The journey to her bedroom was a blur, your focus entirely on her—the way her lips moved against yours, the way her hands traced gentle patterns along your back and sides, steadying you yet igniting sparks everywhere they lingered. Between kisses, you stumbled slightly, letting out a soft laugh against her mouth when you nearly tripped over your own feet.

Emily chuckled in return, the sound rich and warm. “Careful,” she murmured, her arm wrapping securely around your waist to steady you. “Can’t have you injuring yourself now.”

“Sorry,” you breathed, though your grin betrayed your lack of concern. “You’re a little distracting.”

Her lips quirked into a smirk as she pressed another kiss to your temple. “Good,” she said simply, her voice low and teasing.

The doorway to her bedroom appeared before you, though you barely registered it, too lost in the haze of her touch and the way her presence filled every corner of your awareness. Emily nudged the door open with her foot, her hand slipping from your waist to brush against your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her.

You found yourself standing at the edge of the bed, your breath hitching as Emily pulled back just enough to look at you. Her dark eyes were full of unspoken words, a flicker of hesitation mingling with the undeniable heat. She brushed a strand of hair away from your face, her fingers lingering against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a tenderness in her tone, a care that made your chest ache.

You nodded, though your voice caught in your throat. “I’m okay,” you managed, your hands gripping the sides of her blouse as though afraid to let go.

Her lips curved into a small smile, her thumb brushing gently along your jaw. “We don’t have to—”

“I want this,” you interrupted, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. “I want you.”

For a moment, she simply looked at you, her expression softening into something you couldn’t quite name. Then, without another word, she leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise. She guided you onto the bed, her touch steady, cradling you as though you were something fragile and precious. The care in her movements made your chest ache in the most beautiful way, and you couldn’t help but surrender to her completely.

You gasped softly as her lips began to trail down your neck, the warmth of her breath sending shivers through you. Her hands were steady, sure, sliding beneath the hem of your sweater. She took her time, lifting the fabric inch by inch until it slipped over your head and was cast aside.

The layers between you fell away one by one, her touch gentle yet purposeful as she helped you out of each garment, stripping hers away in the process of it all. Her hands moved with a confidence that left no room for doubt, her fingertips grazing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. Your shirt, your jeans, even your bra—each piece was removed with care, as though peeling back not just clothing but the walls you’d both held up for so long.

Her lips followed her hands, placing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, and the hollow at the base of your throat. Her hands, warm and sure, slid down your sides, pausing to rest at your hips as her lips ventured lower, setting your skin alight with every soft press.

By the time she finally pulled back, you were left bare beneath her, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Emily paused, her dark eyes meeting yours, and the intensity in her gaze stole whatever words you might have spoken. There was desire there, yes—but there was also something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

“You’re incredible,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion as her thumb brushed over the curve of your hip. Her words, so simple yet so genuine, sent a warmth flooding through you, chasing away any lingering doubts.

Before you could respond, her lips found yours again, her kiss slow and deep, pulling you further into the warmth and safety of her presence. Her hands moved along your sides, steady and reverent, as if grounding you in a reality that was almost too overwhelming to grasp. The soft press of her bare body against yours sent heat flooding through you, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath her touch.

Emily kissed you with an intensity that made time seem irrelevant, her lips a perfect blend of softness and urgency. She shifted, her body pressing closer to yours, and you felt the heat of her skin against your own; the delicate golden necklace you’d given her catching the faint light as it rested against her bare collarbone. The sight of it—the only thing she still wore—made your chest ache with a mix of desire and tenderness.

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her dark eyes searching yours. There was something in her expression—a rawness, a depth of emotion that left you unable to look away. Emily hovered over you, her body straddling yours with a mix of dominance and tenderness that made your heart race. Her eyes roamed over your bare form with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“This,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, “is my gift for you.”

Her lips found your jawline, soft and warm, leaving a trail of kisses that descended to the curve of your neck. She lingered there, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin before her lips continued their journey lower. Her mouth was gliding over your collarbone and down to the valley between your breasts. Her warm breath ghosted over your skin, her lips brushing the sensitive area with featherlight kisses that made you tremble beneath her.

One hand came up to gently cup your breast, her fingers splaying out to knead the soft flesh with care. Her mouth descended to the other, her lips placing a series of teasing kisses around your nipple before she finally took it into her mouth. The warmth of her tongue against the sensitive peak sent a gasp tumbling from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as a wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Emily hummed softly against your skin, her free hand tracing gentle patterns along your side as she lavished attention on your breasts. She alternated between sucking gently and swirling her tongue over the hardened nub. When she switched to the other breast, her hand moved to replace her mouth, her fingers brushing lightly over the wet, sensitive skin she’d just left. Her lips and tongue began the same reverent exploration of your other breast, her gaze flicking up occasionally to watch your face, as if to ensure you were as lost in the moment as she was.

You couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body arching further into her touch. The way she moved, the way she worshipped your body with such tenderness, made it impossible to feel anything but adored. Emily’s name left your lips in a trembling whisper, and the sound seemed to fuel her. She hummed softly, the vibrations against your skin sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. Her lips left your breast with a wet, lingering kiss, and she shifted her attention lower, her hands gliding down your sides slowly.

Her dark eyes met yours briefly, filled with a mix of desire and tenderness that made your breath catch. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding, yet laced with a softness that left no room for resistance.

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, your legs parting under her gaze. The warmth of her hands slid along the insides of your thighs, steadying you and sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. Emily’s lips curled into a faint smirk, her fingers squeezing gently. “Good girl,” she praised.

Her mouth began its descent again, her lips brushing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin of your stomach and hips. She took her time, savoring each moment as though it were a gift for herself as much as for you. Her fingers trailed light, maddening patterns on your thighs, her touch both soothing and electric, her movements slow enough to make you ache for more.

“Emily…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, laced with need.

“I know,” she murmured against your skin, her lips pressing a kiss just above where you needed her most. “Let me take care of you.”

The sincerity in her voice unraveled something deep inside you. Her hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading you further, and she glanced up at you once more. The raw intensity in her gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth flooding through you.

Then, without hesitation, Emily lowered herself fully between your legs, her lips finding you with a softness that stole the breath from your lungs. Teasingly, she run her tongue along your slit, tasting your arousal. Your hips buckled up at the first contact of her warm tongue with your wetness and a soft moan escaped your lips.

Emily hummed against your heat, the vibrations sending shivers through you. She continues her lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your folds, occasionally dipping her tongue inside to lap at your sensitive walls. “So sweet”, she hums, her fingers gently spreading your lips apart to give her better access.

Her tongue delves deeper, fucking your pussy with slow strokes. She sucks on your clit, rolling it between her lips as she eats you out. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as she devours you. Each flick of her tongue, each gentle suction against your clit, sent electric jolts through your body, your moans filling the room with a symphony of pleasure.

“That’s it baby, let me hear how good I’m making you feel,” she murmured against you, her voice thick with desire, her breath hot against your slick, sensitive skin. Her words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach, as her tongue continues it’s tantalizing dance, alternating between firm flicks against your clit and slow, deep thrusts inside you.

Your hands found their way into her salt-and-pepper hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to ground yourself. “Emily…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

Emily’s name was a sacred mantra on your lips as she worked you into a frenzy. She could feel your walls fluttering around her tongue, your juices flowing freely. With a growl, she buried her face deeper between your thighs, sucking hard on your clit.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, but Emily’s firm grip kept you in place. “Stay still for me, baby,” she commanded gently, her tone both soothing and authoritative, making your pulse quicken.

You nodded weakly, your hands tugging lightly at her hair as you tried to hold yourself together. The pleasure was overwhelming, your body trembling under her ministrations. Emily’s fingers soon joined her mouth, two digits slipping inside you with ease, curling upward to find the spot that made you cry out her name.

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice a husky whisper against your skin. Her fingers worked you with expert precision, each stroke perfectly in tune with the flicks of her tongue against your clit. The combination of her skilled mouth and fingers sent you hurtling toward the edge, the tension in your core tightening with every passing second.

Your breath hitched, and your thighs trembled as the wave of pleasure began to crest. Emily seemed to sense it, her movements growing faster, more insistent, as if determined to push you over. “Let go for me,” she urged, her voice vibrating through you as her tongue continued its sinful work. “I want to feel you.”

The sound of her voice, the intensity in her eyes, and the overwhelming pleasure of her touch shattered what little control you had left. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed as you cried out her name, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy.

As you cum, your pussy clenching and unclenching around her fingers and tongue, Emily lapped up your cream greedily, drinking in your essence like it’s the most precious thing in the world. She kept eating you out through your orgasm, not stopping until you were a quivering, spent mess. With a final tender kiss on your sensitive mound, Emily sit back on her heels, admiring the view of your flushed and fulfilled body sprawled before her. A wicked gleam in her eyes, as she slowly licked your juices from her lips. “Mmm… You’re delicious sweetheart.” A new wave of heat coursed through your body at her words and you could feel yourself getting even more flushed.

Emily crawled back up your body, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, up your neck. Reaching the corner of your mouth, she pauses, gazing into your eyes with a loving possessive look. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. The older woman claimed your lips in a deep, loving kiss, pouring all her affection and desire into it.

Emily pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips quirking into a sly smile. “So…what are your plans for New Year’s?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. She nipped at your bottom lip, her smirk devilish. “Because I’m thinking we should start the year off with a bang.”

[seungkw1]

safe haven — ljh

♡ pairing: neighbor!jihoon x fem!reader ♡ theme: fluff, hurt/comfort ♡ wc: 3.9k ♡ warnings: post-breakup dynamics, cheating (from ex), swearing, mentions of food ♡ a/n: written as part of the Winter with You collab put on by @camandemstudios - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here!! give all these talented writers some love <3 and big thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading!!

As if your fiancé leaving you for another woman wasn’t enough to make this the shittiest week of your life, now you’ve managed to lock yourself out of your house during an incoming blizzard. At least your next-door neighbor is home, and he’s kind enough to offer you shelter from the storm. You barely know Jihoon, only having spoken to him a few times - but soon, you discover you have more in common than you initially thought.

Five days ago, you made the innocent mistake of picking up your fiancé’s phone when you thought it was yours. You noticed immediately when you saw the lock screen - it was a photo of you and him from last December, posed in front of a Christmas tree, taken minutes after he proposed. In it, you’re smiling ear to ear, enthusiastically showing off the beautiful engagement ring he bought you. The photo has been his wallpaper ever since. “You look so happy,” he told you a couple months ago. “I can’t bring myself to change it.”

You go to set the phone back down, but a notification catches your eye. You take a closer look, discovering a string of WhatsApp messages, all from somebody named Kelsey. 

Huh, that’s weird, you think to yourself. I didn’t know he even used WhatsApp. 

Normally, you’d think nothing of it - but something feels off. You hesitate for a moment. You know each other’s passcodes for the sake of convenience; you’ve never felt the need to go through his phone, and you feel bad about even thinking about doing it. But, your gut is telling you to investigate.

You input the password and open the message thread. You’re not quite sure what you’re even looking for, but two seconds of scrolling tells you all you need to know. Dumbfounded, you read the particular message three more times before it sinks in: 

Can’t wait for our vacation next week baby, I really need to get away from all of this right now. 

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve just been punched in the gut. He told you he was going on a business trip next week. He told you that months ago. 

Get away from ‘all of this’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does he mean… me???

Blood rushes through your ears as you read through the never-ending series of sexts, nudes, notes more romantic than anything he’s ever said to you before, an entire paper trail of all the times and locations of the evident affair - until you feel like you’re going to be sick. 

No, it’s not real. It can’t be. There’s no way…

Paralyzed, you stand there in disbelief, but as several more minutes of scrolling pass, it becomes clear that this is actually happening. Tears start to well in your eyes, but you quickly bottle it up, converting the energy into anger instead. You take the phone and march into his office to confront him - ready to shut him down when he tries to deny it. 

But, he doesn’t even try to deny it. He doesn’t even care.

“Well, it’s about time you found out anyway,” he tells you nonchalantly.

“Our wedding is in three months!! How fucking long were you going to wait to tell me??”

“I was gonna tell you soon, I just needed it to be the right time.”

“The right time??!! When is there a right time to dump your fiancé???”

“Listen, y/n-”

“Don’t tell me to fucking listen!!” you raise your voice at him. “In fact, don’t say anything else. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“You can’t tell me to get out, this is my house too,” he replies, with the sheer audacity to have a tone of annoyance in his voice.

“It’s MY name on the fucking papers. Get. Out.”

And so, he left. Didn’t even give you his set of keys back. Didn’t even say goodbye.

Now, you sit here parked in your driveway, the howling of harsh winter winds whistling over the melancholy tune playing loudly from the car radio. The volume is cranked all the way up, but despite your best efforts to drown out the outside world, the sharp whooshing sounds persist. Looks like the incoming storm is going to be as bad as predicted - if not worse. The blustering begins to jostle the whole vehicle. You stare aimlessly out the front windshield, watching chunks of snow flying erratically through the air as the winds pick up further. With a sigh, you turn the ignition off, the engine and radio going silent. If you're going to sit around moping, might as well do it inside where it's warm. You reach for the garage door remote clipped on the visor above you, but your hand only hits the soft padding. Right, you think to yourself, still gotta get that one replaced too. 

You drag yourself out of your car, hastily throwing your coat on and stumbling through the wind toward your front door. Flipping through your keys, something feels off. You look down, assuming your frozen fingers are just too stiff to pick out the correct one. You stare at the collection for several seconds, but your house key is not there. 

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself in confusion. Then, a horrible realization sets in: you never put your new key on the keyring after getting your locks changed. 

You brace yourself against the wind, trudging through the pile of snow accumulating in your front yard. As you reach the window, you lean over the bushes, peering through the partially-shut blinds into your kitchen to see a set of gold keys, sitting upon the center of the countertop. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your stupid ex-fiancé isn’t even around anymore and he’s still finding new ways to make your life miserable. If he had just returned your damn keys, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

Tears start welling in your eyes - and this time, you surrender. The droplets begin to freeze on your face almost instantly, but you let yourself cry. After several minutes, you’re feeling slightly better - but you’re getting quite cold. You decide to head back to your car, at least turn the heat on while you try and figure out what to do, no need to stand here and get frostbite-

“Um, excuse me…”

You jump at the sound of the voice coming from behind you, whipping your head around to see a very bundled up man. You can’t see much of his face, but he looks to be in his late-twenties, with dark hair peeking out from under a thick beanie. It takes you a moment, but you realize it’s your next-door neighbor, Jihoon, whom you've met approximately once.

“I just wanted to check if you were okay,” he says loudly, doing his best to speak over the noisy wind. “You’ve been standing out here for a while.”

“Oh,” you reply, also speaking up. You wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your gloves. “Um, I’m kind of locked out of my house.”

“Is the lock frozen?”

“No- well actually, I don’t know, it might be, but I don’t have my key,” you explain, gesturing through the window. “It’s in there.”

“How did you manage to do that?” he inquires, not being condescending, but genuinely asking.

“The front door locks behind you when you leave.” 

“Ohhh. Well that’s no good.” He pauses for a moment, looking at you curiously, before continuing.

“Um, well I know you don't know me very well, but if you need a place to wait while you call somebody you are welcome to come in,” he tilts his head toward his house. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but it’s really dangerous to be out in this storm.”

Normally, you’d be standoffish to a man you barely know inviting you into his house - but, something about him tells you you can trust him. He looks and sounds sincere, and you really don’t have anywhere else to go. Plus, you’re fucking freezing. You nod at him.

“I would really appreciate that,” you shout over the wind. He nods back, gesturing for you to follow along. He walks with you to his front door, the both of you taking large steps to trek through the several inches of snow that has already accumulated. He turns the knob and ushers you inside, following quickly and shutting the door behind him. 

The sounds of the howling wind abruptly stop, the door creating a barricade between you and the heavy winter storm. Your ears ring slightly, but as you adjust to the quietness of indoors you pick up on a familiar tune playing from the other room. 

“Is that En Bateau I hear?” you ask as you unlace your boots. 

He’s in the middle of unwrapping his scarf from around his head, but he perks up at your question. “Yeah! You know Petite Suite?” 

“It’s one of my favorites,” you reply warmly as you take off your coat. You try to avoid letting the jacket’s heavy dusting of snow fall to the floor, without success. 

“Dammit, I got your floor all wet,” you inform him with a sigh. You realize you’re shivering - the house is warm, comfortably so, but standing out in the cold for however long you were out there certainly chilled you to your bones. He takes your coat from your hands, shaking off the rest of the snow before putting it on a hanger for you.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he tells you, grabbing a neatly folded towel from the closet and mopping up the mess. “There’s some blankets on the couch, you should warm yourself up.” 

The prospect of a nice cozy blanket sends you speedwalking into the living room. You spot the stack of blankets, also neatly folded, and grab the thickest one you see - it’s plush and velvety, dark red in color, and gigantic. You wrap the soft fleece around your whole body, plopping cross-legged onto the couch, practically turning yourself into a cocoon. Immediately you start to warm up, your poor frozen extremities finally relieved of the painful cold. As you defrost, your brain begins to work again, processing your surroundings. Though you’ve never been inside, your neighbor’s abode feels very homely - the decor is largely cream-colored, accented with warm earth tones, doused in low lighting sourced from a few lamps placed strategically around the room. Though a plain, warm white, the walls are flourished tastefully with various unique artworks - nothing you recognize, but all very pleasing to the eye. Not that your ex was a slob, but you’ve never known a man to be so neat and tasteful. Refreshing, you think to yourself.

You hear soft footsteps from behind you as Jihoon enters the room. You turn to see him bearing a glass of water, a piping hot mug, and a small metal tin. 

“I don’t know if you like tea,” he starts as he sets the beverages on the coffee table’s coasters. “But I thought you might want something warm to drink.”

“Tea sounds great, thank you so much,” you reply as you wiggle your arms out of the tangle of blanket surrounding you. Reaching for the tin, you pull out a bag of Earl Grey and place it in the mug to steep.

“It’s y/n, right?” he asks as he sits in a nearby armchair.

“That’s me,” you reply. “And you’re Jihoon, yes?”

He nods to confirm. “I know we met once a while ago,” he adds, “but I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

"Of course I remember, I accidentally stole your packages,” you say with a laugh. “I felt bad about that for months.”

“No harm done, it was an honest mistake,” he replies with a calm smile. 

The tea is nowhere near ready, but you take a sip anyway. The hot liquid sends a wave of warmth through your whole body, making you instantly feel much better. Now that you’re not freezing and in tears, you can finally think straight, and you remember why you’re here in the first place.

“I should call the locksmith, god knows how long it’s gonna take them to get here in this storm,” you state as you look around for your phone, but it’s nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, I think my phone is still in my bag.”

You start to get up, but Jihoon is faster.

“Here, I’ll grab it for you.”

He disappears from the room in an instant, returning a few moments later with your bag in hand. Thanking him politely, you rummage around for your phone until you find it. You open Google and type locksmith into the search, calling the first one you see with good reviews. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, due to the storm we aren’t able to send anyone out until tomorrow.”

You try another one, but it’s the same story. A third one, no luck either. Nobody is able to come out until tomorrow morning. Dejected, you go ahead and schedule an appointment for 7am the next day. You do your best to remain calm, but you’re too exhausted to hold in your tears.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say to Jihoon, burying your face with your hands.

“Hey,” he replies softly. “It’s gonna be okay. You can stay here as long as you need.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you sigh.

“You’re not,” he assures you. “I promise. You’re welcome to take the guest room.”

“Are you sure?” you say with a sniffle, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Of course,” he nods. 

“Thank you so much,” you tell him sincerely. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem at all,” he says with a soft smile. “Also, are you hungry? I have some leftover stew I was going to heat up, if you’d like some.”

You didn’t even realize that you were hungry, but the mention of food makes your stomach rumble. 

“That sounds amazing,” you reply. 

Jihoon spends a few minutes in the kitchen, returning with two steaming bowls of a hearty-looking beef stew. 

“This is delicious,” you remark as you scoop another chunk of potato into your mouth. “I’m gonna need your recipe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jihoon replies humbly. “I’m glad you like it.”

Several moments of silence pass between you two as you enjoy the meal, the music of Debussy’s piano filling the room in lieu of conversation. But instead of it being awkward, you feel peaceful, replenished from the food and the warmth of Jihoon’s home.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he eventually turns to ask you. “I like having something on while I eat, but if not it’s okay.”

“Sounds good to me,” you reply. “What are you watching right now?”

“Oh, um, I like… anime,” he says sheepishly, turning slightly pink with embarrassment. “But we definitely don’t have to watch that. What do you like?”

“Have you seen The Great British Bake Off?” you respond. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Never heard of it,” he admits, but he already has the tv remote in hand, opening the app.

“I haven’t seen the new season yet, if you want to start there.”

“Will I understand it if I haven’t seen the other seasons?” he inquires, causing you to giggle.

“It’s a reality show, each season is different,” you fill him in, proceeding to explain the premise. He listens earnestly, but his facial expression tells you he is skeptical. 

“It’s really good, I promise!” you assure him.

“I don’t really get it,” he admits with a confused look on his face. “But if you say it’s good, I’ll take your word for it.”

He puts on the first episode, letting you explain the different challenges to him. About halfway through the episode, he turns to you.

“So… what exactly do they win?”

“A cake stand,” you answer. The look of bewilderment on his face makes you laugh again.

“So they don’t even get any money from it??”

“Nope,” you reply, cozying up under the blanket again. “That’s why it’s so wholesome.”

“Ah, okay,” he says, still unsure about the whole thing. But by the end of the first episode, he’s hooked.

“How do they do that??” he remarks at each contestant’s fanciful cake in the final challenge, his eyes glued to the tv. As soon as the credits start to roll, he clicks the Next Episode button.

“See? I told you it was good,” you say with a sleepy smile. The combination of the satisfying dinner, the warmth of the blanket, and the relaxing nature of the show is quickly making your eyelids turn heavy. You lean your head against the back of the couch, determined not to doze off - but within a few minutes, you are fast asleep.

The soft light of early dawn glows through your closed eyelids as you begin to awaken. You’re so warm and comfortable that you don’t even bother opening your eyes - instead you just lay there, relaxing under the blankets. As your brain slowly wakes, last night’s events start to register in your mind - you grimace as you recall the bitter cold of being stuck outside your own house, having a breakdown, feeling utterly helpless until-

Your eyes pop open. Sleepily adjusting to the morning light filtering in through the windows, you see that you’re still in Jihoon’s house, on the couch. You turn your face to see a pillow underneath your head that wasn’t there previously, and an extra knit blanket draped over the red fleece one that was already wrapped around you. Jihoon is nowhere in sight, presumably still asleep. You wonder what time it is - when suddenly you remember the locksmith appointment you made for 7am. Panicked, you bolt upright, searching for your phone amidst the blankets, until you spot it laying upon the coffee table, plugged into a charger that isn’t yours. You snatch it up, your heart sinking when you see the time: 7:34am.

“SHIT,” you grumble to yourself. You hurriedly unravel yourself from the tangle of blankets - it’s still warm in his house, but a chill hits you in the absence of the cozy covers. Sitting fully upright, you feel your feet bump something as they touch the carpet. Looking down, you spot a pair of slippers - light beige in color, women’s, brand new with the tags still on. For a moment you feel a bit weird about putting them on (Why does he have these, anyway?), but you’re cold, and at this point you don’t care. You slip them on, the comfort of the fluffy interior immediately making you  glad you did. They feel high quality - luxurious even, and now you feel nice and toasty. Rising from the couch, you grab the top blanket and wrap it around you. The inviting scent of coffee suddenly hits you - you follow it into the kitchen, where Jihoon stands before a brewing coffee pot. Noticing you have entered the room, he turns to greet you.

“Good morning,” he says warmly. He wears a pair of plaid pajama pants, seemingly with a matching top underneath a dark fleece quarter-zip. You note that he also has slippers on, not too dissimilar from the ones currently on your feet. As the coffee finishes brewing, he grabs two mugs, gesturing to you with one. 

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” you answer. He takes the pot and pours the piping hot beverage into your mug.

“Cream and sugar?” 

“Yes, please.”

He fixes your drink and hands you the steaming mug. You take a small, careful sip, your insides instantly warmed by the smooth brew.

“Delicious, thank you,” you tell him, taking another generous sip.

“Of course,” he nods.

“Guess I missed the locksmith,” you say with a sigh. “I should’ve thought to set an alarm before I passed out.”

He turns, reaching for something on the counter. Turning back, he extends his hand to you, your keys laying in his palm.

“Already taken care of,” he says with a smile.

“How did you…” Your words trail off as you take the keys, your fingertips lightly grazing his warm skin. 

“I met the locksmith and explained the situation,” he explains. “He picked the lock in like, one minute.” He gives you an apologetic look as he continues. “I’m sorry I went into your house without asking you first, I felt bad, but I didn’t want to have to wake you and drag you out into the cold.”

“Don’t apologize,” you reply, shaking your head quickly. “I really really appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“Thank you for the pillow too,” you add. “And the slippers, glad you had these laying around,” you say with a grin. His smile fades slightly, glancing away for a moment. 

“They were supposed to be a gift,” he says as he looks at you again. “But I didn’t need them anymore. You can keep them.” He smiles, but despite trying to hide it, his tone is tinged with sadness.

“Oh,” you say softly. “You sure?”

He hesitates slightly, unsure whether to tell you.

“They were for my girlfriend, but she left me a couple weeks ago,” he admits. He looks down at his coffee, stirring it aimlessly with the spoon. A pang of sympathy hits you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say gently. “I unfortunately can relate. My fiancé left me five days ago, for another woman.”

He perks his head up slightly in surprise. “Oh wow, what an awful week this must be. I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah, quite honestly, it fucking sucks,” you say, staring off into space a bit. 

“I was about to propose,” he adds, unsure exactly why he’s telling you this. But you both are feeling a newfound, unspoken kinship in your aligned misfortunes. “But one day she just told me she didn’t love me anymore.”

“Jesus, that’s terrible, I’m so sorry,” you empathize. “I found out my fiancé was cheating on me and confronted him. He didn’t even give a shit so I kicked him out, haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“Wow,” Jihoon says with wide eyes. He lets out a sigh. “I had already bought a ring, too. She didn’t know, but I had the whole proposal planned out.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “I guess it’s for the better that she left before I even bothered.”

“Yeah, doesn’t make it any less painful though.”

“Definitely not. And I wasn’t even able to return the ring.” He laughs, letting out an incredulous huff. 

“Oh my god,” you react in bewilderment. 

“It’s alright,” he says calmly. “Maybe I’ll be able to use it someday.”

His eyes linger on you slightly too long as the words roll off his tongue. The moment is brief, fleeting - but it’s enough for you to notice. 

“Would you like any more coffee?” he asks before you can fully process anything, nudging the pot in your direction.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you reply, finishing the last bit in your mug. 

“Here, I’ll take it.” 

“I better get going, now that I can actually get into my house,” you announce with a smile. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You weren’t a bother at all,” he assures you. “But I’m sure you’re dying to go home.”

Jihoon walks to his entryway. He gathers your things for you, taking your coat from the closet and helping you into it.

“I truly can’t thank you enough,” you tell him sincerely. “You really saved my ass.”

He smiles at you. “You’re very welcome. It was nice to finally properly meet you, y/n.”

He hands you something as he opens the door for you. You take it - it’s a blue sticky note, with his name and phone number written neatly on it.

“You can always call me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you,” you smile warmly, folding the note and tucking it safely into your pocket. “I will.”

[notashadowbutawave]

yeah like, i don't think younger people fully realize how immersively queerphobic and transphobic pop culture was before very, very recently.

if there was a queer or trans character depicted, they were almost always a joke or a spectacle. or, if they weren't, the only option for a dignified portrayal was to make them as background and incidental as possible. if a character READ as queer or trans or genderqueer to an LGBTQ audience, that relied on a certain amount of ignorance from heterosexuals to work (like oh they're just eccentric)

9-1-1's franchise record on representation is as good as it is because it kind of brilliantly allows its LGBTQ characters to exist and arguably have just as much narrative weight as the hetero characters, even if it's in an unrealistic soap-opera context as 9-1-1 is wont to do.

i am almost tempted to say that the writing with buck and tommy is more subtle and well-executed than a lot of what we see on the show, but i actually don't think that's necessarily true, it's pretty overt about the dynamic it's trying to portray -- but i actually think that because of how well lou and oliver are portraying the material that it's almost a little difficult to see. they have wildly good chemistry with each other and portray such a genuine affection between these two characters that the "generational" divide feels incidental, when realistically, it's something that two queer people of a certain age would have to probably discuss at some point in their relationship.

buck is supposed to be in his 30s, roughly around my age (maybe a little younger?), someone who would have been growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, and Tommy is i guess supposed to be in his 40s? this really isn't much of an age difference in the grand scheme of things. but because of buck's whole Childhood Emotional Trauma deal and his open, kind nature, he makes an incredibly good stand-in for a younger queer generation because he just isn't aware of anti-LGBTQ bigotry in the same way as he would have been if he'd been exploring his identity at a younger age.

it's actually a pretty great device for exploring the evolution of public queerness in the last ~30-40 years using a character story and it became incredibly emotionally resonant because of how well the actors have been performing it. we are encouraged to feel both the pain of discrimination and the joy of acceptance and being out by witnessing a truly electric connection between two people who have very different queer experiences.

i haven't actually seen season 8 yet but i'm basically fully spoiled on the plot points. while i could only be forced to watch the television program Glee at gunpoint and the inclusion of it was absolutely just masturbatory ryan murphy nonsense i appreciate what they are trying to do.

it does feel unfinished and i feel like the only appropriate resolution is to have buck & tommy be together forever, proving via the narrative that we can honor our past suffering as an LGBTQ community while coming fully into a future where we never have to hide who we are ever again (buck is going to continue to make love to that old man)

You know, as clunky as Josh's Glee speech was, I really think the SPIRIT of it reveals just why Tommy is such a divisive character, and I honestly think it's because Tommy is AT LEAST an "elder millenial" and possibly late Gen X (cause fuck a timeline am I right?) and portrayed pretty accurately to that experience, and a lot of the people who are so rabidly against him are much younger. And they just cannot fathom the world that queer millennials, elder millenials, and Gen X grew up in and had to survive in. Like, the rules were different guys. So, so different.

So yeah, it makes perfect sense to me that Tommy resonated DEEPLY with a lot of older queer people and a lot of younger people just don't understand why he would.

[honeyhae-svt]

kissing my best friend (SEVENTEEN reaction)

tags / genre: seventeen reactions, seventeen smut, best friend au, seventeen x reader, seventeen headcanons, reader insert, smut warning, romance, best friend-to-lovers warnings: explicit sexual content (smut, NSFW), suggestive and mature themes, strong language, reader is implied to have a close friendship with the members, boundary-blurring dynamics (best friend-to-lovers trope) - minors should know not to interact a/n: it suddenly just popped into my head so im making a headcanon cause why not? (escalates rq)

S.Coups (Seungcheol) he stares at you in disbelief after you press your lips to his, his hand frozen mid-air. "what the hell was that for?" he asks, his tone low, but his eyes darken the longer he stares at your lips. when you awkwardly laugh and try to brush it off, he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. “you can’t just kiss me like that and pretend it’s nothing,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against your lips before he kisses you back, harder this time.

the next thing you knew is that you're laid down completely on his bed his cock slamming and rutting right in your cunt, flesh slapping and lips messily tangled with each other. love bites are already all over your neck. with every desperate seconds bite, your moans fill the air with seungcheol swallowing every sweet melody you give.

Jeonghan he doesn’t even flinch when you kiss him—if anything, he lets out a soft hum, as if he’s been expecting it all along. "are we still calling this ‘best friends’ now?" he whispers, his fingers brushing against your jaw. when you nervously step back, his hand catches your waist, pulling you flush against him. "don’t go all shy now. you started this," he teases, his lips grazing your neck as his other hand cups your face for another kiss.

it's not all cute until jeonghan's hands are all over you—it's like he's searching for something in your body when in reality, it felt like he's memorizing your figure all completely. who knew one kiss would end up with a night full of moans and whines of overstimulations as he eats you up.

Joshua "oh," he breathes when your lips leave his, his cheeks flushed pink. at first, he tries to laugh it off, brushing his hand through his hair awkwardly. "so, um… do best friends just… do that now?" but when you avoid his gaze, muttering something about it being a joke, he grabs your chin gently, tilting your face back to his. "you think i’m letting you get away with that?" he asks softly before closing the distance again, this time with more intent.

and that's when you find yourself completely surrendering beneath him, whimpering soft "please" and "harder" that makes him lose completely out of control. joshua has it thrusting in you all night until you pass out. who knew someone as gentle as him was the exact opposite at night? now you did.

Junhui when your lips meet his, jun blinks a few times, his mind processing what just happened. but before you can even pull away completely, he hooks an arm around your waist, smirking. "well, that’s new," he says, leaning closer until his lips hover just over yours. "so… what are we doing about it?" his voice is low and teasing as his hands trail up your sides. "because if this is your way of confessing, i’m definitely not complaining."

you did confess. who wouldn't? it's wen junhui we're talking about here. your goofy yet the most charming best friend you can ever ask for. but did you really see him as just a friend? you already planned your future in your head with him, having kids and all—except for the fact that those dreams are coming to reality too quickly. you have him all over you, moaning loudly as you clench onto the fabric of the bed as he fucks you for the fourth time. these are his unspoken feelings for you in the past few years.

Hoshi (Soonyoung) soonyoung’s eyes widen when you kiss him, and he pulls back with a loud, "wait, WHAT?!" but the moment he sees your flushed face and nervous laugh, his shock turns into a mischievous grin. "oh, so this is what we’re doing now?" he teases, stepping closer until you’re backed against the wall. “you can’t just drop a kiss on me and expect me to act normal,” he says, his voice dropping as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours again, slower this time.

everything with hoshi has always been so gentle, almost delicate—but you never expected the other side of him to be this wild, this untamed when it came to sex. the way he slams into you, his hard thrusts relentless as his balls smack against your soaked cunt, leaves you breathless. it’s nothing like the guy you thought you knew. you can’t tell if he’s proving a point, showing you that he really is a tiger, or if this is simply who he is when he lets go. either way, you’re completely consumed, caught between the intensity of his movements and the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Wonwoo wonwoo freezes when your lips meet his, his book slipping from his hands and hitting the floor with a quiet thud. “what was that?” he asks, his voice calm but his expression unreadable. when you stammer out an apology, he shakes his head, taking a step closer. "don’t apologize," he says, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. "if anything, i should be the one apologizing." before you can ask what he means, his lips are on yours again, deeper and hungrier.

making out in the library is a classic iconic. but having sex? that's a whole different level we're talking about. wonwoo has to shut you up with his kisses so you'd stay quiet for you two to not get caught. he has his mouth onto yours while he snaps his hips with yours, his cock twitching with how your gummy walls clench around him, making it difficult for him to thrust continuously. he pulls his cock out before you can cum and covers your mouth with his palm on your mouth, preventing you from whimpering.

Woozi (Jihoon) "what the hell are you doing?" jihoon blurts out the second your lips leave his, his cheeks a deep shade of red. but when you laugh nervously and try to brush it off as a joke, he grabs your wrist, his eyes locking with yours. "you think you can just kiss me and get away with it?" he mutters, his voice low. before you can respond, he pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours with a mix of frustration and unspoken desire.

and that's how you ended up sitting on his lap as you move yourself onto him, grinding your hips back and forth to his cock, making you say his name like it's a prayer. woozi was leaving love bites all over your neck as you work so hard to meet the edge of bliss. "that's it, baby," is what he would whisper if he had to encourage you to keep going. he'd overstimulate you if he wanted to.

Minghao (The8) minghao raises an eyebrow as you pull away, his gaze unreadable. “so… that’s how it is now?” he asks, his voice calm but his smirk giving away his amusement. when you nervously try to laugh it off, he steps closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “if you’re going to kiss me, do it properly next time,” he whispers before leaning in, his lips meeting yours again, slower and more deliberate this time, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

oh, the slow yet lingering pleasure. minghao is as gentle as a feather as his lips trail down to your stomach. the way he worked on his tongue as he licked your every part as if he was painting something on your body felt surreal. not until he has you quivering on his bed as he eats out your cunt until you overstimulate. he doesn't let go until you squirt. and that's when you'll be showered with lots of compliments. with one final consent, he'll spoon into you really slow at first and will gradually increase as he edges you to the ends of pleasure.

Mingyu mingyu freezes the second your lips touch his, his face heating up instantly. "wait—what just happened?" he stammers, his hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders. but when you mumble something about it being a trend, his confused expression shifts into something more serious. "so you kissed me for a trend?" he asks, his voice low. before you can explain, he steps closer, his large hands cupping your face as he leans in. “let me show you how i really feel about that,” he murmurs before kissing you again.

mingyu is the type to lose all control the moment you grind against him, a switch flipping as years of friendship dissolve into something raw and unrestrained. he pins you down, your chest pressed into the mattress while he thrusts his cock deep into your cunt, his grip on your hips firm and possessive. “m-mingyu,” you whimper, your voice shaky as he drives into you harder, his rhythm erratic yet desperate. his groans mix with your breathless gasps, the sounds of skin against skin echoing in the room. it’s messy, heated, and impossibly intimate—something neither of you can take back.

DK (Seokmin) seokmin blinks rapidly when you kiss him, his face immediately turning red. "uh… what just happened?" he asks, laughing nervously. but when you try to brush it off, he grabs your arm gently, his expression unusually serious. "don’t joke about stuff like that," he says softly before leaning in, his lips capturing yours again. his usual playful demeanor fades as his kisses grow deeper, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulls you closer.

his playful nature melts away as his lips move in sync with yours, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. when you break the kiss to gasp for air, dk takes the opportunity to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking gently, leaving faint marks that make your stomach flutter. before you know it, he has you pinned beneath him, his warm hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into you, a sweet mixture of desperation and restraint. he whispers soft apologies every time his pace becomes rough, but the way you’re calling out his name only drives him to lose himself completely in you.

Seungkwan "YAH! what was that?!" seungkwan yells, his face bright red as he stares at you in shock. but when you laugh and tell him it’s just a trend, he narrows his eyes. "a trend?! you’re playing with my feelings for a trend?" before you can respond, he grabs your hand, pulling you into his lap. “you better mean it,” he mutters, his lips brushing against yours again, slower this time as his hands settle on your hips.

seungkwan’s kisses are as passionate as his personality, his lips firm and eager as he devours you, making you dizzy. he’s not holding back now, his hands gripping your waist as he presses you flush against him, your back arching under his touch. "you started this, don’t back out now," he murmurs, his voice thick with want. the next thing you know, you’re on his couch, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he takes his time thrusting his cock into you at a rhythm that has you moaning uncontrollably. his mouth is everywhere, kissing and sucking on your skin as if to make you his, all while muttering praises about how beautiful you look when you fall apart for him.

Vernon vernon blinks at you, his expression blank as he processes what just happened. "uh… what’s going on?" he asks, his tone casual but his ears noticeably red. when you laugh nervously, he tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips. "was that supposed to be a joke?" he asks, stepping closer. when you stammer out an excuse, he smirks softly. “you’re terrible at jokes,” he murmurs before kissing you again, his hands sliding to your waist.

he’s patient, his hands ghosting over your body, taking in every sound you make, a small smirk tugging at his lips when he hears you whine for more. "you’re cute when you’re needy," he mutters, his voice low and teasing. but when he finally has you naked beneath him, the teasing is gone. vernon’s thrusts are deep and slow, with his cock slipping out on purpose, his hands gripping your hips as he watches every expression you make. his lips find yours again, swallowing your moans as he works you to the edge, his soft grunts mixing with your cries in the most intimate rhythm.

Dino chan’s eyes widen when you kiss him, his body going completely still. "are you serious right now?" he asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and something else you can’t quite place. when you shrug and try to laugh it off, he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. "you think this is funny?" he mutters, his lips inches from yours. before you can respond, he closes the gap, his kisses rough and desperate as his hands slide up your sides.

he’s been waiting for this, and now that he has you, he’s not going to let the moment slip away. "you’re mine now," he growls against your lips, his voice filled with uncharacteristic dominance that sends shivers down your spine. before you know it, he’s taken full control, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounds his cock into you relentlessly. he doesn’t care about being gentle—he just wants you to feel how much he’s been holding back. his name spills from your lips like a chant, and he revels in the sound, his lips finding yours once again as he drives you both to the peak of pleasure.

[warblogs17282]

I'm busy thinking about the fact that we can see how a lot of the conflict between Stolas and Octavia has roots in the unhealthy family dynamics brought on in Stolas' childhood.

Mainly inspired from a quote I heard from someone reacting to the episode, that being something along the lines of "Fucked up parents create fucked up children.", and tbh, I can kinda see that with Stolas and Octavia.

Also, let's get one other thing out of the way as well, the family dynamic Stolas and Octavia had before Blitz came into his life was never healthy at all.

The line 'You have always been the only good thing in my life!' hits really hard for a few reasons, with one of them being because it shows that before Blitz came into his life, Octavia was practically Stolas' whole life. Which naturally is not healthy for either of them, while your child is a very significant and important part of your life, they should still not be literally your entire life.

And well, Stolas being like that makes sense, you can see roots of that within Stolas' isolated childhood and upbringing, the only person Stolas had as a friend was Blitz when he was a child, and even then, they didn't see each other again for the next 25 years, leaving Stolas with basically no one else, no other friends to talk to, etc.

And you can see that manifest itself into the family dynamics between Stolas and Octavia, because Stolas has no social life at all outside of the family, and his family, which as a result, leads to Octavia being practically Stolas' whole world, as shown by that line he said.

The line is also quite interesting as well, because in one side, we have Octavia being practically Stolas' whole world, but I also believe the vice versa of that line is true as well.

Which I suppose is the segway into the section of what happens when an imp comes along and absolutely shatters that unhealthy family dynamic.

Something the show has made clear is that a lot of Octavia's life has also revolved around Stolas, which makes sense, but the issue here is that I'm pretty sure that almost all of Octavia's life revolved around Stolas or the family in some way, as I'm pretty sure that this also leads us to a conclusion that Octavia has no support system at all, no actual friends, etc. Which is something that we recognize is quite similar to Stolas, as he also had no support system, no friends, etc, until he met Blitz at that fateful party.

Especially if we consider the fact that Stella is both a neglectful and abusive parent, so it's not like Octavia had the support of both parents here, Octavia only had the support and attention of Stolas her entire upbringing and childhood.

You all remember the "so that girl could live a normal life" comment Stolas made in s2 e1? I believe that this family dynamic is exactly what Stolas was referring to when he said that, Stolas also believed that the family dynamic at play was a normal and healthy thing for the child, when it was anything but.

Which brings us into the events after Blitz came into Stolas' life, when that the family dynamics Stolas was referring to with that 'normal life' comment were completely shattered.

The family dynamics bring up something interesting to me about Octavia, I feel like her upbringing and childhood is also part of the reason as to why she feels like Stolas has abandoned and replaced her with Blitz, why she struggles to understand the fact that Stolas can care for and love Blitz a lot, while also caring for and loving her a lot as well.

Obviously there's more to the situation to it than just this, there's other things like Stolas failing to properly explain the situation and other things that Octavia really should've known, to give an example. But at the same time, I still can't help but think that all of this has roots in the unhealthy family dynamics between them that got shattered when Blitz entered Stolas' life.

And well, it was Octavia's lack of knowledge about the situation that led to her coming to the conclusions she did, such as the conclusions she came to when she found the happy pills, for example.

Octavia's song also makes something else clear, that she used to think that him and Stella had a happy marriage until Blitz arrived in his life, and we know that the reason Octavia used to think that is because of Stolas hiding the abuse he suffered to give Octavia a 'normal life', which as I've stated before, this 'normal life' also included the unhealthy family dynamics between them, the same one where Stolas' entire life revolved around Octavia and the family, and vice versa for Octavia.

Which is the main reason why I believe that the unhealthy family dynamics is a part of the reason of why Octavia said and did what she did this episode, because Blitz actually started the transition into healthier family dynamics, with those being Stolas finally getting the courage to get the divorce, and Stolas having someone in his life outside of the family, no longer having Octavia and Stolas' family quite literally be all that there is to his life.

But here's the thing, because of Octavia's unintentionally lonely upbringing with the unhealthy family dynamics she doesn't know the full situation of, I don't think she recognizes that it is not healthy for the parent or the child for their entire world to be centered around their child plus the family, and vice versa. Plus for the same reasons and a bit more, I don't think she properly recognizes that Stolas can love and care for both Blitz and Octavia a lot at the same time.

As I have stated before, we point to multiple other reasons as to why Octavia behaved, said and believes in what she did, such as her feeling abandoned and replaced by Blitz, and I definitely agree with you all on that Stolas is nowhere near entirely innocent in this whole situation for multiple reasons, but at the same time, I still believe that at least part of this reason why has something to do with Octavia's upbringing, and the unhealthy family dynamics associated with said upbringing, which has roots in Stolas' extremely isolated and lonely upbringing.

Just to be clear, I am not blaming Octavia for anything here, and I am also not hating on Stolas for choosing to be happy with Blitz as well, while I have stated multiple times that Stolas did indeed fuck-up on multiple occasions, I am still not choosing a side here regarding the whole situation. I will not accept any Stolas or Octavia slander, as I have stated multiple times by now.

[ilovekittycats2]

High Maintenance

Jake Seresin x reader

(use of y/n)

In which,

Hangman keeps breaking his jet, and you’re not sure if fixing it or dealing with him is more exhausting

or,

one act of recklessness makes you realise that there may be more to Jake Seresin than meets the eye.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was good at a lot of things—flying jets, making cocky comebacks, and driving people absolutely insane. Unfortunately for you, as the Navy’s top mechanic, his messes always landed squarely on your plate. “You fly like you’re trying to piss me off, Seresin,” you snapped, tossing a grease-streaked rag onto the workbench. 

Hangman leaned against the side of his F/A-18 with his signature smirk. “I fly like I’m the best, sweetheart. It’s not my fault if your tools can’t keep up.” Sweetheart. That nickname alone was enough to make your blood boil. “If you’re the best, why do you spend so much time breaking your jet?” His grin widened. “Because I know you’ll fix it.”

This was your dynamic—a constant battle of wits with an undercurrent of tension neither of you acknowledged. Hangman was insufferable, arrogant, and way too charming for his own good. Worse, you hated how your pulse raced when he leaned a little too close or shot you that lopsided grin. 

Keep it together, Y/n.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The call came through like a punch to the gut: Jake Seresin’s bird was in trouble. You’d been elbow-deep in another jet’s maintenance when the commotion started, and the urgency in the tower’s tone made your stomach knot. Hangman might have been the cockiest pilot in the squadron, but he was still one of yours—and whether you admitted it or not, that mattered.

You ran to the runway just as his F/A-18 skidded to a stop in a haze of smoke and screeching metal. The landing gear barely held, and the right engine let out a sickening hiss as flames licked at the exhaust. When the canopy opened, Jake climbed out slower than usual, his movements careful, deliberate. For the first time, he looked... human.

“You okay?” you barked as you closed the distance between you.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Engine failure. It cut out at altitude, but I managed to bring her in.” His voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for any cracks in the façade. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “Let me worry about your jet,” you said, pulling your gaze away. “Just... don’t touch anything.”

The hours that followed were grueling. You stayed on your feet, wrench in hand, sweat dripping down your temple as you fought to diagnose the failure. Jake didn’t leave, hovering just outside your workspace like a restless ghost. He wasn’t offering quips or trying to charm his way into a response this time; he was just there, quiet and watchful.

“Why are you still here?” you asked finally, not looking up from the engine bay.

He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Didn’t feel right leaving her—and you—like this.” The confession made you pause. For a moment, you just stared at the mess of wires and metal in front of you, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling in your chest. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, “if you’re staying, make yourself useful. Hand me the wrench.”

To your surprise, he did.

When the jet finally roared back to life in the early hours of the morning, you stepped back, exhaustion tugging at every muscle. Jake, who had barely moved from his spot all night, let out a breath of relief that mirrored your own. “Thanks for saving my ass,” he said, and this time, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

You turned to him, wiping grease off your hands onto a rag. “Don’t get used to it,” you said, but the sharp edge in your voice was missing.

Jake smiled—small, tentative, and not at all like the cocky grins he usually threw your way. As he walked off into the dawn light, you found yourself watching him longer than you should have, wondering what it meant that Jake Seresin, for once, wasn’t acting like Jake Seresin.

And why it made your chest feel so strange.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hey guysssss once again sorry this is bad but i really wanted to write so idk....... lmk if you want a part 2 and send reqs!!!! pls!!!

[maxdibert]

What a coincidence that this is a fandom “for everyone,” but only as long as the characters are rich and attractive. What a coincidence that the only canonically poor character, the one canonically outside of hegemonic beauty standards, the one canonically outside traditional concepts of masculinity (and who is mistreated in the narrative precisely because of his appearance and mannerisms that don’t align with traditional gender norms), and the one canonically socially marginalized, is the only one you continue to marginalize and mistreat. The only one you don’t punkwash like the other psychopaths you’ve turned into queer icons, even though they’re canonically ten times worse than Snape. But of course, Snape doesn’t count, because Snape was ugly and poor. What a coincidence.

It’s also quite the coincidence that you claim to be inclusive, yet the characters you defend are canonically hegemonic in every sense—privileged, wealthy, and above the socioeconomic average. What a coincidence that in your pinkwashed utopia of wannabes who’ve never actively fought for anything in their lives, making a character gay is all it takes to feel like the revolution is complete. Sorry, but no. You can’t sell the idea that you’re opposing Rowling when you’re pinkwashing the very characters she already glorified because she favored them. Do you think Rowling cares if James Potter is trans in your trashy fic? J.K. Rowling would love that you’re reinforcing her narrative that rich, attractive boys are good, and poor, ugly boys are bad, because that’s something she reproduces throughout her entire saga.

I don’t care where you were born or if you were bullied because that clearly didn’t teach you anything. It didn’t teach you class consciousness, nor did it help you understand how social dynamics work, inequality, or how power mechanisms operate between people from different socioeconomic backgrounds. It also didn’t help you understand that defending rich, aristocratic, abusive kids who harass and torment working-class, underprivileged kids isn’t the peak of the pinkwashed revolution you’ve built in your head just because you label them as gay or trans. That’s not how it works, my friend. You can’t fix everything by slapping a rainbow flag on it. Classism still exists within the LGBTQ+ community, just as abusive behavior and social inequalities do.

So excuse me if I don’t care about your ad hominem fallacy, but clearly, you didn’t get much out of university if your reading comprehension is abysmal and you’re utterly clueless when it comes to political and social culture. So take yourself and your TERF rhetoric elsewhere because the only one speaking like a classist TERF defending bourgeois interests with an elite-bootlicking mentality is you. The only one instrumentalizing an important movement like the LGBTQ+ cause (just as TERFs instrumentalize feminism) to justify your reactionary thoughts, internalized discrimination, and need to trample those in disadvantaged positions is also you.

Though, given your history, maybe the problem you have with Snape is that he reminds you, and other Marauders fans, that in real life, you wouldn’t have been the popular kids. You would’ve been the ones marginalized by people like James and Sirius, who would have made your life miserable. And that’s too unbearable because you want to feel like the protagonists, but you never would’ve been. You never would’ve belonged to the hegemonic, cool kids who ruled the school. In fact, kids like Sirius and James would’ve laughed at you. So instead, you turn them into pinkwashed icons, alter their personalities to your liking, and turn the one true character who fits your idea of a non-hegemonic person into a supervillain because that way, you can fantasize about being the popular ones. Accepting Severus breaks your narrative. In the end, all of this boils down to unresolved self-esteem issues.

I have no problem seeing this kind of stuff, nor do I block tags. If you don’t like being hit with a dose of reality and still think it’s a good idea to keep making a fool of yourself because you have zero arguments or basis to defend your point without coming across as a classist jerk, that’s your problem. Honestly, I couldn’t care less because I’ve said many times that I love debating, and frankly, you’re not going to change my opinion. It’s not for nothing that I pay my rent and bills working as a criminal lawyer and helping people in the process of social reintegration, only for some random person who thinks the revolution is about turning fictional rich bully kids into queer icons to come and try to lecture me about anything. Go on, get lost. Kisses.

okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.

ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.

it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.

"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.

also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????

reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.

ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.

IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.