#this has been bothering me the entire time

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,�� he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[thef1diary]

Imagine dirtbag Carlos eating you out with a tongue piercing 😵‍💫 but he didn’t tell you he got it so he surprises you with it in the best way possible

— dead. deceased. You can’t just drop this in my inbox with no warning and expect me to be normal about it !?!? Just thinking about it is making me insane 🐱🦋 18+ content below

Carlos has been acting strange all night. Sure, he’s been touchy—his big hands on your waist, fingers brushing the back of your neck—but every time you leaned in for a kiss, he ducked his head, finding some excuse to pull away. The first time, you thought maybe you’d imagined it. By the fifth, your frustration was impossible to ignore.

Now, you’re in his lap, straddling him on the couch, your skirt riding high on your thighs as you try, once again, to close the distance between your mouths. His hands grip your hips, firm but teasing, holding you in place as he smirks up at you.

“Carlos,” you whine, rolling your hips against him, desperate for some kind of reaction. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

He raises a brow, his expression almost too casual. “What? No patience tonight, nena?”

Your hands fist in his shirt, tugging him closer. “No patience,” you snap, your voice high and needy. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Carlos just chuckles, low and deep, and one of his hands slides between your thighs, pressing against your cunt. The smirk on his face deepens when he feels the damp fabric of your panties.

“This is crazy,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb over the soaked spot just enough to make your breath hitch. “Hmm now I know why you’re complaining.”

You try to grind against his hand, but he pulls back, standing abruptly with you in his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and you whimper in protest, but Carlos just shushes you, carrying you into the bedroom and dropping you onto the mattress.

Before you can sit up, he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed, sliding your panties down your legs in one slow, deliberate motion. He pauses, eyes dragging over you like he’s trying to commit the sight to memory. Then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips maddeningly soft.

But when his mouth finally brushes over your clit, you gasp—not because of his tongue, but because of the cool, unfamiliar press of metal pierced in it.

Your head snaps up, wide eyes locking on his smug expression. “What—”

Carlos grins, dragging his tongue over you again, the piercing catching in a way that makes you moan. “Surprise,” he drawls, his voice rough and teasing.

“When did you—”

“Couple weeks ago,” he interrupts, his lips quirking into a grin that’s entirely too pleased with itself. “Wanted to surprise you. Good, yeah?”

You don’t even bother answering with words as a moan escapes your lips. His tongue moves again, slow circles that make your hips jerk against his face. The piercing sends shocks of pleasure through you, the cool metal contrasting with the heat of his tongue in a way that has you writhing beneath him. He doesn’t rush, dragging the barbell over your clit in maddeningly slow strokes, his hands squeezing your thighs every time you try to move.

“Carlos,” you whimper, your voice breaking as he hums against you, the vibration making your legs tremble.

He pulls back just slightly, his smirk infuriatingly arrogant. “What?” he taunts, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit. “Still mad I wouldn’t kiss you?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response, and Carlos laughs softly before diving back in. This time, he doesn’t hold back, his tongue moving with a precision that leaves you gasping his name.

Soon, your orgasm crashes through you, leaving you trembling and gasping as Carlos holds you in place, his tongue still teasing, dragging out every aftershock. When you can’t take it anymore, you weakly push at his head, and with one last flick of his piercing over your clit, he finally pulls back, his lips glistening and twisted into that cocky smirk that drives you wild.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes drinking in your wrecked state. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with pride. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

Before you can respond, he’s climbing up your body, pinning you to the mattress with his weight as he finally presses his mouth to yours. The kiss is hot and unrelenting, and when his tongue slips between your lips, the press of the piercing sends a fresh jolt of desire through you.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you kiss him back desperately, your tongue flicking over the barbell again and again. You’re moaning against his lips, whining softly as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, unable to get enough of the new sensation.

Carlos groans into your mouth, his hips grinding against yours as you keep playing with the piercing, teasing it with your tongue. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his lips swollen and glistening. “You like it that much, huh?” he teases, his voice rough and low.

“Need more,” you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I need to feel you again—between my thighs, inside me, everywhere.”

His chuckle is dark and full of promise, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulls back slightly, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Oh, nena,” he rasps, pressing his cock against you through his jeans. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

And from the way his eyes darken, his lips curling into that wicked grin, you know he means every word.

want more dirtbag!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[bladeux]

Hey, I have a request!! How about a reader with insomnia and has a super hard time sleeping until they accidentally discover they can finally sleep when in their lovers arms- with Boothill, argenti, jiaoqiu and aventurine please~ have a great day/night!!

✮ ˙ ⋆ wrap me in your arms ⋆ ˙ ᶻ z ᶻ

pairings : aventurine, boothill, argenti, jiaoqiu x reader (separate) | fluff

⤿ Aventurine

You sat at the edge of the bed, head in your hands, when Aventurine strode into the room. His energy seemed to fill the space, but his demeanor softened when he saw you. "Still up, huh?" he asked, kneeling in front of you. His hands covered yours, prying them gently from your face. "Hey, look at me." You did, and the concern in his eyes nearly broke you. "I can’t... shut my brain off," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. "Well, that’s what I’m here for," he said, carrying you to the bed. Aventurine settled down with you cradled against his chest, his broad arms enveloping you entirely. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back, while the other ran through your hair, his fingers gentle and deliberate. "Feel that?" he murmured, pressing your ear to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, a comforting rhythm that drowned out your restless thoughts. His lips brushed your forehead, lingering as he whispered, "You’ve been fighting so hard, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’ll carry the weight with you." Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Aventurine wiped them away with his thumb. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. "It’s okay to lean on me," he said. "Let go. I’ve got you." Your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed, and you've finally felt the weight of exhaustion pull you into sleep. Aventurine leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "You’ll never have to face a sleepless night alone again," he said quietly, his voice filled with tenderness.

⤿ Boothill

Boothill stood by the window, the dim light casting shadows across his features. His gaze drifted to you on the bed, curled up with your knees to your chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Still awake," he muttered. You nodded weakly. "I can’t stop my thoughts. They just keep going." Boothill didn’t say anything, but his footsteps were soft as he crossed the room. Without warning, he sat down beside you, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. "Move over," he said gruffly, but there was gentleness in his tone. Confused but too exhausted to argue, you shifted slightly. Boothill stretched out next to you, his figure enveloping you as he pulled you against his chest. His arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other sliding under your head as a pillow. His touch was steady, yet grounding. "You’re safe here," he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "Let yourself breathe." The steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It was overwhelming in its comfort. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your back, and you felt the tension melt from your muscles. "Don’t fight it," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Just rest." For the first time in weeks, your racing thoughts stilled. You closed your eyes, his heartbeat under your ear lulling you into sleep. As your breathing slowed, he noticed the moment your body went soft in his arms. Boothill’s sharp eyes softened, vulnerability crossing his features. He shifted slightly to pull the blanket over you, careful not to disturb your peace. "Finally letting yourself rest," he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I’ll make sure nothing bothers you."

⤿ Argenti

Argenti’s long hair glimmered faintly in the candlelight as he sat beside you, his concerned eyes studying your worn expression. The two of you had tried everything; Teas, warm baths, even long talks late into the night, but nothing could persuade sleep from your restless mind. "Come here," he said softly, opening his arms. You hesitated, feeling the slightest guilt. "I don’t want to bother you. You need rest too." He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tilted your face toward his. His touch was tender, his expression filled with unwavering devotion. "If you suffer, I suffer too," he said earnestly. "Let me be your... hm... solace." Your smiled at his words, and before you could protest again, he pulled you into his lap. His arms circled around you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other pressed gently against your back. "Lean on me," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He began to hum softly, with a melody rich and soothing. His fingers trailed delicately along your arm, his touch slow and deliberate. His lips occasionally brushed your temple, a silent reassurance that he was there, holding you steady. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his embrace, and the gentle pressure of his hands all worked together to calm the storm inside you. You sighed, your body finally surrendering to the comfort he offered. shifted carefully, laying you fully against the bed while keeping you cradled against his chest. And as you drifted off, Argenti leaned down, brushing a tender kiss over your brow. "You deserve the sweetest dreams," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

⤿ Jiaoqiu

Jiaoqiu paced around the small room, his usual energy dimmed by the worry etched across his face. You sat on the bed, your knees pulled to your chest, exhaustion written all over you. "Okay, this is ridiculous," he declared, stopping in his tracks. "You need sleep, and if I have to tie you down with cuddles, I will." Despite yourself, you managed a small laugh. "Cuddles as a weapon? That’s a first." He smirked, but his expression softened as he sat beside you, taking your hand in his. His fingers laced through yours, his touch warm and reassuring. "I’m serious. Let me help." Before you could respond, he slid behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrapped securely around your middle, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The soft tickle of his breath against your neck made you shiver slightly. "See? Nothing to be afraid of," he said gently in a soothing voice. His hands moved in slow, comforting circles over your stomach, and humming a quiet tune that seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket. "Whatever’s keeping you awake, let it go. I’m here, and I’m not letting go." It all became a swaddle that shielded you from the chaos in your mind. You exhaled deeply, your body sinking into his as the tension drained away. "That’s it," Jiaoqiu whispered, with his arms tightening around you. "You’re finally sleeping," he whispered, relief in his voice. "Took you long enough, sleepyhead."

a/n : first request yipee thank u anon !!! i feel like the scenarios are a little too identical with one another or like they seem a bit out of character and ideas aren't coming idk why!! but i hope u like this :-P

[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

[pureomi]

˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ all you want - itoshi rin.

in which: rin finds out what he is most terrified of.

themes - sfw. not proofread. gender neutral (i believe, lemme know if im wrong). rin is a loser in love so yay. | wc 0.6k

itoshi rin is an intimidating man. his tall silhouette adds to his unapproachable persona, which he embodies with a glued sore expression, almost always looking as if ready for slaughter. (he is)

rin himself has been aware of this fact; it is hard not to be after years of noticing the small mannerisms of nervousness people only tend to carry around him. he feels bad about it sometimes, but, oh well.

with such a demeanor, rin has the confidence to rarely ever think of what might spook him. truthfully, he cannot be blamed either. this man watches horror movies as a hobby, claiming "it's the only media that interests him". forget fictional horror, he isn't even bothered by realistic sights of blood, be it his own or somebody else's; a very small part of the reason why he didn't think twice before swinging at shidou during practice today.

itoshi rin terrifies everyone and is never terrified of anyone.

so why, why is he shaking in his boots right now at the sight of your stern expression?

"rin."

he held his breath, mentally preparing himself to confront the storm ahead.

"you forgot to buy strawberries."

crap. the ingredient had completely slipped his mind.

"sorry," he sighed, in transparent defeat. "i remembered your text after arriving."

"it's okay," you went back to shuffling through drawers like your usual self. except, it wasn't usual to rin. your cheeky smile he adored so much became replaced with a pout today.

no no no—please don't be sad. not over strawberries.

"i'll go back and get them right now," he shuffled in his trouser pockets for his car keys, determined to get you those red little troublemakers.

your hand clutched a flap of his jacket before he got moving. "rin, it's okay. really."

"i'll be back shortly," he glared daggers into your hand restricting him—conflicted if he is in a position to remove any willing touch you provided him at the moment.

he hoped you would just let go—which you did. but now, it wasn't just a hand clinging to him. it was your entire being.

"you don't have to," you hugged him, murmuring sentences with the same look from before.

itoshi rin sighed, his second time today, but this was out of pure endearment. "then stop looking so upset, dumbass."

though his words carried a harsh stream, his tender hands cupping your jaw contradicted all the possible roughness.

"i'm not upset," you claimed. "you're pouting," he swiped a thumb across your slightly fluffed up lips to prove a point you seemed to be missing. "well, i just wanted to make those cupcakes."

the stoic man's heart clutched again at your painfully adorable wish. slowly, he leaned to press his forehead against yours. "so, let me get them."

at his adamancy, you chuckled, a sound that melted away the tension in the room. "baby, you really don't have to go back for strawberries. i can survive a night without them."

"i know you can," he left a quick kiss on your lips. "but, i want you to have everything you want. especially the little things."

perhaps you grew accustomed to his physical affection, but his verbal love still held you captive after all this time. long gone were the sweetly sour fruits from your mind, all it consisted of was itoshi rin.

"what if i want something not so little?" you tip-toed to reach your boyfriend towering over you.

immediately, getting your cue, he grabbed on to your figure, bringing his lips to align with yours passionately.

"can give you that too."

10:30 am.

the next morning, as sunshine spilled through the kitchen windows, you found a crimson surprise awaiting you at the counter. three full containers of strawberries had been neatly arranged in a column and residing beside them were a pair of oven mitts. the last thing he left for you to spot was a note attached to the thermal gloves.

"for your cupcakes. don't burn yourself." — rin itoshi.

[aventurineswife]

I’m

Have a stupid idea

So, reader has been a genshin player for a while and a dedicated Alhaitham main, always gushing over him when they’re able to get a good look at his model. Which, unbeknownst to reader, he can hear them, the characters are aware to some degree. But then they get isekai’d into the game and proceed to avoid him like the plague because he’s very hot intimidating in person and also almost a foot taller than reader

Could I maybe get a drabble or hcs of this stupid lil thing?

“Am I Still Perfect?”

Tags: Alhaitham x Reader, Drabble, Isekai, Fluff, Humor, Light Embarrassment.

A/N: please make sure to read the pinned post next time (especially the closed reqs)🧍‍♀️... I'm making an exception this time but I won't do it again.

You had always admired Alhaitham from the comfort of your screen. His sharp wit, broad shoulders, and meticulously crafted voice lines made him your favorite Genshin character. Pulling him during his banner felt like winning the lottery, and you were notorious among your friends for your constant gushing over him.

“Look at him,” you’d sigh, zooming in on his model during idle animations. “He’s so perfect.”

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham was well aware of your doting admiration. The Traveler’s world (aka your world) wasn’t as disconnected as you thought, and your praises reached his ears like whispers on the wind. He never mentioned it, of course. What use would it be to comment on the opinions of someone from an entirely different dimension?

Then you woke up in Sumeru.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but you were here, flesh and bone in a world you once navigated with a mouse and keyboard (or your phone). The lush foliage and warm breeze were incredible, but so was the realization that you’d be meeting the people you once thought of as mere pixels.

People like him.

The first time you saw Alhaitham in the Akademiya, you nearly fainted. Not because you were starstruck—though you certainly were—but because he was much more intimidating in person. His presence was magnetic, his sharp eyes even more piercing than you could’ve imagined, and his sheer height made you feel like a mouse in the shadow of a falcon.

You ducked behind a bookshelf, heart hammering. No way. Absolutely not. You could not face him.

From then on, you avoided him like the plague. If you saw his hair glinting in the sun, you’d take another path. If you heard his voice nearby, you’d excuse yourself from the conversation and flee.

But Alhaitham wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed you skulking around, eyes wide as you scurried away whenever he entered a room.

“Strange,” he murmured to himself one day. “They seemed far more enthusiastic in their words before.”

Finally, your luck ran out. You turned a corner in the marketplace and smacked straight into him. His firm chest was like a wall, and you stumbled back, your brain short-circuiting as you craned your neck to meet his gaze.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and measured. “You might hurt yourself running around like that.”

“I—I—uh—” Words failed you.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

Your face burned. Oh no, he noticed?! “N-no reason! You’re just—uh—very busy, and I didn’t want to bother you!”

His lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “I don’t mind being bothered. In fact, I think you owe me an explanation for all the… glowing praise you’ve been giving me.”

You wanted to sink into the ground. He knows?!

“That’s—uh—it’s not—uh…”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Am I still… perfect?”

Your knees wobbled. Alhaitham straightened, a satisfied glint in his eye. “I’ll take your silence as a yes. Now then, I believe I’ll see you around more often.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving you frozen, flustered, and thoroughly defeated.

[pendingnomdeplume]

hold me hard and mellow pairing: hozier x female!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Miscommunications/Misunderstandings, Pining, Drunk Flirting, Drunk Sex words: 4.0k

[Read it on AO3]

title from Pillowtalk by Zayn divider by: sylusz

Though your 30th birthday was months ago, it’s difficult to ignore some of the changes that aging has brought on. You’ve noticed a few new gray hairs sprouting where there were none before, and your cheeks have lost some of the cherubic plumpness that made you look like a high schooler attempting to swindle shops for alcohol every time you wanted a beer. These changes don’t bother you. In fact, you’re excited to look a little bit older, more like your actual age. 

What catches your attention is entirely different. Something embarrassing, really. Something that you’ve been mildly self-conscious of while living in a giant, moving tin can with several other people and absolutely no privacy.

It takes exactly one Google search to confirm what you already started to suspect. 

Why am I so aroused all the time??? 

The question marks aren’t necessary, but they feel right given how perplexed you are by this development. What’s returned is page after page of different threads and message boards, all filled with women over the age of 30 confirming that, yes, their libido also increased with age. In fact, it seems fairly commonplace for women to experience their sexual peak a little bit later in life. 

While you’re relieved that this phenomenon isn’t unusual, you’re still frustrated by the fact that you feel insatiable. There’s absolutely no time to take care of yourself as often as you’d like, no space with enough privacy to even try. Your bunk on the tour bus is your only sanctuary, but even then, the curtains are easily ripped from their velcro tabs, and someone is always awake when you’re at your most desperate. 

Hotel rooms aren’t any better. You always end up sharing the space, which you can’t begrudge anyone for, really. It’s a matter of pragmatism made up for by all of the other perks of touring with Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from colleagues. 

Therein lies your other issue: Andrew is currently the bane of your entire fucking existence. Not for any malicious reason, it’s just…well, you have eyes, and he’s an attractive lad. A kind lad. Funny, sensitive, talented—the list goes on. But he’s Hozier, for Christ’s sake. If he’s not a household name by now, he’s very well on his way with the release of “Too Sweet,” perhaps to his chagrin. 

Honestly, it’s just a silly crush that you would handle a lot better were it not for the fact that you live within 20 feet of the man constantly. You’re either singing on stage behind him, or sitting a stone’s throw away from him on the bus. The only reprieve you get is on hotel nights, but even then, you’ve been dragged out for dinner and drinks on several occasions, somehow always ending up either seated directly across from him or squished into a booth next to him. 

Recently, you’ve been trying to maintain a reasonable distance. You’ve stepped out of rooms he’s entered, hidden around corners as he strides by, and recused yourself from group outings for your own peace. It’s not as though anything would ever come of your crush, and it’s better to maintain space than force yourself into proximity to him and suffer at the hands of your own libido.

Honestly, you never expected him to take notice. Sure, he’s kind to you, and he’ll strike up a conversation with you when he’s in the mood, but otherwise, you’ve always thought of yourself as inconsequential. Not like Alex or Rory who have been with him since the beginning. Not like Larissa who enmeshes themself into the fold with their radiating energy and charm, nor Kamilah who is the human embodiment of glee.  

Tonight is another night of planned avoidance. The group is getting ready to go out for dinner and enjoy their evening off before the show the next night. You’ve already declined the invitation in the group chat, already fended off Joy and Mel who follow you with exaggerated pouts and pleas. In the end, they respect your decision to stay behind and promise to bring something back for you. 

With the next few hours to yourself, you curl up in bed and crack open the same book you’ve been attempting to read for the past few days—some fantasy novel with a gratuitous amount of steamy, spicy scenes that are…a little silly, if you’re being honest. But it’s fun, nearly brainless entertainment. A dessert of a novel, or perhaps the after-dinner mint. 

A quiet, polite knock at the door startles you out of your reading not even 20 minutes later. You wonder if it’s Mel, if she forgot her damn room key again, and hop out of bed in your pajama shorts and tank top without another thought. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised to find that it’s Andrew on the other side, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Oh, hey!” You greet, befuddlement obvious in your voice. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went out with everyone else.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Nah, I wasn’t feeling up for it tonight.”

“Ah.” There’s a few beats of silence as you stare at each other, until you finally ask, “Did…did you need something, or…?” Because, really, why the fuck is he here?

He’s quiet as he studies you, head tilting to one side. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his scrutiny before—at least, not that you’re aware of, anyway. It’s slightly intimidating, mostly because of his stature, but also because his attention is solely directed on you in a way you haven’t experienced previously. 

Finally, he lets out a little huff and asks, “Are you avoiding me?” 

Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. You quickly snap it shut, a flush already making your ears go hot.

“No! Of course not! What gave you that impression?” Lies, lies, lies, but what are you supposed to say to a question like that? 

Andrew looks rightfully unconvinced. “I just…haven’t seen you around lately.” 

He noticed?

“Right, yeah, uh…” You flounder for a response, rubbing your clammy palms against your shorts. “I’ve just—I’ve been busy, y’know? With stuff. And things.” 

“Stuff and things,” Andrew repeats back slowly with a half-smile. 

You nod, smile tightly. “Mhm. Stuff and things. Matters, even! And, um…affairs. States of affairs.” 

“Of course.” He nods sagely. “It just seems like one of those very important matters that you’re tending to might be avoiding me.” 

“Oh,” you reply lamely. “It’s—I’m not—” You’re beginning to panic, trying to think of anything to get out of this conversation that doesn’t involve slamming the door in his face. 

“Because you haven’t gone out with us in weeks,” he continues as you stammer. “And you’re fairly quick to leave any room that I enter. Or, is that just a coincidence?” 

Annoyance buzzes beneath your skin.

“There have been stranger occurrences, I’m sure,” you reply evenly.

“Right. I’m sure.” He pulls a grimace of a smile, lips pressed together tightly as he knocks once on the doorframe before taking a step back. He almost looks dejected, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on your part. 

You’re ready to close the door on him, ready to curl back up under the blankets and try to sleep off your embarrassment. Just as he begins to turn away, Andrew stops and turns back to you with a curious half-smile. 

“Would you like to go down to the hotel bar with me, then?” 

You blink. “What?” 

He shrugs easily, assuredly. “Since you’re not avoiding me, come down and get a drink with me.”

Anxiety grips your heart as your stomach flutters. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Being alone with Andrew under the influence of alcohol? You can only imagine that being a one-way ticket to a massive disaster that ends with you getting kicked off the tour entirely. God knows what dumb shite will spill out of your mouth the moment you start to feel loose.

His smile turns coy as he tilts his head. “Or I could always bring something up for you. They’ve a lovely wine list here.” 

You swallow, searching his face as he raises a questioning eyebrow at you. 

Finally, you sigh and let your head rest against the doorframe. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Andrew laughs, shakes his head. “No. Unless you tell me to fuck off, of course.”

You can’t help but smile and shake your own head. “I would never. Can you give me a few minutes, though? I can’t go down looking like this.” 

He waits outside like a gentleman, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He smiles as you reappear in clothes more suitable for a public setting—merely a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but it’s good enough for a booth in the dimly lit, fairly empty hotel bar. 

You order a glass of blush wine, smirking when Andrew requests the bottle for the table instead. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” It’s light, airy, asked as a joke and nothing more. 

Andrew looks at you with a sly tilt of his head. “Trying to find reasons for you to stay a while.”

The answer stuns you, your face going pink as you avoid the waiter’s amused expression.

He orders a glass of Woodford Reserve, neat. When the waiter drops it off, he holds it out to you for a taste, and you hold out your wine glass in turn. The whiskey is bitter, spicy, and makes you cough into the crook of  your elbow as the amber liquid burns all the way down to your stomach. 

“Good lord,” you splutter as he grins at you. “That’ll put some hair on your chest.”

You study him as he sips from your wine glass, as he tilts his head in thought and nods to himself assuredly before commenting that it’s actually quite good despite blush wines not being his thing.

“So…” you start, hands folded on the table as you level his stare. 

“So…” he echoes as he rests his head in his hand, elbow planted firmly on the table. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you. “Straight to it then, yeah?” 

He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s not typically how I operate.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, an exaggeration of his own mannerisms. “And what makes me the lucky one to be graced with your focus and attention?”

Andrew chuckles. “I think you’re trying to dodge my question.” 

“And I think you’re trying to dodge mine.” You smirk before taking a sip from your glass. 

There’s a brief pause as he studies your face. “Honestly? I think my ego is a little bruised.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues, “You can’t deny that you’re avoiding me, yeah? It’s been fairly obvious. And I…well, you've been on my mind, is all.” 

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. He’d been thinking of you? Apparently so, and often enough that he’s not only noticed the distance you’ve maintained from him, he’s actually hurt by it. The thought of hurting him at all makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s not personal,” you say weakly. 

“Feels personal,” he retorts. “Have I done something or said something to…I don’t know, make you not want to be around me?”

“No! No. Of course not.”

Andrew frowns. “I haven’t made you uncomfortable, have I? I try not to be too forward, but I suppose it’s the Pisces in me. Or something. Alex told me that once, I don’t know.” 

You blink. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable.” Not in the way he would expect, anyway.

His cheeks turn rosy as he runs a hand through his curls. He seems almost frustrated, as though your answers perplex him further. Andrew takes another sip from his drink, and you decide to follow suit, gulping down the last of your wine. Before you can even reach for it, Andrew takes the bottle and begins to pour a generous refill into your glass. 

You meet his eyes as he sets the bottle back down with a thud before bringing the glass up to your lips again. He watches you carefully, unable to maintain your stare as his eyes flit to your mouth, your throat, your fingers carefully curled around the stem. 

“Good. Grand.” He sighs. “If I haven’t made you…I mean, is there something else, then?” Your puzzled expression makes him frown. “Or, someone else, rather?”

The gears slowly begin to turn in your mind.

“Someone…else?” 

It must be your tone, the obvious confusion in your voice that clues him in, a look of understanding softening his features. Embarrassment quickly overtakes him as he covers his reddening face with a nervous laugh. 

“You—you’ve no idea what I’m—? Oh, Jesus…” He avoids your eyes as he slams back the remainder of his drink in one go, then sets the glass down with a wince and a grimace. “I think we may have a misunderstanding here.” 

Your own embarrassment has you speechless, mouth opening and closing as you process what he’s just said. Surely, he didn’t mean…? No, he couldn’t mean that, because things like that don’t just happen, at least not to you. Not when it’s Andrew of all people. 

It’s the wine that grips your throat and controls your voice, and you laugh incredulously as you ask, “Oh my god, do you have a crush on me?”

He groans into his hands, then smooths them back over his hair before collapsing onto the table with a laugh. His face is tinged pink with drunken embarrassment, and he smiles at you before turning to hide his face in his arms. 

“In no uncertain terms,” comes his muffled reply.

You laugh again and cover your own face, unsure of what to say. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest, your pulse thumping as a familiar heat begins to pool in your stomach. 

After a moment, Andrew lifts his head again and pulls himself from the table until he’s upright once more. His eyes are tinged red now, bloodshot from booze. Your own head swims as you rest your head in your hand and smile at him warmly. 

“D’you want to know why I was avoiding you?” You avert your gaze to the table, then sigh before the words tumble from your mouth. “Because you’re too fucking attractive. How am I supposed to get anything done when you walk around looking like this?”

He splutters a laugh as you gesture vaguely towards him. “Oh?” 

The wine bottle is nearly empty now as you encourage him to pour some for himself in the empty glass on the table.

“It’s terribly inconsiderate of you,” you hum, and you catch his grin before he takes a drink.

Andrew grins. “My apologies for being such a distraction. I’d no idea I caused such distress.” 

You chuckle and eye him coyly. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it distress.”

“What would you call it, then?”

“Hmm…” You scrunch your face as you pretend to think. “Intrigue, certainly...and the uncanny ability to make me—” 

“Anything else for you?” The waiter’s voice startles you both, and you whip your head up to look at him wondering how much of that he heard. If he’s heard anything, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he mostly looks bored, and you can see the black booklet in his hand that surely contains the check. 

Andrew is quick to take it and scribbles in his room number for the charge, nearly shoving the booklet back into the waiter’s hands with hasty thanks. 

You’re both drunk enough to make bad decisions that you know you’ll regret come morning, but it’s difficult to care about that when he’s pressing you back against the wall in the elevator and kissing you like you’re his only source of air. When his hands are all over you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as the doors open to let you onto his floor. 

You stumble over yourself with a whispered, “Shit!” as he pulls you over the threshold of his room, and he laughs and apologizes before flipping a light on. 

Andrew is a messy creature, and his room looks as though his overnight bag spontaneously exploded while he was out. It’s weirdly charming, another reminder that he is, in fact, just a regular fucking guy with standard quirks. 

A thrill runs through you when he kisses you again, softer this time as he cradles your face in his hands. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is sudden, his eyes wide as he searches for any hint of doubt. 

You’re quiet for a moment as you turn the question over in your mind. Even in an inebriated state, he’s still so concerned about your comfort, your consent. It’s unsurprising given how anxious he seems in general, but it’s sweet all the same. 

Finally, you rest a hand on his arm and look up at him with a smirk. “What I was saying earlier, about you and intrigue…well, you have a knack for making me weak in the knees, amongst other things. It’s typically based on your proximity, though.” 

You see his mouth turn up in a half-smile just before he crowds closer to you, pulling you flush against him as you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh into another kiss. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he breathes just before moving to kiss along your neck. 

“I feel like I should be the one saying that.” You gasp when he bites down, not hard enough to cause any truly lasting damage, but enough to know that you’ll still be wearing his marks come morning. A thrilling thought, though you’re sure you’ll be mobbed by the ladies and Larissa for details later on. 

Your hoodie is in the way, impeding his access, and he steps away to tug at the hem until you’re helping him peel it off. He stares at your chest, clearly surprised by your lack of bra and the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. 

“In my defense,” you say with a smirk, “I didn’t expect all of this to happen.”

He laughs quietly as he walks you back towards the bed. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

The sheets are rumpled and easily kicked away as you shuffle back on the mattress. Andrew drops kisses along chest, teeth grazing your skin and leaving little imprints. You squeak when he shoves your shirt up roughly, and he throws an apologetic look your way. 

“Sorry, just a bit enthusiastic,” he muses. 

You laugh, feeling breathless as his hands wander along your newly bared skin. 

“You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

His responding laugh— a low, warm sound, sweet as honey—makes you blush. You gasp when he gently bites your nipple just before taking it into his mouth. It sends a shiver through you as he moves to the other, and you squirm beneath him, almost glad that you’re too drunk to really be embarrassed at the moment. 

Once your jeans are off and tossed away, Andrew freezes, his eyes greedily taking in your nearly nude body before snapping back up to meet your stare. He dips a hand beneath the waistband of your panties—a simple black pair without any details or flair, because you didn’t expect to have Andrew’s hand shoved into them like this.

He seems surprised to find you an already slick mess, his fingers dipping easily into you before pulling them back to rub your clit in slow circles. 

“I told you,” you huff a harsh laugh that breaks into a small moan. “Weak in the knees, amongst other things.” 

Andrew’s grin is obscured by his hair that curtains his face. He continues to touch you slowly, methodically, while capturing you in a kiss and swallowing down every little sound that escapes you. 

He breaks the kiss with a small gasp and asks, “What do you—how do you want to—?”

You’re far too impatient for anything that isn’t his cock inside of you right fucking now. You’re aching, feeling empty in a way that you have so many times over the past few weeks. Except this time, the object of your affections is stumbling over himself to rummage through his bag after you ask about protection. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse as he approaches you again with something square in hand. 

“So are you,” he shoots back, and he watches in awe as you slip your underwear off and cast them aside without batting an eye, emboldened.

He licks his lips before saying weakly, “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andrew is far too impatient to remove everything, barely able to focus on even shoving his own jeans down and hastily rolling on a condom with shaky hands. 

The feeling as he presses into you is heavenly, so full, warm, and satisfying. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder as he sets an even pace. The slick sound of your arousal makes you blush, but it’s obvious how much it spurs him on, delighting in your body’s reaction to him, his touch, his everything.

Weeks of wishing and wanting, and now you can’t hold back your moans as he fucks you the way you’ve imagined. You can feel the way he stretches you as he fills you, and he gasps when you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes screwing shut as he takes a deep breath. 

You reach up and brush a stray curl from his face. “Are you okay?”

When he opens his eyes, he gives you a little smile and a nod. “Yeah, yes, grand,” he huffs, then lets his head fall forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He grips your thigh and squeezes gently, a silent bid to get your legs around him. 

At first, he’s slow, taking his time as he kisses you between breathy laughs and whispered swears. It isn’t until you murmur, “You don’t have to treat me so preciously,” in his ear that he hums and shifts to press your legs further, damn near folding you in half. But it’s good, so fucking good, and you can barely form a thought as your eyes roll back and flutter as he picks up his pace.

And, Jesus, how are you already so close to your peak? Another testament to your seemingly insatiable desire. You cry out when he rubs a thumb against your clit roughly, out of sync with his thrusts as you press back and grind against his palm.

The stimulation is enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Tears blur your vision as you let out small, sobbing moans against his neck. Each wave of pleasure has you clenching down around him.  and then he’s snapping his hips one, two, three more times before groaning in your ear while his cock twitches with his release.

Andrew is quick to collect you into his arms after collapsing next to you in bed. He reaches blindly for a blanket to tug over both of you, seemingly more of a courtesy than anything. You allow yourself to relax into him, nuzzling his shoulder before settling with your head on his chest. 

“Wow,” he says after his breathing has evened, and he laughs quietly as he squeezes you. 

“Yeah,” you hum.

There’s another stretch of silence, and your eyes begin to feel heavy as you follow the pattern of his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

Another small laugh from him stirs you, and you look up at him questioningly. 

“We’re going to feel fucking awful tomorrow, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is a hungover breakfast a proper first date, d’you think?” 

You grin at him and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Proper? No. But we haven’t done things by the book so far.”

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 4

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization

Author's Note: I can't stop. Oops. If you want to be on the tag list, drop a comment to let me know <3 Also, I feel the need to warn you that CoD fic is what got me into Omegaverse and this is the first time I've written it lol

Thirteen hours.

It took thirteen hours for the paperwork to be filled out and processed. They'd dragged Simon off immediately to fill out the paperwork and I was "escourted" (dragged) to my space to wait.

The last thirteen hours have been spent with staff members pampering me. Bathing me, doing my hair and makeup, dressing me in clothes that aren't Salvation's omega dresscode - all of it. There was even something of a literal photoshoot?

I don't know why they needed photos of me, but I always knew these people were weird.

However, all of that lead to me being prettily posed in the room they keep omegas in while they wait for their new alphas to arrive. Specifically at 10:30 pm. I almost want to shoot Simon for the insistence of immediate pick-up.

Could be asleep by now.

A knock at the door pulls me from my whirlwind of thoughts and I sit up straighter, putting on my best "submissive omega" impression for whoever enters.

"UK-009-0013? Your alpha has arrived," an employee calls from the other side of the door.

I stand quickly and tug gently at the way-too-big black skull tshirt that they ended up putting me in at some point.

"Come in."

The door creaks open and reveals Jenny - who looks way too happy - and Simon.

"There she is, sir. In the clothes you dropped off, as you requested," Jenny says a bit too proudly.

"I can see that."

I have to suppress my laugh at the look of hurt on Jenny's face at Simon's lack of praise. Instead, I continue my "submissive omega" act and begin fidgeting with the edge of the tshirt while looking up at Simon through my lashes. The more smitten I appear the better.

"Simon," I call to him softly, meekly.

He wastes no time crossing the room and scooping me into his arms at the sound of my voice. My arms wrap tightly around him and I grab fistfuls of the back of his hoodie.

"Anyway you can tone that shit down a bit?" he whispers into my ear, voice a bit strained.

"Not if you want any chance of getting me out of here without roadblocks," I whisper back with my face burried against his neck. "Don't make it weird."

I'm acting, to him, like I'm unphased by having an alpha but the seemingly-dormant omega portion of my brain seems to be waking up. She's still drowsy and unsure what's happening, but with my face shoved against his neck...

I can smell him.

I've never been this close, physically, to any alpha before. The fact that doing so is triggering the omega part of my brain is royally pissing me off. Thankfully, Simon loosens his grip on me and steps back. One of his hands drops to mine, his fingers lacing through mine.

"Everything is settled. Correct?" Simon addresses Jenny agan as he turns. "I'd like to take my future mate home now."

My cheeks warm slightly at the comment and the implications, but I remind myself that it's part of the act to get me (and hopefully other omegas) out of Salvation's grasp.

"Of course! Everything is settled and you're both free to go." Jenny's smile is unsettling, as per usual, but so is her choice in wording. It's clear from the way Simon's grip tightens around my hand that he also finds it strange. However, as promised, we are allowed to leave with no problems.

As soon as we're out of view of the property, I feel my entire body relax. My muscles ache from being tense for so long - literal years - and I'm tearing up out of relief.

Bless Simon, though. If he noticed my change in demeanor, he didn't comment or react.

"Are these... your clothes?" I ask once I manage to force the tears back.

He stays quiet for so long I start to think he didn't even hear me.

"Would it bother you if I said yes?"

Not... the response I was expecting, but alright.

"Not really, no. It'd be expected. Giving me things with your scent and all that." I toy with the strings on the sweatpants. They're long and hang low from how tightly I had to tie them to get the pants to stay up.

"This, whatever it is, doesn't have to be like that." His voice is gentle, unlike what it has been 99% of the time. Even when we were playing our parts to get me out of there there was a mostly gruff, gravely tone to his voice. I glance at him, confused as all hell, but his eyes are trained on the road.

"Didn't you go to Salvation to find an omega? A mate?"

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs, eyes forward still. "But there are more important things in the world than finding a mate and reproducing for the sake of having a mate and reproducing. Like rights and safety. Especially that of omegas."

The omega in my mind seems sad at his offer and point of view of our situation, but I couldn't be happier. Salvation is not what it implies and I knew I would never get out of there or be able to help my fellow omegas while stuck in their grasp.

An alpha who seems to actually care about the wellbeing of others. Even if he is a bit... odd.

Things could be worse. A lot worse.

Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks

[lambilegs]

a secret surprise (sevika x reader)

۶ৎ contains: fluff and smut (so minors dni!!), sevika has a dick, ringing in christmas with some nasty sloppy sex, breeding kink (+ pregnancy talk but it's all just roleplay, sev and reader aren't actually trying to get pregnant), reader's body is referred to w the following terms: "pussy," "cunt," "clit," "hole," reader and sev banter A LOT (v much feisty!reader-coded), degrading kink (terms used include: "slut," "whore," "cumslut"), begging, edging and teasing, light humiliation kink, daddy kink (just as a title), reader is called "my girl" and "housewife"

۶ৎ divider by: @u1traviolxnt

۶ৎ note: just a tadddd late on a christmas-themed fic LOLL I hope all who celebrated had a great christmas, while those who don't had their own wonderful day too <33 for those whose christmases weren't the most warm or fuzzy, I hope you all get to find some relief soon, and that things ease up and you get to experience peaceful days ahead. please take care of yourselves and try to engage in things that bring you a bit of happiness-- ofc though it's also entirely understandable if you need some time to just rest your body and mind, and if so, I'm proud of you for giving yourself that time <3

۶ৎ comments and asks letting me know what you think are always appreciated!! <3 would love to hear mwahhh

from your corner in the room, you watch sevika move about the living room. she's the picture of respect when it comes to your family -- not that that's much of a surprise. she knows how to keep things polite and levelled when necessary, a practice honed from many hours of working one-on-one with her boss, silco. honestly, you're kind of impressive. sure, she's always been someone pretty reserved upon first meeting, but with your family, she's also cordial, helping around when needed and even tolerating some of your older relatives' cheesy jokes and long, seemingly never-ending anecdotes. she even watches over some of the younger kids at one point, sitting by and making sure none of them get harmed. if they bother her with inane questions, she'll give one-worded answers, and half-heartedly play with them if they bug her enough.

that's not to say she's completely absent of her usual attempts to irk you, though. when no one's looking, she pinches the side of your waist, igniting a yelp that has several heads whirling in your direction. once the shock has died down, you smack her arm with a glare, hissing, "I hate you." when everyone is moving to the kitchen to fill their plates with food, she snakes a hand down and playfully squeezes your ass, catching you with a mischievous laugh when you stumble. when you're washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone else does karaoke and plays games out in the living room, she saunters in, leaning on the wall and watching you. when you ask her if everything is okay, she slides behind you, wrapping her strong arm around your waist and nuzzling into your jaw, pressing some warm kisses there.

"have I impressed you?" she asks, her low voice making you clench down. between the travelling, all the last-minute preparations that have commenced since, and separate bedrooms, you two have barely had time to have sex this week.

"mhm," you hum, trying to ignore the throb between your thighs. "I'm proud of you, sevi."

she sighs against your skin, and you can feel the way her body loosens against yours. she's clearly relieved.

"didn't think you'd be that worried," you coo. "you trying to get their blessing or something?"

she scoffs against your hair. "I don't need their blessing." her warm palm, which has been rubbing on your stomach, slows down. "but, I'd like for them to... you know, at least approve a little."

you're unable to resist the smile that creeps onto your face. despite her little tough act, you know your girlfriend does care about this kind of stuff. she's careful and thinks about your guys' future far more than she lets on, and like it or not, she's wrapped around your finger. if you'd like for her to do something, even if it's something as old-school as win your family's approval, she's gonna do it. 

"what, in case you wife me up?" you giggle, scrubbing away at a bowl with some particularly dry, stubborn stains. 

"don't tell me you're expecting a proposal."

"it would be kind of romantic to do it on christmas eve," you say matter-of-factly.

"except we're not in a damn hallmark movie," she snickers. "besides," she continues, her husky voice lowering as her mouth draws close to your ear, "if I propose to you, it's gonna be when we're alone."

you gulp, just the notion of being alone with her after such a momentous event doing something to you. "why?"

her fingers trail down your stomach, sliding between your thighs. you hiss at the boldness of her touch, your hips bucking when she presses her fingers against you through the layers of fabric. "because I wanna be able to give you the marriage experience that night."

"of course your horny ass immediately thinks of sex when it comes to the 'marriage experience,'" you drawl, the last two words coated in mockery. 

"oh, come on, you're telling me you aren't thinking of it right now?" she chuckles, the noise of it deep and wrapped in velvet. "doing the dishes like a good little housewife while I take care of you." her words are punctuated with the firmer rubs she's beginning to push into your clothed core.

you gasp softly, but still try to proceed with your counterarguments. sevika always has people right in the palm of her hand, and since you two have met, you've relished in giving her a hard time. "I'm anything but a housewife, you know that."

"just humour me a bit." she licks a long stripe along your neck, and you grip the bowl so hard you worry for a split second that it'll break. "like I did for you when we played boss-and-secretary the other night."

just the mention of your little night of roleplaying has you biting back a moan. sevika had looked downright sinful in her unbuttoned shirt and loosened tie, cock plunging into you as she sucked on your tits and landed spank after spank on your ass, muttering about how you were such a slutty subordinate. 

"well, you enjoyed that if I remember correctly," you breathe out, the words less firm and more shaky than you'd like.

"and you're telling me you don't enjoy this little fantasy? letting me spoil that cunt rotten after a long day of playing house."

the sudden filth of her words has you bucking uncontrollably and she laughs quietly, her hips smacking right back into yours. "that's enough to get you going, huh?"

"fuck you," you whisper. 

her hand releases some of the pressure it had against your mound. "such a nasty mouth. and on christmas eve too?"

you snort. "sorry, I forgot you're father christmas."

her teeth graze the lobe of your ear and you sigh in pleasure. "last time I checked, you called me something else -- though, it is kind of close to 'father.'"

you're about to retort when a sudden pound of footsteps down the hall has you yanking away from sevika, your girlfriend stepping to the side just in time for when your aunt barges in. she makes small talk with sevika as she retrieves glasses from the cabinet, luckily sparing you as you duck your head down, pointedly latching your eyes onto the sink.

when she leaves, you shoot sevika a glare. "jesus, at this rate, you're gonna do something so bad that I can never show my face here again."

"you didn't seem to mind much."

you roll your eyes. "well, it was a moment of weakness." clearly, considering you can feel the thick juices leaking from your hole now.

"been having a lot of those lately."

you ignore her because, unfortunately, she's very right. sevika can read your body like a book, and therefore, in spite of your curses and rebuttals throughout the day, she’s taken notice of every pleasured reaction her touch evokes. from the flinch of your hips, to the puff of air that shoots from your mouth, to the way you immediately grind against her hand. 

not that you guys can do much about it.

at least, that's what you think until a soft knock flows through the space of your childhood bedroom that night. 

you tentatively rise up, quietly calling out, "yeah?"

when sevika walks in, her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, you jerk back in surprise. "what the hell? sevi, I--"

you're immediately cut off with her broad body crawling over yours, pinning you down to the bed. without a moment's hesitation, her lips capture yours, tongue immediately slipping in and swirling around yours. you squeeze your eyes shut at the sloppiness of it, her lips massaging yours with slow purposefulness. she pulls back, flattening her tongue and roving it along the curves and plush of your lips, catching the bottom one under her teeth and nipping at it. 

you gasp sharply at the sting, delightfully mixed in pain and pleasure. she tugs on it, stretching it out before letting it go and sucking on it slowly, spit dribbling from her mouth to yours. "sevi, why are you..."

"it's getting too much," she grunts. "I need -- fuck, I need you."

you slide your hands under the itchy fabric of the ugly christmas sweater you got her three days ago. it’s supposed look funny, weird even, but instead, it just emphasizes her broad shoulders and hugs her biceps just right. it's almost annoying how hot your girlfriend is.

"awe, is someone getting needy?" you tease, your point embarrassingly met with a hitch of your breath when she starts planting soft, wet kisses down the slope of your neck, pausing to suck on the spot under your ear.

"says the one who was practically dry humping me in the kitchen."

"only because you jumped me first!" you quietly snap, tugging on her short hair so that she meets your accusatory gaze. "just like now. in my childhood bedroom," you add in a deadpan tone.

"and?" her teeth flash at you in the dim lighting, her adorable little gap making your stomach flip. "you're telling me you don't like this?" her hand strokes along your stomach, reaching your breast with a tight squeeze that sends you arching, your nipple's contact with both her firm palm and the fabric of your sweater making it tingle. "the idea of getting corrupted in this bed? getting fucked by me when you know you shouldn't?"

your body twists, arousal pooling between your legs as a slew of lewd words continue to spill from her mouth as she tweaks and pinches your nipple, the sharp sting of it shooting through your chest. "so many people in this house, and here you are, being so needy and wanting."

you bite your lip. "sevi, baby, we-- we shouldn't. I -- mmph, what if someone catches us?"

"no one will if you keep quiet." she lifts your sweater up, eyes practically gleaming at the sight of your tits. she ducks her head down, her mouth encircling one of your nipples, tongue lapping it gently, the warm wetness of it making your pussy ache. your tits are so sensitive, nipples hard and aching from the chill of the night, and the hot cavern of sevika's mouth is making you lost in the mix of temperatures and sensations. her tongue is so soft, gliding so easily over the bud. she skims her teeth along the edges, clamping a hand over your mouth before you can make any noise. 

"fuck, god," you whisper, hands digging into her hair as you keep her pressed to your chest. 

"pretty blasphemous of you to say during a holiday."

you glare at her for the playful comment, wrenching out of her hand’s grip on your face. "please, like you're even religious."

"I'd consider it if it gives me the authority to punish you."

"like you even require an authoritative position to do that."

her teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck and you clamp your lips up together. "you've got a point there, baby." she scrapes her teeth gently down your neck, one of her thick fingers tugging down your sweater to suck a bruising mark into your chest. "you're my slut whenever, aren't you?"

with the way her mouth is lavishing attention on you, it's hard to continue being a brat with her. you want more of this, and you’re well aware that sevika possesses more than enough self-restraint to draw out your pleasure all night long if she so wishes it. even if she does have a boner pressed right up against your thigh. 

"mm, I am," you mumble against the crown of her head, her black hair tickling your lips as you stroke it. "I'm your slut, sevi."

"there you go. wasn't so hard, huh?" she pulls back, tugging on the bottom of your sweater. 

when you remove it, breasts bouncing out, sevika buries her face in your fully naked chest, licking and gnawing like a woman starved. your body arches up at the harshness of her touch, her large hand groping and pulling you into her mouth. your squirming causes your thigh to brush right up against her hard-on, and she grits her teeth at the contact.

"you're so hard, baby," you giggle, hand escaping to her crotch and cupping her through her flannel pajama pants (which, yes, totally match yours).

"fuck," she mutters, her head pressing into your chest. the moist heat of her panting gets your skin warm and toasty, and you shiver from the contrast of it to the rest of your body. "god, I've needed this."

"then, put it in, dumbass," you whisper, your words edged with soft laughter. 

a smirk cracks on sevika's face. "maybe I have been going too easy on you, since there's so much room for backtalk."

ugh, oh, no.

minutes later, both of your pants are tossed into some corner of your bedroom, sevika grinding her bare dick on your pussy. it's firm, hardened with arousal, and the more she presses against you, the more you drip, coating her dick with your juices. whenever it nudges against your swollen clit, you writhe in her embrace, tugging on the material of her sweater for more.

"sevi, please, please," you mumble against her lips, pressing mindless little pecks against them. 

she flicks her tongue along your mouth, breaths heavy. as much as she may try to act like this isn't affecting her, you can feel the tension coiling in her body and how hard she's trying to resist taking you. 

"tell me you've been bad. tell me why you deserve this." 

her mouth is curved into a wicked grin, clearly amused at having you cornered like this. she knows the length of her dick rubbing into the plush, soaked lips of your pussy isn’t nearly enough, and she's clearly determined to have you pathetic and begging before she goes inside.

"ugh," you groan, tossing an arm over your eyes. "fine, I've, um--"

she grips your wrist, pulling it away. "eyes on me."

you shoot her a glare -- well, at least as best as your can manage with the smooth skin of her stroking against your clit. forcing yourself to undergo the embarrassment of locking eyes with her, her amusement thinly veiled with the way her grey eyes are flashing, you continue. "I've been a bad girl. and I, uh, I deserve to be... fucked because, um, I've worked so hard this week and I'm so tired and so wound up and I-- fuck, sevi, I miss you, you idiot."

a huff of laughter quietly slides from her lips, and she pecks your chin. "have you now?"

"sevi, come on," you whine, digging your nails into her lower back, trying to pull her further into you. "I need it, please. sevi, please, I need it, daddy."

her eyes flutter shut at the title, hips jerking harder, which has you both biting back noises tantalizingly close to bursting from your mouths. "fuck, you're lucky you're cute."

she sits up on her knees and positions her dick, rubbing on some lube she snuck in from her suitcase (when she reveals the bottle to you, you grumble at the fact that she just knew she'd manage to convince you to fuck in here). inch by inch, the girth of her stretches out your hole, creating a pleasant, dull ache as your walls tighten around her, accommodating her size. through it, she rubs circles onto your clit, nodding quietly to encourage you on. if you were in the seclusion of your home, she'd be saying filthy words and praises, motivating you to take her in. but, in this position, where she's too far to whisper against your ear, all you get are her hushed words of, "okay?" and, "you ready for more?"

after you adjust, you yank sevika by her collar and she unceremoniously flops onto you, evoking a burst of laughter from you as she narrows her eyes at you, murmuring, "was that necessary?"

"mhm, I got to have pleasure and a comedy show."

she scoffs. "glad to be of service, I guess."

your giggles fade out as she meets your gaze, her pretty eyes soft and creased from the small smile on her face. you cup her face and bring her closer to you, gently kissing her. sevika returns the gesture, her lips amorous and slow as her cock, heavy in your hole, twitches. 

when you part, you whisper, "you gonna move or what?"

apparently, she isn’t in the mood for a challenge, for ten minutes later, she's pumping into you, your old headboard creaking and bumping lightly against the wall as sevika fucks you quietly. in your twin bed, the two of you are cramped up in the limited space, but you couldn't care less. you relish in being this close to your girlfriend, her strong arm wrapped around your body and holding you close to her as your guys’ skin smacks together, the sticky sweat produced from your efforts creating a wet squelch. 

"mmph, daddy," you whine against sevika's ear, nuzzling close to her face and biting on her ear, which ignites a sharp intake of breath from her. "feels so good."

"yeah, princess?" she rasps, her voice hushed. "you like feeling my dick split you open like this? getting fucked and keeping quiet so no one finds out what a slut you are?"

you dig your nails further into her back, raking them along the muscular length of it. her dick has you feeling so full, plugging your hole up in a weight that's so comfortable and familiar. the deep, satisfied ache flows through the entirety of your pussy, from the widened rim of your hole to your clit to your thighs, which are clenched tightly around her slim waist.  

"I'm your slut, daddy," you gasp against her ear. "I love being your slut, letting you fuck me till I'm filled with come."

"oh, yeah?" she chuckles. "is that what you want? for me to fuck my come into this tight little hole?"

"yes, yes, daddy." your hips buck up to meet hers, the pleasure making it hard to not flinch and jerk at the way it rolls through you. 

nasty little squelches roll through the room from the way your juices slosh around her dick, droplets slipping out every time her cock rocks out and only the tip is hugged by your entrance. when she pounds back into you, her balls smack against you, and the weight of them has you nearly squealing in pleasure, thoughts of how come-filled they are overtaking your brain. 

you wrap your legs around her, the lift of your hips causing the tip of her cock to hit your g-spot. the pointed curve of it nudging against the spongey softness has a deep, tingling sensation flooding your insides. your mouth hangs open, a small moan choking out of you. 

sevika, still thrusting into you, raises her head up and covers your mouth with hers, shoving her tongue in as your sweaty bodies push and pull together. she breathes out, "so fucking mouthy, even in bed."

you're so turned on that her bullying only has you tightening on her, which, of course, observant woman she is, immediately arouses an arch of her eyebrow. "does my girl like that? hearing about how you're such a noisy cumslut? just begging and babbling for some come to be leaking out of your pretty cunt?"

"f-fuck," you stumble over your words, head tossing into your pillow, eyes squeezing shut. "please, daddy, please, want it so bad."

"I know, baby, I know. give it to me, yeah?" she coaxes, her rough thumb beginning to stroke your stiff bud side to side, having mastered the pressure and speed that'd get you tipping over the edge. "wanna feel you milk it out of me."

"I will, I will!" your torso arches against her, tits rubbing the rough fabric of her stupid, patterned shirt. "m'gonna come so good for daddy."

"yeah, you will, gonna let your pussy latch onto all that come till these sheets are fucking drenched." she speeds up her thrusts, your mind going dizzy and weak at the mixed sensations of her pushes into your g-spot and fast flicks against your clit. "gonna be so fucking embarrassing tomorrow, to have to come up with some excuse for why these sheets are so nasty."

"it's your fault too!"

her voice, rough and heavy, is practically mesmerizing when combined with the surges of ecstasy shooting through your body. "guess I am just as bad, right? can't go too long without trying to get you knocked up."

those words are enough to shove your over the edge, your walls beginning to clamp down on her cock relentlessly as the tension in your stomach snaps, sending waves of hot, molten lust coursing through your body. you bite onto the material of sevika's clothing, muffled whines bursting from your lips as she continues rutting into you and rubbing insistently on your clit, tugging out more and more pleasure until you're sated and batting her hand away. meanwhile, she's shuddering on top of you, the sensation of your orgasm clearly taking its toll on her.

"please, please." you wrap your arms around her back, pliant and soft as the exhaustion of your orgasm wears you down. your pussy is sopping even more now, sevika's dick moving in and out with ease. "come, daddy. sevi, please. wanna feel how warm it is."

"fuck," she curses, her fingers digging hard into your waist. "gonna get you so loaded. gonna look like such a whore, leaving this trip nice and pregnant."

her words have your aftershocks heightened, your pussy clenching down on her cock again. the moment it happens, sevika's body jerks hard against yours, her last thrusts messy and running on pure instinct, deep and rough. she stills on the third one, her mouth falling open as she trembles, her come shooting into you, sticky and hot, coating your walls and making you feel entirely smeared and tainted.

you clutch onto her through it, your clit aching at the feeling of her load being pumped into you, streams of it leaking into your tight hole as she half-heartedly jerks into you a few more times. 

"shit," she mutters, her body heaving as she catches her breath. "that was good."

"good?" you ask, your lips quirking up. "you sound like you're talking about mittens."

she rolls her eyes. "sorry, was I supposed to pull out a dictionary to compliment our sex life?"

you look away, pouting. well, you aren't that demanding.

"baby," she murmurs, kissing your cheek. "it was amazing, alright?" she grunts softly, nuzzling into your neck. "you know it just makes me, you know, to say these things."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'shy,' sevi."

she clears her throat. "well, sure." a moment later, she looks up at you, her face pure magic when coated with the blue light wandering through your windows. "it was really fucking good, okay?"

a sudden shyness seizes at you, your lips curling up as your eyes dart away. "I'm glad. it was amazing for me too. it's just, I need to hear that, you know. from you."

"I know." another quiet kiss lands on your chin. "I'm trying for you. that's not gonna stop."

"you're sweet." you run a hand through her hair, pausing to look down at her, smile widening. "hope it didn't hurt your rep to hear that."

she snickers, though her lips curve up ever-so-slightly. "eh, my rep isn't that fragile. nothing a few words can break."

"true. you being pussydrunk is probably what'll break it."

"actually, I thought it's what'll break you."

you flick her forehead, giggling at the little pout she makes without realizing. "so cocky. at this rate, you're gonna get on the naughty list."

she hums, stroking your hips. "I already got my present, so it's okay."

your face warms at the tender words. "I got mine too." you tug on her hair, bringing her up for a kiss. "merry christmas, sevi."

she meets your lips with a smile.

[allpiesforourown]

I'm sorry but omega harem member Shen Yuan AU now has me in a choke hold-

Like,

Binghe is trying to find the perfect way to seduce Shen Yuan, because god knows he needs a miracle to unfuck up his entire 'I don't care for you, its just political' situation

Universe does its thing and sends a wife plot, Shen Yuan gets poisoned with some fuck or die plant when helping one of the wives meet with their family in a very dangerous section of the demon realm.

Binghe hears about his omegas poisoning and jumps at the chance to finally get closer to his A-Yuan. this! This is familiar to him, he's saved his wives from all kinds of poisons and aphrodisiac fueled heats before, he'd fuck him so good and show how great of an alpha he could be to him.

Only when he makes it there, Shen Yuans already been serviced by his bodyguard Liu Qingge. (its LITERALLY his job to save and service this omega, of course he fucked the poison out of him)

Turns out the news had reached Binghe far too late to be put to any use, partly do to Shen Yuan begging the wife he had been helping when he was poisoned to not bother Binghe with it. He just doesn't want to force Binghe to take care of him! (Binghe had just gotten back with a new wife too! Imagine how pissed he'd be if he interrupted them!)

The wife takes Shen Yuans insistence and worry as him being terrified of Binghe so of course she couldn't bring herself to tell the demon emperor (as should have been protocol). And if she actively helped hide his condition then it wasn't like anyone would rat her out for it, at least not after she told them how scared Shen Yuan had been of his Alpha husband. (Cue them believing that Shen Yuans wedding night must have been traumatising or something) rumors only spiral when an omega will take dealing with a deadly poison over fucking their literal husband.

So by the time the news reached Binghe it had already been a day. Bonus points if he walks in on Liu Qingge still inside his husband who's completely out of it from being throughly ravished for 12+ hours on and off to get the poison completely out of his system.

The stand off would be prime tea for the harem but absolutely terrifying to anyone who actually witnessed it. Binghe seething as his temper flairs to record levels.

"under what authority did you decide you could take such advances with MY omega."

"It's my job."

"No. its Mine."

"I was told you wouldn't be here"

"Well clearly I'm here now."

"Now is too late. he'd have been dead by now."

"...What?"

"He was poisoned yesterday. He'd have been dead by now."

And Liu Qingge isn't even being judgemental, I mean why would he be, this is a part of his job and a very enjoyable one at that. But Binghe is crumbling mentally as he tries to piece together how things went so wrong: Why wasn't he informed immediately? How had this been kept from him? Was someone trying to kill Shen Yuan? And now he wonders HOW exactly had his omega gotten poisoned?

The impulsive thoughts come too, he wants this bodyguard fired. But if he fired the man who saved his omega now, it would only seem like he'd wanted Shen Yuan dead.

An even uglier, more desperate part of him wanted to purposefully poison Shen Yuan with a poison only HE could cure, to have Shen Yuan need him.

POISONING YOUR HUSBAND AS FOREPLAY .... God I love binggeyuan and liushen, just the most emotionally dense people imaginable falling for each other

[unholyhelbig]

Caitvi Prompt: Caitlyn is head Park Ranger and deals with an unruly deputy Ranger Vi who has recently become unruly and animalistic. Caitlyn doesn’t understand the change in attitude until Vi turns up naked and injured on her cabins doorstep.

Title: Shoot to Kill

Ship: Werewolf!Vi x Park Ranger!Caitlyn

Wordcount: 5019

Summary: It's been months since a brutal attack took both Cassandra Kiramman and Powder Lane from the world. Caitlyn and Vi handle their grief differently, but something just isn't right with Vi, and things can't be ignored forever.

Warnings: Typical werewolf gore, blood, bullets, canon-typical violence, animal attack, shooting, self-sacrifice, almost nsfw but not quite there yet, horrible spelling, I don't beta read we know this.

[A/n: I went overboard here. I love arcane, I love werewolves, what were we expecting when someone sent me this prompt? Anyway. You know I bad I wanted to make this full smut? SO fucking bad but it didn't seem like the time for them to fuck. So they didn't. Do people even like my Arcane stuff? Fuck no, but this is for me.]

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Blood filled Vi’s mouth with a metallic density that was not unfamiliar but was entirely unwelcome. A low tide of a headache was pulling at her temples, her mouth a cottony type of dry that she couldn’t swallow away.

She was running late. Even in the darkness of her cabin, she knew that she was pushing it by the way the daylight filtered through the slatted blinds. Caitlyn was going to have her hide. She’d been warned twice already, pulled into the office that smelled too much like lavender and wood polish.

Vi shoved her feet unceremoniously into her boots. She swished a shot of peppermint schnapps around her mouth until it was warm and frothy before swallowing and dashing out the door. Vi didn’t’ bother to tuck her shirt in and do up her laces.

Showing up was enough. It had to be enough. There was dirt and blood under her nails and her skin was taut with sweat. She probably smelled rank with the outdoors and her body ached something fierce from the night before. Vi didn’t’ feel comfortable looking in the mirror before she hauled herself to the main cabin.

The state of her was not normal. It was not human. But she was present and that was all Ranger Kiramman was going to get on this balmy Wednesday morning.

Doubt, mixed with a decidedly solid amount of dread, swirled with a fullness in Vi’s stomach. She was full, a feeling that she did not enjoy being. She had eaten last night, something big that left a horrible nausea clinging to the inside of her stomach. A heat in the back of her throat and slicking the inside of her stomach.

She crashed unceremoniously through the door of the main cabin. The annoying brass bell gave her tardiness away as it deposited her into the gift shop. Caitlyn’s deadly oxford stare leveled her with precision, but she never faltered in her delivery.

Loris steadied her with his hulking size, taking up just as much space as the bookshelf that he stood near. He regarded her with his quiet amusement and low huff as she attempted to shove her shirt past her belt without drawing more eyes to herself.

“As I was saying.” Caitlyn’s voice was cutting, slicing through whatever resolve Vi had left. “The rest of the week and into next is a fire ban. There will be push back. In zone’s seven and eight, especially. Overton and Dunne, I want you positioned there around the clock. Do not hesitate to hand out red notices. One spark and the whole forest could go up. Am I clear?”

A murmured chorus of agreements rung out. A burn notice would draw attention away from Vi, at least for now. It worked Caitlyn’s nerves like a string instrument. Anger still simmered in the stare that moved her way.

“As for the rest of you, you know your posts, and you have your assignments. Keep your walkies on channel seven and signal if you need anything. Remember that laws are not suggestions and safety is key.” She scanned the lot of Rangers, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled in the way that Vi found oddly endearing. “Dismissed.”

Loris shoved her shoulder with enough force to shove a burp into her mouth, one that was not pleasant. She nearly vomited up whatever she had torn through last night, but luckily swallowed it back down. He wandered over to the busted coffee maker where he would linger long enough for Vi to take her verbal lashing.

If it were up to her, she’d slip into the woods and take her usual post at the North end of the park, checking permits until her fingers bled. It would be an easy day as long as she could nurse her headache. She and Loris could squeeze into the same box and answer the same questions from the same brand of tourists until it was time to go back to her cabin.

The pinching floral scent that often invaded Vi’s lungs seemed to surround her in an instant. It used to be something she enjoyed, but as of late, it was something she couldn’t’ control. It was overwhelming in a way that was too much. It made her stomach roll and her throat tighten. If she were to vomit, it would be blood and bones and bile.

“Violet, I want you to take a walk with me.”

Caitlyn’s voice was unbelievably tender for the situation at hand. She was expecting a verbal scrouge. Even her features were worked into something calm. Vi was too exhausted to fight back. After her little side quest last night, she wanted to curl into a ball under her blankets and sleep for an eternity.

“I uh, have to assist Loris with the morning rush of tourists, don’t I?”

She shook her head. “I’ve stationed Steb. You don’t look like you feel well. Follow me.”

“God, you’re taking me out back to shoot me like old yeller.”

Caitlyn snorted and held the screen door open. Vi walked through it first, taking in another lungful of Caitlyn’s floral scent. She wish it were comforting. She wished her friend, the woman she used to trust with anything in the world, brought her some degree of relief.

She hadn’t in months, and they both felt it. Bone deep.

They walked for a few minutes. Until the commotion of the other rangers dispersing faded into nothing. The forest offered nothing to Vi lately. She hadn’t noticed it at first; the lack of sound. Crickets and morning birds and small animals that created a cacophony of noise that she had always taken for granted before.

Caitlyn’s breathing had stuttered, a nervous tick she developed at a young age that Vi picked up months ago when her hearing had risen to a deafening level. She shoved her hands into her pockets and softened her gaze, dipping her head. Attempting to show submission.  She’d never meant to make Caitlyn nervous.

She removed her green nightcap, working her fingers around the wide brimmed edge. Another nervous habit. Vi could smell the sweetness of her sweat, something she hadn’t been privy to since the funeral when her nose was pressed so close to the girls pulse point that the smell had coated every inch of her.

Vi was so close that she could hear the rush of her blood and the pounding of her heart. Her mouth filled with saliva so rapidly that she couldn’t keep up with swallowing. She’d nearly drooled at the thought of opening her maw and tearing Caitlyn’s jugular out with one clamp of her jaw.

Shoving her away and storming from the procession was attributed to grief. Anger at nature for having the audacity of taking them in the first place. Caitlyn and Vi must have been hurting so much that any action they committed was acceptable for a time.

Six months later and people still asked how they were doing. Caitlyn would tell them that she was fine. Vi would tell them that she felt like shit. Both would smile sadly. Caitlyn threw herself into her inherited role of Head Ranger and Vi drank on nights that she couldn’t forget and leaned into nights that she didn’t remember.

“They expect me to strip you of your title.” Caitlyn sighed out in one hot breath that splayed against Vi’s cheeks. “Those rangers in there… know I have a soft spot for you, Vi. Anyone else and I would have done far worse. They’d be out of a job.”

Caitlyn frowned and plopped down onto the pebbled shore next to a stream. Run-off from one of the glaciers at the top of the peak. The water was crisp and clear. Vi would dip her fingers into it sometimes, trying to disturb the flow and shock some sense into herself. She lowered herself carefully next to her friend. The only girl who had ever made her ache this viciously.

“I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Cupcake.”

“You’re hurting.”

“So are you.”

Vi swallowed something thick in her throat, picked up a smooth stone and dug her fingers into it as if she could shave off decades of shaping. Trout colored eyes traced the curve of Caitlyn’s side profile as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She drew in careful breathes. The sound of the stream drowned out the silence around them.

Cassandra Kiramman’s entrails had been gnawed into paste after her stomach was torn open unceremoniously. Vi remembers the squelch of flesh and the snap of her sternum. Her screams had turned into a drowned gurgle before there was nothing.

The creature, after having gotten the taste for the richness of Kiramman blood, had gone for the throat and mercifully took Cassandra out of her misery. Vi watched the light leave her eyes. Something she’d seen slowly dim in Caitlyn’s over the months.

Now, she clenched her own eyes shut. “I can’t leave these woods, Cait. They’re all I know. I’ll try harder.”

“I know you will. I didn’t come out here to, what did you say? Shoot you like old yeller. I might be in charge of you, Violet, but I’m also your friend.” Her voice wavered on the word, stuck in her throat as much as she allowed. “I want you to talk to me.”

She gave her a sad grin “I talk to you all the time, Cupcake.”

“You know what I mean.” Cait’s eyebrow twitched. She hesitated, something she never did. Not in all the years that Vi had known her. But it was only for a moment. Her hand slipped into Vi’s, dislodging the stone she had wanted to thread into putty. “You can talk to me.”

Vi felt her throat tighten and a dampness come to her eyes that she quickly blinked away. Whatever she ate last night threatened to make a third return. She nodded, afraid to speak, but it seemed to be enough to Caitlyn. She gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. It was warm and solid.

Greif weighed heavily between them both. But the lead that welded Vi’s jaw shut was more than subconscious. If she could help it, and she could, Caitlyn would never find out about the animal that shredded her mother.

It had been closed casket for a reason.

They buried an empty one for Jinx. Vi had been in and out of consciousness through her own blinding pain. She’d gasped. It was caught in her throat along with the scent of Cassandras viscera. Long teeth had crunched through Vi’s left lumbar, the soft brawn of her giving away like it was tillable earth.  

She’d looked into the creature’s eyes. They were glowing red, feral. It was frothing at the mouth, saliva mixing so deliciously with what could only be Vi’s own blood. There was nothing but hunger behind it’s actions. And for a moment, Vi could understand that want.

Only for a moment.

Jinx- Powder- she had a loud whistle that could catch the attention of a hound within a ten-mile radius. This snapping animal was no different. It whipped it’s maw up fast enough to drip saliva against Vi’s festering wounds.

“Don’t!” Vi had screamed because she was so desperate to save her little sister. But the look in her eyes was resolute. Even in the light of the full moon. It showed more than the hunger, the viciousness. Jinx was on a mission. A martyr that would die for her charge.

She had the audacity to nod at Vi that night, to grin at her in a wolfish manner before her boots kicked up gravel. Evidently, the animal enjoyed the chase more than the prey it had pinned under it’s large paws. Claws dug sharply into Vi’s chest and stomach, tearing like soft butter into her stomach and chest.

Vi remembers screaming. She remembers the warmth of her own blood and the pale light of the moon overhead. She thinks she remembers her sisters maniacal howl combined with that of her own.

No… She would spare Caitlyn Kiramman the pain that her mother had endured. Some things are better left unlearned.

The smell of gunpowder, sulfurous and smokey, brought up a helping of vomit that Vi couldn’t swallow down. She thought it was vomit but couldn’t quite tell. It could have been nothing more than blood surfacing from the wound that had torn through the wound in her sternum.

The head ranger herself had fired off what was supposed to be a warning shot, but even with her immense fear clouding her aim, she had managed to land a slug in Violet. Silver. It burned viciously, sizzled like acid. Maybe it had been bile that splattered onto the forest floor in a stringy mess.

Vi’s vision was blurry with tears, cheek pressed to the earth as she watched Caitlyn on the front porch of her cabin, clutching her rifle. She released vapor with each breath, eyes methodically scanning the tree line.

Her bones were morphing into something human, something much more becoming. The bullet lodged within her was making it nearly impossible. Her nails were long, her ears tipped with red fur akin to her own hair. Her pointed teeth digging so painfully into her bottom lip to stifle her pained growls.

She was far from wolf, but far from mortal.

When the moon rose this high, she lost herself in the pain and the hunger that had led to her original demise. Vi preferred it this way. She separated the beast that tore through her once a month from the human that kept it at bay the rest of the time. She didn’t know what the wolf did. Did not want to.

Anger surged through her now.

The National Park was endless, and yet… yet… she was at Caitlyn Kiramman’s doorstep. There was a sinking feeling within her that the creature she’d buried deep had been stalking the woman. The disease that had transferred through bite, through blood, couldn’t get enough. Wouldn’t unclamp it’s greedy jaws.

Violet craved Caitlyn’s touch. Preened under her approval. The creature must do the same. Had to, if it had gotten close enough for a shot to be fired. For a bullet to hit.

She rolled over onto her back and started clawing desperately with her sharpened nails at the shot. She clipped down on her tongue to swallow her scream, digging around the wound. She couldn’t grasp it, only pushed it further down. She swore she would drown in her own blood. It threatened to heal around her fingers, causing nothing but undeniable agony.

Cait had lowered the muzzle of her gun, squinting directly where she lay, as if she could see directly into Vi’s soul. Frosty eyes watched her, and she’d be damned if they didn’t send a chill down her spine, regardless of the thin line of blood that dripped down the corner of her mouth.

This was about more than swallowing her pride. Caitlyn was her only lifeline here. She wouldn’t blame the girl for taking one look at her and firing a second shot that wasn’t a warning right between her eyebrows.

Another tweak of horrible pain and her decision was made. Vi dug her slowly receding nails into the soft soil and dragged herself to the edge of the head rangers property. She was trembling, weak. The pale moonlight hitting her tattooed marred skin. She stiffened, feeling an odd rush counter her pain.

Caitlyn sucked in a sharp breath and repositioned her weapon, steeling her stance. Vi lazily dug her chin into the earth and stared at the woman with stars in her eyes. She used to lounge on Cait’s bed with the same disposition. Albeit in less throbbing pain.

“Violet?”

The safety was switched off and the rifle was propped up against the door. Caitlyn was dashing across the lawn, barefoot despite the many times she had warned her own rangers against the dangers of doing so. Goosebumps prickled against her skin and undeniable worry etched onto her beautiful features.

She dropped to her knees, despite the dampness of the grass. Vi Stiffened, attempted to press her face into the grass but Caitlyn’s hands were quicker to cup her face. She could see the reflection of the golden glow in the blue of the woman’s gaze.

Vi stifled a whimper at the hold. She was naked and could feel her muscles stiffening. It was getting harder to move, to breathe without feeling the burn in her lungs. They crackled uncomfortably. The hands that cradled her face were warm. If she were to die at this moment, this would be enough.

“Darling, did I…” her voice was choked “I’ve shot you.”

“You never miss, Cupcake.”  

“I thought you were an animal.” She swiped both thumbs across Vi’s cheeks, wiping away tears and dirt and sweat, and maybe a little bit of blood.

“I think I might be.”

“Oh.”

The conversation was far too casual, Vi decided. She wavered in the cold, coughed up another mouthful of mucus and blood. This changed the worry in Caitlyn’s eyes to something harder that resembled the training that both of them had.

She scooped Vi up with strength that lingered fruitfully under her soft cotton t-shirt sleep clothes. The smaller woman opened her mouth to protest but the words died as her vision fluttered at the edges and her head slotted so easily into the small of Caitlyn’s throat.

It would be so easy her wolf howled to taste her.

Vi whined to drown out the thought, clutched the fabric that she clung to like a life raft. If Loris or Steb or even the orange-haired receptionist that glowered at her with contempt from behind the gift shop desk saw her now she would blanch. Never admit had content she felt in Caitlyn Kiramman’s arms.

And, God, was she content.

Caitlyn kicked the door to her cabin open and Vi breathed in a mix of spices from an earlier dinner untouched. She knew the layout of the cabin well, could hear the low crackle of a fire and could feel the heat of it as she was set down on the sofa that mirrored the hearth.

“I don’t understand it. I’ve nailed you with a shot right in the chest. You should be dead, or at the very least on it’s doorstep, not mine. You’re regarding me with discontent like I tasered you, or stunned you. Not like I took a Winchester and fired off a round. I rightly should take the stat phone and call the proper authority to get you to the emergency room and me to the psych ward.”

Caitlyn rambled in an adorably infuriating way when she was flustered. Even if Vi could get past the dryness in her throat she wouldn’t stop her. She enjoyed the way her cheeks would grow pink and she’d work the impassable problems out by her own accord.

She was flitting around, grabbing antiseptic, and medical kits that she had stashed, because she knew exactly what to do. Vi hadn’t realized she opened her eyes, or that she was watching her with a lazy content, but that’s exactly what she was doing, hand resting above her wound to subconsciously protect herself, breathing stuttered.

Her nails had retracted and so had her ears, thankfully. But her teeth still felt crowded in her mouth and she couldn’t calm her heart. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, if her eyes still shown a dangerous golden yellow. Caitlyn, her Caitlyn, had seen them either way. She balked at the fact.

“Cait,” Vi eventually stuttered out, clinging onto that floral scent that surrounded her so diligently. The Ranger was at her side in just a moment, crouching next to the sofa, grasping at her flexed and unflexed bicep. It was coated in a sheen of cold sweat. “I need you to get the bullet out. Please.”

That flicker of doubt was there again. It was brief but startling all the same. The Kiramman’s did not falter. She stared openly at Vi’s bare chest. At the pierced, pert nipples and the marred flesh in between them. In any other situation she would make a crude comment to cover her embarrassment, but this was not any other situation and Vi needed this bullet out now.

She gently grabbed the side of Caitlyn’s face, directing her attention, leading that deadly Cambridge stare to her own. “I understand that I am the last… I am the last… I didn’t…”

Vi was going about this wrong. She didn’t know how to get the words out. She didn’t know how to say that the same monster that had torn Caitlyn’s mother to shreds had taken up residence in her bones. Had changed her. They weren’t the same teeth, the same claws, but they had the same intention, could shed the same blood.

A sob tore through her, one that reminded Vi much of ones last. A death rattle. Caitlyn’s hot hand was holding her down in a moment, splayed against taut muscle. She was digging through an open first aide kit and searching for titanium prongs, a crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Hold this.”

Caitlyn barked the demand, and a wad of gauze was suddenly shoved into Vi’s mouth, catching on her chapped lips. She bit down so she wouldn’t choke on it. Caitlyn didn’t give a count down. It wasn’t her style. She didn’t coddle, or nurse you through pain that was known to be excruciating.

Instead, she dug the pointed prongs into the wound that was desperate to heal. Vi moaned around the gag, nails slashing even lines into the nearest throw pillow. Her claws were quick to come out, spilling stuffing as tears clouded her vision. Her back arched from the sofa as drool frothed from the corners of her mouth.

Caitlyn had the audacity to shush her like a petulant child. She plowed through the recesses of her injury, the layers of tissue and tendons. The gauze became damp and sticky with pink saliva. The heel of Caitlyn’s free hand was digging painfully into Vi’s shoulder to pin her down.

If Vi hadn’t been blinded by pain, she would relish in the way Caitlyn’s body was slotted against her own, having shifted. A sure knee in between her legs, pressed against her center. They were in a compromising position. Caitlyn’s breath was warm as it splayed across her chest. Vi’s rapid and building.

After a few agonizing moments, the prongs were pulled away and the bullet dropped to the floor with a clatter. Nothing could be heard but the punctuated panting of both women and the crackling of fire eating through logs. They were still. Vi’s teeth clenched and Cait’s hands still splayed near the wound that slowly began to seal itself in front of her disbelieving eyes.

Vi was filled with unrest. Dissatisfaction. Her hands were pinned and her throat was slick with blood. Her skin was buzzing and clarify had hit her like a truck now that the damned bullet had been pulled out. She was naked, vulnerable. And Caitlyn fucking Kiramman was on top of her.

Vi was saying something. Her stupid mouth was saying something, but it was muffled by the gauze, and Caitlyn lifted a shaky hand, pulling it from her lips with blood-soaked hands. “what?”

“Can you get off of me?” her words cracked. “I’m naked, cupcake.”

Caitlyn drew in a sharp breath, flicking her gaze down for an agonizing moment before shifting her weight off Vi. The sensation was immediately missed. A whimper quelled, swallowed along with the metallic taste that lingered on her tongue. Vi scrambled herself, pulling the throw blanket on the back of the sofa around her shoulders and making her hulking frame as small as she possibly could as she curled under the scratchy material.

She reveled in the scent of Caitlyn. Something that had been so oppressing the month before when they spoke in the woods. Now she swam in it. Hell, she wanted to drown in it. The Ranger busied herself with grabbing alcohol wipes from the first aide kit.

When she settled, she did so next to Vi. Their knees touching, as if any type of distance would make her perish. The gesture made her heart pound. It still ached, still fought to heal, but she didn’t’ mind. Caitlyn wordlessly asked for her hand and used her teeth to tear away the paper of the antiseptic wipe.

Vi always had larger hands than Caitlyn. But Caitlyn was nimble and methodic where Vi was clunky and impulsive. Despite the blood that had dried around her nailbeds, Caitlyn started the heavy task of cleaning the dirt and muck away from Vi’s knuckles. Neither of them speaking for a good, long while. She was waiting for Vi to speak, and she would wait for however long it took. She would always wait.

“I black out a lot.”

Caitlyn’s movement’s stilled for a moment. She had cleared most of the blood away from Vi’s left hand and moved on the right. There was a tiny mountain of wipes on the coffee table and the chemical scent was burning both of their lungs. She resumed her work with a committal hum.

“I think it’s a small mercy, really. I don’t want to remember. After that night, I knew something was different about me, but I wanted to attribute it to the grief, to the drinking. To anything other than what I knew was sitting in front of me all along.”

Caitlyn was scrubbing particularly hard at a spot of blood that refused to release itself from Vi’s skin at the base of her palm. Vi gently took the woman’s hands, giving them a squeeze, drawing her attention from the task. Her eyes were red around the edges from exhaustion. From emotion. She sniffed, glowered dangerously at Vi.

“The thing that… took your mother and Powder away from us it” Vi’s voice shattered. She grimaced and looked towards the fire. Tried to clear the emotion from her chest, but couldn’t quick staunch it. Never really could when it came to Caitlyn, so she embraced it instead, stared directly into the eye of the storm as it swirled. “When it bit me, it changed me. I don’t think it had a choice in what it was and I don’t think I have a choice in what I am now.

“This forest needs something to harbor it’s pain, and it breaks my heart more and more every single day that we crossed it’s path that night.” Vi’s head dropped, tears falling into her lap. Her shoulders convulsed. She was shaking, she knew. Too tired to fight them off. “You can hate me, Cait. I’m begging you to hate me. I would hate me.”

Hands were quick to find her cheeks and franticly wipe away at heated tears before patting at her collarbone until she looked up with confusion in her stare. Vi met an expression that was nothing more than stark tenderness, a flat line of a mouth. Caitlyn was calculating. She was exasperated. The look she often carried for Vi.

“Hate you? Why on earth would I hate you Vi?”

“I… I couldn’t stop it. I became it.”

“Darling,”

It was the subtle shake of her head, the gentleness of the single word, the quiet acceptance in her eyes. Everything combined. Vi crumbled. She fell forward and into Caitlyn’s arms. The Ranger let out a huff of air but accepted her all the same. She did not hesitate to pull her close, Vi’s ear pressed against Caitlyn’s stomach as she buried her head into the woman’s lap.

“None of this is your fault.” Caitlyn soothed, working her fingers through the mess of pink hair. “You hear me?”

Vi continued to sob, tightening her grip around Caitlyn’s center. She cried until her throat was sore. Breathing the woman in, relishing in the way her fingers felt as they gently pressed against her scalp. She whispered soothing words to her. Held her tightly, ran a hand over her bare spine and the scar of a bite that had never quite healed.

When the fire had turned into nothing but a dull flicker of orange, Caitlyn still harboring all the warmth either of them would ever need, Vi turned and stared up at her. There was a fondness in the woman’s stare. A curiosity there that she knew she’d have to atone for when she wouldn’t need to grip so hard to keep herself grounded.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Caitlyn knit her brows, swallowing hard. She brushed a strand of hair from Vi’s red-rimmed eyes. Her hand was trembling. Vi never wanted to move from this spot, from the warm comfort of the rangers lap, her nose pushed into her stomach where she could make sure she was breathing with ease.

“If you ever see me with a certain look in my eyes Cait, I need you to fire more than a warning shot. I need you to shoot to kill. I know you can.”

She opened and closed her mouth, teeth clanging together in a noise that should have been painful. Her hand curled into a fist against Vi’s bare abdomen, nails scratching lightly on marred skin. She huffed, but didn’t’ say a word. She didn’t trust herself to. It wasn’t the time to ramble, and both of them knew it.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Vi clenched her eyes shut, burying her face deeper into Cait’s embrace. “You’re an okay shot.”

Caitlyn leaned her head back, letting out an unsteady sigh, her gaze lingering on the cold hearth, the fire long-dead and the Winchester’s silhouette looming as it sat propped in it’s usual place. “I’m an excellent shot.”

[pbam0ney]

*Inside of the box is two statues, one of Tomb's crown and another of a very familiar weapon*

"Heya Sean"

"Merry Christmas. I made you a little something to remember"

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately, I've needed time away from the dangers for a little while and give myself time to teach myself more, I'm sorry I haven't come back. Honestly I might never come back, I'm safe here and nobody has bothered me. Not only that but I've unlocked a better form of myself, a stronger form of myself."

"I love you still. I miss Tug all of the time."

"But I haven't been able to think about you without getting reminded of that. Thing."

"But I know how you are, you determined thing..."

"Follow the lanterns once you decide its a good time to see me. Other than that, burn this note. I don't want anyone else knowing I'm around."

- @tomb-the-god

(Sean walks closer, reading the note entirely as he just bursts down into tears, putting it into his dimension that nobody can access)

By the crowns... It's been many years and this is what I get to see again....

I need to see you, I WANT to see you. I will follow the lanterns you speak of, my old love...

(He immediately puts on his coat, walking outside to follow the lanterns, it's snowing yet he feels warm)

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

okay...here goes...

(I wish you would write) a modern short au about Violet as a celebrity or princess or something, and Xaden as her bodyguard🤭🤭🫶

Okay I'm cheating a little on this one because I have something like this in my drafts already!! This was actually one of @skyfallscotland's prompt fics in which Lilith was the US President, and after a failed assassination attempt on the campaign trail, she assigns Xaden to be Violet's body guard. For reasons I hope are obvious, I don't want to finish it anymore. However, the first chapter was done in it's entirety by the time I scrapped it, so you can have 2.3k ish words of body guard Xaden!! (below the cut)

When Violet gets a knock on her door, she is not expecting it to have anything to do with her mother. The entire reason she’d gone to college in California was so that anything having to do with her mother would be a country away. And for the most part, it had worked. Her freshman and sophomore years had gone off without a hitch. In her classes that aren’t 99% poli sci majors, she doesn’t even get recognized, and she couldn’t be happier. 

She abandons her spot on the couch, and sets her planner to the side as she stands to answer the door. She doesn’t bother checking the peep hole, because she assumes it’s doordash for Ridoc, or last minute school supplies for Sawyer, or Rhiannon staying very ahead of her Christmas shopping. 

What she sees instead is a man. He’s tall, with dark, wavy hair, and dark skin. His arms—very broad, ridiculously so, some might say—are crossed over his chest— which is also notably broad. He’s squinting at her like he’s scrutinizing something, which is uncalled for, in Violet’s opinion. Maybe she isn’t dressed to impress just yet, but the only thing she’d been planning on impressing was her planner, and it didn’t have eyes, so her combo of old sweatpants she’d cut into shorts and a gigantic tie-dye t-shirt with her school’s name on it had been perfectly appropriate. 

“You just open the door all the way, without knowing who’s outside?” the man demands. He stares at her as does it, unflinching and unyielding. 

Violet, naturally, does both flinch and yield, because she’s entirely confused. She takes a step back, to get a better look at the man, to try and see where on earth he gets his audacity, but she comes up empty. 

“Do I know you?” she retorts, indignant. 

He matches her indignation, card for card. “Do you not have a chain on your door?” 

“Of course I don’t have a chain on my door. This isn’t New York.”

“Do you think crime only happens in New York?” The man demands. “Do you think that none of your mother’s enemies can run a google search and find out where you are?” 

He shouldn’t have brought up her mother. He’d been so hot before he opened his mouth, but even still, he could have saved the whole thing and escaped with his hotness intact if he’d avoided bringing up her mother. 

“Okay,” Violet says, “This was fun. You can go now.” 

She moves to slam the front door shut, but he shoves out an arm, blocking her. 

“See?” he says. “This is why you need a door chain. You can’t keep me out. You’re not strong enough, but metal is.” 

She stares at him for a second, blinks, then decides. 

“Okay. You can leave, and also, fuck you. Who the hell do you think you are?”

He’s still holding her door open, so she cannot make him leave, unless she resorts to something petty like kicking his shins. His arm, outstretched to support the door, looks…enticing. She’ll give him that. He has an enticing arm. Assholes are, technically, allowed to have enticing arms. 

“You know who I am,” he replies. His tone betrays no humor, which is ridiculous, because there’s no way he’s serious. 

“I don’t, actually, or I wouldn't have asked,” she snaps. “Not that I care. You have one more chance to tell me, then you’re going to need to get the fuck out, or I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs, and my two male MMA fighter roommates are going to come out here and kick your ass.” 

Ridoc and Sawyer only took one MMA class as a bonding experience, but Violet knows they’ll at the very least get this man out of the doorway. 

The man studies her with that same analytical look he’d donned when she first opened the door. He looks her up and down, then comes to his conclusion. 

“She didn’t tell you.” 

“Who,” Violet seethes, “is she?”

“Your mother, “ he says, though he’s speaking slowly, thinking as he goes, “She didn’t tell you. She didn’t call you or anything?”

“The last time my mother called me was in the year of our lord two thousand and sixteen, and that was genuinely only because she thought I had been abducted, so no. My mother didn’t call me.”

She pushes against the door with all she has, and still, he doesn’t move. He might have over one hundred pounds on her, though, given his size and his muscle mass. She will definitely have to get creative. There’s a vase on the coffee table Rhiannon won’t miss. 

“I’m your new bodyguard,” the man says. He holds the hand that isn’t holding the door out to her, anticipating a handshake. “Xaden Riorson.” 

Violet stares at him, at his hand, and at him holding out his hand. She says, “No you’re not.” 

“I’m not Xaden Riorson, or I’m not your new bodyguard?” he asks. “Because I'm pretty sure I’m both.” 

“No,” she shakes her head furiously, emphatically. “No to both. You’re neither.” 

He sighs, shoves his hand into his pocket, and emerges with a badge. It has its own little leather case, but the badge itself is shiny and gold, with an eagle at the top and a silver star in the center. 

“Happy now?” he asks, voice dry. 

He’s not just a bodyguard. He's from the secret service. 

“I’m happy that you found your way into a costume shop, but it is that time of year,” Violet says. And she’s right. With the start of August comes a proliferation of Spirit Halloweens. One on every corner, practically. 

“It’s a real badge, Sorrengail.”

She hadn’t told him her last name, and she hates that he already knows it, that he knows her mother. It doesn’t give him any legitimacy, though. He’d said it himself—she’s really only a google search away. 

But, if he’s actually Xaden Riorson, so is he. 

“Hang on,” she says, brain already speeding down this train of thought. “Stay outside, or I will actually commit a crime.” 

She steps back from the door, and he raises his non-braced hand in surrender. He leaves his badge out, and though Violet keeps her eyes on him, he doesn’t move over her line in the sand. 

She finds her phone  abandoned on the couch. She turns it on quickly, and her eyes scan notifications, but there is, of course, nothing from Lilith. Even though it shouldn’t, her heart still sinks. She should know better than to allow hope to thrive where her mother is concerned, but evidently, she doesn’t. 

She opens Safari without checking her other notifications, and types in his supposed name. Xaden Riorson. 

The results are inconclusive. No one, it seems, knows what Xaden Riorson is up to. 

“Give me your driver’s license,” she demands. 

He sighs, irritably, but then he’s digging in his pocket once more, revealing a wallet, and presenting her with his ID. He holds it over the threshold, so she plucks it from his fingers and holds it up in the light. 

It looks real, though Violet’s never been big on fake IDs, because she’s never been big on doing anything she thinks might make her mother think she isn’t perfectly capable of caring for herself. Illegal activities fall squarely on her no-no list. 

The picture matches, though Violet’s almost certain there’s a way to make that happen with fake IDs, too. She thinks she’s supposed to see a line somewhere in the middle of the ID, if it is real, but she’s also not entirely sure that isn’t actually the procedure for counterfeit money, and the longer she holds his ID up to the light without finding said line, the less sure she is of the line’s existence at all. 

Finally, she says, “Hmm.” 

“Hmm?” he presses. 

“Well, I’m starting to think you’re Xaden Riorson, but that makes the secret service thing even less believable,” Violet says. 

“Does it?” His voice is bone-dry, but Violet doesn’t mind. She’ll get to the bottom of this without his help. 

“It does, because the Xaden Riorson I knew of was a senator’s son, and the sons of senators don’t just up and join the secret service.” 

“They don’t?” he asks, still dry as ever. 

“They don’t, because joining the secret service means you’re literally willing to die for the president.” 

“And senator’s sons can’t do that?” 

Other senator’s sons could, Violet thinks, but not Fen Riorson’s son. Fen Riorson had not been just any senator. Last election, Fen Riorson had been her mother’s main opponent, and when Americans went to the polls, they had not picked him. 

He’d died six months after the election, but not before hundreds of articles were written, claiming he wanted to share classified government intelligence with the public, things the people deserved to know, but those in office were too cowardly to tell them. 

His secrets died with him. 

And Violet knows her mother is a lot of things, but she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t make the son of her biggest political rival her daughter’s bodyguard. Her daughter doesn’t even have a bodyguard, because her daughter does not need a bodyguard. 

“You can’t,” Violet says. “You, specifically.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, Sorrengail, I did. What’s it gonna take for you to believe me? Want to see my work email? Want to meet my team?” 

She’s trying and failing to remember how hard it is to fake an email, or a series of emails, but he keeps talking. 

“Of course, I could just call your mom.” 

Her gaze darts to his. “You could call her?” she asks, but then, her brain catches up to her tongue. “Well, there’s AI now. You could fake her voice.”

“God, okay, you can call her and you can ask her three questions only she knows. How’s that? Do we have a deal? Because believe it or not, I have a job to do.”

She does not believe it, because if she does believe it, she is that job. She cannot be his job. 

“Fine!” Violet snaps, “Fine. I’ll call her. Don’t you dare come in.” He sighs that same exasperated sigh, and still, he doesn’t move. Violet moves to her contacts—she hadn’t lied about her mother’s radio silence. She really hasn’t talked to her mother on the phone in eight years. They also don’t text. Most of her communications are through her mother’s Chief of Staff, Colonel Aetos, who still goes by his military title. 

Still, her mother is in her phone under “birth giver” which had felt incredibly edgy when she did it at thirteen, but now makes her tilt her phone closer to herself, in case Xaden sees. 

Her mother’s personal line is secure, and though she doesn’t always carry her phone on her, she’s heard from Mira—who actually makes calls to their mother, when she’s not underwater—that their mother is good at picking up the phone. 

It rings once, and Violet bites her lip. It rings twice, and Violet’s foot begins to tap a thundering beat. 

It rings three times, and her mother’s voice sounds in her ear. 

“Violet?” Lilith asks. 

“Traditionally, “ Violet says, “people answer phone calls with ‘hello’.” 

“Traditionally, you don’t call me,” Lilith retorts. “I thought someone stole your phone.” 

“Nope. I’ve never had anything stolen from me because I am exceedingly competent.” Xaden huffs at this, which Violet cannot understand. She’s making a valid point. “And because of this exceeding competency, I can’t understand why there is a man at my door claiming to be part of the secret service. Can you comprehend this, mother?”

Violet will not be calling her mom.

“Is the man Xaden Riorson, or a member of his team?” Lilith asks. Violet thinks the world is sinking beneath her. She is slipping through the cracks. “Because if that’s the case, then yes. And he’s not claiming anything. Did he not show you his badge?” 

Violet swallows. Her throat is very, very dry. “You can get those badges anywhere.” 

“No you can’t. I have a country to run and an election to win, Violet, so if that’s all you had to say, I need to go.” 

She hasn’t spoken to her mother since her last mandatory Christmas visit. She’d spent the entirety of the summer sweating in California. And still, her mother doesn’t want to talk to her. 

“I don’t need a secret service agent, Mom,” Violet snaps. She feels suddenly sixteen again, when her mother was still her mother. 

“Correct. You don’t need one, you need four.” 

“I do not need four! I have never needed four!” 

Xaden Riorson is watching her start a screaming match with her mother, and Violet knows she should be embarrassed, but she’s too angry. She doesn’t have any energy to spare. 

“Did you hear that I was shot at recently, Violet?” 

“Of course I heard! Not from you, of course, because that would be too much to ask!” 

“Then connect the dots. You’re too intelligent to question me on this. Let Mr. Riorson do his job.” 

“He’s not Mr. Anything! He’s twenty-two!” 

“He is twenty two, which will make his work with you significantly easier on you. He’s also very good at his job. You’ll be safe. I don’t care if you’re angry with me if you’re safe.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” Violet seethes. “You’re being unreasonable! I have kept myself perfectly safe-” 

She is cut off by a beep. Her mother has hung up. Violet stares at the phone in her hand for a moment, then aggressively redials her mother’s number. 

Her mother doesn’t answer. 

Xaden Riorson is still in her doorway. 

“I didn’t quite realize it was like that between you two,” he says, casually, as if he didn’t just witness a sacred portion of Violet’s life imploding in her hands. Her privacy, destroyed. 

[scoops404]

Scoops' Fics of 2024

It's that time of year again! The time for me to rank my own fics for the last year in order from my least favorite to most favorite. I only considered fics I wrote entirely myself, so you won't see an honest living in here because that was almost 50/50 written with Dizzy! (but you should definitely go check it out!)

This year I only had two novel length fics because I was supposed to be focusing on original work (oops). I had a heck of a summer with my bingo fills. There's definitely recency bias at play here, but that's just how it goes sometimes. Let me know if you agree/disagree :D

See the Elephant - T - this one was written for a fic fest that ended up getting canceled because of the grituation. I had already written the entire thing and it had to be T because the artists were going to post their work. If I had known it would be canceled, I would have had them doing the freaknasty. This was after I had already planned out and written a fic before new boundaries dropped in November (see Circling Back). Basically, this fic fest was never meant to be, I suppose. I was starting to think I was a curse. Oh, but the fic itself is a soulmate AU and kinda angsty and has a hospital scene. 0 horse mentions.

Merry Men Making Merry - T - This was written for Fairy Tales from the SMP - the first and only successful fanfiction event I've completed all the way through (it's never me dropping out btw, it's always the event getting canceled). Anyway I got my first choice of fairy tale, which was Robin Hood, and I put a fun spin on it. The art with this fic was gorgeous!! A very different type of fic for me and it stretched some writing muscles I didn't know I had. Secret identity and identity reveal, some of my favorite tropes. 4 horse mentions.

Move to Florida, buy the car you want - E - the first of my bingo fics. It turns out I am bad at being brief. Anyway, DNF get together and semi-roadhead and I dunno, it's cute. I wrote most of this fic free hand in my note book at my work desk because fuck capitalism. I just checked, the prompt was "late night care rides" which checks out. 0 horse mentions

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts (croptop) - E - this is the one from the middle of June about crop tops that was also written for bingo. I dunno. It's cute enough. 0 horse mentions.

Everyone understands why it’s mean to be (a/b/o phone call) - T - this one is funny because I didn't even bother saying what the prompt was in the author's notes, but I think it was a/b/o. This one was fun to write because it was basically a nod to the 2021 fandom and where we were, and where DNF were -- waiting on that damn visa. Like going back in time and writing a fic. 1 horse mention.

Can I Use You Up - E - I really had fun writing this one. It has fun Dreateam dynamics and then a really intense sex scene and the dichotomy of both of those things in one fic -- and short (for me), at that! impressive. 0 horse mentions.

Circling Back - E - this fic is fun and wild. I got to write co-workers to lovers that is also hidden/secret identity -- and it works! WILD! I re-read this one recently and it stands up. This was originally written for that first fic fest i was talking about and when they changed it for the new boundaries for art, I couldn't have any smut and the whole plot kind of hinged around the smut, so... I decided to just write it as it is. ALSO this is the first fic that Chelsey beta'd, I think. So that's fun! And it was the first fic of the year (not counting Hits Different which wrapped up in January). 0 horse mentions.

Just to do experiments on - E - Yall, if you had told me that I would write tentacle porn, I would have laughed at you. Extra has been trying to get me to write tentacles for YEARS and then it came up on my bingo card and I felt like I finally had to bite the bullet and do it. Except, I actually really love how it turned out? This bingo prompt was tentacles, obviously, but also cursed by a witch. A twofer, if you will. 0 horse mentions.

Let Me Familiarize You - E - here's some Scoops lore. I wrote this fic in two sitting and it is 13K, so that's wild!!! It took me two days in the time after my surgery but before I could go back to work to write this (in between writing the beginnings of Two Fools and another story that I haven't and won't publish lol). Anyway, it's about witch!George accidentally making Patches his familiar and then coming clean to Dream and also his mom is there. And then literally that same day, George dropped a video with his mom. Crazy pants. (or maybe it was the day before when this was all written? Can't remember. Also I was on pain pills). I really like how it turned out. It's a fun premise! 0 horse mentions.

Puzzle pieces in the dead of night - T - another bingo fic, the prompt was pirates. Anyway, I had a BLAST writing this one. Secret identity, kidnapping, munchy mc dynamics, I really like writing action adventurey fics and this one feel right into that category. A fun read, in my opinion. 0 horse mentions.

I’m Having His Baby (No, I’m Not) - E - a bingo fic, the prompt was "mpreg, but abortion" because the person who made the boards *ahem* doesn't like pregnancy stuff and wanted to punish me (lightheartedly lol). Anyway, joke is on her, because I made this into an epic story and I had so much fun writing it. Like, laughing out loud to myself while writing it, which is kinda sad, but is also the point of fanfiction. You have to entertain yourself first and foremost. And also I snuck eventual mpreg in there anyway so haha! for real, though, if you think the premise of this one is weird -- Dream and George accompany Sapnap on a roadtrip to Colorado to get his abortion -- you should try it out anyway. 1 horse mention, and arguably the one that brought it to our good anon's attention.

Anagnorisis - E - speaking of mpreg, LMAOOOOOO. My "I didn't know I was pregnant" AU with Angst and miscommunication and domesticity and last minute flights to London and a baby named after the lead singer of Glass Animals. This fic has a lot! I wrote a lot about the beginning of this fic on Tumblr and kind of how I begin writing fics. Here Anyway, pretty proud of this fic. I had to ask my mom a lot of questions about NICU. 3 horse mentions.

I Am Two Fools - E - every year the last novel length fic of the year seems to be in the top spot. No Exception this year. This fic was very tough to write, but very rewarding. I think it taught me a lot about making sure character motivations are fleshed out and make sense. It, and Anagnorisis, taught me about trusting the reader and dropping hints at things. Yall got So Good at catching hints and making molehills out of anthills, as intended. I took a chance and switched up POV halfway through, which is almost never do. And I think that really helped me stretch my writing muscles as well as all the bingo fics. Very proud of the work I did on this fic. 0 horse mentions.

[ropebunnykant]

Apologies for the incoming essay... Re. Kant and choices and him choosing to involve Style - look, nobody's out here trying to say Kant's eligible for best friend of the year! But there does seem to be a lot of retroactive woobifying of Style, attempts to exempt him from the current tangled web, etc., when, lest we forget, he agreed to try and seduce a man FOR A CAR. He then proceeded to stalk said man, and to disrupt and exploit a grief counselling session FOR A CAR. Of course Kant shouldn't have involved him (but when your options are limited and you're desperate, you're not always thinking straight), but it was Style's own a) automotive greed and b) bruised ego (after their vehicular run-in) that got him where he is today. It was a bargain that he himself suggested - it wasn't even Kant's idea! Let's be honest, he could've just said nah mate, you're alright, and what could Kant have done about it? Style is not untouched by the taint! And that's okay - let him be messy too (the fact that he'd already had a couple of fraught encounters with Fadel even before Kant introduced them was a deliberate decision on the writers' part)! He had his own agenda going into this which he'd need to apologise for regardless of the added assassin shenanigans, and once he's in the know, he becomes as responsible as Kant for what happens next - they're both faced with the same choice: confess in order to try and keep the brothers out of jail, or stay schtum, despite their misgivings, out of fear for their own lives. And they both chose the same path. All four of them have been lying to each other from the get-go, for multiple complex reasons, some maybe more valid or understandable than others, but point is that none of them are squeaky clean and ALL of them bear at least some responsibility for the colossal shitshow that they now find themselves in! And that's what makes it good TV!

(I'd also like to point out something I find interesting, which is that Kant's rhetoric with Style has always been about looking out for number one - he tells Style he's doing it to clear his record, get those charges off his back, outside the restaurant he talks about having to prioritise saving your own skin over everything else, even though that makes him sound a bit cold...but he's not doing it for himself, is he? He's doing it for Babe. He's doing it because of the repercussions that would fall on his little brother's head if anything were to happen to Kant, whether that be jail time or an early grave (though I'm not saying he'd be a-okay with either regardless!). Babe has been his driving force the entire show (as yours and others' beautiful meta has explored) - Kant does the OPPOSITE of prioritise himself, and has done so since his parents died, and that's why HE'S in this mess in the first place. But, to the best of my recollection, he never invokes Babe when he's trying to win over Style, and I can't decide if that's because it's a line he won't cross (though he did sort of cross it when using Babe as an excuse at karaoke, or does that not count cos it was a lie?), or because he truly doesn't see himself as self-sacrificing so wouldn't even think to frame it in those terms to someone else. Or a combo of both!)

I think part of the reason the Kant slander (by which I absolutely don't mean legit critical analysis or taking the well-earned piss out of him!) bothers me is because I'm conscious that First is, at least to a degree, aware of the negativity (and tagged into some of it because ppl suck), which is why every time I look online he seems to be apologising on his character's behalf. And yes, it is in jest, but, knowing he's an inveterate people pleaser, I also get the sneaking suspicion it's also partly genuine, which makes me sad.

yeah, aaaabsolutely agree with everything you’ve said here. like i think the argument about style has more merit too it, but at the same time im still sat here thinking, what was kant’s other option? because bison gives him this stipulation: if you want us to date, you have to find someone for fadel. and kant cant just cut his losses and say okay, then i guess we won’t date. he has to get close, he has to get this information. so he has to involve someone else, retroactively. and we can argue about if he should have told style the full truth from the beginning, but not only do we see the captain specifically tell him not to do that, but i think kant is well aware it would not have worked if he did. style would have blown the operation out of the water way too soon, if he even agreed in the first place which the odds of him doing without having some investment into fadel would have been very slim! like it sucks, but realistically, what else could kant have done that would have allowed him to do what he needed to? what other choice did he have?

and like you said, style is far from innocent! none of them are innocent in this! thats the whole point! and that’s the big thing, too, because it’s meant to be this complicated messy thing. they subbed in the women from taming in the shrew for assassins because it allows for this intense sort of courtship that was brought on by misogyny in the play, while also allowing us to understand that fadel and bison aren’t innocent, either. that they’re all fucked up and messy in their own ways.

and yeah, i think getting into the babe of it all just isn’t something kant is willing to do for the most part. i think he tries to keep babe out of it as much as possible, but using him as an excuse to get out of there was the most realistic thing he could do, especially when bison has already seen that protective brother side of him. and i also think that kant just doesn’t view himself highly in general. he doesn’t think of himself as selfless or self sacrificing because he knows the awful things hes had to do in order to keep babe safe and in his custody - and while maybe for other people knowing it’s for babe would help his case, he doesn’t feel that way. because obviously he wouldn’t change it, but it doesn’t mean he liked doing any of it, that he likes the lengths he’ll go. especially when i think he thinks if babe knew, he wouldn’t like any of it, either. babe already didn’t like just the lying to bison. can you imagine what he’d think if he knew kant had drugged him once? if he knew all of it was built on a false start? kant probably thinks babe would hate him for it all as much as he hates himself for it.

and as for the first of it all, i do hope despite the media literacy some people lack in it all that he knows he did a fucking incredible job with kant. i say this as someone who has been making detailed posts about first’s acting since the eclipse, but i genuinely think this is his strongest and most nuanced performance. hes made kant so, so clear and easy to understand if you’re paying attention, and i love him so dearly for it.

[da-enasalin]

Bioware has been getting a lot of flack recently and I just thought I'd share some ideas I've had about it recently.

One thing that has been bothering me about the discussion around Veilguard is that people are criticising it for the past games not having a big enough effect. Bioware has always touted themselves as a games company that has mastered the art of connecting plot lines through multiple games but, while I think it's true for Mass Effect, has never been the case with Dragon age.

Origins was designed to be entirely self contained and that shows.

Dragon Age 2 was made in a tremendous rush and that shows.

Inquisition was made with little care for the past games besides the themes / concepts and that shows.

Veilguard was made as a rushed attempt to refresh a franchise that lost itself near immediately and it shows.

This isn't me saying Dragon Age is overall bad, you would never catch me saying that in a million years, but if you have any love for the franchise you have to admit that the games have never been stable and likely never will be. A huge thing in the Dragon Age fandom is that we just don't know what parts of the lore from Origins are still accurate to what Bioware is considering cannon and I think that's one of the best examples of how Bioware don't really know what they're doing when it comes to making Dragon Age. (I say this with love)

I enjoy exploring Thedas, interacting with the people in it and developing my own ideas from what is shown to me from these games. Thedas itself being so malleable is what first drew me into Dragon Age as it is. Nothing is concrete. No one knows everything. Any piece of information you hear could very easily be false.

People are allowed to interpret Veilguard anyway they want because that's always been what Dragon Age has encouraged us to do.

The one thing that I do think is unfair is when people say that the import choices for Veilguard is what makes it bad compared to previous Dragon Age games. I genuinely can't think of a single point in any Dragon Age game where your choices in previous games has an actual impact to the point that I generally use default world states when playing.

If we want to be criticising Veilguard for being under baked then we should be criticising EA for not letting Bioware do their own thing. I have the art book for Veilguard, I've read through the Joplin section and I really would give anything for that to have been the game we got but it isn't and the fault for that lies with EA forcing Bioware to restart Dragon Age 4 god knows how many times.

Just remember it could have been a live service game. That really would have been the end of Dragon Age. Veilguard isn't nearly as hellish as people make it out to be and I really do think that something like what happened to the general opinion of Dragon Age 2 will happen to Veilguard.