𓆝 .ᐟ.ᐟ

with tumbling steps, you, himeko, kafka, natasha, tingyun and serval manage to exit the club you partied in, despite half the group being on the verge of being completely wasted. with a chuckle at the realization, you yourself was slightly drunk, and you can't drive in that condition, so you have no choice but to hand your car keys over to natasha, who was in an actually great condition to be driving unlike the other female companions you have. especially you, of course.

as soon as the car's doors unlocked, you all hop inside the car, flopping down on the leather seats like some tired grownups that were that desperate to sit after running. except a certain redhead.

you notice himeko stayed out of the car, and she looked at you with a hazy look. and that's when you realized after looking around, all seats in the car have been taken.

“oh nooo~ seems there are no spots left! ah, never mind, i know where i can sit now."

and as you were about to make a comment on that, you saw her eyeing kafka at the corner of her eyes with a clear smirk. she enters the car, and her slender legs make their way past kafka, and land right beside your thigh, and you watch with dazed awe as she found place right on top of your lap. you see kafka whip her head around with sheer annoyance painted on her face.

kafka and himeko stare into each other's eyes with that same rivalry, and even though you're half drunk, you still sigh exasperatedly at the two's behaviour. 'this kind of behaviour sure does never get old...'

and the first to break the stare was himeko, who sought to look at your face instead. she gave you that drunken, innocent look, the blush painting her cheeks making it more convincing that she had no bad intent. although knowing her, you know clearly that she might have some underlying meaning to all these actions so far. "mm, hey baby. mind if i sit here?~"

with her already holding down in place to sit, you just had no choice but to say, "yes, sure."

and in the corner of your eye, you can see kafka smiling, although you could tell she was ready to throw himeko off you at any second. but thanks to you, she was able to restrain herself from actually doing it.

himeko leisurely wraps her arms around your neck, and your cheeks heat up when her face nears towards yours. her breath tickles your lips, and you can only turn to face kafka instead, knowing if this continued on, it could escalate to something else while you're still in the car.

however, kafka merely stares back at you, her eyes screaming to assert to violence on himeko. and that’s when you started to hear a certain blonde interrupt the awkwardness and tension going on.

“you bitches are always so fucking horny! if y’all gonna fuck, don’t do it in the car with us in it.”

"good," you get for your efforts. another chill ripples down your spine. veritas traces your teeth, pressing on the points as if to test their sharpness. and you stay still, holding your mouth open even when veritas pulls his hand back. fingers under your chin. you are tipped up a bit more, then veritas hooks his thumb over your bottom row of teeth and pulls your mouth open wider. 

"you gonna fuck me now?" you ask, try to. does your voice always sounded like that? desperate. you whine before nuzzling into the inside of his thigh.

"no, you haven't deserved it yet" he starts, holding your wrist with his free hand and putting your fingers above his thigh. you know that it means if you want me to stop, tap twice, and it makes heat coil in your belly. "you take what i give you or nothing at all."

you want to roll your eyes at him, but the very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. 

he goes slow at first, wanting you to get used with the feeling, you can feel the weight of veritas' gaze. and when you moan, one of your hands still working up and down along veritas' shaft as tears beginning to prickle at the corners of your eyes, his thrusts turn sharp and fast, your jaw aching from how long you had veritas' fat cock in your mouth.

"breathe," he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you've won some sort of award. he narrows his eyes at you, "you can choke all you want, but your impatience is not going to get you anywhere."

before you can even argue again, he's guiding your lips back on him. just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him.

"messy." his sighs echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. when you gag, he moans again.

veritas' thrusts begin to turn erratic as he fucks your mouth, a growl erupting out of him on a particularly hard thrust, and you feel so enlightened, nodding dazedly around his cock before pulling off, tilting your head up and dropping your jaw. 

veritas bends down, smiling at your fucked out face, mascara tracked tears, your spit covered chin, and spits right into your waiting mouth.

"thank you.” you say, as always.

𝐢𝐢.ㅤ ㅤSUNDAYㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your eyes.

he thinks you are pretty, pretty when you smile, pretty when you cry. after all, they say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and so, he always do his best to fuck you until everything's hazy and blurry with his blatant desire.

sunday just knows how you feel by the way your eyes roll back he palmed the bend of your knee, pressing the joint by your temple as to ease his strife, and he faltered when you sobbed his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity. 

and, for the third time, sunday slows down, hips flush against your ass he can nudge his cockhead right above your sweet spot, missing it on purpose, because he knows what to do to make your eyes prickle with tears as easy.

"always so good for me," sunday groans, a badgering ache numbed your rational thought, swallowing the sensible and only rational portion of your conscious in a sudden pit of longing. "i've broken you in, haven't i?"

"p-please, sunday— please, please, please let me c-come," you sob, as if all would be lost if the climax you'd been chasing mischievously slipped through your quivering fingertips. "w-wanna cum on your cock, please, ah—" ⠀ ⠀ 

wild pulsations rendered his brain to mush and melted his forefront conscious into a haze of silver lining. you gasp, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and biting at the untouched skin.

"so pretty when you beg," he compliments. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, sunday is flush and trembling under your hold. "does it feel good, love? say it," sunday commands, but you don't understand, can't understand with your mind being in such a pleasurable haze. he fucks up right in the time he pulls you back down by your waist, downright impaling you on his cock. "say you're mine."

"yours," you repeat, and he bites on your lower lip. you have enough of a mind presence to admire his bulging biceps contorting with your weight, and his huge test firm and sweaty from the effort.

"again," his possessive side gets the best of him, admiring all the marks he has left in your neck. "say it again."

"yours, ah!" a moan breaks at the end of the word, sunday's thrusts getting rougher, faster and there's heat pooling down on your lower stomach. "i'm y-yours, all yours, only yours."

"yes, mine," sunday agrees, and sunday thinks you are a vision like this.

you are looking at him like he's an angel, like a devil he's completely consumed by. you are still clad in your clothes, moving up body up and down, docile and pliant on sunday's cock as if you are nothing but a beloved toy.

"mine." he reachs forward to run his hand down your stomach, under your shirt, his touch soft enough to have you brokenly stuttering. 

drawing his name from your lips, you arched further into the bed as the last of your orgasm shook your weak limbs. his name carried significance. the tenor more than just a lovely echo of your rapture.

𝐢𝐢𝐢.ㅤ ㅤJIAOQIU ㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your breast.

they are just so soft, and all for him to suck, for him to claim.

"i barely moved and you're already falling apart," jiaoqiu tells you, voice strained from effort but still full of fondness, and you feel butterflies dancing in your stomach at the praise. it seems like he wants his orgasm to ebb away. at the look you're giving him, he adds: "wanna cum with you, yeah?." ⠀ ⠀

you mewl at the thought, watching him position himself between your legs again and kissing you slowly. jiaoqiu caresses your cheek with a gentle thumb, other hand tracing a feather-like path down your body. his fingers brush against your nipple, the whine you let out being swallowed by jiaoqiu's greedy mouth, and he sneaks his hand under your shirt just as his kisses fly to your neck.⠀

and then he's sucking. hard.

your hands fly to his hair, cunt throbbing with need when he tongues at the purple hickey, and it's throbbing, pulsating with how hard he sucked.

"jiaoqiu, fuck," you whimper, body oversensitive with all that has been going on, hand coming to pinch your other nipple like he's telling you how much this affects him. "please—"

jiaoqiu bites at it, tongue coming to soothe the pain later, and you're sure the grip you have on his hair must be painful, but he says nothing; only looks more intent on making you moan. he busies himself with sucking hickeys all over the place as one of his hands continues to descend down your body, thumb pressing in a spot by your hips that has your back arching and a desperate whine being pulled out of you.

you feel warm all over, how he always remembers exactly your pleasure point, the place that has your head spinning with pleasure.

"look at you," his fingers brush the underside of your chin, a few of his fingers cupping the base of your neck as to lift your head from you peripheral and bring it to his forefront visual. "grinding against everything. you're quite the needy thing, aren't you?" tilting your head as if examining a newfound discovery, his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from your mouth divulged your own craving.

you're so responsive in both body and voice, jolting with every thrust, arching sharply, legs spasming like you can't take, but he knows you can.

"fuck me, please" you say, beg, euphoria peaked above its horizon, singeing his goosed skin with excited jolts. "please, want you, wanna feel you—"

humming into the feral abundance of the rough brush of his lips, you can't help but arch against jiaoqiu as he twists and pinches the tender skin of your nipples, and your breath hitches at the feel of his mouth brushing your nipple, whining at the feel of his tongue inching closer to your bud. 

"keep it together now," devouring you with a magnetic gape, your hues inundated, drinking in your flustered disposition. "it would be a pity if i stopped now."

"a pity," you repeat stupidly. in your defense, you feel as if your brain is melting.

he smiles, and deliberately ignoring your request, he decides to take the tip into his mouth wholly to suck, pushing the nip to the rough of his mouth while his other hand tends to the other breast. it looks like you'll have to wait a little longer

𝐢𝐯.ㅤ ㅤBOOTHILLㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your hips.

he is just a little obssessed with the softness of your skin underneath his cold fingers.

he is always reaching out to you in some way, whether is a hand in your thigh or an arm around your waist. especially if it's to keep you from squirming in his grip.

"hah," he states simply, a sound of pleasant surprise, and adds another finger inside. boothill pushes them to the hilt, until his knuckles brush your pelvis. you moan, head thrown back at the sudden, but welcomed intrusion. "acting all nervous around me but this is exactly what ya wanted, aint'cha?"

your teeth clenched but the effort was momentary as mewls of whimpers parted your lips. your hips eagerly bucked into his working hand, desperately aiding him to reach a depth that would cause your eyes to roll, much like they did when his thump began to swipe fast circles over the aroused bud of your clit.

 “forkin’ wet for me, huh? yer gonna sing pretty for me when ya come on my fingers, yeah?” his lips latched onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear. 

you can't even think straight, hips rising off of the bed, but boothill holds your hips with his free hand and pins them down hard you know will leave bruises. your upper body lifts with this, back arching and legs kicking everywhere as you can't stop the loud moans slipping through your lips.

"s’good, isnt it, baby?," he says, licking against your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, "let me hear you."

he brought his inactive hand to fondle the nipple of your breast, rolling the sensitive bud beneath his fingertips, mindful to place bruising kisses along your neck where deep shapes of his ministrations would be left for you to cover.

"boothill," you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, "want your mouth-please."

he chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot.

"come on my fingers first." he says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked.

you roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. he moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath.

"that's it babe, ride it." he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.

you shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. you feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit.

"i've got you," he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain.

your heart pounds. your brain is whirring, moving a mile a minute and you feel like you can't breathe. everything, everything is so blurry except for him. whose gripping your skin like you're everything to him. like he needs you, like a lifeline, like he can't let you go.

you both loved it.

𝐯.ㅤ ㅤAVENTURINEㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your hands.

 aventurine doesn't say i love you often. not when you are alone, not when you fuck.

aventurine likes to pretend that you aren't painfully soft with him, but the truth is that you are, and have been for a while now. you do things like this frequently. you no longer give in to goading or falls for the traps aventurine sets for you.

your hand curl around his dick now, cold against the flushed skin but he doesn't care. he's engrossed admiring your fucked out state. he's always telling you how beautiful you look; sweat drips down your temples and your lips are swollen and so so sweet, cries melodic and high, still not tinged with the usual hoarseness it gets when aventurine abuses of your throat with his cock.

"somebody's made a mess," you hum, and aventurine thinks how dirty it is— the sticky wet feeling of his own release against his shaft, the obscene image of how his erection looks wrapped in your hand— it wrenches a moan out of him, it has him thrusting up into your hand.

his futile attempts did little as to alleviate the prodding knot that prompted him to toss his head against the cotton pillowcase. hasty fondle of himself induced naught a reaction, and he bitterly grumbled before arching his back where he lay, huffs of contempt lengthening until pitiful whimpers had been the only sound.

"you are enjoying this a little too much, friend," aventurine tells you, low and rough. 

"don't you?" your hand caresses his thigh, so he's thrusted into, slow, testing. 

you are gentle even in this, though aventurine has given you permission to be rough over and over. it doesn't matter. you continue to treat him kindly. it still feels like ripped flesh and shattered dreams and the aches that sit inside long healed scars. it's okay, aventurine can still destroy himself with this.

he should've figured something like this would happen soon. you know a little too much. "i live to please," aventurine wonders. "i've told you, haven't i? use me as you wish"

"oh." you say, quietly. "is that so?."

his heart stops, but the hand on his dick pumps ever faster. he's ruined you, he knows, but in the same way, you've ruined him. now all he wants- all he'll accept- is you, your body, your hands, all of you.

aventurine doesn't voice none of that, and so he avoids your gaze. good. better that way. you make it feel good too often. he needs to balance the scales.

"fuck fuck fuck, shit," aventurine breathes, voice gravelly, his grip in your hair getting tighter and tighter. tingles spark down your spine, for what had lasted only minutes drilled into lengthening ticks of time. such a case wasn't familiar to him. the antagonizing build that pooled until coiled into a tight dam awaiting its chance to burst.

you kiss him for what feels like the hundredth time— but this time there's something different, something urgent, and he grasps the back of your neck when he attempts to ease the ache himself, swiping rough compresses against whatever he could reach, furthermore tucking a hand beneath his thighs to clutch at his neglected balls, but his caress hardly could amount to yout touch-

 he harbored no genuine resentment, but with how his conscious craved their touch, he was bound to blame. "then tell me what you want, aventurine."

𝐯𝐢.ㅤ ㅤJING YUAN ㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your thighs.

"so pretty," you hear him mumble. "i could watch you all day."

you can feel his breath, the torrent of his day in the patterns of his breathing, the way he clings on to your skin telling tales of his frustrations. so you let him. you let him look and love and feast, devour you whole. and jing yuan doesn’t know what to do with it. doesn’t know how to hold so much love and adoration even in his big, big palms.

jing yuan swears he can die happy between your thighs, the way you still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your core, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he's tasting. 

he always touches like this is the only chance he’ll ever get. he digs his fingers into the pudge of your thighs, he holds you like you’ll crumble to dust. he’s so overwhelmed. you can feel his breath, the torrent of his day in the patterns of his breathing, the way he clings on to your skin telling tales of his frustrations. so you let him. you let him look and love and feast, devour you whole.

you roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. you stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. you grind forward, he's right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you.

"w-wait," you gasp, and aeons, you're gonna lose it. even if you didn't want to, you'd think the way he's moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. 

“look at you,” he murmurs, full of mirth, full of adoration. his palm comes to curve against the swell of your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “pretty.”

and then you're weightless, control leaving you as he wraps his arms around your thighs and presses up, pulling you down with him, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. he nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. now, he's sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside of your walls to truly taste you.

"all for me" he says, and you're whispering, gasping for him, melting at the seams, feeling the strong muscle flick once, twice over your sensitive nub before pressing harshly into you. you jerk, small whines dripping off your lips as he grips your flesh, pushing himself impossibly deeper into yo

you go brainless, pulling at the roots of his hair as you push yourself down against him, suckling on it as he digs his fingers into your inner thighs, whimpering and rutting your hips against his face. jing yuan's fierce, violent, like all his passion coming alive in his ember-tipped tongue that's digging deep in you, sticky and warm and fuck, you're dripping, coating his chin and his nose in all you have to offer.

The more he speaks, the more you are reminded that you didn’t stand on the same ground as him. You felt terrifyingly inferior, and even though he was right in front of you, you felt like you were miles away from him. 

“No, I’m saying you’re ridiculous for calling me weak and incapable because apparently, I’m not good enough to go on this expedition when it’s my fucking job.”

However, you mostly felt like a fool.

You felt like such a fool for falling in love with a man like him. You fell in love with him because of his neverending thirst for knowledge. You fell in love with him because you were just as much of a bibliophile as he was. You fell in love with him because you wanted to spread your knowledge around the universe as much as he wished to. You fell in love with him because, for a moment, you thought he saw you differently from everyone else, and that he truly enjoyed being in your presence.

You turn away from him, tears forming in your eyes. You stubbornly blink them away, because you think back to what started this argument in the first place.

You had just finished detailing your mission to Veritas, which was your routine every time the Intelligentsia Guild dispatched you on some kind of research expedition. This mission was different, however. You would be gone for three months, longer than usual–and the mission was very combat-oriented and dangerous, which wasn’t like your usual expeditions. Despite the warnings, you still accepted it, thinking of it as something new, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Veritas seemed to think otherwise, however, because when you peer over to look at his reaction, he looked very displeased. 

(It wasn’t a very uncommon look to see on his face, but you could tell he seemed more serious–like how the frown lines on his face were deeper than usual.)

You weren’t particularly surprised by the expression on his face. What surprised you the most was the first thing that came out of his mouth after hearing your expedition’s rundown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to go on that mission?”

You look at him incredulously, surprised at the amount of distaste in his voice. His displeasure was directed at… you? “What is that supposed to mean, Veritas?”

“I’m saying that you’re too weak and incapable to go on that expedition, Y/N. I do not know why the Guild would assign you such a difficult mission. They truly are overestimating your power.” The words came out of his mouth so casually, like you had just asked him about the weather. Is this how his students feel when they take his infamous course with a passing rate of a mere three percent? How his students feel whenever they get scolded by him?

You just can’t believe it. He said those words like it were a fact—straight from the myriad of encyclopedias that he’s read. Maybe because it was a fact in his head: he saw you as nothing but “weak” and “incapable”.

A stray tear manages to escape from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away angrily before turning back to Veritas with a sniffle. No. You cannot cry in front of his face. Crying is an expression of weakness–of vulnerability. And what you are trying to prove to Veritas is that you are not “weak”. You are not “incapable” either, and you are going to prove that to him by going on this mission and making him eat his words. 

“I will be leaving in three system hours. Do not bother showing up during my departure.”

You cringe at the way your voice shakes at the end, but you stand firm. Those words were the last thing you said to him before leaving his office with a bitter heart. When you exit his room, you finally let your emotions run free, letting the tears stream down your face without end. You quietly sob as you retreat to your own office, closing the door and letting out a shaky exhale, escaping all the nosy whispers and chatter of the Guild members.

You sob at the heartbreaking realization that just when you think you’ve gotten close to the “untouchable” Veritas Ratio, he pushes you away just like how he does to everyone else… because that’s just simply what you are to him. 

Another person who fades into the background, and nothing more.

Dr. Veritas Ratio is a man who exhibits prestige and greatness like no other. Throughout his academic career, he obtained eight PhDs and graduated with the First Class Honors Degree, which hadn’t been awarded to anyone for two Amber Eras. He was gifted with knowledge, and now he uses that knowledge and spreads it far across the cosmos to “cure idiocy”, treating it like a disease that needs to be treated.

And yet, for once in his life, he refuses to admit it out loud, but he’s acted like the one thing that he completely loathed. The very thing that he was trying to exterminate.

An idiot. He was an idiot, and it was all because he could not word himself correctly when he spoke to you. He has written hundreds of papers, essays, and dissertations, but time and time again, he could not seem to think—to be able to formulate the proper words to say when it came to you.

And now, Veritas has royally messed up, and for once in life, he has no idea what to do.

He was just genuinely concerned for your safety. It was all he thought about once you had finished detailing your expedition to him. He wanted to convince you—to pick the right words to say so he could persuade you not to go, but it seems that his fear of being seen as vulnerable shone through first. It reminded him of the days when you two weren’t close; the days he spoke to you while wearing his alabaster head.

He only wears that head because he “can’t bear to see idiots,” but given how he just called you “weak” and “incapable” in the argument that just transpired, one could almost laugh at the hypocrisy of it all. Veritas may as well talk to himself while wearing the alabaster head.

Because only idiots would address you with those terms. 

You were an enigma to Veritas from the very beginning. People from the Intelligentsia Guild rarely stood out to him, but you were different—sticking out like a sore thumb the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

That’s because your presence utterly enchanted him—you had similar tastes in literary works, you matched his sarcasm and topped it off with even wittier replies, and you also wanted to use your knowledge for other people to learn.

You were not weak and incapable. He saw you as anything but that, in fact. He was at fault for the argument, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, for Aeon’s sake.

He knows that he owes you an apology, it’s the least he could do... He just needs to apologize, then convince you to not go on that expedition. You’re scheduled to leave soon—approximately two and a half system hours—he still has time.

And yet, his mind is being stubborn. He knows that he needs to apologize, but he just can’t bring himself to. He can’t remember the last time he’s genuinely apologized to someone—an apology without a trace of sarcasm at that.

“Trouble in paradise, doctor?”

He could recognize the esteemed gambler’s voice from miles away, and it irks him how he always seemed to show up at the worst times. Aventurine’s got a knowing gaze on him—a stare that can pierce through any poker face so he could see exactly what they’re thinking. “I suggest not meddling in any business that doesn’t concern you, gambler.”

Except he’s already got him. “This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aventurine believes that one’s eyes are the windows to the soul–and he doesn’t miss the way Veritas’ eyes soften when he says your name, smiling at the unintentional answer to his question. He definitely doesn’t have the best poker face in town. For such a stoic man, he surely cannot put himself together when it comes to anything that has to do with you.

Aeons. Just what were you doing to him?

There was no use hiding it from him, so he just silently nodded, with Aventurine clicking his tongue. “Rumors fly fast in the guild, especially when Dr. Ratio’s dear friend Y/N was seen walking out of his office crying. I just had to see what this was really about, you know?” 

You were crying when you left?

He doesn’t voice his concern out loud, of course. Instead, Veritas just sighs heavily. “All I wanted to do was convince her to not go on that mission that she’s currently dispatched on. It just seems… far too dangerous.”

Aventurine’s got an idea of what happened next considering how you ran out of this room crying, but he decides to ask anyway. “Oh? And how did that work out for you?”

Veritas refuses to meet his gaze, his heart sinking when he simply thinks about what happened earlier. “…”

“At least humor me, doctor.”

He turns away from Aventurine completely, a deep shade of red coating his cheeks. Was it out of embarrassment? Shame? Whatever it was, he didn’t need him to see it. “…I called her weak and incapable.”

When Aventurine doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Veritas speaks to fill the silence. “I admit, I did not know what was going through my head when I addressed her with those words.”

The uncomfortable silence drags on for a little longer until it’s interrupted by the piercing sound of Aventurine’s laughter. His laugh makes the red spread across Veritas’ cheeks even more—uncharacteristically so, especially since he’s normally so put together. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell Aventurine to stop laughing, because a small huge part of him feels that he deserves this.

He deserves to sit through this feeling because he knows you faced the same humiliation when he shut you out.

“Hahaha! I can’t—“ Aventurine’s nearly keeling over in laughter, and the gambler swears he could feel tears build up in his eyes. “Oh, please! You have such a way with words, don’t you?”

Aventurine continues, failing to conceal his hysteria. “Weak and incapable? If anything, that’ll only fuel the fire. She’d want to go on that mission just to prove you wrong.”

“I’m well aware. It is exactly what happened after all.” You’re leaving soon. The thought of you leaving makes Veritas’ stomach churn, and he has no idea why. Out of all the many expeditions you’ve been sent on, this is the first time he’s felt this way–been filled with so much dread.

“Well,” Aventurine pretends to think for a moment, putting his hand on his chin. “It won’t hurt to sacrifice a little bit of your already enormous ego to apologize to her, no? There’s enough of your pride to go around.” 

I don’t know if I can bring myself to.

Veritas doesn’t say those words out loud. Instead, he masks his worries with a scoff. Aventurine doesn’t have to know. “Watch your mouth, gambler.”

“Oh my, I really struck a nerve there, did I?”

“Researcher Y/N? I’m sorry sir, she just departed a few minutes ago.”

You left.

The three system hours hadn’t even passed yet—there were still two hours before your scheduled departure—and you left early.

You left, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to apologize. 

The researcher could only watch as the great Veritas Ratio, normally so composed, looks away from him wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. He’s utterly dumbfounded, a look that is never seen on his face. What is he supposed to do now?

You’re too late.

For the next several weeks, Veritas could only wait anxiously for your return. Worry follows him like a cloud, and even his students pick up on his weird behavior. It’s all so grueling—waiting for you without so much of an idea of how you’re doing or if your expedition is going well. 

While waiting for your return, he plans out his actions for the next time he sees you. He doesn’t want to apologize over text–Veritas sees it as inappropriate and prefers to show his sincerity in person. Face-to-face is how he is going to do it, and he sends you a message in preparation for that. “I’d like for us to talk when you’re back. Please message me immediately upon your arrival.”

…Except an error message stares at him back when he presses the send button. It’s almost mocking him in a sense, like the universe is doing everything in its power to prevent him from atoning for his mistakes. Of course you weren’t going to have signal when you’re so far away from him. Just what was he expecting?

You were scheduled to return after another few weeks, and Veritas could only prepare for the days to pass by excruciatingly slowly. Until then, he thinks over what he’s going to say for his apology. Maybe he could give you something too. He thinks that finding a way to get your favorite flowers is a nice start.

You’re tired.

Exhaustion envelops you like a blanket, and after trying your hardest to resist, you just can’t anymore.

You’re so tired. 

You finally succumb to the fatigue, falling onto the ground as your sword clatters with a thud. You lay there, lying in a pool of your own blood, accepting that this was the cruel fate that the great Aeons above bestowed upon you in the end. You laugh at the absurdity of it all, but it only comes out as a weak cough, which quickly transitions into a fit of hacking up crimson droplets—lighting your throat on fire.

It was a fragmentum monster ambush. The planet you were exploring contained a lot of them–mainly due to the Stellaron corrosion that it was experiencing. After three weeks of exploring, it was supposed to be just another day of collecting data and extracting information for the guild. You’ve done this countless times already–anything out of the ordinary happening was beyond you.

The ambush had occurred when you least expected it–you barely even had the time to draw out your sword. One thing led to another, and at some point, there were just too many of them that leaving the battle unscathed was out of the question. And at the end of it, you were a mess, standing in a field of bodies with blood sticking to your clothes–a mix of the fragmentum and your own. The worst part was that it was mainly your own, with the source coming from a deep gash in your abdomen. You were losing blood at a terrifying rate.

Panic fills your veins once you fully process the gravity of the situation. Heart thumping, you realize that you’re going to die–and you are going to die alone.

What a pitiful end this was.

You’ve sent a distress call to the guild, but you know that your fate has been sealed already. You’ll be long gone before anyone will be here to help you, and they’d just be here to clean up your remains. You hope that the guild would at least grant you a proper funeral.

It’s truly comical how fate works. People your age are usually too busy thinking about marriage, or deciding how many kids they want to have in the near future. And yet, here you are, on the precipice of reaching death’s door, thinking about your funeral. 

Your vision turns blurry, and you sniffle as hot tears begin to roll down your cheeks. Fuck, you don’t want to die. There are far too many things that you haven’t done. And yet, you can’t find the strength to continue on either. You’re just so, so tired.

In the midst of your cries, you softly mumble out a name. A name that you love, hate, and everything in between with a passion.

“…Veritas.”

You initially wanted to go on this mission with the intent of exploring this planet, but after the argument, you know you went mainly because you wanted to prove him wrong.

You wonder if he truly meant those words. Even if he didn’t, maybe he was right, because look at what your determination had cost you–lying in a pool of your own blood, all because you wanted Veritas to see that you weren’t weak and incapable.

Even though you went on this expedition angry at him, (a part of you still is angry) you’ve never wanted to see him so badly in your life. You were going to die with many regrets–perhaps the biggest one was that you never got to tell Veritas how you truly feel about him.

You just want to see him once last time. Is it selfish to ask for one more day with him? One more hour… or to engage in at least one more heated debate. Hell, you’d even take one more minute with him. And in that minute, maybe you’d slap him in the face for what happened. But maybe you’d tell him you love him and kiss him over and over, apologizing for even thinking about slapping his stupidly perfect face. 

Despite how much of an asshole he can be at times, you love Veritas Ratio. You love his snark and sarcasm and everything about him, and you’re going to die without even knowing if he loves you back. This is your biggest regret.

No, you can’t die like this. You need to tell him. You have to.

As darkness starts to cloud your vision, you use all of your remaining strength to pull your phone out from your pocket despite the wound in your abdomen screaming in protest. Your fingers shakily make their way to Veritas’ contact, and with a pained breath, you begin to type.

“Take me to where she sent the distress call, now.”

There was a bunch of commotion in the guild—too much commotion considering how early it was. Veritas could only wonder what all the clamor was about, but he froze once he heard your name leave one of the researcher’s mouths. 

And his biggest nightmare is now a reality once someone finally fills him in on the situation: Your signal had disappeared off the radar, but not after you sent a distress call to the guild. You needed help, yet you were so far from his grasp. “But Doctor, we-“

“I need not repeat myself. Her life is in grave danger, and yet here you are, arguing with me and wasting precious time when this time could be used saving her.” His words surprised both himself and the guild member, who shakily nodded at his request. Veritas was certain that if you were just anybody else, he could have less of a care about your distress signal. But no, this was you—and he needed to make sure that you were okay.

Veritas looked calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, he was falling apart. Calm yourself, you need to be the strong one in this situation. She’s the one in danger here.

Aeons, all he had to do was convince you to not go on this expedition. Instead, he made everything worse with his poor choice of words, and now he’s paying the price for it. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.

Wait for me Y/N. Please. That’s all I ask.

In his office, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers resting on his desk, and they’ve slowly begun to wither away.

When Veritas finally arrived at where you were last seen on the signal, there were bodies littered everywhere, and he could only hope that none of them were yours. Paired with those bodies was the color red—crimson was scattered all over, and it was practically all he could see. Did you take all of these fragmentum down by yourself?

As Veritas inspected all of the fragmentum bodies, all slain by a single blade, one of the researchers accompanying him pointed out a trail of blood leaving the site. It makes him freeze, because it might be…

“Y/N.”

Shit.

He immediately goes after the trail without an ounce of hesitation. The scene laid before him is something that has only haunted him in his nightmares, yet at this very moment, it lies before him as a terrifying reality. 

His blood runs cold, and for the first time in his life, Veritas Ratio is rendered speechless.

Your limp body lies in front of him, in a pool of so much blood that just seeing it sickens him to his stomach. He can’t feel his own body as he falls to his knees, paying no mind to the other researchers around him. No, right now, it was just you and Veritas. Nobody else.

With trembling hands, he pulls your body close to his own as your blood taints his clothing. Even though he knows you’re too far gone already, he can’t help but try to feel your pulse, because there’s a part of him that just refuses to believe that he’s too late.

There was nothing.

It probably hasn’t been beating for a while, and that thought leaves him utterly empty, with a single stray tear rolling down his cheek.

If he were just a little bit faster, maybe he could’ve saved you. If he could’ve just formulated his words correctly so he could convince you not to go on this expedition. If he could’ve just apologized…

If he could’ve just been… a better friend.

All these could haves, yet Veritas didn’t act on any of them.

Pathetic.

Your phone is beside you, and Veritas gingerly picks it up. The screen was still lit, despite it being shattered to oblivion. It was open to the messaging app—specifically his contact.

It was never sent due to poor signal, but you were messaging him before you died. He was your last thought.

“I’m sorry Veritas. I just don’t want you to think I’m weak and incapable.”

“Still, I want you to remember that”

You were the one apologizing to him, even after everything was said and done. He can’t even fathom that.

And weak and incapable, huh. You were anything but that. If anything, Veritas was the weak and incapable one. He was weak for not being able to swallow his pride even if he was the one in the wrong—and he was incapable of simply apologizing to you.

And the last message… What is it supposed to mean? 

What do you want him to remember?

When Veritas was sent to Penacony and matters with the head of the Oak family, Sunday, had been dealt with, he was finally allowed to leave. It was the first mission the guild had assigned him since you left, and his efforts to prevent Aventurine from going on an all-out suicide mission helped Veritas take his thoughts away from you, even if it was just for a moment.

And yet, you always find your way back to haunt him. Not even the Land of Dreams could prevent that.

Still, he had done his part, sorted out his deals in Penacony as a representative sent by the guild, and it was time to go.

It’s been a few months since your death, and Veritas thinks that living without you is like living without the sun. It’s funny how he’s only realized how much you’ve changed his life only after you’ve gone. You lit up his life, both metaphorically and physically—and now, everything feels so dull, and he constantly longs for your presence in the darkness. 

But now you’re gone, and he feels so terribly lost, even now as he does paperwork in his office. Life became way more monotonous after you had left. The quiet is suffocating, because Veritas can only think about the times that the quiet office was filled with your voice instead. 

Even now, in the rare moments that Veritas picks up a book nowadays, he thinks about how much you would have enjoyed it as well.

Paperwork is one of the few things that he finds solace in anymore, as it helps him drown out his thoughts so they don’t end up drifting back to you.

…You.

His eyes land on your sword before he can even do anything about it, and he swallows thickly. Your blade is displayed on his wall, another way for Veritas to show his honor for you. 

The blade you singlehandedly used to defeat all those monsters, and the blade you’ll never be able to wield again.

He tears his eyes away from it before his thoughts can spiral again. He can feel his vision start to blur, and he blinks the tears away before they escape. He wonders how many tears he’s shed for you since you’ve been gone.

Veritas tries and fails to focus on his paperwork once more until he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

He thinks a walk will do him good.

He stands up from his desk and slowly walks over to his office door, wondering who it could be. He rarely gets visitors nowadays, unless it’s something that’s of utmost importance. Everyone else is afraid to talk to him, as Veritas became… colder after your death.

If anyone were to ask why—it’s because when you died, a part of Veritas did too.

He turns the door’s handle, only to see…

You.

You were standing right in front of him, in the same outfit that you were in the day you left for your mission. Except this time, you were alive, and Veritas has no idea what to think.

You’re the first one to break the silence, whispering his name. “Veritas?”

Hearing you say his name feels like he can finally breathe again. “Y/N? Is it really you?”

Before you can even answer his question, he engulfs you in a tight hug, breathing in your scent. Veritas held you like his life depended on it—because at this moment, it felt like it did. He says the words that hve been on his mind for the past few months. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry darling. If only I hadn’t-“

You pull back from the hug, putting your pointer finger against his lips as a signal for him to stop talking. Barely even registering the endearing name that he called you, you smile, cupping his cheeks before sighing tenderly. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Veritas.”

He only hugs you tighter, coming to a revelation that only makes the pain in his heart ever worsen. He saw your lifeless body himself, he paid respects to your body at your funeral… and he laid your favorite flowers on top of your gravesite where your body rested, even though those flowers were supposed to be an apology gift. “You’re… not real.”

“I’m still in Penacony, right? This is all a dream.”

You smile, nodding in conformation. “Nothing truly gets past you, does it? You’re dreaming what you desire the most right now.”

“I promise you that we will meet again, Veritas. it will not be today, but the day will eventually come, and I’ll be waiting for you every step of the way.” You breathe in deeply. “But right now, you need to wake up from this dream, before it's too late.”

He’s not sure if he wants to wake up, though.

“But what if… I just want to stay here with you?”

“We both know it’s not what you really want.” You can see right through him. “If you stay with me in this dream, you’ll be living nothing but a simulated life. I may be here with you, but you’ll never truly fill that hole in your heart, because I am not Y/N. I’m just a creation of your deepest desires, and you know that I’ll never be her. That is not a life worth living.”

“I know she would want you to live your life to the fullest, to truly experience things, to teach your students unforgettable lessons… so they become great people like you.” You pause, looking right into his eyes. They’re filled with pain, sorrow, and the desire to cling on to the past. “And when your time comes eventually, she will be waiting for you. You will apologize once again, because you never got to apologize to her before she died, but she has forgiven you long ago, and it’s all because…”

Despite that, you have to teach him that it’s time to let go. “She wants you to remember that she loves you, Veritas Ratio.”

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

A tear rolls down his cheek at your words, and then another…. and another. “Even if I don’t know how to apologize?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding your head. “Even if you don’t know how to apologize.”

“Then… I will do as she asks. It is the least I can do to make up for what I’ve done.” He says, and he takes a deep breath before his next words. “Can I… hug you one last time? Even though you aren’t… actually her.”

“Go ahead, Veritas. But I’m afraid that after this, you have to let go.”

You need to let go.

He nods before wrapping his arms around your figure. It was such a vulnerable act, like a man putting the entirety of his heart and soul out for you to take. He breathes in your scent, wanting to take it in once last time before he has to bid you goodbye. You feel a few of his tears staining your clothing, but you pay it no mind. 

How many tears has he shed for you since you’ve been gone? Not enough. He doesn’t feel that it’ll ever be enough.

When he opens his eyes, you’re slowly fading away from him. There’s a melancholic smile on your face, your eyes meeting his—filled with pain, sorrow, a desire to cling onto the past, and yet… a hint of acceptance.

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

Yes, he remembers. And he’ll remember your words for the rest of his life, until the moment that he leaves this cosmos on his deathbed. He’s just hoping that you’ll wait long enough for him to say it back.

Before you’re about to fade away completely, you lean in one last time and whisper to him…

“It’s time to wake up, Veritas.”

He wakes up from the dream pool with a gasp. The water splashes around him, and a few stray tears roll down his cheeks. 

The rest of his actual Penacony trip went by surprisingly smoothly, and he doesn’t mention the dream that he had to anyone. It was like a secret shared between you and Veritas–and he was going to treasure that secret forever. 

And now, the Charmony Festival has commenced, and the fireworks have begun. As he watches the sparks explode into thousands of dazzling rays of light above, he pulls out his phone to text you. Almost like one final goodbye, because he knows it’s what you would’ve wanted.

“I love you too, Y/N. I will love you my entire lifetime–past beyond the boundaries of eternity, even after all the stars long die out in the cosmos.

I long for the day that we will meet again… because then, I’ll finally be able to tell you this confession in person. For now, I hope you can continue to find the patience to keep waiting for me. 

…Until the stars align, and we’re able to see each other once again.”

He looks up to the endless bursts of blazing rays lighting up the night, mixed with the eternal shine of the cosmos. It was truly a sight to behold. And for a split second, he could feel someone by his side watching the fireworks with him. It warmed his heart, even if it were just for a moment. 

“Aren’t these fireworks beautiful, Veritas?”

“They will never be as enchanting as you, Y/N.”

but he’s an adult—an ancient, intelligent one. and one who isn’t uninhibited and hedonistic, driven completely by his urges to fight and feed and fuck. so when he has you in his arms and writhing in his lap, your lips parted and eyes hazy from the pleasure of his hands and blood loss—when your perfect heart starts to pick up speed in its beating as he moves to your thumping pulse and your breathing becomes panicked and shallow, he slows down. pulls back, cradles your cheek and kisses your chin, fluorescent plum eyes lidded and mindful of your humanity, of the fragile beauty of it.

he’s so beautiful. it kills you. it makes your blood saccharine. his dark lashes and full lips and black like old blood hair. with him, you can’t feel shame when you present yourself for the taking. not that you should feel that way—it’s an honor to sustain vampires, especially powerful ones.

his hair falls across your face every time he leans over you; he smells like lavender and salt, like a field of flowers and the man who picked them all. it’s good—it’s everything, and you need more. you need him. murmurs melt into your ear until you’re craning your neck in impatience, offering yourself like a lamb for the slaughtering, urging him to take what he’s been denying himself.

that’s when he feeds.

he’ll trace the spot with his tongue, inhale you deeply, then bite you just the same, his fangs plummeting into the delicate flesh of your bent neck. his groans are always deep and muffled as he pulls from you, his one hand squeezing your soft belly, the other holding you to him by your face. it’s always a slow climb to gratification with him; he takes his time and pulls you apart, pushing you further into desperation until you’re clinging to him and dripping and clenching around his fingers and all you can think about is the sound he makes when he finally bites.

his grip is always tender, but there’s a lethal firmness to it, and even he can’t deny that he’ll sometimes squeeze your jaw just enough to fill your head with the sounds of your neck snapping and your bones cracking. it never fails to make him laugh softly, playfully, almost, when you whimper abortively, when your blood starts to taste sweeter with fear. his silly human lover, almost convinced that this time, he’d hurt her. silly. that’s when his grasp melts away to that tender hold again, and he smooths a thumb over your cheek, present and gentle.

he knows how to handle his human, knows how to handle her well, so it’s never uncomfortable or wrong to satiate him. It could never be more right.

it’s sexual, even without the sex. it’s all encompassing. it’s holy.

and it’s everything satoru isn’t.

it’s the reason he always has to go second, despite his pouting and grumbling. he watches with an agitated bounce to his thighs, his fangs aching once you start to moan and bleed, hands fisting the sheets to keep himself from snatching you up for himself.

wait your turn, says suguru’s eyes every time they make contact with the wild glint in satoru’s lucid eyes. he does—he keeps his resolve together until you’re passed over to him like a glass doll, your pupils blown and neck fresh with puncture wounds, your body slightly drained. without fail, satoru coos at the sight, licking the holes from the first bite like a cat with her kitten, delighting in the the way you yelp at the sensitive, torn flesh being rubbed as he pulls you into his lap, a delicious, necessary weight over his clothed, untouched cock.

he doesn’t romance you because you don’t need it. he isn’t selfish—he’s just hungry, so he’ll twist your head to the side and cup the back of it reverently as he marks you with a hard, unyielding bite, his big hand stilling your hips when you moan and buck like a wounded fawn. you’re so pretty, but even better, you’re weak—you’re human. and It makes him delirious.

he’ll groan like he’d been starved of you by you, the bite always so close to suguru’s that it feels like a reopened gash, one that stings and has tears welling in your eyes. there’s meaning in that, too; your dark blood runs thicker when you’re gasping with pain, and that means it’s heartier and richer, dribbling down his chin like molasses but earthy like a tree spewing maple syrup.

the sound is wet as he pulls off, your labored breathing filling the room. the pain is sharp, and you whine at his cruelty, squeezing your legs together when he grins and licks a long, thorough stripe up the sets of bloody openings in your neck.

“you taste,” he breathes, kissing his bite (lovingly, because you’re his to love), making your hips lurch, “sweet.”

you should be able to brace yourself by now. you’re human, but you’re not dumb—you know that he’s going to sink back into the holes his fangs made and suck from you some more because he always does it, but something in your brain or body or both will never adjust to the new, heightened sense of torment when he goes back in for seconds, your hand fisting uselessly in his white hair, like you can stop him from playing with you in that careless, taunting way of his. he’s more aggressive, then, his neglected bulge grinding into your ass, his lewd drinking growing louder the longer he sucks. when your vision gets foggy and speckled, your head drooping with heaviness, he’ll unlatch with a pop and nose your jawline.

tou nearly always black out with satoru despite the incessant scolding from suguru.

“still hungry?” came his disembodied voice the last time satoru sucked you dry.

satoru held you close, cradling you, and he hummed in response, lifting his head and responding, probably snarkily, but everything was so fuzzy and far, and you felt more tired than ever before, slackening in his arms. you watched dazedly as satoru peered at you with a lovesick smile, one to match your own, and a soft laugh escaped your mouth. It sounded like it came from the next room over.

“more,” you pleaded, lost in a dreamscape, and that pulled amused chuckles from both of them. you rolled your head to look at suguru and said again, “more.”

at that point, it’s hard to resist your base urges—the ones that signal between your legs about how good it feels and how you need more of it. you clench your thighs together again, too mindless to be embarrassed about the wet mess there. when a warm, rough palm comes down to feel you—suguru, you think—and his hand comes back sticky, he tuts, and you throb.

neither of them indulged you that night.

they kissed your nose instead. spoke in low, affectionate voices about how cute you were, their little human. they didn’t drink from you for a while after that. instead, they doted on you like a baby—their baby—who had to be handled with care. they were sweeter with their words, proud when the warmth came back to your body and you began to bloom with life in your pulse points. for a brief moment, they resembled humans in their tenderness.

but not now.

not now—now, they’re staring at you like they see right through your countenance and skin, to your veins and muscles and beating heart. to the meat of everything that makes you so delicious.

and all you’d done was slice your finger on the edge of a paper, when they had come back home brimming with energy and hunger. of course they’re hungry—it’s been a week. suguru is always knows to be gentle, even when he’s trembling with restraint. but he isn’t seeing your measly bones or thin skin like he usually does. not tonight.

it’s hard to resist a drink once someone pulls the trigger on their thirst, and it’s been too long since they last fed.

vampires can be fools, too, like when they develop soft spots for their human. when they become weak and forget to pull rank. when they forget you’re food.

their honed canines are already out—they look starved. desperate. ravenous. they look like they’re setting pragmatism aside—like just this once, they can learn to share.

— ANBY ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you watch movies with her. anby just adores those quiet evenings when you and she are nestled together, lost in the glow of a flickering screen. it doesn't matter if you understand the movie, or if it is not your favorite genre, she thrives on the way your eyes light up in the dark, a mirror to her own fascination, and in the same way, you always listen to everything she has to say about the film. anby does not know how to physically express her emotions, but she makes it up by pressing your head to her and feel what you often feel with you: safe, soothed — at home. the effect she has on you, it makes you think that maybe everything will be alright. and if you fall asleep, she smooth her palms up and down your sides. she's soothing you, even like this. does she even realize it, you wonder, is it just second nature for her? you don't need an answer right now.

— BILLY KID ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you praise him. he swears his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who dance to the tempo of his non-existent palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery whenever he hears your voice. he revels in the way you celebrate his victories, no matter how small, and how you tease him with an affectionate grin after every misstep. your belief in him, wrapped in your energetic spirit, lights up his world with a spark that fuels his every move. and there's also you. his person. and he loves, and loves, and loves so endlessly you'd think he would give you the world and everything in the sky, if he could. and if he feels too embarrassed, he would gasp as if stumbling upon treasure before he clumsily grips at your shoulders with a child's enthusiasm. billy is sure to divulge his honest opinion. you, to him, were his one in a million.

— NICOLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you hold her. she will never admit it, but nicole finds a serene joy in the gentle, reassuring touch of your hands. it could be any part of her body, from the way you keep your hands warm for nicole when it's cold outside and come up behind her and rubs them up and down her arms. she can do it herself, obviously, but you don't stop, whether it's a supportive grip during a comission or a delicate caress in passing, you know it brings a soothing sense of closeness that she treasures. in private, however, she's so ironically fragile. you could hold her in the palm of your hand, present his broken pieces to the world and they'd still choose to be fooled. the leader of the odd-job agency the cunnin hares will never admit the times she falls asleep like that, cradled against you, soft in your arms.your touch is like a quiet promise that reassures her and makes her heart flutter with contentment, 

— WISE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you lull him to sleep. when insomnia weaves its restless threads around him, it's your voice that becomes his sanctuary. you don't care if you have to be up at 4am. if you stir awake at an odd hour and finds him still up and restless, you'll always be wrapping around him before he can get a word out,a and it doesn't matter if he is working on the computer or watching the tv, you'll drag him back to bed so you'll press him snug to your warm chest as you hum in that soft, gravely tune that always helps him fall asleep. and in the morning, he is grateful to be woken up by you snoring next to him, and wise breaks into a smile at the sight, eyes baring crow's feet as his fingers rouse through your knotted locks, thumb prodding into your temple and stroking soothing lengths into the dimpled flesh. your presence becomes his most cherished remedy.

— BELLE ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you play fighting games with her. she always wins, anyway, but you know the way belle’s eyes sparkle with a fierce joy when you join her in the world of fighting games is worth the try. if only you knew she consistently were to be reduced to putty in your hands, an object to be used for your disposal, belle would allow such. to remain within contact for a second more, she’d do whatever it took. desire which set her heart aflame affirmed her certainty when deciding his aim for the future. she would remain by your side, sure to treasure everlasting memories crafted within your presence. she still hands out pieces of herself like there's enough to go around (there isn't). and when she lose( on purpose ), she since convinced herself that she has already won. content with the belief he had already acquired millions with you.

— ZHU YUAN ꩜.ᐟ ˗ˏˋwho loves when you buy flowers for her. zhu yuan's heart flutters with a delicate joy whenever you present her with flowers, their vibrant colors a testament to your affection. she once mentioned how much she likes keeping fresh flowers, but since she is busy she would not have time to take care of them; and now the house never seems to run out of them, the vases always full with fresh sugar water and kept - you tend them for her. blemishes blind to her eye, she discerned only visage of an appeal, your charm far too bewitching to discourage her nursing of attraction towards you. she adores not just the flowers themselves, but the care you take in nurturing them, reflecting the same tenderness you offer her. regardless of how you had been perceived by peers or what grade you had been given, the way she viewed you was like no other.