chiyoso - Tumblr blog

chiyoso · 6 months ago

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scrumptious. eat this up ppl.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: love seems to be found everywhere but with you. in order to survive your best friends' wedding, you somehow get tied up with dating your insufferable coworker. the plan is simple: look convincing enough to ward off your ex, finally make your mom proud, all while working together on a high-stakes project at the office. but can everything really go so smoothly when real feelings get thrown into the mix?

contents: veritas ratio x fem!reader, modern AU, unfortunate Sampo slander, very much idiots to lovers vibes, fake dating, super slow burn and self denial with this one, main characters are all in their mid-late 20s word count: 11k (i thought this chapter would be shorter but it turns out i was wrong) a/n: i didnt expect to finish this so soon (god bless winter break) so here's something to end / start off the new years :) thank you again to @popponn for listening me ramble on abt ratio

[MASTERLIST]

[002] // [003]: TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

Four years ago, your final assignment for Physics was a class debate.

The task was fairly straightforward: choose from the five listed topics related to the history and theoreticals of physics, and have the evidence to back up your claims against the professor. It was done in front of the class, a small lecture hall that could fit over fifty students, and luckily the professor didn’t fuss over the length of the debate given the headcount.

The assignment stretched over a week’s length, with ten students debating each day. During the lead-up to it, you’ve spent weeks preparing, isolating and creating a mini shelter in one of the university’s study rooms, researching academic articles and video essays on your chosen topic: The String Theory.

You were already a top student in your major, straight A’s in every single course… except for Physics. Just two points shy from receiving an A, though after witnessing the previous debates, you were positive that it wasn’t going to be an issue. The professor was a bit of an eccentric grader, loved to keep his teaching style traditional—chalkboards, no microphone usage, no online notes or slides provided—and it was a struggle for everyone at the time.

Towards the end of the semester, he grew lenient, not because of the overwhelming emails of everyone’s grandparents mysteriously dying so that they could have their submission dates extended, but because he announced that it was his last year teaching. So, to everyone’s surprise, the majority of the students passed the final assignment, with C as the lowest given grade. On the last day, you remembered your brain was on fire, that you felt ready. However, several things went wrong.

First, as you strolled into the lecture hall, the professor had called out sick through a hastily written email. Many of the students thought the final group would’ve just been pushed into the following week, but the professor stressed that the task had to be completed so he could finalize grades that day. So, he had chosen Veritas Ratio as his replacement, the teaching assistant.

Second, it was a fool’s thought to think Veritas Ratio would go just as easy just because the professor did. Majority of the students had avoided attending his office hours at the beginning of the semester because of his tendency to come off as condescending; often having zero filters put in place when marking simple discussions posts and weekly quizzes. As anyone would expect, when Veritas initially took over, he nearly failed all the remaining students except for one: you.

Third, and it might’ve been a fatal error on your end for even challenging him in the first place, you argued for a higher grade. Veritas had marked your discussion a B minus at best, docking off points for reasons that didn’t even seem to matter to him prior. And normally he would be open to the idea of arguing for a better score, but that day he seemed irritated, almost angry. A rare emotion that had cost you a whole letter grade and your senior scholarship.

A terrible, terrible memory that continues to swirl in the forefront of your mind any time you even hear a whisper of him. If someone told you that four years later you and Veritas would be stuck together on both a work project and a fake dating arrangement, you would’ve gladly shot yourself in the foot. Maybe even at his own foot, hell, anything to make him feel an ounce of torment and disgrace that he put you through.

But now as you’re stationed outside your home, anticipating the awaited arrival of your old hometown friends, air lodges itself in your throat as you suddenly make out a familiar tuff of violet emerging from a car.

For a few moments, you can only stand there and take the scene in, your mouth agape with an emotion you can’t name. Was it horror? Dread? A glimpse of relief? Whatever the case, it’s safe to say that you weren’t prepared for this situation at all.

You try to take a deep breath but you end up choking on it as he arrives in front of you. A white button up with sleeves rolled over, dark gray dress pants, and black loafers. Not much different from his usual office attire, but there’s something new and unexpectedly calming about him. Is he wearing cologne? Or is it the faint scent of aftershave? Did he recently get new frames? Perhaps he parted his hair a little—

“You’re developing an unpleasant habit.”

“I… didn't expect you to make it,” you admit, unable to find the energy to tease back.

“My schedule cleared up.”

“You could’ve stayed home,” you remain guarded, not fully convinced that his ‘urgent’ appointment from earlier had been canceled at the last minute.

“And do what exactly?” he crosses his arms, brows faintly creased.

You shrug, the uneasiness in your chest burns. “Dunno, whatever you do on your days off? Maybe some chores; dusting off your encyclopedia collection on worms is a start and,” you quickly force a smile to a familiar car pulling up on the driveway before lowering your voice to a harsh whisper, “not attending something against your will.”

“Aren’t you hilarious,” Veritas rolls his eyes, dark and unimpressed as ever. “If you’re that put off by my presence then I’d be more than happy to drop this off and take my leave.”

“Drop off what…” you didn’t realize that he was carrying a gift bag until he handed it over.

You fumble with the package and peek inside. A bottle of champagne and a marbled wine chiller buried under various pink and purple tissue papers. The champagne bottle has expensive and imported written all over it; dragon themed wax sealing paired with golden scaled edges for the packaging. This bottle easily could’ve cost nearly a portion of your rent.

You couldn’t bring yourself to whack it over his head if you wanted to. “You only needed to show up!”

Veritas simply blinks. “What kind of person would I be to come empty-handed to a bridal shower?”

“And exactly just how many bridal showers have you been to?”

“Including this, just one, but that’s irrelevant.” A beat passes before an exasperated sigh leaves him when you look unsatisfied. “Aventurine has collected a hefty assortment from various work trips. I wouldn’t plan to spend that kind of money on a trivial thing,” he frowns, slightly. “Though, I take it that you’re done needing me?”

Needing is an interesting way to put it. Needing Veritas would mean admitting you're incapable of running the function alone. That agreeing to him staying would feed into that nagging voice buried deep into your mind: You’re too dependent on others.

“Of course, I am—” but then your phone buzzes rapidly in your pocket. You fish it out, glancing at the barrage of text. A dozen in total, eleven from Seele and one from an unknown number. You didn’t need to read Seele’s messages to know who’s coming. You snap your head back to Veritas, who’s looking at you expectantly.

“Of course, I am…?” he echos.

“Not! M-Most definitely not…!” you finish, mentally cursing yourself for the crack in your voice. Shoulders slumping, you groan into your free palm. “I—argh, this wasn’t supposed to happen—think you can stay for a bit…?”

“That’s what I was offering in the first place,” he says matter-of-factly, immune to your visible crash out. He steps inside after the fact, carefully slipping off his shoes and jacket as the door shuts behind.

“How about we tone down the smartass vibes and switch to ‘Operation: Make My Ex Go Away’ vibes? Think you can do that?”

“As I’ve previously stated, this wouldn’t be difficult.” Now he sounds amused, which isn’t exactly what you were initially going for, but it’s better than impatience or outright annoyance.

“Veritas…”

With a series of heavy knocks, the door catches your attention once more.

Your shoulders go straight, the hair behind your neck shoots up, and you’re met with old faces standing in the driveway. A heavy ball of anxiety that’s been nesting deep behind your sternum almost bursts right open and, mentally, you start to place blame on everyone. Someone screams your name as you open the door.

“Hey—”

Something hits you directly in the solar plexus, effectively knocking all the remaining air out of your lungs. Something small, fast, and blonde. “We’ve missed you!”

You wheeze and try to steady your footing, almost backing into Veritas in the process. Then, when you catch your breath, you look down and notice the person: long pigtails, a heavy winter coat, paired with a concerning scent of smoke. “H-Hook…! It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Notice how I’m all grown up and bigger now?” She completely disregards your pained expression, smiling brightly as she twirls around.

It’s been nearly four years since you’ve last seen her, and anyone back home in that regard. She’s gotten a slight growth spurt and lost some baby fat on her face, but her hyperactive behavior is all the same. You allow her to ramble about mild inconveniences and facts on all things pertaining to ‘giant death robots’ as all twelve year olds would—not like you had the opportunity to interject. However, as she’s taking off her shoes and jacket, Hook stops in the middle of her babbling when she finally notices Veritas.

A high-pitched squeak leaves her mouth. She jabs her pointer finger in the air.

“Tall,” is all she manages. Children must be shameless, or just blissfully unaware of certain social cues, because Hook stops all bodily movements just to gape at the man behind you. Tall is definitely an accurate word to describe him.

Veritas slowly blinks at the interaction. “Good evening,” he says.

Hook tugs on your pant leg but her gaze never leaves Veritas. “Auntie, who’s this?”

The air seems to congeal—fast. Before Veritas had initially rejected your offer, you had painstakingly prepared a few inoffensive conversation starters to help him ease into the group, but you didn’t include a section for children. Would he even be good with children?

“What?” You squeak out. You’ve already lost track of the conversation. Maybe you’re drunk, or your memory is declining. Or maybe you’re dreaming of a very hyper-realistic scenario. That’s a terrifying thought. This is a terrifying interaction.

When you don’t give her an answer, Hook fists your pants again. “Aunt—”

“Hook, you can’t go running off like that,” a young, stern voice breaks through before you get a chance to utterly humiliate yourself with a half-ass lie. Then your savior, Luka emerges into view, catching his breath, wearing what you can only describe as an outfit suitable for church or for an overdue high school reunion. He grabs Hook by the elbow and pries her off, “Seriously? You could’ve helped us with the load.”

Hook spins around and blows a raspberry in his face. “I don’t see anything in your hands, Cousin Luka.”

The red head coughs into his fist. “W-Well someone had to make sure that you didn’t get kidnapped!”

She deadpans. “I’m twelve, not eight.”

“That doesn’t make you an adult,” Luka groans and holds her still with his prosthetic hand. He sheds off his winter coat with the other and flashes a bright smile towards you. “Sorry about that. It’s been a minute, you look well.”

You finally find a room to breathe. “Thanks, you too.”

Before you can savor any moments of catching up, a loud commotion is then heard from outside. Something big and clunky falls onto the asphalt followed by cursing in a foreign language. A series of words that you’ve heard plenty of times growing up or standing outside of certain performance venues.

“Luka—!” Serval’s distinctive roaring voice shakes the air. “Get your ass back here and carry some of these boxes in!”

You never saw a person whip their head around so fast until now, almost as if it was on a swivel. Luka sends a stiff salute to the driveway area and rushes out, his sneakers barely half-on. “C-Coming ma’am!”

And as soon as Luka’s gone from view, Hook shuffles around impatiently.

“I’m going to explore, okay?” She doesn’t wait for a response and skips away.

You barely get the chance to warn her about newly swept floors before a crash is heard from the living room. A couple of thuds, but at least it didn’t sound expensive. Well, it was inevitable.

Now that everyone is beginning to arrive, it feels oddly illegal getting him personally involved with your friends. This might’ve been a huge mistake on your end, but not the end of the world—when Sampo shows up, you’d just have to play cordial. Because some mistakes can be irreversible, like a wine stain on your favorite blouse, or Hook accidentally spilling a glass of water all over the carpet.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” you whisper, turning around. “You should probably leave before they all start coming in. I think I’ll be able to handle this on my own, so—”

Oh. Veritas is gone.

Maybe he snuck out during the interaction, or found himself hiding behind the kitchen pantry. Whatever the case may be, you’re just glad that he’s out of sight and away from the crowd that’s starting to roll in. He can find his way out, just like how you can handle this whole evening.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Serval snaps you from your thoughts and waves frantically, lips grinning ear to ear. She sets down a giant tote bag by the door, its confinement filled with all sorts of dishes encased in saran wrap and tin foil. You faintly make out the smell of sweet tomatoes and vinegar. “How’s my favorite nerd coming along? I see that you upgraded from last time.”

“I’ve been getting by. Trying really hard not to quit on the daily, you know the drill,” you stifle a yelp when the older woman steps in to give you a bear hug, pulling you up in the air just slightly. Even after retiring from her rockstar days, now busy running the family mechanic shop, Serval still finds the time and energy to workout.

“You live by yourself here?” She starts making her way through the foyer and into the kitchen, placing the food on the marbled countertop. You trail right behind, putting Veritas’ gift right beside. “Looks way above my tax bracket.” Serval eyes the surrounding paintings, most of them surreal and abstract thanks to Kafka’s unique taste in the arts, and the large iron-clad stove top with awe. “No. Wait. You live with your boyfriend, right?”

You can’t bring yourself to tell her about your fake relationship, so you settle with the closest answer you can find. “Roommates,” you correct her. “I pay rent but one of them owns it. She’s kinda a detective and private investigator all in one.”

“Ooh, law enforcement, huh? Maybe send in a word for Gepard, would you? I think he needs a new job.”

“Why? Police force not working out?”

“It’s been going on a little too well,” she sighs as she pours herself a glass of sparkling rose. “He’s just been too apprehensive about finding work far from home. Still hovers over Lynx as if she isn’t a working adult now.” Serval makes a disgruntled noise at that thought before downing the whole glass, pouring herself another full cup. “Lie about the benefits, say that it’s a better government job, and let him live and grow up some more. That guy is afraid of change, I swear.”

“That’s Gepard for you,” you chuckle. “I can’t blame him though. Change is scary.”

“Hm?” She swirls the glass around, eyes mesmerized in the sea of pink. “How does that one saying go again? Tsk—to live is to change, is that it? Everyone’s gotta go through something to grow, yeah? Being stubborn will only kill you.”

“That’s… kinda heavy,” you say behind a shocked laugh.

You forgot that Serval happens to go into these types of philosophical tangents once a glass is in her hands. The habit started when she first retired from her band and grew in frequency when she found out that her ex came to her last show. Her ex being Bronya’s own mother—but the group stays quiet about that.

High-pitched sounding dialogue travels from the living room as Hook manages to find the remote. Serval takes this sign to down another glass. You watch as the liquid travels down her throat, some of the beverage spilling from the sides of her mouth as she sighs in relief. “Listen, I love you. You know that, right? But you’re getting old and you’re reminding me of Gepard whenever I see you post on your socials. C’mon, don’t tell me you only go to the same two places everyday now. Don’t fall into a boring routine that you’ll regret, alright?”

You grimace, raising your hands up in defense when Serval shoots you a hardened look behind her flushed cheeks. “Fine, fine, but I’m seriously not that old—I’m at a quarter-life crisis stage at best.”

“And Little Hook’s already calling you an Auntie,” she comments, hand quickly finding their way to ruffle your head. “Maybe it’s time to check if any grey hairs are starting to set in.”

Seconds pass before sounds of desperate rattling and beeps are heard. A disconcerting buzzing noise goes off. Then heavy footsteps enter the kitchen.

“What’s up with him?” Serval suddenly asks. “Is he someone we know?”

You sense her surprise, and you immediately wish that you hadn’t said anything to Veritas.

“Mind coming here with me for a second, babe?” The words scratch at your throat like barbed wire.

Veritas doesn’t answer back, but a muscle ticks in his jaw at the nickname.

A minute later, you’re pulling him off to the side of the foyer by the staircase while the steady streamline of guests start to flow in. A familiar duo of black and blonde greet you with quiet smiles. Luka finally reemerges with a towering stack of boxes wrapped in a vibrant amalgamation of colors with Gepard pacing right behind.

Shortly afterwards, Bronya and Seele arrive with matching outfits of purple and grey that seem straight out of a runway show. Gasps and squeals are loudly emitted by the rest of the party as they make their arrival. The two barely make it past the foyer while holding their breaths at the wide range of decor and gifts. When the couple walks by you, Seele nearly chokes at the sight of you two. Bronya holds her back before she could say anything that would end up being recordable, managing a small wave to you but excitement is written all over her face.

You find yourself unable to conjure up words to exchange as Veritas leans against the wall. Appearing ridiculously put-together while you’re scrambling to not pluck every hair out of your scalp.

Feelings of bubbling frustration travels straight to your head. You find the courage and tug at his sleeve, bringing his ear down to your lips. To anyone, it looks like a romantic scene of you placing a subtle kiss on his cheek. For Veritas, you can see that he’s struggling a little to maintain this new, shortened height while you’re slightly pinching his skin through the fabric. “Why are you still here? I thought I told you to leave.”

Veritas keeps a poker face, or rather his usual impassive expression. “Had you been more observant, you would’ve known I tried to exit through your backdoor while you were conversing with your friends.”

You squeeze tighter. “Well, you’re still here.”

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “Your vision is certainly impeccable but your rationale is simply lacking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean—”

“Need me to spell out your own layout for you? It means that someone was paranoid enough to install a padlock on both sides of the back entrance.”

Oh.

As cunning and sharp that Kafka is, you nearly forgot that she has a side where she’s overly preservative when it comes to levels of security. It shouldn’t surprise you that one of the best private investigators in the city would have locks implemented all over the house, despite the low number of break-ins reported in the neighborhood. But maybe she’s also the reason for those rates. Normally the locks are disabled when she’s around, because she constantly reassures you that if anyone were to break in, they’d stop the moment they see her—whatever that entailed.

Now that she’s away for the rest of the weekend, the padlock sensors were immediately turned on. Effectively locking both sides of the back entrance. This isn’t to say that no one could leave. Kafka usually writes the passcode somewhere, traditionally in the form of a puzzle or code, but the only piece of paper she had left you with was…

You almost laugh, torn between sheer frustration and amusement. Mild surprise flashes over his face, though it’s quickly clouded by caution.

“Invite your loverboy over,” you repeat Kafka’s written note and groan. “The passcode is six four eight four. But I guess that’s too late now.”

Veritas elects to stay silent, his red-golden eyes now trained on the gathering crowd in the kitchen. Your friends, whom you love dearly and keep close to your heart no matter how long it’s been since you’ve last physically hung out with them, are currently trying really hard to not be invested in your relationship. The awkward loud laughs in between shortened conversations paired with eyebrows being wiggled around as if it’s some sort of Da Vinci Code makes it way too obvious.

“What’s that about being ‘too late’?”

Your shoulders stiffen. You feel the abrupt urge to turn around and run to your room just to avoid this specific person.

When did Sampo arrive? How long has he been listening in on your conversation? Did he just catch you in your lie? You twist around, face fringing the widest faux smile that you could ever manage. Though with his everso shrewd eyes, a frown or even a death glare would’ve been more appropriate.

You swallow a mountain of undesirable vocabulary, open your mouth, and then hesitate. Pride keeps you standing at bay while ice shoots through your veins as Sampo struts pass you, arms full of elaborate gift bags. He sets them down in the living room, greets the rest of the guests as if it’s his place, and then his careful gaze traces slowly back to you.

His expression translates right away: I’m on to you.

Veritas must’ve sensed your rigidity because he takes a step to your side. “You're overreacting,” he has the audacity to point out.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you lie. Your hands are currently fists at your sides, anxiously fumbling with your shirt as you force a smile at the rest of the group. Sampo catches your eyes immediately. Your heart rate speeds up. “He definitely overheard us. He probably knows.”

Veritas sighs, and it’s not calming at all. “Even if he did, there wasn’t enough substantial evidence. Your mind is jumping to conclusions.”

When he glances over to you, he looks different. Or rather he’s looking at you differently. His eyes are less daunting and piercing, but rather softer and alluring. His pupils don’t make you feel like you’re burning inside, instead they remind you of the freshly upturned tones of autumn leaves.

Even though this is all part of the script you’ve prepared, you can’t miss the way your heart practically leaps to your throat when he teathers his fingers around yours. The anxious knot in your stomach curls within itself. It’s all you can physically do right now to prevent yourself from running straight through the front double doors.

“But don’t you guys find it awfully suspicious?” Sampo announces loudly, reacting much faster and shoots a meaningful glance your way from across the counter.

“Suspicious of what?” Gepard narrows his eyes.

Seele tilts her head, unimpressed. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror before, Koski?”

“I have and I just so happen to appear my best for today, thanks for asking.” Sampo chimes with a tight smile. “And for anyone who’s wondering—which I’m sure we all are—I’m referring to the couple of the hour.” He says this while gesturing towards you and Veritas.

“Why does it matter to you?” You can’t help but to blurt out. There’s an embarrassing crack in your voice, the edge of something raw, and you have to look away from everyone.

“I suppose we’re all curious to know…” Sampo starts singing, waving his hands wide open to gather everyone’s attention in the living room. “How exactly did your relationship start?”

You hadn’t thought it was possible to taste any new flavors of humiliation, but apparently you can. The skin on your cheeks and the back of your neck is burning so hot that it itches. Sampo receives a few scolds from the crowd, primarily from Serval, but the majority are awkwardly standing around in waited anticipation.

“Sampo—” Seele starts, voice hesitant. She’s fiddling with her scarf while Bronya squeezes her other hand, unsure if she should also step in. But Seele’s words are soon disposed of as Veritas takes a step forward, all eyes now shining directly on him like a spotlight.

In an instant, Veritas is smiling. It’s an awkward smile, one where it’s a slight muscle twitch in his jaw that’s barely on the borderline of a smile.

You’re suddenly reminded of that day in Physics, the first time you really spoke to Veritas. You were a new transfer, adding the course last minute once a spot opened up, and hadn’t known much about the harsh reputation surrounding him. He's always been well respected and feared, and you’re naturally spearheaded—always seeking for more; so most people thought you’d hate each other. But then, after you’d read one of your research papers out loud for a presentation, he approached you.

He’d been smiling like this as well, while you were wary and nervous—until the moment when he opened his mouth and said, “Your reasoning behind those theories are commendable, well done.”

Veritas clears his throat, squeezing your palm. For whatever reason, you’re honed in on the fact that his hand feels terribly warm against yours. “It’s true, we first met during undergrad, though our paths never truly aligned at the time. We were consumed by the demands of our respective pursuits, and between conflicting schedules, there was little opportunity for meaningful interaction. It’s only now that we’ve had the chance to engage more personally. To finally collaborate with her after all these years... well, it’s an unexpected yet undeniably rewarding turn of events. Wouldn��t you agree, my dear?”

They’re your words, your ideas, but on his lips they sound different. Intimate and confessional, despite the reality of it all.

Your attention shifts to a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead. Veritas raises a silent brow, lips pursed while you hesitantly fight off the heavy stares in the room. You want to reach for him, brush it back, but the voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you otherwise. Stop, don’t do it, and memories of the debate, his harsh, sharp tongued response to your project, the loss of your scholarship… it comes flooding back.

In an instant, the voice begins to fade away, growing more distant by the second, as his hands gently find purchase around your waist. You can practically feel the air ripple in the room as you slowly give in to the impulse and lean forward, brushing and smoothing his hair back.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, surprised at your own shakiness. “That’s right.”

“I don’t buy it.” He leans back, hands in his pockets, a glint in his eyes. “This.” Sampo gestures to Veritas again, and you want to scream into a pillow. “This works for you?”

You bite down your cheek. “You don’t need to buy anything. Just accept it.”

Thankfully, just as you’re contemplating moving to Luofu or someplace further, someone shouts Sampo’s name.

“Oh, don’t be such a downer right now, Koski,” interjects Serval. She pushes herself off the counter, throwing the man a threatening glare behind her unyielding grin. “I’d say we leave the happy couple alone and focus on our to-be-wedded ones.”

The evening air wraps around you when you step outside.

It’s been getting cooler for the past few weeks, and you can find the early hints of winter in the backyard. The thinning trees, the faint scent of pine and wet leaves painting the dead patches of grass, and the overall lack of wildlife presence. A frigid breeze snakes through your hair, ruffling your dress. The sky is a warm collection of red and yellow hues. Dark clouds are beginning to roll in. The sliding back door creaks from behind and you don't need to look back to see that it’s Veritas. The heavy scent of spice and worn leather are indicators enough.

The music from inside has been turned up to full volume, the heavy bass and laughter shaking the walls. His loafers clack against the wooden flooring of the balcony and stop next to you. He’s also looking at the sky.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“Your friends are… what I expected them to be.”

A laugh manages to escape. “I, uh, thanks? Was that a compliment or an insult?”

Veritas glances over, and for the first time since he came over, he looks interested. “Take it however you want. All I see is that you’re surrounded by people who care about you,” he sounds strangely tender.

“You’re making me sound like I’m on my deathbed,” you say it like a joke, but his expression remains completely serious.

It causes you to choke on the next breath you take, causing you to snap away. The whole point of him staying is to ward away your ex, not for him to actually interact and assess your own personal relationships. Still, when Veritas cocks his head a few degrees, his gaze steady on you, you can’t help but feel a little warm. Like you’re receiving a blanket straight from the dryer, or engulfing a freshly brewed cup of tea. Fingertips drum along the railing as you’re balancing your weight on the heels of your feet, seeming to choose your next words carefully.

“I sound pretty contradicting, right?” you let out a half-laugh. “First inviting you, telling you to leave, then forcing you to stay, and vice versa. Whatever that was inside just now, I’m sorry to put you through it—and everyone else, I guess.” You groan into your palms, breath visible from the fallen temperature. “I shouldn’t even be surprised that he showed up since everyone’s practically friends with him and I’m just acting like a huge mess.”

“No one is saying that.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s saying it,” you mumble. “It’s what everyone’s thinking.”

You can sense him watching you. Your eyes start to burn, and you stare up at the setting sky, forcing the tears to recede before they can spill. You haven’t cried in front of another person since the day you and Sampo had broken up. It’s embarrassing to have both of them catch you behaving like this—especially in your own home.

“Well,” Veritas says, “it shouldn’t matter what they believe in. You’ve accomplished more this week than most people. Give some credit to yourself.”

“Are you still in Boyfriend Mode, by chance?”

“I’m saying this as your research partner and as someone with basic observation skills.”

You stick out a tongue, nose scrunched. “ ‘course you are.”

“But,” he breathes in between his teeth and relaxes his shoulders, “as your boyfriend, I think you’re doing your best.”

“Thanks,” you breathe, slowly, unable to stop the knowing smile stretching across your face. “Can I ask you a question, then? Since I’ve been pulling ass all week?”

Veritas regards you warily, but nods. “Listening.”

You nervously stare at him. “Why did you decide to come?”

He hesitates, and you can almost see the gears in his mind working, trying to decide what carefully crafted excuse he can afford to disclose. Perhaps he’ll be too stubborn to admit that he was bored and wanted something to do, or that Aventurine had found out about your plans and forced him to come along. Each time your brain comes up with a scenario, your palms become clammy and you force yourself to swallow back the thick saliva pooling in your mouth.

Finally, when Veritas answers, it’s not the response you were expecting to come out. “Your performance was starting to stagger.”

You shoot him a strange look. “My performance?”

“You’ve been spacing out in the lab,” he states this as a fact, not necessarily an insult. His voice carries a careful octave of caution. “Don’t take it as I don’t care for your well being. We can all agree that the project is crucial, but I’m not going to deny that it’s atypical for your usual tenacity to decline. I’d like to avoid any reruns and the need to find someone else to overtake your position.”

He’s right. He’s right, and it’s clearly evident. You haven’t realized it until now, but the last few days at work have been a blur; you can’t remember what tasks or meetings that you’ve completed, you’ve almost tripped over yourself twice in the lab while carrying a stack of petri dishes, and one day you spent lunch completely dozed off. And, yes, normally you’re never this absentminded before.

Planning out all these events, having to be extremely attentive at work, and keeping up with this facade… it’s more than you had expected it to be. And it’s odd for Veritas of all people to point this out. Though, the more thought you put in it, you realize that it’s not odd at all. You move like two planets in orbit, both on the same pathing, but never touching. Different in every aspect, yet understanding each other the most.

“What a strange way to say that you’re concerned,” your hands move to cover your face, palms muffling the words as you cough out, “but, uh, yeah. I’ll admit that this whole thing has been weighing heavy on my mind and I’m sorry that I haven’t been putting my all at work.”

And maybe it’s because of this new warmth, this dreamy sensation from the smell of peppermint and cardamom seeping out of the kitchen windows, that you find yourself marveling at how well-contoured his features really are. From this angle, his eyes suddenly look lighter in the sun, highlighting the red undertones rather than the usual gold. It’s true to anyone that Veritas Ratio is attractive; from his defined jawline, to his muscular shoulders, and to his towering height.

But you wouldn’t describe him as handsome. No, not like a prince in fairy tales. He’s hauntingly beautiful. Cold, guarded, and terribly human—no matter how hard others try to deny. You feel your stomach contracting.

You grip the railing, amusement touches your mouth. “Thanks again for trying to cheer me up and being here. It means a lot coming from you.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. His voice is scratchy, as if he’s dehydrated. You can see his shoulders deflate with his next expelled breath, sounding almost like a composed sigh. “You should probably head in soon.”

You’re spared from having to lie when Luka and Gepard start setting the plates around the table.

During one of those drunken nights in undergrad, there was a non-serious topic discussed with what kind of restaurants each of you would open up. Considering that the only ‘fancy’ restaurant that was around the area was a boutique burger diner, a handful of exuberant ideas were thrown out; Seele said she’d run a food cart, selling a new form of a hotdog with Bronya as her trusted mascot; Gepard wanted to go the traditional ‘farm-to-table’ theme and keep things local; Luka, as much of a jock he still is, played with the idea of a musical themed restaurant.

So, as the two men were placing the dishes and utensils out, Luka couldn’t stop singing one of his favorite idols' pop songs. It’s a love song, you realized when you’re able to make out the lyrics from his off-key tone, because he’s serenading it directly at the newly wed couple. Seele pulls out her phone to record the whole thing and Bronya can’t seem to find a way to politely say, “Please, stop.”

After the table was set, more dishes come, one by one: baked savory filled puffs drizzled in oil; a beet-based soup paired with chopped celery, cabbage, and carrots; the softest looking fried potato pancakes with a mushroom base; and boiled cabbage rolls stuffed to the brim with rice and meat.

You can sense the number of growling stomachs and hungry eyes multiplying in the room when Serval sets the final platter in front of the cake. Bronya starts grabbing a plate while Bronya is already measuring out the food with her shrewd grey eyes, most likely portioning out how many extra meals they can both make from the leftovers. Hook attempts to grab a potato pancake off the table but gets her hand reprimanded by Pela and Lynx. Everything ends up looking so good that even though you don’t really have an appetite, you join the forming line around the round table, grabbing a bit of everything and hope that it doesn’t roll off your plate.

Seating arrangements have already been predetermined in the house, as such events would go. The ‘kids’ table, located in a far corner in the living room, consists mainly of Hook and the stuffed animals that she managed to round up from your bedroom (seriously, you swore that it was locked before). She’s currently doing a reenactment of a Godzilla scene. Pela and Lynx end up eating on the couch together while going over the hottest Luofu drama. The ‘main’ table has Seele and Bronya seated together on one side, then it goes to Sampo, Gepard, Luka, Serval and Veritas.

There’s an open seat next to Veritas dedicated to you—you know this because he’d meticulously placed a paper bag with your name on it in the seat, a small thank you gift from the engaged couple. You can also tell, by the way his shoulders are scrunched up, that he only has so much patience left to his name with all of Serval’s constant questioning. You’d imagined if he ever meets Kafka he’d probably come out with a migraine.

“Listen, you know our girl Pela over there by the couch?” Serval jabs her thumb at a random lamp. Veritas sighs but nods anyway. “She’s got great prospects ahead of her. Thinks she wants to study architecture or something larger than life. She’s good with data and even better on drums. You think you can help the young lady out?”

Veritas can’t help but to spare a rare pleading glance towards you. It’s futile to argue and debate with Serval of all people, worst when she’s drunk out of her mind. All you can offer to him is a shrug and Veritas takes a long breath.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And he gets pulled into an awkward side hug by the older woman. There’s a noise, you’re pretty sure he’s holding back an Oscar worthy lecture at this point, and he juts out his chin. You faintly see the muscles in his cheeks being bitten down. As aggravating as he can be sometimes, you can’t help but to feel slightly guilty for putting him in this position. Slightly, though.

Before you head over to your seat, Seele scurries over and clasps your hands, flailing them around apologetically. “I tried to stop him from coming, I really did,” she whisper-shouts over the blaring stereo.

You draw in a shaky breath and reply, “It’s fine, I mean, we’re all here to celebrate for you two, right?”

Seele’s face freezes in an expression of genuine regret that you almost feel bad for stating the obvious. Her eyes darted from you to Sampo to Veritas, and then back to you. “But it’s your house—you’re not supposed to be uncomfortable in your own home.”

“I’ll let this incident slide, just this once,” you sigh, long and loud, but you quickly replace it with an earnest smile. “Plus, it hasn’t been entirely too terrible.”

You’re not trying to convince yourself when you say it. You really do mean it. This whole week has been a ticking minefield ready to go off—you still feel like it’s about to go off at any moment—but it feels oddly calming right now. Knowing that this event planning hasn’t been a total disaster and that Veritas is surprisingly good at masking the role of your fake boyfriend, you can confidently say, with your whole chest, that the crisis has been averted.

“I’ll make it up to you if you’re still upset,” Seele insists. She puts on a tough act half the time, but she’s truly sensitive at heart. You can’t help but to be reminded of yourself. “You still have time to read by any chance? I could donate some of Bronya’s old novels to you.”

A sharp clang echos. “Anything but my limited collections.”

“Right, right,” Seele throws her fiancée a peace sign. “Knew that.” And returns her attention back to you, smiling this time while whispering, “We’d like to also add on the fact that Veritas is an upgrade. Sampo, love and hate him some days, but he didn’t really seem to fit your type. I’d say maybe that fortune reading ain’t half wrong with that twin flame stuff. He seems like a really nice guy so far.”

“He really is,” you say despite yourself, an unwanted rush of warmth filling your chest.

By the time you’ve seated next to Veritas, he’s already pulled into another conversation—this time Luka is leading it. Pointing at his prosthetic arm and fantasizing about how cool it’d be if it could be engineered as a full metal jacket of somesorts. Gepard listens in with a careful eye.

“A steel alloy projectile? Is that what you’re referring to?” He’s speaking in his professor tone, you realize.

Luka’s eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah! And if there’s a way to, I dunno, make it blast out—”

Gepard interjects with a loud cough. “Maybe you should avoid topics of weapon crafting in front of an officer.”

“G-Gah…! Okay, that’s fair,” Luka physically deflates in his seat.

With Sampo staying uncharacteristically tamed after being handled by Seele and Serval, it soon feels less like a stuffy integration and more like a massive family gathering—except, unlike the atmosphere earlier, you can slowly bring yourself to enjoy it. The air seems to lighten, the conversations around you rise in volume, stories of the engaged couple’s first and worst date seem to have captured everyone’s attention, and any muffled giggles are turning into full-body laughter.

Bronya raises her glass halfway through the dinner, tapping the base lightly with her fork. “If I may, can I have everyone’s attention for just a moment?”

The chattering dies as she rises from her seat. Lynx pulls out a small camera and starts filming.

“I’d just like to say thank you again for taking your time to travel all the way here. I know for some it was a long journey and personal time off of work had to be used. Seele and I are blessed and grateful to be surrounded by friends and family alike. We’re even more honored to have our long-time friend and maid of honor to take time out of her day to set up her lovely home as the venue. The decor, food, and hoards of presents brought by so many of you guys have touched our hearts deeply.” Bronya raises her wine glass and everyone mimics—including Hook with her bottle of apple juice. “We extend our thanks and let us enjoy this moment a while longer before celebrating the big day.”

Seele couldn’t help but to burst out giggling, standing and planting a chaste kiss on Bronya’s cheek. “You always sound so serious and preppy whenever you’re handing out speeches. Like some sort of Crowned Princess of some faraway kingdom.”

Hues of pink overtake Bronya’s pale complexion in an instant. “S-Sorry, it’s a habit, you know that! I’ll work on sounding… less stiff and old fashioned.”

Seele beams. “I wasn’t complaining ‘bout it.”

“You know what else this calls for?” Luka speaks up.

“Shots?” Sampo suggests immediately.

You nearly spill your glass. “Absolutely not.”

You think you’d rather kick everyone out than have Sampo persuading everyone to drink. Serval is already on the verge of accidentally splitting the dining table in half while Luka would probably follow through with whatever is placed in front of him. And you’d rather die than to have Veritas be a key witness to anything mildly embarrassing that’s occurred today.

Luka laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Erm, let’s not upset our hostess, shall we? I was thinking of getting some other shots in. Y’know, the photography kind of shots.”

Pela speaks up, her usual monotone now filled with a tinge of annoyance. “And you’re pointing this conversation to the only person with a working camera?” She refers to Lynx who’s toying with the camera settings now.

Lynx adds on. “Payment involved by any chance?”

“Who are you, Sampo?” Serval roars in hysterics.

Your ex jumps in his seat, lips pulling into a pout. “What’s wrong with that?”

You try not to laugh when Veritas manages to somehow be the front and center of the all guys picture. Veritas looks stuffy squeezed between Gepard and Luka. Sampo is off to the side, his mouth is pressed tightly in a thin line, and you can tell he’s internally seething that your boyfriend is currently grabbing all the attention. In the middle, Veritas gives his usual face card, one that people often take as his ‘resting bitch face’ and wondering if he actually dislikes them or if he even sees them at all. And, when Pela starts the countdown, you start to reflect on whether or not this is starting to get too deep.

Lynx finishes up the photo with a brighter than average flash, causing everyone in the room to dramatically scream.

“And my services here are done,” the small blonde gets up from her kneeling position and waves her camera around, completely unphased by their cries for help. “I’ll get these photos developed over the rest of this weekend.”

“D-Did you get my good side?”

Lynx snatches the camera away from Sampo. “No retakes unless you’re willing to pay extra.”

“But you didn’t object when you took photos of all the girls!”

She shrugs. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“I think you’re forgetting someone—” Luka, rubbing his eyes clear from the strobing lights, effectively manages to steal away the camera from Lynx with ease. “Let’s not forget,” Luka whips the device in your direction, his smile bright and blinding, “how ‘bout I take a quick photo of our generous hostess and her dashing man?”

Veritas’ profile hardens for a heartbeat and it disappears. You feel his eyes boring holes into you as multiple eyes in the room stare at you two in question. Lynx is a second away from punting Luka with an ice pick so you quickly hop over to Veritas’s side. Luka ushers the two of you in front of the overly glossy lettered balloons that you’ve spent an hour blowing into: ‘IN LOVE’.

You try not to cringe when Serval and Seele start blowing kissy faces; though, your poker face didn’t last long when Hook joined in.

Bronya hides a smile with the back of her hand while Seele begins snickering, almost uncontrollably, when she sees you awkwardly shuffle into Veritas’ space. “This isn’t a middle school formal, no need to save space for the Aeons!”

You shift closer, your shoulder brushing his arm and the awareness of Veritas’ body, his proximity and his scent, it becomes really hard to ignore all of a sudden. Then, you feel a ghost of a touch on the small of your back.

Veritas glances at you with a half-hearted scowl. “You’re stepping on my shoes.”

You look down. Your foot is brushing against his loafers, but certainly not on them. You stare back at him, rolling your eyes. “Am not.”

“You are.”

You stand firm. “I am not. Stop being a big baby.”

“You are,” he waddles away.

You subtly elbow him in the ribs, which only makes him grip and pinch the skin around your waist a little harder. It sets off a back and forth chain reaction, a whole new round of bickering, and it only ends when a drunk Serval half-threatens to body slam both of you into the coffee table. It’s a joke, you think, but Veritas isn’t interested in testing the limits to that.

Sounds of cameras flashing fills the air. Your vision blurs momentarily. Then a round of applause.

“Ugh, so, so, so cute,” Serval gushes over the photos over Luka’s shoulder. “They’re gonna have so many cute babies, ain’t that right?”

“I—uh, yeah, sure?” You lamely agree.

If you’re being honest, though, it’s these moments—with the heavy, pounding music filling the space, the inevitable aftermath of finding glitter and confetti days after, the smell of sweet perfume, and the booming laughter of people close to you—that you feel… really lucky. Despite all the stress leading up to it, and possibly even more on the near horizon line, you’re truly, truly lucky.

Your body language immediately relaxes when the clock strikes nine. There are many cons about being in your mid-twenties, getting tired earlier is one of them, but in this case where you want everyone out by a certain time… it comes in handy.

Sampo is the first one to leave. He sends everyone his regards, starts being oddly friendly to you and Veritas, giving him the second awkward side hug of the night while your boyfriend stands there flabbergasted. You barely have the time to register what happened, but you give Sampo the benefit of the doubt—maybe he’s admitted his defeat because he missed being in the center of attention?

“I’ll see you guys next week, yeah?” He winks and struts off, though you can’t help but to feel shaky and slightly paranoid.

Veritas provides a small scoff, sensing your discomfort once more. “Don’t put too much thought into it. It’s just a bluff.”

For whatever reason, it helps dissipate the negatives just momentarily.

The next group to leave is the Landau group, if you include Pela, Hook, and Luka. Serval hauls up her minivan of all the spare decor she had brought over. Hook’s busying herself on an ipad in the car while Luka is somehow in another animated conversation with Veritas, again. This time Gepard is absent. You overhear the last bits as you start tidying the place up.

“Wait, you’re serious about that, right? You’d do it?”

“If you allow me to, I would.”

Luka makes a noise that can be described as a bastardization of a screech and a victory cry. “Okay, okay! Let me find time and I’ll hit you up after this, yeah?”

Veritas simply nods and waves him off.

It’s when Luka is out of earshot that you ask, “What was that about?”

Veritas turns around, his hair looks a bit more deflated than usual. You assume he probably relaxes or goes to sleep around this time. His social battery and sleep clock has to be misaligned. He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair. “The boy wanted me to improve his prosthetics for him.”

You stifle a chuckle. “And you agreed?”

“He seemed adamant with it.”

As someone who just graduated college a year ago and who’s still very much into sci-fi and fantasy movies, you don’t blame Luka for his wild imagination. Though, it’s a little worrying to have Veritas outright agreeing to tinker with his arm. As if he’s confident in himself to even produce a weapon.

But that’ll never happen, right?

Slowly, the house empties out with Bronya and Seele as the last ones to leave. Both women pull you into a tight bear hug and you feel at ease in their arms.

“Thanks again for hosting us, we really owe you.”

“I’m glad to have you as my best friend and our maid of honor,” Bronya clasps her hands around yours. Her ring pricks at your skin. The three-carat oval sized blue diamond shines brightly, even in dim lighting. Your chest warms at the memory of Seele saving up for it. “We’re looking to do dress shopping for the bridesmaids sometime next month, if you haven’t picked out your dress yet.”

You shake your head. Admittedly, you haven’t found the time to search for a dress mainly due to poor time management on your end, which is rare. You give her hands a firm squeeze. “I can look at some options on my own and if I can’t find something then I’d love to tag along with you guys.”

Bronya’s smile breaks out into a grin. “Sounds perfect, looking forward to seeing you again!”

Seele smacks your back as they’re about to leave. “Take care and don’t stay up too late, alright?”

You laugh, sending a flimsy salute in affirmation. “Will do, captain. Have a safe trip.”

“We’ll text you when we get back!”

The door shuts with a soft click, leaving you to your thoughts and remnants of leftover food and alcohol. You’re not a huge drinker yourself, so you’ll leave the rest of the wine to Himeko who tends to experiment with whatever dish comes to mind. Serval ended up cooking for a whole village with her dishes, meaning that you’ll be able to save enough money without having the need to buy lunch. But in order to start meal prep everything, you first have to start with the cleaning process.

“Aeons,” you jump at the noise, heartbeat pounding in your throat. You’d thought everyone had left, but when you round the corner into the living room, Veritas is there. Cleaning up. There’s a rare expression plastered on his face, something described as soft and concerned.

You stare at him. “Y’know you don’t have to stay behind, right? You can go home, I'll handle this just fine.”

He doesn’t bother glancing up and continues gathering scattered confetti and party cups in the trash bag he has in hand. “It’s more efficient this way.” His tone leaves you no room for argument.

Hesitantly, you join him. Veritas must’ve snuck off to the kitchen earlier when you weren’t looking, because on the living room table he has laid out a roll of trash bags, a bottle of cleaning solution, and several hand towels. You grab a roll from the pile and start cleaning.

Neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t dreadful. If anything, it’s calming. You soon get lost in the repetitive motions; quick sweeps from the broom, the simple rhythm of tossing trash out, and the circular motions of clearing off counter space.

It stays quiet when running water is heard from the kitchen as Veritas begins soaking the dishes in the sink. It stays quiet when he starts piling up the overfilled bags right by the back entrance. And it stays quiet when he passes you a new, wet cloth to wipe with when the old one starts to stain.

Maybe it’s because you’ve already worked together before in the lab, but you both seem to understand each other.

While you dry the plates, you can’t help but to sneak curious glances at Veritas. Watching him as he straightens the chairs, tidies the couch by fluffing the pillows, meticulously folding the throw blanket to the side, and wiping his hands neatly on a clean kitchen towel. By the time the plates are put away, you start grabbing the trash bags and make your way towards the front entrance.

“I know we’re just about done cleaning up, but you aren’t going to secretly hold this over my head, are you?”

“As if I would do such a thing,” Veritas steps past you and places down another filled bag by the door. “I’m simply returning a favor.”

Before you can even ask what he meant, he shoots you a raised brow. The look translates to: Do you really need me to spell it out for you?

You slowly blink, understanding the implications. “Well, for an evening of free food and entertainment, I guess I can’t outright deny a free service.”

“And what about yourself?”

“Hm? What about me?”

You expect him to find him rolling his eyes or scoffing. Anything that would indicate his impending annoyance against you for making him reiterate himself. Instead, you’re welcome by his warm red-golden eyes that are currently full of… something that makes you feel uneasy.

You sweep the remaining grey and purple confetti into a small pile as he says, “People who often shy away from responsibility tend to lack the capacity to grasp a bigger picture or greater goals. You seem to have a track record of accumulating a lot on your plate but fail to find time to dedicate on finishing those tasks—until the last minute. Tell me, why go through all of that?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You didn’t expect to have such a personal heart-to-heart with Veritas so soon, or at all. You lower your head, watching the confetti descend slowly everytime you sweep over the area. He’s leaning against the stairwell, his gaze drawn down to your house slippers as you debate whether or not to express any hint of vulnerability. He doesn’t budge from the wall and neither do you.

Eventually, you crack.

“I just can't stand when I’m falling behind. It feels like everything else stops mattering. For some people, it might be easy to shake it off, but I can’t. It's like there's this constant weight in my chest, and no matter what else I’m doing, someone’s always better, something’s always there. I feel like I have to fix things, offer myself up to constant opportunities because there might not be a ‘next time’, even when I’m already stretched too thin. It’s like this pressure to keep giving, keep doing, even when I’m running on empty, just to be—forget it,” you bite your cheeks, realizing that you’ve said way too much. “You wouldn’t even understand anyway.”

“But I want to.”

Your head snaps up, and when you lock eyes, heat rushes to your chest. “Why?” The question comes out in an instant.

He goes quiet again, as if he’s unsure why he even voiced that. His sharp eyes strain in thought and he attempts to hold your gaze. Your breath staggers in your throat for every second that passes. Then the silence breaks.

Veritas motions the trash bag in his hand, eyeing its half full contents, the crushed cans and containers rattling inside. He clears his throat. “I’ll toss these out and make my leave.”

You swallow, then nod once. “Okay.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes glued on the floor, broom sweeping the same area repetitively until you hear the door cracking open. The cool night breeze slips through its cracks, and the subtle reminder that winter is approaching settles in the forefront of your mind. He’s out the door with a bundle of bags in his hands and you try to occupy yourself by cleaning just about anything else until he returns. But thanks to veritas, there’s not much left for you to clean. When he returns, you pause at the doorway with a small container filled with the leftovers from earlier.

“As a final thanks for helping me clean up,” your voice sounds pathetically meek when he accepts it from your hands.

He stares at the lunch box momentarily, squinting. It’s probably because the only container that was available in the cabinets happened to be a duck patterned one that you received as a white elephant gift years ago. A heartbeat passes when all of a sudden Veritas offers another proposal, “Do you need a ride next week?”

The question comes out as such a surprise that you nearly lose your balance.

“I, uh, if you’re offering,” you clear your throat just as he opens the front door, the now heavy winds outside drowning out the rest of your half-formed responses.

His lips twitch. It’s the same half-suppressed smile from earlier, the one he wears when he knows the answer to a particularly hard question. “I’ll arrive at six, then.” For some reason, Veritas sounds oddly excited.

Monday morning starts off with you waking at the sound of your alarm. You wake up feeling weirdly refreshed; there’s no annoying ache in your spine and no puffiness to your cheeks as you would normally experience, your favorite blouse hangs wrinkle free in front of your face when you swing open your closet, and Kafka remembered to turn on the floor heaters when she returned Sunday night. Along with just about everything else, Veritas had kept his promise.

His signature curt text is more or less the same as before: Here. But it feels different, less unsettling.

You throw on a trenchcoat and pull your tote bag close as you leave the house, immediately spotting his car on the side of the street. A small wave was exchanged before you hurry over, mumbling a brief ‘good morning, thank you again’ when you situate yourself inside.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles back, voice a little quieter than usual. Veritas starts the ignition once you’ve clipped your seatbelt and taps the gas pedal.

There’s only so much silence that you could handle, so when he gets on the main road, you feel the urge to strike up a conversation. “I’ve been thinking about what you said this past weekend—about my performance. I’ve set aside time to look at some of the results that came through on Thursday and I think we can improve by playing around a few kinks.”

He drums on the wheel. “Mhm.”

“So I think if we could add in another test assay to see the results in a different perspective. Maybe we could test for salmonella too? Oh, and I can make the plates, don’t worry. You’ve already done plenty last week.”

“Sure.”

You stop mid ramble, frowning. “Veritas are you even—”

For the first time since you’ve sat inside, you let yourself look at Veritas and study all of him. His hair, usually annoyingly fluffy and wavy, appears scruffy. Under his sharp and focused gaze is a set of dark, tired circles threatening to set in—a violation of his otherwise perfect skin. The collar on his button-up is set higher than the other, and his shoulder blades seem tense. A little wider than usual.

By the time you’ve stopped yourself from wondering what’s got him so worn out, Veritas clears his throat. Probably twice.

“It’s rude to stare.”

“Did you…” your voice trails off, eyes still racking over his unusual, disheveled state. Does he normally rush to go to work? “Did you not get enough sleep or something?”

Veritas frowns and readjusts his position in the driver’s seat, his face is angled away from you. Even his ridiculously honed side profile looks like it’s drowned in exhaustion.

An abrupt second passes, his expression shifting briefly into something impossible to read. It sends you into a mini spiral.

“Would you mind if we stop for coffee?”

Your heart slows down, and your panic fades. “I—uh, sure. Coffee sounds good.”

He pulls up to a nearby cafe, one that you’ve walked by plenty of times during your off days. A handful of workers work diligently on setting up outdoor seating while one barista manned the counter. The young man looks up from his phone, seemingly unphased as Ratio lists down his incredibly boring order: a plain black coffee. You add yours onto the bill.

You both make it back to the car in tangible silence. You take a sip from your coffee and it’s strangely harsh and bitter. Maybe the syrup and cream wasn’t mixed in properly, or that the workers had forgotten them entirely. Strangely enough, you’re not annoyed. The heat from the drink shoots through your body, melting your frigid veins and providing ease. Something inside of you softens when you take another sip.

“Is it suitable?”

“It’s good,” you answer him reluctantly.

And, yes, it is good—great even. The dark roasted taste from the coffee beans, the early sunrise painting the skies in an amalgamation of pink and blue hues, the lack of noisy commuters on the main road. Hell, being next to Veritas is good. Even if life feels overwhelming and a bit of a mess right now, moments like this fuels you with hope that one day… it won’t be, and everything will be okay.

You’re pulled from your daydream as the body of Veritas Ratio transcends into a loud coughing fit in the driver’s seat. It’s then that the melodramatic part of your brain takes over and assumes the worst is happening: the barista must’ve slipped an allergen in his drink by accident and now he’s having a reaction to it. In the next few minutes, he’s going to die an agonizing death while you try to call emergency services but it’ll be too late by the time help arrives. He dies as not only your fake boyfriend, but as a well-respected scholar. The project will cease to exist, along with the opportunity to be acquainted with the Genius Society, because you will be overcome with grief and guilt for agreeing to get coffee. And, somewhere along the lines of that, the wedding gets canceled.

Suddenly, the coughing stops.

“They…” Veritas frowns, deeply, almost offended at his drink. “They put an absurd amount of sugar into mine; it's practically undrinkable.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You look back at your drink and then back at his, gluing the puzzle pieces together. Veritas only cocks a brow, his cheeks are slightly red, and the corners of his mouth having the tiniest trace of coffee pooled on his upper lips. He probably doesn’t realize how silly he looks. And you know it’s not funny, not by a long run, but something about his impassive face sets you off into a giggling fit.

“What?” he scowls at you, though you can tell that he doesn’t really mean it.

“I—nevermind, it’s nothing,” you decide to savor this moment, just a bit. He’ll soon realize it sooner or later. You then point to the beverage in his hand, “I believe that’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” he sighs and sets the coffee down in the cup holder, making no further attempt to drink out of it again. You find it hard to take any offense to that when he’s getting flustered over a simple mix up. “I’m starting to question how you’re able to perform under these conditions.”

“Pfft, under what conditions? Everyone starts their mornings off with coffee, too.”

“Excluding the large amount of sweetener added to it,” he interjects, which prompts you to roll your eyes.

“Wanna switch then?” You hold out the cup towards him in offering. “I mean, I’ve already taken a few sips from yours, if you don’t mind that kind of stuff...”

And suddenly it’s awkward; you can feel it in the air. You pause mid sentence, mind running on loop as you start slowly retracting your hand.

But Veritas recovers quickly. He accepts the coffee with grace and drinks it like it’s no big deal. Of course, because it’s just coffee—nothing worth reading in between the lines. A rare smile threatens to break through. “I’ll have to read the labels carefully for next time.”

“Next time,” you find yourself repeating, taken aback to find the idea that early morning coffee runs with Veritas… might not be such a terrible thing after all.

a/n: omg arent you guys glad that i ended up this chapter on a sweet note compared to the last one LMAO i hope you engrave this chapter vividly in your minds because i dont think the next one will be as intense ,,, at least not for a while. i also dunno when im going to make these two idiots kiss akjfhdhf

taglist (just ask or write in the comments below hehe): @pookiebearcave @sstarstrucc

#✧ · chiyoso: noticed.#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio #veritas ratio #veritas x reader #ratio x reader

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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okarun would be so happy to have someone like tanjiro as a big brother!!!!!!!! so much things to gush about, and he'd go nuts (get it) hearing tanjiro's stories about fighting demons n shit

tanjiro would love okarun like a little brother

#heychatterz⛦#same va yall fw it

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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tanjiro would love okarun like a little brother

#heychatterz⛦#dandadan #demon slayer

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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im actually fucked if im into this shit

you block dabi and hes quiet for 2 months before you get an email from an obvious burner. no subject line just “you’ve healed enough unblock me before i break in”

#✧ · chiyoso: noticed.

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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writing him with all these informations will surely strengthen the depth i'll put into my writing

DR RATIO ANALYSIS

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT!

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, Oh No! and Are You Satisfied? are much too basic songs to analyze Dr. Ratio to! Just because he's a scholar doesn't mean that he has academic trauma!" WRONG! Before we start, I have been researching psychology for approximately six years and I plan to go into it professionally. HOWEVER, that said, I am NOT a professional (YET. One day I will be. Yay for Aurae!) so understand that everything I come to conclusions about has been analyzed with some personal judgement, personal interpretations, and this is just what I have concluded with the info that I have deconstructed from his brain. If you disagree, that's fine!

I will be pulling from my own experiences with being a "golden" and "gifted" child, as well as the experiences I've had speaking to other people who were those. I will also be pulling from my experiences of researching and seeing how people with superiority complexes work, as well as diving into how those work (from what I've seen, as well as how they conceal a lack of self-esteem).

OKAY, NOW THAT THAT LONG AHH DISCLAIMER IS OVER, ALLOW ME TO WORK MY PSYCH ENJOYER MAGIC! Let's deconstruct Dr. Ratio like a lego toy.

Let's start off with how Dr. Ratio presents himself. When you first meet him, he seems like a haughty, arrogant asshole. He likes to PRESENT himself as a stoic, superior scholar who is purely in it to win it, and I got total "*stares down at your tiny body and laughs at how you lack knowledge*" vibes at the very start, due to how he goes around calling people idiots all the time. However, he DOES lose the idgaf war, and we can very quickly see that he does care for other people, even if in his own, strange way. Dr Ratio presentation: An asshole. The reality?

His entire character is based around the idea of helping the masses. He wishes to spread knowledge through the cosmos and give people who didn't have access to it, access. He's a harsh teacher, and calling people 'idiots' is NOT the way to motivate them, but he's doing his best™.

Actually, no, I'm going to go full psych into this. Okay, so here starts the Dr. Ratio and my FATHER COMPARISONS. My father is a professor and he is often called a harsh grader by his students. However, I've spoken to him multiple times because I was curious - why is he so harsh and diligent with his grading system? The answer is - he wants them to actually learn. When he's grading, he gives them harsh marks because he wants them to know exactly where they messed up, and he's always willing to stay after hours to help students understand where they can't. My father also is an enjoyer of knowledge, and for as long as I've remembered, he has prioritized teaching me how to think critically. He wants me to be able to think for myself - and I think that's what Dr. Ratio wants, too. He wants for his students to be able to fully comprehend and absorb the information that he teaches, and although his methods are harsh, he genuinely wants to help. My father's like this too - he hates students that waste his time or aren't here because their hearts are in it. Dr. Ratio hates people who aren't taking their education seriously because knowledge is important. Knowledge is a tool, and to disregard it completely is lowkey kind of insulting - especially when there are people who weren't privileged enough to actually get it, so this isn't something that you should take for granted. Dr. Ratio despises people who take knowledge for granted.

Also, I disagree with the claims that say that Dr. Ratio hates the genius society. He shows open respect for them in his voice lines. Just check them if you need proof. Also, I'll delve into the idea of Aeons and recognition later.

Now that we’ve established that Dr. Ratio kins my dad, let’s let's tackle the 'stoic' allegations. He is LOSING the idgaf war. Like, really badly. He has a temper of a thousand suns and snaps at people frequently, despite his 'impassive' face, his tone holds a LOT of emotion. He seems to feel very deeply and has a shit ton of empathy for others - why else would he be dedicating his entire career to helping others? Of course, he doesn't express this in 'typical' ways of being openly kind - but it doesn't mean that he doesn't care for other people. In fact, he seems to be pretty good at putting himself in the shoes of others and understanding them - expressed in the 2.1 quest where he tells Aventurine to tell him if he can't hold on any longer. Also, he loses the IDGAF war because he is actively trying to help people who want to learn and trying to spread logic and knowledge across the cosmos to those who didn't have it before. Would a man who didn't GAF do that? No!

Now that we've covered his view on knowledge and the way that he presents himself, let's turn to the way that he SEES himself. Now, this is where we get into the nitty gritty of gifted child trauma & academic trauma as well as crippling expectations. It's literally explicitly said in his character stories that he sees himself as mediocre, and it's canon that he doesn't have a good view of himself. His self-esteem is down in the fucking trenches along with my sanity as I write this analysis. The reality is - being called a genius your whole life doesn't really make you feel better about yourself. I'd know. I was. In fact, it makes you feel fucking worse when you can't live up to an expectation. We all fail in life. It's part of being human. But when you're held to such high standards - idolized for your knowledge and the way that you're 'gifted' - the crash comes really fucking hard. Failure is inevitable, and when people who are held on that pedestal experience it, they take it really bad.

The reality is that nobody - not even geniuses - are perfect, but you grow up believing that you are. Then, when you fail for the first time, it all comes tumbling down. The first time I came home with a bad grade was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I hadn't studied because I was arrogant and I thought that I was smart enough to pass without putting any extra effort into it - because I was a 'gifted' child, right? I should've been able to do it without studying like the other kids. And that's the thing with gifted children – you grow reliant on that title. You cling onto it for dear life for motivation, as well as self-perception. Little by little, the person you are falls apart as you slave away to the perception other people have of you. I think basically every gifted child that I've ever spoken to is a victim of this – and of course, you can heal from this mindset - but it's a hard one to shake.

Ratio's way of presenting himself as being a 'genius' and 'arrogant' also seems to contradict the way that he calls himself 'mundane' at the same time. However, these are two mindsets that can coexist. One part of you believes that you are a genius and that you are perfect, while the other part is crumbling and calling yourself good-for-nothing every time you make a mistake. It's a tiring cycle to live in. This usually leads to people shutting themselves out and closing themselves off after living like that, pushing back your own feelings in favour of being the perfect child. However, we don't know the exact details of Dr. Ratio's childhood, but we can infer that he was held to a pedestal, and this is a very harmful mindset for a child to have.

His superiority complex comes both from how other people view him, but it's a way to cope with his crippling lack of self-esteem. I'm sorry my guy. Also helping others probably helps him feel like he's worth something and makes him feel better because he bases his entire worth off of what he can do and how he can help others. However, this is just my personal interpretation backed by what I have already deconstructed.

In general, this is an easy way to crush self-esteem. You spend your whole life working to meet the image of what other people think you are. In fact, another reason why Dr. Ratio might be so harsh is because that’s the kind of attitude he holds towards himself when conducting research – he’s as hard on himself as he is to others. You end up hating the idea of failure, instead of seeing it as it should be - a way to improve and grow. Actually, I think this could be a reason that he went out of his way to break that illusion of 'worshipping geniuses' in the Space Station. Maybe some sort of childhood connection? Personal connection? In his endeavour to spread more knowledge and make people think for themselves and not blindly follow geniuses, to wake them up and let them think for themselves - maybe, somewhere, in there, he's helping that little child that was almost dehumanized for his intelligence. TLDR: Conflicting mindsets due to trauma, brain vs heart almost - his knowledge that he is a genius vs the crippling lack of his self worth.

Now that we've established Dr. Ratio's self worth, let's take a look at the impact Aeons had on him. Nous, the Aeon of Knowledge itself. I think in a world where the Gods are real, tangible beings that you can reach out and talk to - it makes sense that someone with high ambition and someone who's been called a genius his whole life would seek the confirmation of Nous. When you're a man of knowledge, and you've spent your whole life working with it, being praised for it – it feels natural to look for a god to look down upon you and bless you, right? The Genius Society – it should house him, because he is a genius as well, right? Imagine this – you have been called a genius your whole life, held to that kind of pedestal for so long, and now you wait for the recognition of the Gods. Because if you truly are a genius – then surely, a higher being will recognize your intelligence, right?

The invitation never comes.

And then, comes the doubt.

What if I'm really not a genius? What if everything I've worked for is a lie? Aeons are beings that are 'absolute'. If the god of Knowledge won't accept you or even cast a glance upon you, does that mean that everything was wrong. Gods see more than humans, after all. Gods know more than humans - and that spiral... I think you can see if. (If you don't let me know. I will ramble about how a failure like that can make you spiral down into a worse mindset).

However, the reason why Ratio was never invited to the Genius Society is simple. It’s because he LOSES THE IDGAF WAR. Now, if we look at all the people we know who are in the Genius Society - we find one thing in common. They’re in it to win it for themselves. They don’t help others using the knowledge that they’ve gotten - they use it to pursue shit for themselves. The people of the Genius Society are inherently self-serving. They WIN the idgaf war. Ratio LOSES. Do we see now?

Ratio’s empathy is the reason why he wasn’t let in. He is too human. Nous is a computer. Herta is detached from people. Ruan Mei is literally looking at life as test subjects. Screwllum is a robot.

OUR DOCTOR MAN LOST THE IDGAF WAR, BECAUSE HE IS HUMAN AND FEELS FOR OTHERS!!!

Also, it’s a plausible theory that Nous’s definition of ‘genius’ is different from the human definition of ‘genius’ – it’s a computer, after all. Who knows what’s going on in that code head of its.

However, we still love you Ratio. Never stop losing the IDGAF war.

TLDR: Nous is a computer. It is also in it to win it. It is also self serving. It gazes upon the hoes who are here to win it for themselves. Ratio is busy serving the masses and cooking knowledge in his frying pan. To it, there is no logical reason to be doing this. Therefore, no reason to invite this guy to the Genius Society.

Ratio’s gifted child trauma says otherwise. He wants in. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been working his whole life as a genius.

Nous is like… nah bro, you care too much. Ratio is like, ‘what the fuck?’ And then the AEON OF KNOWLEDGE GOES FOR THE MILK.

Okay, now, quick shoutout to Ratio wanting to help others. He is just like me fr. SO BASICALLY, RECAP OF EVERYTHING I JUST SAID:

Ratio LOSES the idgaf war because he cares about other people. Spent his whole life as the golden egg, and then turns to the gods for recognition because of the inherent trauma of being a child genius. He goes, "hey bro, can you confirm that I am in fact a genius?" and Nous goes, "no, you are too busy cheffing for the masses." Ratio goes, "what the fuck?" and then we collectively realize his attitude comes from blocking off his feelings (while failing miserably), being salty about not being recognized, being put on a pedestal for his whole life, and his crippling depression *cough* lack of self worth *cough*.

Oh, and the "I will never be enough" thought train probably hits him every single day. He is not enough to be recognized by a God. Gods are superior to humans. Maybe nothing has worth after all. Hey, that's Nihility! Hi IX, let's hear what you have to say.

*muffled ix noises*

I see, I see.

The consensus is: HE'S TRAUMATIZED BY EXPECTATIONS! HE WILL PROBABLY SUFFER FROM BURNT OUT GIFTED CHILD IF HE HAS NOT ALREADY!

Okay, now, before I delve into song lyrics (and I KNOW this has been long, just bear with me) I want to talk a little bit (read: a lot) about his relationship with Aventurine. We all know that he cares about Aventurine in his own way. But I want to pull in another idea that I didn’t cover before:

Ratio’s fucking emotional constipation.

Basically, the reason why he has trouble connecting with others is because he was most likely alienated by others as a symptom of being called a genius and being put on a pedestal. This makes him seem unapproachable to his peers, most likely, and therefore, as a result, doesn’t know how to properly connect with others. This just makes his way of presenting affection and care to others even more challenging – because he just doesn’t know how to do it in a healthy and clear way. Academic trauma causing emotional problems, because he’s probably a little bit out of touch with his own. Processing? No! Research. Also, this is very important for understanding Ratio’s character in my opinion, because he’s just a little guy who doesn’t know how to articulate. Maybe he’s got a touch of the ‘tism. Tism mutuals, do we agree or disagree?

However, in comes Aventurine. Love Aventurine, but they are both emotionally constipated. Aventurine displays his affection in ways that Ratio probably only catches after re-analyzing their time together about five times. He’s also a very closed off individual – but Ratio knows this. A cute thing is that Ratio is patient where he needs to be, even if he’s generally a pretty hot-headed guy, and I’m like… bro… that letter… “I wish you the best of luck”... I will wait for you…. GAY ASS MAN…

Sorry the Aventio demons took over. Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that they both have nonverbal communication with one another that they clearly decipher and Ratio obviously cares for him (he came back and almost jeopardized the plan just for the sake of his ‘coworker’... okay gayboy…) and they just have such a neat little dynamic… Aventurine lets Dr. Ratio do his thing… understands his emotional alienation to a degree…. they’re so neat….

Okay, Aventurine segment over. NOW, FINALLY, WE CAN GET TO THE SONG LYRICS!!! YAY!!!! We all cheered!!!

We are going to be here for two more amber eras, because I realized I actually want to analyze every single lyric from both of these songs. Brace yourself for like, 2k more words. Help.

I think it’s only proper that we start off with ‘Oh No!’ the song that has haunted me since my childhood.

“Don’t do love, don’t do friends

I’m only after success

Don’t need a relationship

I’ll never soften my grip”

Remember when I mentioned that alienation was a big part of Ratio lore? Yeah, that manifests itself in this. When you spend your entire life chasing after knowledge and being held to that standard of untouchable genius, it makes sense that you couldn’t connect with others and that you turn your gaze only to success. Therefore, relationships that are interpersonal lose meaning for a bit – you’re just looking for answers and ways to help them, not connect with them. Also, this is what he wants to do – so he’s never going to pass down an opportunity to better himself or to help someone else.

“Don’t want cash, don’t want card

Want it fast, want it hard

Don’t need money, don’t need fame

I just want to make a change

I just wanna change, I just wanna change”

This is directly alluding to his reasonings for distributing knowledge across the cosmos. Was he based on this song? Maybe he was. He’s not looking for money or fame, his ultimate goal is actually pretty selfless – to bring knowledge and give people the tools they need to think for themselves. He just wants to make a change – he just wants people to be able to have access to knowledge and help cure ‘stupidity’. He wants to do it as quickly as possible, always reaching for lofty goals that might seem impossible, but he will make them possible.

“I know exactly what I want and who I want to be

I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine

I’m now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy

Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no, oh!”

Ratio knows his goal. He knows what he’s working towards. I do believe that he understands why he is the way that he is – he has a degree in Psychology, after all. He knows how he’s been hurt but at the same time, the trauma brain probably doesn’t want to recognize it and he hasn’t stepped into healing yet. He knows what he went through impacted him, but he’s too busy helping others to help himself. He’s becoming what he wants to be, and yet he’s not, all at the same time – which causes the idea of “oh no!” as a kind of cry for help, almost. He’s too proud to ask for it himself, of course, so he’ll fall alone until someone manages to catch him and give him the strength to continue holding on. Aventurine is that.

“One track mind, one track heart

If I fail, I’ll fall apart

Maybe it is all a test

‘Cause I feel like I’m the worst

So I always act like I’m the best”

Now, these are the exact lyrics that made me associate this song with Ratio in the first place. He’s got a singular goal that he will do nothing to stop at getting, that he goes so far to get to. However, as I mentioned earlier, failure is not an option for those who were deemed gifted or genius. You are perfect, so therefore you must live up to everyone’s every expectation and surpass them, too, in order to keep your perception of yourself intact. Ratio does not hold himself in high regard, but acts arrogant in order to hold himself together and not fall to the self-deprecating thoughts, even if they fall through the cracks. It gets tiring to hold yourself together like that for a long time, you know?

“I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly

I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die

I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly

I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die”

Remember how I was talking about contradictory mindsets and how they can coexist. This is them. The feeling of crippling self-hatred and lack of self esteem versus the idea that you can do it, you can make a difference – you were born a genius, this is what you’re going to do. This is the knowledge that you are a genius vs the lack of self-esteem that Ratio has. “Mediocre” vs “genius” mindset, eh?

All the other lyrics in this song are repetitions of what I’ve analyzed before, so let’s move onto “Are you Satisfied?”

To be honest, there are only a few lines in this song that allow me to connect it to Ratio, so therefore, I will only be analyzing them. However, if you think that other lyrics can connect to him, I’d be interested in knowing how.

“What you’re gonna be

It’s not my problem if you don’t see what I see

And I do not give a damn if you don’t believe

My problem, it’s my problem that I never am happy

It’s my problem, it’s my problem on how fast I will succeed”

Pretending to not care about how the world sees you is so fucking real. Sometimes, you really don’t give a shit, and sometimes it’s all you can think about. Ratio… doesn’t seem like he’s the happiest person. He works himself hard and he’s always chasing after a goal that must be exhausting. He’s always doing his best, and I think even with his empathy, it’s easy to start not giving a shit after trying for so long and so hard. Accepting help is one of the hardest things that anybody can do, especially with how much pride he has. His personal problems are his personal problems and he can deal with them on his own.

“High achiever, don’t you see?

Baby, nothing comes for free

They say I’m a control freak

Driven by a greed to succeed

Nobody can stop me”

Nothing comes for free. A lot of the things Ratio has achieved is due to his own intelligence, yes, but also because of a shit ton of hard work. His goal is literally to cure the universe of ‘stupidity’ – and that’s a pretty large fucking goal. He is a high achiever who likes to know the details of every situation when he can in order to try and make things better, and he is driven by a greed to succeed. Why wouldn’t he be? Success is important, and success means helping more people. He isn’t going to allow himself to be stopped by anybody – not even anybody from the Genius society.

Okay, and we have finally reached the end of my analysis! This caps at around 4k words, so if you stuck around for this long, thank you so much. I would love to hear any of your comments, and I hope you laughed a little bit. Thank you again! This means so much to me that you read. <3

#⚝ · chiyoso: bookmarked.#dr ratio #drratio #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr dr ratio #hsr ratio #veritas ratio #character analysis #beautiful fucking analysis op youve done him justice

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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S(CREAMS)

i have... i have thoughts of tattoartist!geto suguru... swimming in my mind... 🫠

tattoo!artist geto suguru's busy giving your friend a tattoo on her back and she's trying to play cupid, asking him if he's single and then following with "oh my girl here is single too!" and you just bat your lashes at her to tell her to shut the hell up, but now suguru's got a sultry eye on you — and now he's trying to steal as many glances as he can without ruining his façade of nonchalance, or ruining the ink that he's putting into your friend's skin. just by the way you talk, he's got to know more about you.

"so... ever considered getting a tattoo?" he asks.

"... it's not for me." you reply.

"didn't think so."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

maybe he gives a lil' wink, a very subtle lil' wink, "you look too sweet."

and his heart is beating harder and he's thinking of that one hozier song and doing flips in his mind thinking she's too sweet for me

your friend just keeps trying to pair you two together, maybe she's joking or maybe she sees the potential chemistry — so she outs you, admitting that "oh, suguru, you're just her type. she's all about bad boys like you. kidding! not kidding... are you blushing?" and this just makes his mind LIGHT. UP. but he's still maintaining that façade of nonchalance.

once he's done, and your friend is waiting for her payment to process at the checkout, you're lingering among the studs and gauge earrings that they sell. suguru comes up to you, trying to be lowkey about flirting, "so was she joking, or am i your type?" he asks — and he's just dying to hear a positive answer.

#⚝ · chiyoso: bookmarked.#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto suguru #geto #suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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ate so bad ik his ass will purposely get into more fights and lose on purpose just to have his fuck session in the infirmary again

prisoner!geto who gets sent to the infirmary after getting into a fist fight with another prisoner. His knuckles and lip are bruised and busted and he’s doing the walk of shame down the jail hall. But he doesn’t expect a pretty young woman to be running the infirmary, nearly drooling at the sight because it’s been almost 3 whole years since he last laid his eyes upon one. He’s eyeing you up and down look a piece of meat while you tend to his wounds, completely ignoring his advances because it’s unprofessional. Though, you do find him quite handsome with tattoos all over his arms, a muscular build and his long silky black hair, his smile adding the cherry on top.

“You new here? I’ve never seen you around before.” He watches you put some gloves on, grabbing a roll of small bandages. “Pretty brave of you to be working in all male prison, don’t you think?”

“You must end up in here quite a lot if you know everyone who works here,” you sigh, grabbing his hand and wiping down the dried blood from his knuckles. “I transferred from another prison. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

He smirks, narrowing his eyes at you. “Oh, yeah? Must be used to all the flirting then.”

“Wow! How could you tell?” You say sarcastically and toss the dirty wipe into the trash beside you. You wrap his hand up with the bandage and toss your gloves into the trash. “You’re all set.”

“Did I mention my head is killing me?” He winced.

“If you’re trying to get pain killers prescribed to you, it’s a whole different process. So I suggest you stop lying and wasting both of our time.” You place your hands on your hips, staring at him.

“Fine.” He stands to his feet, tall stature shadowing over you. You step back a little the more he steps closer to you. “I’ll cut to the chase. I haven’t properly fucked someone in nearly three years, and I’m dying…dying to get a feel of your sweet, sweet pussy.” He backs you into a corner, neck craning down as he whispers in your ear. “Think you can help me with that, doctor?”

You blink at him, your throat feels dry and your heart is pounding against your ribcage. “That is very, very unprofessional.” No matter what words come out your mouth, your body is feeling the complete opposite. “I’ll call the guards right now—”

“C’mon, pretty please?” The corner of his lips tweak slightly. “I know you want to. I seen it on your pretty face since the moment I walked in.” He raises his bandaged hand and runs his thumb over your plump bottom lip.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sternly say. Oh, but he does. He’s reading you like a book right now and that smug look on his face knows it all.

“Okay,” he chuckles, stepping away from you. “Just know I’ll see you around.” He turns to walk out the infirmary and let the guard know he’s all set, but he suddenly turns back around. His eyes look at the name tag pinned to your shirt. “Such a beautiful name.” He teases. “Bye, doctor.”

#✧ · chiyoso: noticed.#jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto drabble #geto suguru smut #geto x reader smut #geto suguru x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru Drabble #jjk drabble #jjk geto #geto suguru

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

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god, its me again. i think i need a soft MALEWIFE who can be reduced to a whiny SLUTBOY who apologizes and thanks you a lot for absolutely no reason during our breeding session, forgetting im the one whos supposed to be getting impregnated, n not the other way around.

i love dumbification. and i love choso sm.

Imagine riding choso so good that he feels like he's the one who's going to get pregnant

☆ cw. fem! reader, reverse cowgirl, overstim, premature ejac, spanking, milkin’ him, breedīng, mdni.

“h- holy shit..” choso’s eyes widen, leaning back against his fluffed-out pillows. you’re straddling him in reverse, being in the prettiest fuckin’ arch he’d ever seen as you’re playfully wriggling your ass against him. just a few more centimeters and your dripping cunt would’ve been stuffed full of his aching cock. it’s veiny, and multiple veins throb from the lanky sides with pre-cum decorating his ruby tip. “you look so pretty in t.. this view,” he nearly choked on his breath, openly staring at the way your ass continued to still itself to hover over his length.

“tell me when to start, baby,” you softly hum, both hands of yours planting deep in the velveteen sheets. they create a print as your palms sink into the mattress, and your sopping cunt’s so teasing. with a tiny shimmy of your hips, you start to smear your entrance over his tip and you could hear him loudly sucking his teeth.

with a deep, protracted sigh, choso’s hand traces over the outline of your rear - so pretty. he stares at its shape from all angles before feeling his dick twitch the second you arch your back further. “you can start,” he shakily murmurs, and once you gradually start to plop yourself down on his cock he loses it. as his hooded eyelids start to droop, he lets off a soft whine once his cock’s slowly delving inside, pushin’ past the tight ring of your hollow entrance. “o- oh my god, your pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“hng-” you let off a quivering moan, biting the inside of your cheek once it takes him a few seconds to successfully bottom out. choso’s thick, and with the slight add of a prodding curve to his dick, you felt him expand everywhere. in you and through you.

he’s lean ‘n tall, easily fitting inside of your cunt like a puzzle piece.

choso’s got his bare hands glued to your hips the entire time, watching as your ass teasingly presents his pelvis with one big wet flop! choso groans, already feeling his knees starting to get weak at the stability of your greedy hips once you’re starting up a frenetic pace. “mhm, that’s it, baby. jus’ hold my hips.”

“god- you’re so hot,” he lets off a gruff huff, the tips of his ears burning over hundreds of degrees the moment you start to accelerate. your exposed backside was so pretty, especially in this position. choso stared at your jerking body - studying your tensing, flexing muscles and all of their glory. he can’t help but start to feel the inside of his mouth swelling up with salty saliva, and oh- he’s drooling already. “look back at me, princess. w- wanna see you while you ride me good.”

with a playful smile, you twist your torso just a bit to get a short glimpse of choso through your peripherals.

he’s so cute, slouched all the way back against the bed with the neediest pout plastered across his lips. he’s already sweating too - tears of sweat poured down the sides of his forehead and his usual ponytails were more unkempt than usual. “hi baby.” you mirthfully purr, and he grunts once he feels your rhythm starting to quicken. fuck, your hips were a menace.

“h…. hiii.” he hiccups, trying to smile but he only ends up moaning once his tip thrashes its way against your g-spot. right there, right-fuckin’-there, and you let off a small yelp. it’s so tender and choso starts to spasm underneath you. it was something about you riding him in reverse that made him lose his mind. the way you look back at him as you ride him to lewd oblivion, sexily tossing your hips in a circle with that cheeky grin on your sheeny lips—christ..

choso’s rock-hard abs through his white tee tenses against the fleecy fabric of his shirt and he moans. “f- fuck, don’t stop. don’t…fuckin’ stop—yeahhh, yeah like that,” and as your hips relentlessly smack back against him, nearly giving him whiplash, he whimpers. “ah. s- so warm inside, think ‘m hah- gonna make a…mess again, princess. y- your hips, ohmygoddd.”

and he’s just continuing to babble and ramble out all sorts of words with his hands still attached to your waist. he was holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go. choso’s cock dragged through your gummy walls through ‘n through, searching its way through every sloppy orifice and cavity..

you can see how his naturally drowsy eyes were already starting to roll back and his pretty pink tongue’s starting to loll out his mouth. oh- he was definitely drooling, all because of your sweet, sweet pussy. the grip you had was maddening, and each slam of your ass onto his pelvis had him whining out for more. dark thin brows of his crease into a crimped furrow as he’s trying to weakly guide your hips back into him. “mhm, touch me more baby. don’t be.. shy.”

you could feel how hesitant his fingers were, but he couldn’t resist allowing his hands to gently trace and explore down the outlines of your curves. “ughhh, i’m g- gonna,” and he pauses, letting off a husky groan the moment your ass rudely smacks back into him. it’s so impactful that for a second—the half curse was speechless. choso gasps, his eyes widening before he sobs out a crooning whimper. “faster, p…pleaseee. fuck me, r- ride it like it’s your princess. ‘m all yours, a-all yours.”

“s- shit,” you moan, snagging the edges of your teeth with your bottom lip. his dick’s steadily caressing your walls with his fat curve, locating and reaching every spot just to make you whine right with him. each pivotal thrust was killer, and you’re starting to puff out heaving breaths yourself.

choso’s fully laid back now as he watches your ass bounce itself up and down on his length before he starts whimpering again. he sounds so pretty the entire time too—

just babbling out sweet nothings, chanting your name over ‘n over as his swinish hands greedily try to reel your hips back into him. he’s addicted, and your hypnotic rhythm had him hungry for more. choso could almost taste his incoming release—syrupy pollen that’s slowly but surely salivating on his parched flat tongue.

“m..mngh,” he grunts, giving your ass a soft spank. he hears you playfully ‘oooh!’ at the swat of his hand and choso’s cock twitches inside of you. “wanna marry your hips. ‘m gonna…marry y-your hips, baby,” he starts rambling again, moaning at the speed of your rotating ass.

each wet thrust sends him shivers an abrupt rabble of butterflies, and choso’s damn near fully fucked dumb before he starts to whimper aloud yet again. he’s soso sensitive. the wide tip of his reddened shiny tip continues to swirl its way around the bulb of your clit before within seconds later—he finally cums… hard.

“oh, fuuuck—fuck,” he lets out a gargled whine and the carnal squelches of your cunt slamming against his lap get louder. choso erupts like a violent volcano - active ribbons of his handmade lava slowly pumping inside of your deprived cunt. choso’s sharp breaths become raspy as he feels your hips coming to a devastating halt, and he licks his lips. “t- thank you, thank you, thaaank you baby.” and you didn’t even know what he was thanking you for.

choso’s eyes close as he’s still filling slimy thin clods of cum inside of your puffed pussy.

it’s hot - and you then bring a hand toward your left ass cheek, squeezing it while still gradually fucking back against him. you’re reaaaal slow, working your hips on his active cock that’s spilling so much from the tip and the twitching sides. choso grabs onto the back of the wooden creaking headboard, and his abs clench as he watches the mess start to dribble further down between your thighs. a white puddling mess of his seed that’s drooling straight out of your flooded cunt makes him moan. “b- baaaby..” he swallows thickly, his ravened eyes fixated on your pretty plump ass that’s perfectly arched over his lap. “hah- think you just…impregnated me.”

“cho, that’s not possible,” you tease, and he moans once the warmth of your cunt starts to fade the second you get up. right away, a sloppy string of his cum glosses onto your slick entrance as you ‘pop’ his dick from between your sprawled numb legs. you turn around, straddling him from the front now, before kissing the side of his twitching mouth. “i can’t impregnate you, silly.”

“o- oh! right… um,” he breathes, sticky black bangs running down his eyes.

choso grabs your waist, a thumb shamefully swiping down the center of your runny pussy. so . . much. he locks eyes with you for a long four seconds as you’re now grinding your drenched folds against his flaccid cock that rests on his tummy. choso cutely scratches his head, and he lets off a soft whine once you sneak a wet kiss on his rosy lips. “i mean- i can try to impregnate you then.”

with a hum, you nibble on his chin. “mhm, wanna test that theory then, baby?”

choso’s so cunt-drunk that’s he’s just entirely dumbfounded. intently, he’s staring right into your eyes—barely registering a thing you just said before he cups your chin, panting at the shocks of rapture. choso’s still faintly whining under his breath before he smears a thumb over your wet-slick lips, lovingly.

“l- let’s get married,” and you gasp once he gingerly spanks your ass, an inaudible sign for you to ride him again—this time from the front so he could visibly watch your pretty face. “make me a daddy, princess, w.. wanna be all yours. please..”

#⚝ · chiyoso: bookmarked.#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #female reader #had me gagged here vegas

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chiyoso · 7 months ago

Text

“don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you.”

GAGGED.

BORN TO DIE — Geto Suguru minors dni!

prologue. → it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. implied/mild gojo x reader, lovers to enemies, or enemies to lovers, past relationship, injuries, mentions of blood, reader is lowkey violent, some establishing plot idk, geto is kind a jerk (well he's a cult leader so) but hes also down bad, making out, doing it raw and desparate (wrap it before yall tap it!), creámpie etc, minor mentions of infidelity, ríde him until he sees stars trope, minor implied stsg, suguru lowkey a messy slút for this <3 🩵

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. born to die — lana del rey

a/n. heehee

mp3.. my heart it breaks every step that i take, but i'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

ask to be added to a taglist! likes and reblogs appreciated <3

fuck suguru geto.

literally.

it had been days of you tracking down a mere rumour of curses that haunted this side of the mountain, and you know you're close — close enough to feel the cold prickling along your skin, ripe with cursed energy with that taste of something unnatural and spectral in the air.

gojo had delegated this mission to you, claiming that you had a natural born talent for hunting curses, but you knew the truth was that he had laid on the flattery thick, so that he could kiss you chastely on the cheek, go take a day off, and let you handle this one on your own.

but just as you raise your hand to cast a light, a flash of movement catches your, a fleeting gleam, drawing you off the trail before you even realise where you're going.

you round the grove, and the sight ahead steals the breath from you. through the night's shadows, a pale blue light pulses, illuminating a tall figure whose outstretched hand has already grasped the curse, right into a neat orb.

it would take only a heartbeat to recognise the sorcerer, but you feel as though your heart has leapt into your throat, your blood pulsing under the thin skin, with such dizzying shock. your chest has tightened, and each breath is laced with something sharp and electric — not sadness, nor grief.

anger.

suguru geto.

you swallow against the burning in your throat, his features are half-lit by the eerie glow of his cursed technique, and yet they are sharper than you remembered, refined and all the more hauntingly familiar.

but he's turned, with his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, and violet eyes meet your own, and you scowl as his lips curl up, voice smooth as he speaks.

"hey. it's been a while."

"you...you — fuck you!"

ugh, now it's just embarrassing. you had spent three years, pondering and wondering what cutting words you'd deliver upon suguru geto when you saw him again. and now you can barely get a sputter out without your eyes wandering over him.

geto raises a singularly arched brow, "don't you think we should catch up first?"

"i should kill you," you wonder if your fractured voice betrays how quite literally unravelled you feel right now, like the earth has fallen out beneath you, and you're not sure if you're moving towards him, or taking a step back, "oh my god, i should actually just kill you."

you wonder how you should do it. draw a blade and let it kiss his skin, to see red split out from his throat. or if you just forgo a weapon and push the air from him until his creamy skin is red and bruised.

but he's beautiful, he's so beautiful and it leaves you wondering if this is how orpheus felt when he turned around in that tunnel, and saw eurydice again. if he was also planted in the ground, unable to move at the sight of what his heart most wanted.

the boy who once broke your heart is now a man, draped in robes of deep purple and green, and gold. a man with ghostly eyes that leave you unsure on whether you're furious, or wanting.

still wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, perhaps. you tamp down any other traitorous thought.

"what's your business here?" you manage, and you wonder if he can hear a tremor, and a crack where all that hurt was buried when you were seventeen years old.

but geto just smiles, "you don't think i'd notice the presence of a curse on my own estate? or a jujutsu sorcerer? you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"huh - your estate?"

ah, it hits you, as you follow your line of sight behind geto's head, past the thick trees that you've been wandering in, to where silver rods strike up, out into the dark sky — the roof of what's clearly an important building, the time vessel association.

you cross your arms, "you mean your bullshit cult?" you wonder how quick you can pull out a knife, one of several that you must have taken with you on your missions.

now it's his turn to scowl at you, and a petulant expression dances across his face, but geto doesn't address your barb, "you've come a long way, did satoru send you here?"

you bark out a laugh, "that's gojo to you now."

now he’s right in front of you, and you force yourself not to swallow or betray even a flicker of nerves.

you hold his gaze, determined and unwavering but geto has always been tall, his frame deceptively broad beneath the layers of his robes, but standing this close, you catch the heady scent of allspice and sandalwood, maybe even some ceremonial incense.

"oh, i'm sorry. only you get to call him satoru now, is that right?"

you're not stupid, you know that there's an undertone of a question in his snarky tone, well fuck him. you don't owe him an answer of what your life has been like in the past three years (nor what gojo's has been like, for that matter).

he watches you for an answer, with a face as elegent as an idol in an ancient shrine, pale and luminous against the moon-lit sky. you briefly wonder how a tall, beautiful boy who floated around campus with headphones around his neck, and an obscure band-tee, had managed to peel off his skin and carve himself into something more holy, like a heian-era deity.

"suguru," you finally breathe, and your head feels jumbled and aching. he tilts his head, lips parted, as if he's been waiting for his name to fall from your lips, and he's savouring it.

"come with me," he says simply, gesturing to the shadowed building behind him, and his hand lingers in the air, as his pale, slender fingers reach towards your own, "just this once, you don't have to tell him, y'know."

yes, you know. you should refuse, fuck, you should have been grinding his blood into the earth, for the night has no time for traitors. and if you were to take his hand, it would make you one as well.

oh, how easily suguru geto has always been able to unravel you, and all you've ever known or believed in.

suguru's fingers are like ice as they close around your wrist, with a firm but unhurried grip, pulling you along that makes resistance feel almost laughable.

you try to twist free, but he only glances back, with a teasing smile over his face, "still as defiant as ever," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether your cheeks are flushed from how he's drinking the sight of you in.

"i wouldn't be if you weren't dragging me through this place like some prisoner."

suguru laughs, "is that what you are?" and a dangerous, dormant merriment glints in his violet eyes, "i thought you'd come with me willingly."

his voice is maddeningly calm, as if this was some routine rendezvous, as if he hadn’t walked out of your life three years ago and left nothing but emptiness behind. suguru leads you down a long hallway lined with tall, flickering candles, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. it's so quiet you can hear your own breathing, each inhale tinged with the scent of incense that lingers on his robes.

you give another half-hearted tug against his grip, but his hold only tightens, but he stops, looking down at you, his gaze softening, almost pitying. "save your strength. we’re nearly there. and i need you to behave, and be quiet."

you hate the way your heart races at his touch, at his command, at the intimacy of this shadowed corridor that seems to belong to no one but the two of you.

"and where exactly are you taking me, suguru?" you ask, voice brittle.

"patience. you'll see soon enough."

he leads you forward again, each step echoing through the silence until he finally stops at a large, dark-stained wooden door. his fingers slide away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling in their absence, and your own fingers curl outwards wanting to reach for his again before you tuck your hand away shamefully.

you can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. he knows this, and more.

but now suguru glances back, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "you came all this way," he says, voice low. "i thought you wanted to catch up."

yeah. catch up.

that's exactly what you'd call it when you barrel through the doors alongside him, and push your mouth against his, hearing the satisfying breath that he draws before he's moving against you too.

you lean into suguru, feeling the heat radiate from his broad body as every nerve in your skin awakens as his lips crash against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. it's been three long years since you last felt this, anything, like this and you fight back whatever demon lurches within you — an ode to bittersweet rage, longing and want.

you can taste him in your mouth, a mix of mint and even something sweeter, and it stings you, pricks at every cut he must be leaving over you. but suguru's hands grip your waist, and you wonder if he feels just as you do. but he must, for his arms have pulled you in, anchoring you onto his chest, as if he's afraid you might slip away (just as he had, from you).

you don't know where the tears came from, but salt runs down your cheeks, mingling in with your kisses, and you take a moment to pull away from him, and trace his face with shaking fingers.

"i should hate you," you breathe out, but how can you when he stares down at you as if you've reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. a killer, a traitor, a murderer. but it's still him all the same.

but his lips are now on your face, as his tongue runs over the streaked sorrow, licking it right up, "don't," and now his tone is pleading, suguru geto is pleading above you, "i can't live with you hating me. just let me do this."

he leans into your more deeply and your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the soft fabric of his robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. you explore the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body, every touch igniting a spark that sends shivers through you, makes your own core feel heavy.

it's delicious how his breath hitches as you slide your hand even lower, past the waistband of his pants, right where the hard evidence of his desire is plain, and there's a satisfying rush of power that courses through you at his response, at the breath of air suguru rushes through his teeth in a low keen as he separates yourself from your panting mouth, to trail his soft lips on the sensitive skin lower.

his teeth briefly sink into the juncture of your neck, and you jolt at the brief pain before he runs his tongue over the fresh marks, soothing, hot.

his large hands are both under your top now, moving over the expanse of your stomach and up, up until they cup both your breasts, pinching, and twirling and leaving you slick with the arousal that has gathered at the apex of your thighs.

"so pretty, ah! so - pretty," suguru breathes, and you quirk your lips up as he lowers you slowly to the mat. he'd let you to quite a bare room, with nought in it save for the floor and the walls, but you're honestly content with him having his way with you like this.

you should feel guilty, you should be seeing blue eyes peering up at you from between your thighs, white hair plastered with the sweat of exertion.

but instead, all you see is the twilight sky, brushstrokes of black and dusky violet as suguru takes his place on his chiselled stomach, as you feel the mat press into your shoulder blades while you lay flat on your back.

"stay with me, gorgeous," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin of your thighs. his plush lips brush against your mound, and you squirm and shake from the need, the need to feel his mouth lower and you cannot help but just arch into him, mewling as he starts drifting his fingers down.

"oh my god, oh!," you're almost embarrassed to be put in this position, moaning like a wanton whore, but you can't just bring yourself to stop, "fuck, suguru. can you please -"

and you're bucking your hips up towards his mouth, begging him to get a hint, and give you a hit of the pleasure that you're so craving.

but suguru stares at you flatly, and then in between your legs almost methodically, like he's waiting for something, and the flat of his palm rests heavy over your clothed cunt.

"i don't think so," he mutters, "tell me something first," and he's playing with the elastic band of your underwear, pulling it to the side before snapping it back, thwack!

"tell me you don't hate me. i need to hear you say it, that you never hated me," and you can feel a new bruise bloom on the inner corner of your thigh from his teeth's ministrations.

"i don't hate you! please, suguru, i could never, ah! -" and you don't get the chance to even finish your sentence before the man is pressing his tongue straight to the damp, translucent patch of fabric that's been soaked with your slick.

his teeth have caught on the fabric deliberately, and he's pulling the fabric, up and up, and the sight makes you so incredibly delirious that you wonder how on earth you're going to recover after this.

and to your credit, his eyes have gone wide, and hazy even — and you enjoy watching him swallow, adam's apple bobbing as suguru seems so entirely pussydrunk, just from you alone.

oh, now you have an idea, and so you pull yourself up and onto him, and he lets you push him down so your positions are reversed. he looks so beautiful like this, dark hair splayed out and falling over his flushed face, as you straddle his thighs, lewdly dripping over his robes as you try to gain some friction from the fabric.

"you're so desparate, baby. didn't think you'd be so — mmph! fuck!" it seems that all it takes to shut suguru geto up is a well-intentioned roll of your hips against his groin, and his hands shoot up to find their place on your waist, rubbing small circles over your hipbones.

you let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press your lips to his again, "yeah, that's what i thought," and you kiss him, quick and almost outstandingly chaste, and you grin in satisfaction as he leans up again to chase your lips as soon as you separate.

as moonlight spills into the room, you decide to make short work of his robes, reaching underneath the silk to part the fastening, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle underneath, illuminated like godly marble in the silver light. suguru's gaze is fixed on you, his breath shaky and quickening, as he lets you trace your nails lightly over his abdomen.

taking a quick breath, your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants once more, and you relish at how suguru's entire body tenses at your touch, his breath hitching, "oh, fuck! right there," as your hands make contact with his cock, feeling the soft skin and the steel underneath. it's large, and heavy in your hands and you gulp, and realise now he's enjoying your reactions.

"there you go, you've had your fun," he breathes out, before shifting your hips back till you're situated right over his cock, "now, let me handle this."

you're barely given a few seconds to catch your breath before he sheathes himself, gliding straight into you thanks to the obscene amount of arousal practically weeping from your cunt, and you keen up at the sky, writhing from the delicious stretch of his wide cock that's made its home in your gummy walls.

"oh, ahh - suguru! wait, let me -," and you shift yourself, groaning as you feel his cock right in the sweetest spots, so you're in his embrace and he gladly envelops his arms around you, bringing you closer and planting desparate, hot kisses on your skin as your nails create crescents in his smooth skin.

suguru seems just as whipped as you are, gone from this mortal plane of the earth and onto a higher level of existence, just from your pretty, tight pussy that's holding him together, "keep doing that, pretty, look how. good. you. take. me."

and each word is punctuated by suguru's hips bullying into yours, pushing his cock deeper and further than you thought you could ever handle, as his mouth pants under yours, "taking it like a fuckin' champ. missed this, missed this so much."

you missed it too, chasing after the feeling of threading your fingers through his soft black locks, feeling him shudder as you scraped your nails down the back of his head,

"yeah, that's it," oh, suguru's always been mouthier like this, when you're sucking up him so deliciously, ramming his hips and angling them in a way that has your abdomen tingling, and has your eyes (and his) seeing stars and the heavens.

he taps his shoulders, where his dark robes have slipped off, revealing the smooth expanse of toned muscle and hot skin, "hands here, baby. keep you steady, yeah?"

and you plant your hands on his chest, determined to swivel your hips in a way that has you gasping for air, and glancing down right where - fuck, where you can quite literally see his bulge through your skin.

"oh, suguru! ah, keep doing that!" you desperately hope that these premises were vacated, for your unrestrained moans must have been rippling through the thin walls, strained and throaty as they bounced off wood.

and you just couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight of him, intoxicating as he was. suguru under you, broad chest heaving as he caught his breath with every rock of your hips — with a flush painting his creamy skin, framed by dark strands of hair that fanned messily around his face, falling in careless waves over his forehead and brushing against his cheekbones.

you couldn't help yourself, curling your fingers in the unruly halo and drawing him up, closer to your face as his crimson-bitten lips parted slightly, clacking around a deep groan.

his mauve eyes lifted away from the swell of your chest once more, hazy with exhaustion, but they softened as they met your own gaze with an almost reverent, quiet awe. even lying there, while you quite literally rode him to hell and back, cunt pulsing against his cock in a way that left you both breathless, he looked at you as if you were some vision, and his rosy-bruised mouth curled again.

"always thought you - hah - looked like a dream," he murmured, his gaze tracing your face as if he were committing every detail to memory, "i used to think that i had forgotten, or tried to forget how beautiful you were, are."

"but now," and he bucks his hips into a steady tempo, a constant allegro, "seeing you here, like this as if you were made for fuckin' me, how could i ever forget?"

his fingers are still under your top, brushing against your spine and you mewl, pressed close enough to him so your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest.

"stay a little longer, yeah?" he whispers, "just let me look at you, fuck! don't think i'd ever be able to stop lookin' at you anyway. can't get enough of you," and he reaches a hand in between your thighs, finding your swollen clit and beginning to run soft circles around it with the pads of his fingers, "don't think i'll ever get enough."

it's becoming too much, the harsh smack of his skin against yours, the feeling of your throbbing clit being showered with white-hot attention from his quick hands, the counter of his dense shaft gliding down your pliable walls, spanning them out until you can feel him so deep within you, "fuck, it's too good - mmph, way too good, i can't -"

you're practically tangled in his arms, in the arms of a man who should have been an enemy, a traitor, one who crumbled all that you held once dear. but his chest rises and falls erratically against yours, and you can feel him heartbeat jump, grounding you in the most unbearable way,

his fingers are now bruising your hips, leaving marks that you're sure (in the back of your mind, somewhere that's still rational) satoru would easily be able to recognise but you can't bring yourself to care.

you can't tell whose tears are staining the fabric of his robes between you, his or yours. the line between the two of you blurs as much as the fog in your mind from the way his cock has driven into you, made its imprint in a way that you'll never forget.

"suguru -" you're wondering if your poor, torn heart will just simply give out now, why is it so hard to breathe? each press of his fingers against your clit has you moaning over the shell of his ear, "i'm close, hah, i'm so close, suguru."

he chuckles weakly, bubbling from him and mingled in with a grunt, "yeah, i fuckin' know. i know." and his soaked fingers are still drawing circles in your sticky arousal that's leaking from you, over his cock, over his robes, dampening the dark trail of hair that coats his groin.

"always been mine." and as he bites your neck, teeth sinking into you, you feel the coil in your abdomen snap! and god, you don't think you could ever go back. not like this.

you can't even imagine the picture you must paint now, lips parted and open as you feel yourself being rocked through your orgasm in a way that leaves you untethered from the earth. how the spasm of your walls must finally trigger his own release, and suddenly he's stiffened too as thick, creamy ropes of his seed find their home in you, "see, mine. always mine, don't go soft on me now, pretty. oh my god, fuck!"

all you can truly do is let him handle you now, let his arms tighten and pull you in as close as possible, so his teeth are tugging on your lips, kissing right into your mouth as you ride out the stars of your own release, tears springing to your eyes once more from the overstimulation, hands digging into the woven mat under him.

later, you lie in suguru's arms, wrapped up entirely in the exhausation (and guilt, oh fuck, the guilt of what you've done) of the world, and everything else feels hazy and irrelevant. the steady rhythm of his breath in small puffs is the only thing grounding you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling against yours. he's tracing soft lines across your back, like he's trying to memorise the feel of you.

"suguru," you whisper, your voice breaking once more on his name, lips close to the damp skin of his neck. you're not sure if you're still crying, or if this is the quietest, most intimate form of surrender that has replaced the weathered storm.

he doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip has tightened on you, as though he's trying to draw you even closer, like your soul will meld into his, "don't," and his voice is ragged raw, "you don't have to leave just yet."

the quiet desperation in his words cracks your heart, and for the first time in three years, the distance between the man who had become a shadow, and the boy you once knew feels almost unrecognisable.

his face turns toward yours, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for something to anchor him, something to give him the assurance that all the destruction he’s caused, all the distance between you, can still be undone.

but you’re not sure if it’s possible.

you want to say something, anything, but the words lodge in your throat, too heavy and too tangled to escape. you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, matching the pace of your own.

"i don’t know if i can stay, suguru," you say, "how can we go back to what we were?"

"then let me make it up to you," he says softly, his voice shaking with a quiet urgency, as though this is the last chance he’ll ever have. "let me show you what i've built here. that you don’t have to leave."

if you stay, you risk losing yourself. you risk losing the anger that you had cherished, and treasured, nurtured and held onto. the anger that had guided you through the world. still, as you meet his gaze, something inside of you shifts. maybe it’s the way his hands slide gently up your back, steady and sure.

"please," he breathes again, his forehead resting gently against yours. "don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you."

the moonlight spills through the cracks of the window, and it brings to mind the flicker of bright blue eyes, six eyes, alongside their warmth and steady presence, and you wonder if the earth will swallow you whole for what you've done.

you should never have come here. you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in suguru's gravity again, shouldn’t have let him pull you back into this mess of old feelings and broken promises.

suguru's low, tired laugh pulls you from your thoughts, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back slightly, his dusky eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place — a spark of surprise, maybe amusement, even a little mockery, but there is no lie in his eyes.

"satoru?" he says, the name slipping from his lips with a touch of disbelief. "you really think he hasn’t visited me in the past three years either?"

#⚝ · chiyoso: bookmarked.#HOLY FUCKING FUCK. GAGGED.#ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATED.#THAT FUCKING SHOOK ME TO THE CORE.#IM JUST IMMOBILE. I CANT.#WOW. THAT FUCKING HURT SO GOOD.#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #geto #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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