Kachow
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Tis crazy im keeping it
got the craziest idea. hear me out chat. you know those promises you make with your best friends when you’re both young?? it’s so silly and sweet, but the words ultimately mean nothing—
“promise me if we’re still alone in twenty years, let’s get married to each other.”
“i promise.”
—to you, at least.
you moved on, from not only that promise you made, but the person you made it with as well. you moved away far beyond his reach when you got older and wiser and realised that actually, the way he touched you and spoke to you and promised you he’d kill everyone who looked your way? that wasn’t okay.
and so you left; and he’ll be the first to admit… it worked. for years, he had no idea where you’d gone. he searched desperately, always keeping an eye out for his darling childhood friend, but whilst his life was consumed by your abrupt absence… you had forgotten him entirely.
you’d forgotten all about the sickeningly sweet declarations of his obsessive affection, and the violent threats he’d always make towards anyone who ever so much as spared you a passing glance. at some point, you’d forgotten what it even was that you’d run from in the first place.
well, until he shows up on your front door, twenty years later, with a ring in one pocket, and a pair of handcuffs in the other—
—he’s going to cuff you, one way or another.
just let this be your lesson not to make promises you can’t keep, next time. :)
CATACLYSMIC ☾
INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.
Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.
With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence.
He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined – your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.
Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.
Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.
God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.
“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face.
Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.
His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’.
If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough.
“Have you found it?”
You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster.
You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.
“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”
“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”
Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself.
“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.
How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write.
Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)
He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project.
The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project.
The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts.
“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”
You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.
Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect.
Statuesque.
His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”
“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul.
“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning.
You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.
“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”
Your eyebrows shoot up.
“It’s not good, either.”
You scowl at him.
“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand.
You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.
“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”
You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had.
You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself.
Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings.
His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him.
You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow.
You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman?
“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat.
His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils.
“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance.
You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist.
Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light.
“It’s deplorable.”
Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair.
“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”
You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh?
“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”
He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”
“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name.
Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either.
You were so wrong.
More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero.
He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.
Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious.
“Ratio.”
He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”
“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue.
“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”
“Are you going to stop looking down at me?”
The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?
“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”
You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.
“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”
You glare at him. Your chest stings.
He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”
“Why?”
“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”
Your eyes widen.
“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”
You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”
“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”
You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction.
“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”
“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”
You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”
His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer.
The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it.
He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant.
You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”
“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”
“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”
“Jackass.”
“Change it.”
You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks.
“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching.
“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”
“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”
“Then learn.”
“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”
“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”
“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”
“You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”
“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”
He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line.
“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”
You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research.
Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands.
“I’m done.”
“Show me.”
You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully.
Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines.
But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.
He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light.
“It’s good.”
You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”
“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”
“Huh?”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“What potential?”
He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy.
You happened to be the one exception.
“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”
“You think I have potential?”
“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”
He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile.
Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas.
—
The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors.
He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such.
But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom.
You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns.
It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions.
You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was.
He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once.
He hated it.
It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him.
Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you.
“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it.
“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”
You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back.
With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again.
But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble.
The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation.
You wanted to slap him.
Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?
You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class.
You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you.
“What was it you wanted to say?”
“Tutor me please.”
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“Because you’re smart.”
“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”
“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”
He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”
He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”
You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”
He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”
He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.
But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you.
It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself.
When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door.
You were a picture to behold.
Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head.
You were messing with him again.
Two could play that game.
“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”
“What, like alcohol?” you huffed.
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.
He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be.
His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation.
It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?
“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”
“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed.
“You’re too smart.”
“You’re not smart enough.”
“Smart ass,”
“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”
You groaned. “Where?”
He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief.
“You understand?”
“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”
“I won’t. Now get out.”
“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge.
Remarkably, he pulled out two beers.
“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”
A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”
“I don’t like the look on your face.”
“Wipe it off then.”
A frown. His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall.
“Drink and leave.”
“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness.
“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand.
“I do.”
“Are you lonely or something?”
“No, people are irritating.” Like you.
“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.
“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”
“If you say so.”
Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass.
One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath.
“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.
“What was that?”
“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so. He squints at the ground.
He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.
“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”
“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”
“Hm?”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Do you hate me?”
You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”
“Then why are you like this?”
Your eyebrows raise.
“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”
“...Sorry?”
“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”
“Really?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”
You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south.
“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes.
“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.
“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”
“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”
“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”
“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought.
“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else.
As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall.
You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze.
You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?
“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.
“You tell me.”
Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices.
He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast.
“You’re a siren.”
“Am I?”
“You’re going to ruin me.”
“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”
“I hate you.”
“Really?”
“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”
“Are you a masochist?”
“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”
“So what’s your conclusion?”
He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”
“How? Why?”
“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”
“Are you normally this analytical of people?”
“No, which supports my point.”
“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”
“No. I hate you for it.”
“Let me go then.”
He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door.
“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it.
“Polar opposites.”
“I mean who am I to you?”
He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space.
“Veritas?”
“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”
“What am I?”
“I don’t know.”
You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this.
He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”
“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”
“Night.”
Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill.
written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024
Hello Dear, I hope you get my message while you're fine.🙏
I'm Ola, a graduate student from the faculty of science at Al-Azhar university Gaza, Palestine. I'm a dedicated and passionate student, striving to become a good researcher and teacher.
Unexpectedly, After October 7th, my life took a drastic turn with the commencement of the cruel war on Gaza, transforming me from a passionate student to a person struggling for survival. 🥺
I have created a campaign to help my family rebuild their lives and get the basic needs of food, drink, etc in these cruel conditions. And also it will help me to complete my education.
All of what I am asking of you is a reblog of the pinned post on my page and to donate if you can🙏🥺.
I sincerely wish if you can empathize with my dire situation and consider supporting us. Please be certain that any help gets us closer to our goal and no matter how small your donation might be, it will make a significant difference in my family's lives.
I would be very grateful if you could follow me to stay updated, as I will always need your help.💔
My compaign vetted by @90-ghost and
@el-shab-Hussien and @nabulsi's vetted list, line 205.
Thanks in advance for your kindness and support. I am waiting for your response ❤️
This is my GFM link:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/empower-olas-pursuit-of-education-amid-crisis?qid=30ec4c502382b9962b96d698a687d9a8
Please donate and/or share with others 🥺🙏🇵🇸
Sincerely,
Ola
Hey everyone, please help Ola get the assistance that she needs 🙏🙏 please donate if you can, reposts and interactions are very much appreciated 💕‼️
Please help Tala and her family! They still have not reached their goal of $30,000 to evacuate from Gaza; they have currently raised $19,146/$30,000. Every donation counts so please don't become discouraged - every dollar counts no matter how little!!! With your help, we can help Tala and her family to reach safety!!
🌟 This campaign has been vetted - this fundraiser has been promoted by PYM Dallas and is supporting the family of a TX community member!!
Please donate and share widely!!!
This campaign is also a spotlight fundraiser from Artists 4 Gaza where your donation could get you a free art request from one of their many many talented artists!! Click for more info!
[template for the secondary graphic made by the amazing @/starelegy_ (IG)]
Hello, my name is Abd Alhadi Aburass, and I am from Gaza Palestine 🇵🇸. I write to you today with a heavy heart💔, seeking hope and help. The ongoing conflict has put my family's life in grave danger🙏.
We have lost our home and my advocacy bureau , leaving us with nothing but the clothes on our backs. In search of safety, we have become refugees, fleeing to another city where we now face immense challenges.
The war has torn apart our lives, and we are struggling to find stability in this new place. Basic necessities like food, clean water, and shelter are scarce. The trauma of the conflict weighs heavily on us, but we are determined to rebuild our lives and create a safer future for our children.
We need your support to get back on our feet. Your generous donations will go towards:
• Emergency Shelter: Helping us secure a safe place to live.
• Food and Water: Providing us with essential nutrition and clean water.
• Medical Care: Access to healthcare for our family, especially our children who have been deeply affected by the trauma.
• Education: Ensuring our children can continue their education and have a chance at a better future.
• Rebuilding Livelihoods: Helping us restart our business or find new means of income to become self-sufficient again.
Every Contribution Counts:
No amount is too small. Every dollar brings us one step closer to stability and a chance to rebuild our lives. Your support means the world to us during this dark time.
Thank You:
From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for your kindness and generosity. Your support not only helps us materially but also gives us hope that better days are ahead.
Please share our story with your friends, family, and community. Together, we can overcome this hardship and start anew.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Abd Alhadi Abu ras and Family
Thank You:
@ibtisams 🫶🇵🇸 @90-ghost 🫶🇵🇸 @fairuzfan 🫶🇵🇸
@palestinegenocide 🫶🇵🇸 @sar-soor 🫶🇵🇸
@vakarians-babe 🫶🇵🇸 @nabulsi 🫶🇵🇸
@aces-and-angels 🇵🇸 @interfacefox @cosmic-collective-system @finnslay @muchmossymess @rez-urrection @walking-polyp @bibyebae @autisticexpression2 @bisexualchemistry @violetclowns @beefybutchboy @feefal @mobydyke @genderfluidgothwitch @sleepyseaslug @urfavhatesthehungovt @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @morallyrainyday @taviamoth @olovelymoon @jannahswaiting @el-shab-hussein @longlivepalestina @beesofink @curi0uscreature @orchidvioletindigo @sunclownsblog @selamat-linting @girlinafairytale @ragingbullmode @theneutral-zone @thevalaxy @fairuzfan @opencommunion @gorillawithautism @seafoamwoman @emathyst9 @three-croissants @iznabl @nabulsi @sar-soor @appsa @akajustmerry
https://gofund.me/c13ec02d
Since Tumblr deletes genuine Palestinian blogs, here is a list of verified fundraisers!
Please donate if you can.
Do not hesitate to reblog and share! 🙏🏽
(Click here for Part 2).
IMPORTANT: Bear in mind that I do NOT verify fundraisers. I am not Palestinian, and I do not speak Arabic! They have been vetted by Palestinian users!
1) Mohammed Al-Habil (@mohammedfamily123) and his family (€4,519 / €50,000). Verified and vetted by @/el-shab-hussein.
2) Mahmoud Helles (@mahmoud92hells) and his family (€757 / €50,000). Verified and vetted by @/90-ghost.
3) Asmaa Sheikh Youssef (@asmaalshaikh-blog) and reunion with her fiancé (€3,001 / €30,000). Verified and vetted by @/90-ghost and @/ibtisams.
4) Muhanned Shaheen (@mohanedshaheen) and his family (€2,658 / €35,000). Verified and vetted by @/90-ghost.
5) Momen Al Ostaz (@mo98h) and his family (€11, 213 / €70,000). Verified and vetted by @/el-shab-hussein
6) Tawfik Satoom (@tawfiksatooom) and his family ($14,089 / $40,000). Verified and vetted by @/ibtisams.
(Make sure to donate to his PayPal, as well! It will end in three days!)
It will help every one of them to reach their goal and to evacuate safely.
Thank you!
(06/19/2024)
Divider by: @cafekitsune
Demon / imp friend who keeps pretending they can't control their tail⤵
Pretending to be bashful when it winds its way around your thigh or wraps around your waist.
"Oh! Sorry haha, this damn thing. Like it has a mind of it's own 😅"
You let it slide because you like them, until one day you see them not so discreetly catch a pencil with their tail and manoeuvre it expertly back into the pen holder on the desk it fell from.
You pretend not to notice, your sneaky suspicion now confirmed.
So the next time they're sitting next to you and their slinky tail starts winding around the fat of your thigh, you're so ready for it.
"You're doing it again."
They turn away from what they were pretending to focus on, act all bashful and start apologising,
"Oh shit, I'm sorry."
Before your demonic friend can retreat, you cross your legs, effectively trapping their coiled tail between your warm thighs.
"It's alright, I don't mind."
You say dismissively, as you lightly stroke the arrow shaped point at the end of the tail with your thumbs.
You feel them shiver and look up to see them practically panting, staring down at you with heart shaped eyes and hot cheeks.
⛧𖤍⛧
Urgent Relief ... 🙏🇵🇸
Please understand my story and help me.
Verified by :
(ghost-90)
Northgazaupdates,
I'm Mohammed from Gaza, a father to a little girl named Mona. My wife and I are trying our best to save what remains of our only child's childhood.
Our home, memories, and all the dreams we had built over the past years have been destroyed. Now, we are left without shelter or a place to live. 💔😔
PLEASE HELP AND STAND BY US Click here
We fled from Gaza to Nuseirat at the beginning of the difficult war and miraculously survived when the occupation forces told us to evacuate. We escaped many bombings that occurred nearby. Then we moved to Rafah, but unfortunately, we were warned to evacuate again to other areas outside Rafah. The attack on the area began, and we left under bombardment and destruction, with death close to us. My daughter, family, and I narrowly escaped.
We have now fled to Deir al-Balah, which is relatively safer, and we are currently living in a tent that does not protect us from any danger. Diseases are spreading among us due to poor nutrition and surrounding pollution.
To donate, click here
We have lived through an unforgettable experience of fear and death. Now, I hope this war ends so I can save my only daughter and family from death. They are innocent and do not deserve this.
Therefore, I have decided to create a special link to help them achieve a dignified life and escape from this war that will kill us.
To donate, click here
Please, I appeal to the humanity within you to help me, my daughter, and my family survive this war. Do everything you can to assist and save us.
Please help us start a new life far from wars and live in peace with my daughter and family. ❤️🙏🍉
@90-ghost @hametsukaishi @northgazaupdates @homoerotic @yourmoonbaby @yourmoonmomma @freegazapalestine-blog @palestinegenocide @commonpeopleshirts-blog @fairyfansbr-blog @freewatermelon0 @commissions4aid-international @skatehani @kordeliiius @animen @gaza @queerstudiesnatural @wlwaerith @marnota
EMERGENCY HELP🚨
Hello, I'm Ola, a graduate student and Mathematics teacher from Gaza,Palestine. As you reading my message, myself and my family, “my mother, father, three sisters, and my little brother,” are fighting death in northern Gaza and trying to survive under all kinds of suffering including but not limited to destruction, fear, and instability, starvation, thirst, and poverty.
Your generosity has the power to make a significant difference, please donate or replog my post widly.
My compaign has been verified and appears on @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi's list of vetted fundraisers line 205.
@el-shab-hussein @rinnie @nabulsi @palestine @northgazaupdates2 @northgazaupdates @90-ghost @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @sweetoothgirl @appsa
There is nothing in the world worse than the feeling of helplessness, that you cannot do anything, and you are standing in hell, and you are unable to do anything but silently observe your pain.
Hello:
I am Muhammad Shehab from Gaza🍉. I support a family of 6 people. My sick mother and father, my wife Hiyam, and my sons (Zain and Yahya). I have a gofundme campaign that I created to treat my mother and father, protect my family, and get them out of the danger of the war on Gaza🍉. We live in very difficult circumstances Help me we are still very far from the goal. I hope everyone will donate even a little. I am confident that you will stand with me and support me until I achieve my goal and save my family from the danger of war. Share my story. Pin my story to your page. Everything helps. Can you share some of my posts from time to time? Maybe the internet will be cut off in my area. Thank you
Urgent 🆘️ call: 🚨🍉 Donate, please donate..🥺😓
Save what is left of us..Be the reason for our survival and exit from Gaza.. We need every dollar..🥺🫂 Spread my campaign, make it reach many.. I came to you and I hope that you will stand by my side.. 😢 If you are not able to donate Please support me by publishing. A simple matter = a human life..🤍
I have a beautiful family consisting of a wife and five beautiful children. So I hold on to patience and faith, and I pray to God to inspire us with the strength to overcome this harsh experience, in this turbulent world. Be the reason for our survival.. Support us and protect our lives. We have the opportunity to travel , but the obstacle is the travel costs. Help us collect them. There is talk of opening the crossing. Quickly, help us collect the travel costs. Have mercy on us from this homelessness and loss.
Your donation = our stability
Can you give me a gift? 🎁🎉🎊 Reblog Just … it's a lifeline for my family. Share my post as much as you can. You are generous and we deserve a chance for a safe and stable new life. After everything we've been through I am very proud of you..🇵🇸🍉💔
Thank you for not letting me down . Thank you for comforting me.. I am grateful to everyone who donated and to everyone who shared this post to reach people..
We reach 25000€ /50.000€ The way still so long..please
Please do not stop donating..
I Really Need Your Help .
I'm In need of every dollar… your contribution will bring us closer to achieving our dream of survival and will be a reason to protect the life and future of my children..
Small donation can make abig difference🙏🙏
My friends who stood by me, I shower you with hugs and love you very much.❤️🫂
NOTE: Our campaign is vetted by : @el-shab-hussein vetted link
Hello dears ! I am asking you to support my campaign to help me to reach my goal. I am now in bad need to your support to help me stay alive and safe. Gaza is a very dangerous place either on the level of livelihood or on the level of souls. I need your monetary support to ensble me to get the basic needs for my family till Rafah crossing point reopens to move my family to safety and peace.Pleasd help a family be alive through your small donations or througn your shares to others.Thank you so much for your stand beside people in need .
Hai!! ^^
If you have even a dollar to spare please donate !!
GUILT PART 2
(GN!READER)
SUNDAY:
"Heavens above please don’t tell me they heard everything,” Sunday murmured to himself walking through the halls of his base, his wings near his ears flapping in nervousness ever so slightly.
You very well heard every single word. Tears dripped down your face as you tried to hold them back in order to not look disheveled in front of the others you were passing by. You passed by Robin and her eyes widened but you walked off before giving her a chance to speak.
As you try to make one more turn against the hall corner you're greeted by a familiar hand gripping onto your shoulder.
“Let go Sunday.” You whisper out still trying to stifle your small tears.
“Let me explain. Please.” He whispers in reply, his eyes drooped in apology.
“Go on. Explain. Explain how you're using my ass? Or..how I’m easy to manipulate?”
“Listen darling. I will take back what I said. I just needed to say that since I can’t let others know how stunningly in love I’m with you.” You hitched as you saw a dark gaze in Sunday's eyes. His..eyes didn't look loving. But. You couldn’t help but be drawn into them.
Sunday gave his usual light smile as he gripped your face. “You’re not going to leave me right?” Those words were a question but they sounded like a statement through his lips. You stared.
“Please. Just don’t say shit like that. It hurt a lot.” You mumble out looking at the ground feeling Sunday tighten his grip on your chin smiling.
“Anything for you, love.” He kissed your tears traveling to your lips gently.
AVENTURINE:
“Does he really think money’s going to solve this?” You say to yourself looking at the notification of Aventurine sending you $1,000,000 cash.
As you were about to take a taxi home you stare at the windshield and see Aventurine running.
“Great.” You mumbled to yourself as he panted and gave his signature smile.
“Listen baby. I didn’t mean to do that! You know I’d never place you in a bet of mine. It was a tease!”
“Uh huh. You would’ve gone with it if I didn’t walk out of that place.” You scoff at his reasoning about walking into the taxi till you feel slim arms wrap around your waist from behind and Aventurines head leaning on your shoulder nuzzled.
“Please..don’t go. I didn’t mean it.” He whispered out in that vulnerable voice you usually never heard of him unless he spoke about his past or family.
You tensed at his words and eventually relaxed and sighed.
“Okay. Okay. You're killing me with that grip of yours.”
“Don’t care.” He whispered, hugging you tighter from behind as your eyes became half lidded.
“Just..please don’t joke about that kind of thing ever again Aven.” Aventurine nodded rapidly and kissed the back of your neck, smiling against it as you ruffled his hair, also giving a soft smile.
DR. RATIO:
“Oh my lord. Oh my lord.” Veritas said to himself repeatedly while trying to find you. He checked your room. Your office. The living room. Everywhere. Veritas felt a migraine coming. Not out of annoyance. But out of guilt.
He hitched when he saw you sitting on a bench outside quietly staring at the ground as if struck in a daze. Which you were. You were replaying what happened over and over in your head.
“Hey.” Veritas mumbled awkwardly and you looked up at him with a frown.
“Hey. Shouldn't you be working?” You sigh averting your gaze but flinch slightly as Veritas grabbed your hand pulling it to his chest.
“I’m sorry. I lashed out and said uncountable things. That was wrong of me I must say.” Veritas knew and prided himself in never being wrong so this was unnatural of him and he felt uneasy but. He knew he had to apologize. He made the mistake of making you sad.
“It's fine.” You didn’t take his apology well since a couple words wouldn't exactly vanish the feeling of sadness you had when he lashed out on you. Plus they were still dwelling.
Veritas being perceptive and noticing sighed and pulled you closer grabbing both your hands and peppering kisses on them. You flushed at the affection trying to pull back but he continued even deeper while staring at you.
“I’m sorry. I won’t look at a book for the rest of the day. It will be severely dedicated to you. And only you.” Your heart felt full at his words.
YOU ARE NOT SELFISH‼️
Vetted by : @sar-soor @communistchilchuck @90-ghost
and, this is a legitimate campaign. It's #174 on the list of fundraisers that have been verified by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi .
Support a Family from Gaza During the War 🙏
Important 💢
Dear Friends,👋
My name is Ahmed Alanqer, and I live in Gaza with my wife Dina Almnasra and our four children. The war has destroyed our lives and made us live in constant fear. I have lost many family members, my life, my university, and my dearest loved ones. I don't know if I will survive or not. I fear becoming just a number in this long war, and I fear dying without meaning.
I accept death in Gaza, but I cannot bear to see what remains of my family die in front of me. We desperately need financial assistance to leave Gaza and protect my family.
Recently, Donations to our campaign have stopped, and I don't know why. I know many have stopped supporting Palestine due to the prolonged war, but please do not forget us. We ask you to share our story with your friends.
Every contribution, comment and donate can make a big difference.
Please contribute through our donation campaign link: https://gofund.me/35c30c67
Thank you for your support and prayers.Sincerely,🙏
@communistchilchuck @palipunk @fairuzfan @vakarians-babe @90-ghost @nabulsi @appsa @aria-ashryver @aces-and-angels @sayruq @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @ibtisams-blog @sar-soor @el-shab-hussein @elierlick @feluka @northgazaupdates @buttercupagere @palms-upturned @blackpearlblast
Tis kinda crazy yall
'I'll gamble on it, Y/N. You'll have to stay with me forever if I win.'
Dice Vasileiou Nevrakis, the stone-faced owner of the drunkdice. casino whose branches span the globe. Business is always booming in Vegas, and the connections that can be made with a little alcohol over a game of baccarat means Sin City is like its own microcosm in the palms of his hands. With a silent type of influence so weighted that a single glare could silence a million men, it's no secret that you'd want him in your corner at the end of the day. To-date, there is still no one who has been able to strike a deal good enough to get him.
At the heart of high society, he's numb to the scandals and suspicions that follow — the world is slow-burning around him in a blur of noise and colour, and all Dice cares about is draining every pleasure from it before it turns to ash. He's got a reputation for sleeping around; he might just invite you into his bed if he thinks it's worth the while. Romance is dead, but he's willing to let you change his mind.
Careful though, there's a long list of names that have been ruined under the strings he's pulled, and you wouldn't want yours to become one of them. He's a busy man and he doesn't give his trust easy, you may just be his first and last. Don't waste his time. Make him fall for you and it opens countless doors, Dice will guide you through luxury so grand, you won't even notice the clicks of the locks being turned behind you.
'Jackpot. What? Of course it's rigged. I already told you, luck doesn't exist.'
Today is 266 days, we are still alive. 🇵🇸🍉
Please don't skip! 🙏🏻🥺
Please consider sharing or donating, thank you! 🩷🍉
to be desired, to be sought, to be cut, to be sold — that is the fate of a gem.
notes: sunday x gn!reader, angst, post-penacony story (inc. spoilers)
vomited this out at 4am with no edits and no attention to coherency you're welcome goodnight
When you're granted access to visit Sunday, a part of you wishes that The Family had told you no.
His cell is imposing, far larger than he has any need for, with elaborate chains keeping his arms shackled above his head. There is something about the droop to his frame, the aversion of his gaze, his closed eyes, that tightens your chest.
He looks small.
He looks lonely.
(You're hurt, you remind yourself. In his endeavours to rid his world of the ardors of survival, Sunday had hurt you. He had hurt so many of the people you cared about.)
And yet there is a pain etched deep into his face when he finally looks up at you. Those golden eyes are tarnished, tired, but most importantly they are surprised. (Whether it's because he sees you, or that he's been warranted a visitor in the first place, you remain unsure.)
You take a tentative step forward. The guards outside move back into formation as the cell door falls shut.
Sunday doesn't speak. You don't think you want him to. He simply watches, with those pained eyes, as you decide what to do.
"I haven't forgiven you," you speak at last, choking down your nerves. "You know that, don't you?"
Dry lips part, then close. He opts instead to nod.
You take another step, and another, til a mere stretch of your arm separates you from the silken feathers around his head. (A distant, echoing voice at the back of your mind lists off all you might be capable of from this distance. Another cries out to flee.)
"I trusted you." Though you try to stifle it, your voice cracks. "You broke my trust, Sunday."
He can't seem to find the words to answer you today. It's a palpable change from how talkative you're used to him. (You wonder briefly whether it would be easier for him to speak back, or if you prefer it this way. At least you've the freedom to say what's on your mind.)
"You know, at first they wanted to arrest me too." A dry, bitter laugh escapes you. "The Family thought I was working with you. I wouldn't be surprised if they still did. Maybe that's the only reason I've been allowed to see you, so they can figure it out for themselves."
You move to sit, cross-legged on the floor at Sunday's feet. Looking up at him like this feels uncomfortable, strange, but it also gives you the perfect angle to get a better look at him.
Despite the dishevelled clothes and hair that are so clearly a result of the aftermath of his incarceration, he maintains a faint air of elegance. It is settled into the fine curve of his jaw, the delicate long lashes that frame those tarnished eyes- which continue to watch you with an amalgam of pain and surprise- and in the sweeping arc of his body as he leans forwards in his chair.
He's beautiful, as he always has been.
And yet it remains difficult to separate him from the image of that ascended monster you'd observed the Express engage in battle. The looming figure, the stark brightness of its porcelain form, had haunted you for days. Almost weeks.
(But Sunday himself has haunted you for far longer.
He continues to now, with his silence, with his gaze. Akin to a ghost, the man you have allowed to obscure your mind lingers fleeting and restless.)
When he speaks at last, after so many year-long minutes, you fear you've succumbed to a hallucination.
"I've missed you," he says. It comes out rasped, strained, accompanied with a heaving cough, but it rings out clear as day in the silence of his cell.
A soft jingling, then a harsh clank, draws your attention to the chains above his head. He'd tried to move his arm, you surmise, and failed miserably. You can't decide if you're glad he can't reach out to touch you like he seems to want. (Your fingers twitch at your sides, echoing the sentiment.)
Sunday once longed for freedom. In the sanctity of his office, he had told you as much. The metal that bites against his wrists and ankles now feels so terribly far removed from such a vision. (If he had the chance, would he have taken it back and spread his wings? Or has he always been fated to remain caged?)
Your chest heaves as you feel a tear well up in the corner of your eye.
(You can't cry here, not now. Not in front of him.)
One of the guards knocks on the door. One more minute. A sigh of relief falls past your lips.
"You're leaving already?" Sunday asks. If you didn't know better, you'd think those dulled eyes of his mirrored your own right now.
You don't speak as you walk to the door, waiting patiently for the guards to let you leave.
Through the final stretch of light that paints his cell, you take one more glance to him. You try not to catch what he mouths, but the sight is seared in your mind within an instant.
"Is everything okay?" A guard asks, arm outstretched to escort you from the prison.
"I suppose it'll have to be," you say.
GUILT
(HSR MEN X READER) (ANGST)
(GN!READER)
Synopsis: You and Sunday were dating but then you overhear him talking to those who work with him about how you’re just a pawn for his games.
SUNDAY:
Soft footsteps echoed as you walked through the halls of where your beloved boyfriend Sunday lived. Though a feeling of unknown dread crawled onto you as if warning you of something soon happening.
Click. Click. Click.
Your eyes lit up as you heard your boyfriend speaking to those who worked under him and you couldn't help but eavesdrop. The curiosity of how he acted when he wasn’t around you dwelling in your mind.
“It’s simple. I’m using them. They are just one step closer for me to get closer to my goals.” Sunday said with a calm smile, hands gently tracing his desk looking down at the men who were talking to him.
You were confused.
What were they talking about?
“Sir..are you sure? Aren’t they attached?”
“My so-called significant other is definitely attached. Though that benefits me. Much. More. Easier. To manipulate.”
You paled.
He was using you.
Tears bubbled up in your eyes and you held your hand to your mouth to stifle any noises of sadness that were threatening to come out.
Hitching and turning on your shoe you make a dash for it unaware that Sunday caught a glimpse through the slit of the door open with his eyes. His wings twitched in surprise and soon lowered as a disgusting feeling of shame hit him.
It was an oddity for Sunday.
“Oh dear.” He murmured out making his way out to find you.
Synopsis: Aventurine and you dated but when he bets you in a game everything goes downhill.
AVENTURINE:
You catch your boyfriend, the renowned gambler betting as usual. You told him his hobby wasn't good. But as if that would stop him. Eventually you gave up and just let him do what he wanted despite worry filling you each time he pushed a chip forward with his iconic trademark smirk.
“Babe..” You murmur out unease written all over your face.
“Oh! Hey darling~ this man just won’t seem to give up..even after I basically drained his savings. He’s penniless and now putting bets on things he doesn't even own!” Aventurine chuckled, holding his head amused.
“Maybe you should stop? It's getting intense, no.?” You worriedly whisper out.
“Oh no no no sweetheart. Once you go in. You can’t come out.”
“Huh?” You fluster.
“In gambling! What were you thinking of?” His smirk grew and became more toothly as you spluttered but it soon died down as Aventurine noticed that the man he was gambling with was slowly earning his chips back.
“You pull up a tough fight.” Aventurine spoke and you just knew he was going to pull an impulsive move.
“Seems my chips have vanished. What a shame. Yet I do not intend to lose. I bet..my darling sweetheart right here.”
You flinched at his words staring at him with a ‘did you really just say that’’ look making Aventurine smack back into reality.
“Oh..doll wait I didn’t mea-”
He got cut off by you walking off.
Ping! New message!
(AVENTURINE HAS SENT $100,000,00)
Synopsis: Dating Dr. Ratio was nice. Though he puts more time with other matters, neglecting you.
DR RATIO:
You hadn’t seen your boyfriend Veritas in a while because of him either studying, working, teaching others, or doing something other than hanging out with you. You're aware of his passion to join the Genius Society but he can work on that while hanging out with you too right?
You felt left out.
So you decided to make your way to his office excited to see him but also a bit nervous due to the thought of him brushing you away to work on something else.
You knocked.
“Come in.” You hear his British pompous voice making you crack a small smile not hearing it in a while.
“Veritas..” You open the door smiling but it broke as you saw him writing down something in his notebook not bothering to spare a glance at you.
“What is it? I’m quite busy.” He whispered out, still looking engrossed in his work.
“Do..you want to hang out? It’s been a while and I’ve been worried about you overworking yourself. And I miss seeing you.” You blush at your own words staring at him.
Veritas sighed, dropping his pen and rubbing his temples.
“Dear how many times must I have to tell you that I am busy?” Annoyance is apparent in his tone making your eyes droop in defeat.
“Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to ask..since it's been such a long time.” Another sigh left Veritas as he ran a hand through his hair and finally made eye contact with you.
“I’m doing work at the moment so please leave me to it.” He picked up his pen again taking a glance at you but his eyes widened as he saw your vulnerable expression of defeat. You nodded softly and shut the door leaving.
Veritas stared at the door, his heart clenching in what he just did. Guilt poured onto it.
“My lord.” He murmured holding his now aching head.
sorry but i love the idea of getting badly hurt, kidnapped, or even dying when you and your fave have been fighting
Diluc and you having an argument that results in him hastily leaving the winery for work without even a goodbye to you - only to hear hours later that the Fatui decided to make a move and stole you from the very couch where you were crying, glass is everywhere and dots of blood splatter the floor and you’re nowhere to be found - only your wedding ring amongst the mess on the ground. Diluc’s jaw clenches, wondering why the line of violence still has not ended despite his best efforts.
Alhaitham telling you with his calculated sharpness that he’s irritated with you, and you decide to give him a break, tearfully bidding him goodbye as he holds onto his pride just a little too long. when he goes to find you, he’s met with the sight of you bloodied and beaten against the trunk of a tree - your breathing labored and eyes unfocused as the result of a devastating attack from you simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. if only he had told you to stay home.
Wriothesley never shouts at you, but there’s always a first time for everything. an argument that spiraled into a shouting match has turned into you angrily and stubbornly fleeing from the Fortress of Meropide. in your angry tears you lose your footing, walking too close to the vast ocean beneath you on the bridge and be pulled into the endless blue, your lover falling to his knees when your lifeless body is pulled from the water. he will later on come to the conclusion he has never, and will never have happiness.
hello dovee! I saw the "I'd look good on you." and immediately thought of vil! if I could please request for that? THANK YOU SO MUCH🍰stay creative!
thank you everyone for feeding me vil requests. I got a little crazy with this one
summary: "I'd look good on you." type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, a little suggestive a part of this event
"No, no, no, no. Wrong, dreadful,"
You dodge another designer handbag as it goes flying across Vil's room, joining the growing pile of clothes behind you.
"Why is this so difficult?" he groans, storming out of his closet. "I have not a SINGLE decent thing to wear for this interview."
You look over your shoulder, watching him as he begrudgingly begins to clean up the mess he'd made.
"I think you're stressed,"
Vil pauses midway through sliding a silken shirt back on its hanger to glare at you.
"Another excellent observation," he says dryly. Then, a sigh.
"Sorry. I've been wanting to work with this director for years... I don't care for this role, but if the film does well, he'll likely want to work with me again... How's this?"
He holds up a glittery purple dress in front of him. You blink.
"...Good,"
"Ugh," he scoffs, tossing it aside. You don't know how many more times you can tell him he looks good in everything before he kicks you out.
"What is the role, anyway?"
Vil rolls his eyes, catching onto your attempt to distract him. He indulges, anyway.
"Another villain, although this film is more of a..." he pauses, gesturing vaguely. You stare. "...A young adult movie."
"So it's bait for teenage girls?"
"...Essentially,"
He sighs again, cleaning up the last of his temper tantrum and sorting it in his massive closet.
"Thus my role is more... provocative, we'll say. Which is fine, if not for the fact that I feel I did horribly,"
"I'm sure you didn't,"
"I'll be a laughing stock, this director will never work with me again, and I'll become one of those pathetic, washed up former child stars by age twenty-one,"
That feels... a tad overdramatic, but you don't mention it.
"That's not going to happen," you insist. "I'm sure you make a great... provocative... villain!"
Vil sighs, returning to the bedside to sit with you. For a brief moment, you can feel him staring, but you say nothing of it.
"You haven't even seen it," he mumbles, finally looking away. "I only have half an hour... I feel completely unassured."
You can't help but feel pity. Before knowing Vil, you had stupidly assumed that most celebrities are confident by nature, exuding grace and certainty.
Now...
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Vil quiets, seeming to consider the offer. "...May I use a line on you?"
You're not exactly sure what he means by that, but it can't be anything too painful. He only has half an hour, after all.
You nod.
Vil smiles, then turns away. He takes a deep breath... you've seen this before. He's getting into character.
It's very effective.
When he turns back, his expression is completely different. And his body language. Even his very presence has shifted.
You've seen this before, you remind yourself. The dangerous, menacing facade that he's known for, that makes his roles so iconic...
But he's also smiling, his eyes lowered, a pleasantly amused look about him.
His hand finds its way to the bed on your other side, effectively caging you between his arms. And then he moves in, guiding you down onto the mattress and leaning over your body.
This is your friend. You're just helping him. There's nothing to be nervous about.
Despite what you tell yourself, you can feel the effect he's having on you.
He can tell, too.
Vil tuts, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Scared?" he asks. His voice is gentle, though there's a lingering danger behind it.
"Poor thing... I won't bite,"
He leans closer, his other hand intertwining with yours and keeping it pinned to the mattress, hot breath pressing against your ear.
"I'd look good on you," he whispers.
You know you shouldn't interrupt him, but you can't stop the nervous, flustered whine that comes out of your throat.
Vil breaks character, beaming, and gets off of you.
"Oh, my..." he grins, studying your expression. "You were right. I was worried over nothing."
He stands, smoothing out his clothes, and strides towards the closet to change, leaving you flustered senseless on the bed until he returns.
"How do I look?" he asks.
Of course, perfect. He always looks perfect. And now that he's confident again, gorgeous.
He smirks. "I'll take your silence as a compliment, potato. Thank you for the boost... I'll be back to pick up where we left off in a few hours,"
Demon / imp friend who keeps pretending they can't control their tail⤵
Pretending to be bashful when it winds its way around your thigh or wraps around your waist.
"Oh! Sorry haha, this damn thing. Like it has a mind of it's own 😅"
You let it slide because you like them, until one day you see them not so discreetly catch a pencil with their tail and manoeuvre it expertly back into the pen holder on the desk it fell from.
You pretend not to notice, your sneaky suspicion now confirmed.
So the next time they're sitting next to you and their slinky tail starts winding around the fat of your thigh, you're so ready for it.
"You're doing it again."
They turn away from what they were pretending to focus on, act all bashful and start apologising,
"Oh shit, I'm sorry."
Before your demonic friend can retreat, you cross your legs, effectively trapping their coiled tail between your warm thighs.
"It's alright, I don't mind."
You say dismissively, as you lightly stroke the arrow shaped point at the end of the tail with your thumbs.
You feel them shiver and look up to see them practically panting, staring down at you with heart shaped eyes and hot cheeks.
⛧𖤍⛧