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tetzoro · 3 months ago

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☽◯☾ - SWORD AND SHEATH

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : After another slew at sea, you and Zoro have the ship all to yourselves as the crew restocks up on the island. They say that curiosity kills the cat, but what happens when you've tamed the beast?

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. zoro roronoa x f!reader ; swordplay, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, mentions of spit, pet names (baby, pretty girl), mentions of squirting, lots of teasing and praise — WC : 5.2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ First Quarter ! ꒱ ― Kinktober Masterlist

Each glide of the polish-infused cloth along the Wado Ichimonji is slow, refined. Zoro was using his practiced hand to do the process he’s done thousands of times with the blade he cherishes most.

It was a form of art — the way the blade would be reborn with the shine it was always meant to have, no longer weighed down by the blood, dirt, and sweat that would so often coat it.

The sun beats down on him as he continues his ritual. Sword maintenance was just as important as training; it was cathartic, another form of meditation that Zoro relied on to center himself, grow stronger, and keep his tools as efficient as he could.

Wiping away the horrors each weapon has seen makes him feel a little more cleansed himself. Zoro has never been one to shy away from a fight or doing what he needs to do in order to survive, but the process just reminds him that he won the battle; he’s the one who gets to clean his blades and move onto his next enemy — the next step in his dream.

His wandering mind can’t help but drift back to you — his bright star in the night sky, the one that silently guides him along and encourages his every step on his journey, even going as far as lighting the way when the path seems too dark.

After a few moments of being with you, he too feels the weight of the blood on his hands fade away as soon as you lovingly take them in yours. The tender skin of your palms kissing, the buzz of being grounded by each squeeze you grant him and he finds himself able to begin again.

Seagulls chirp overhead as he works, polishing his blades with intent, his focus unshakeable even though the world around him demands attention. The gentle lull of the waves, the whispering breeze in the air, he was able to tune it all out.

But the moment you came waltzing onto the deck, his ears perked up and his nose scrunched, signaling that he knew you were there and mentally preparing himself for whatever you had planned next. If only he knew.

“What do you want now?” The last word dies in his throat as he takes you in, freezing in place. You only see it because you know him so well, and have studied his face and all of his expressions far and wide.

The subtle widening of his eye, barely a fraction of a difference but it’s a difference all the same. The stoic mask he so often wears, acting indifferent to things such as clothes, slips away as no one could ever ward off the power of beauty - especially yours.

The facade begins to chip away as a blush spreads across his face, gears turning in his brain to find something to say as you make your way over to him.

Because today, the Sunny was docked at an island for a routine supply run and you were all too quick to volunteer you and Zoro to stay back and watch the ship together. He should've known right then and there that you were up to no good but your syrupy sweet eagerness disarmed him.

But now you were stalking closer to him, dressed up entirely in his clothes – or at least some of them. Adorned in his notable green robe, his haramaki, and completed with his bandana securely tied around your head. His gaze rakes over your figure, taking in the way you look wearing one of his favorite outfits. Swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobs in anticipation. He can’t help but feel his throat close up and trap all the words he wishes to say behind a wall of surprise.

“What do you think?” You ask, your lips bending in a coy manner.

A blush blooms across his tanned skin in a slow crawl, blossoming into a darker shade the more you twirl in his robe that very clearly shows you’re not wearing his pants underneath it.

His jaw clenched, unable to form any words as he continues to drink you in. This was the last thing he expected from you today, but he really should’ve known better.

“You’re blushing.” You grin, going to poke his cheek. But his reflexes were too sharp, instantly swatting your hand away before turning his head away from you.

“Am not! Shut up!” He hisses out, the blush only deepening as you call him out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.”

“Don’t I?” You move to get back in his line of sight, that disarmingly sweet yet taunting smile still resting on your lips. “Just tell me what you think of the outfit, Zo.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.” He points out, stating the obvious. You don’t bother to hide the way you roll your eyes.

“Very astute of you. Did you have to use your Haki to come to that conclusion?”

Without another word, Zoro throws you over his shoulder, marching back into the ship and straight for the bunks. You squeal, accusing him of being a brute as you lazily pound your fists against his back.

Zoro slaps your ass with a sadistic grin that you don’t have the pleasure of seeing before he begins to squeeze and knead the plush flesh, unable to move his firm hand away from it.

He makes his way into the cramped room. It wasn’t his favorite place to take you but it was the closest and climbing up the crow's nest would only cause a delay between him and what he desired most.

After closing the heavy wooden door with the back of his boot, he tosses you onto the bed, letting you sprawl out for him while he places his swords to the side – perfectly lined up as always.

“Wearing my clothes around like this…” Zoro trails off as his eye zeroes in on the way the robe slides off of your shoulder, teasingly exposing the sliver of your chest. He can feel his face heat up all over again. “Are you really not wearing anything under this?”

“Well, the pants didn’t fit me and you don’t normally wear a shirt under this.” The impassive manner in which you said that did not hold a candle to the way your eyes were fired up with a diabolical mirth wrapped up with mischief. Always playing the little minx that would find a way to burrow under his skin and make a home there just to torture him. Or so he says.

“You little...” Zoro quickly crawls over you, caging you in under him, elbows digging into the mattress by your head. “You make it so hard for me sometimes.”

“Do I? Let me feel—” You reach toward his pants but his hand encircles your wrist.

“Oi! That’s not what I meant.” he almost hisses out. He took your wrists in his hands and pinned them over your head on the flattened pillow on his bunk.

The thread of control he was clinging onto was no match for the ember of desire you spark in him. One single strike and it would be burnt out, turning into ash and falling right into the palm of your hand.

“I know.” You giggle. The damn giggle that never fails to cause something within him to flutter, stirring it around until he had no choice but to act on it.

Surging forward, his lips aggressively capture yours. There’s no room for easing into it, just a clash of teeth knocking together, swirling with a mix of heady groans and needy moans.

But that’s one of his favorite things about kissing you — how you were just unabashed about how messy it would get. Swapping spit through the sheer force of each other's tongues shoving their way into hot, receptive mouths.

The amount of passion and unspoken feelings he’s able to express through this simple act is something he flourishes at, excelling at unraveling you. Gripping your cheeks, he tilts your head back slightly so he can deepen the kiss — as if he was trying to spill the words that stubbornly sat on the tip of his tongue and have it reach the bottom of your heart.

The call for air was growing too difficult to ignore and reluctantly he pulled back, letting the string of saliva snap and drip down your chins. He leans down, kissing the droplet off of your skin, ingesting as much as he possibly can before looking at you.

You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, melting into the bed already from the ferocity of the kiss. His steely eye trails away from your swollen, lust-bitten lips in favor of taking in the way you’re panting under him. Need takes over him as he reaches for your — his — clothes.

Zoro has disrobed himself many times, but he’s never had to take it off of someone else like this. He knows the way it unravels open and leaves his chest all exposed before he fights someone, but this isn’t one of those times.

With a gentleness that only love could bring, he languidly undoes the robe, pulling back a bit so he can see how the green fabric bunches around your sides, your heaving chest now out on display for him.

Peppering a few kisses down your jaw, his tongue trails your neck as he works his way down to your collarbone and your supple chest. Each delicious drag has you squirming under him, whining about him being a tease.

“You’re one to talk.” Zoro gruffs out with a bite of sarcasm, giving your nipple a quick pinch. He relishes in the yelp of his name that you beautifully let out before carefully trailing his slick tongue along your skin.

The way you mewl as his lips enclose your pert bud only reinforces the primal desire that’s been raging inside of him since you first came out dressed in that damn robe.

After giving your other breast the same treatment, he presses his lips in the middle of your chest and lets it linger so he can inhale one of the sweetest parts of your body — the one that lays closest to your heart.

Zoro presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all along your stomach, moving further down until easily slipping your panties off and tossing them behind him.

Running his fingers along your glistening folds, he holds back a groan at the strings of arousal already clinging to him.

“Already so wet f’me.” His eye was trained at the apex between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. “Gonna prep you now.”

Bringing his face closer, he shuts his eye in a hazy bliss as he takes in your scent. The action always made you squirm but he was addicted to every single aspect of your cunt. He could never get enough of your musk, knowing that heaven was only a taste away.

Before you could complain about him taking his time, he dives in.

It wasn't often that Zoro was in a position to praise you relentlessly while his head was normally buried in your heat where you took everything so well for him.

So, he’s learned to show you his adoration by the precise swirl of his tongue, making out with your clit and giving into every one of your demands. Groaning against your cunt as soon as he got his first taste, never quite getting his fill of it no matter how much he lapped at it.

“Zo – fuck.” The words rush out from your lungs and assimilate into the hazy tension that’s hanging in the sex-filled air. “Feels so good.”

His hands grip your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulder before moving to grab your ass, digging into the plushness and bringing you impossibly closer as he continues his assault.

“Tastes s’fucking good.” He slurs, the sound presses directly against your clit. Zoro's attention flickered back up to you, dark and stormy eye swirling around with a primal hunger as if he couldn’t ever get enough. “My sweet girl.”

You let out a soft whine as you clutch his hair, guiding him even closer as his tongue slips into your entrance.

He keeps at it, pinching your thigh — a demanding little code he uses when he wants to hear you more. Your saccharine moans, addictingly lewd mewls, and honeyed murmurs of praise.

“Please don’t stop, ah, ‘m getting close!” There was no way Zoro would stop. Not even if he wanted to tease you, not when he was so lost in your taste that all he wanted to do was let you pull him under your current and drown in it.

He vigorously continues to lap at your entrance, attempting to collect every drop of your sweet essence. His nose nudges your clit and he can feel your thighs begin to tremble, locking his head in place. He moves to focus his attention there, the flat of Zoro’s tongue adds more pressure onto the throbbing bud.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back raises from the mattress when Zoro collects your puffy clit in his mouth, sucking as hard as he can. You choke back a whimper, letting out a noise you’ve hardly ever released before as you claw at his head, humping his face for more.

“Zoro — fuck! Wait, it’s too much!" The words melt into an elongated moan, losing yourself to the drowsy delirium that zoro is spelling out against the bundle of nerves. He gives out a resounding grunt, gripping you tighter in encouragement.

It’s all you need to let go.

Thank god no one else was on the ship because they might’ve heard the way you cried out his name in ultimate bliss as the taut band within you fully snapped. Zoro didn’t stop, lapping up the slick that gushed from your sweet pussy.

The bottom half of his face glistens in your arousal and he was absolutely drunk off of it as if it was a bottle of the finest sake in the world.

“Keep 'em spread open for me baby, ‘m not done yet,” Zoro said, sitting back on his haunches and taking in your already fucked out expression. “Need you to do that again.”

After sliding off his pants, he grips the base of his cock, giving it a few tentative pumps as his eyes trail back over your body, covered in a sheen of desire.

If he didn’t crave to be inside of you so badly he would’ve come all over you, making you as messy as possible. His dick twitches at the thought, heat curling in his gut as he imagines you covered in the white of his essence.

“Zoro.” You gasp out, hands digging into the slightly sweaty sheets. The desperation and utter need that coats your husky voice almost does him in. But you’ve had too much control over him today, and he had to gain some of that back.

“Look at you.” Zoro's voice is low, dark and merciless. The deep desire that overtakes him and makes his words more gravely and coarse, sanding over your skin so gratifying it leaves your hips bucking up for more. The sight below him is surely one of his favorites and he plans on drawing it out for as long as he can. “All spread out for me in my bed, still in my clothes.”

Zoro leans forward, lightly tapping his cock against your sticky folds and nudging it through to your entrance, just resting it at your opening, not yet pushing in. His fingers dig deeper into your waist, keeping you in place before you can think about rolling your hips against him, trying to suck him in with all your might.

“You’re so mean.” A pitiful pout rests on your pretty lips and he almost gives in. Almost. But he knows you so well by now, knows that you’re used to getting exactly what you want and it only makes him want to ruin you more. To put you in a place where all you want is him, all you crave is his touch. And you’re teetering right on the edge, only a simple nudge and you’ll be falling right into his trap.

“Yeah?” One of his hands returns to his cock, reddened tip angrily staring at you as he starts to pump himself over your mound, spreading his precum all over his length as he preps himself for you. “That’s not going to get you what you want though.”

“Please, Zoro.” You barely breathe out, your need for him so great that it starts to turn painful, the dull ache spreading through your body like a wildfire, screaming out for relief as the flames of desire consume you. You’ve had a taste but you needed more. The only thing that would satiate you was his cock sliding deep within you. “Please, I'm sorry. Please don’t tease me, come on.”

The whine in your voice has his dick twitching in his hand, ego fueling the blood coursing through his veins. Zoro wasn’t a power-hungry man, he never cared for it in the same way most people did. He liked being strong, he demanded respect, but never wanted to lead — to rule.

But that all changed whenever he’d have you sprawled out beneath him. feeling like the king of the world as one of the most desired women only has eyes for him, begging for his cock, yearning for his love.

He’d give into you every time, his heart too weak to win against the love he had for you, but he tried to stave it off as much as he could.

“Only if you think you can handle it.” He smirks, tip catching against your clit, your body jolting forward. “See? You’re already so sensitive just from my mouth.”

“Dammit Zoro.” Another mewl that his cock leaps at. Frustration etches across your features, water pooling in your eyes as you continue to paw at him. It’s what he was waiting for — his pretty girl reduced to putty in his hand, ready to be played with. “Please.”

Something possesses him with the plea that pierces his heart — takes over the last cognitive brain cell he has as he lets out an exaggerated spit, the glob landing on his length.

Your breath hitches as he finally pushes himself all the way in, the stretch splitting you open to the point that no noise can come out, finally feeling full of what you’ve been waiting for all day.

“You turned me into this — fuck — made me like this,.” Zoro swears, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against him as he feels the way your greedy cunt keeps him snugly in place.

“Are you really complaining about that?” Your voice almost slips into a whine as he pulls back out a little before bullying his way through you as your cunt accommodates his girth — eagerly welcoming him back in.

“So tight, look at that.” He ignores your snark, opting to fixate on the way you’re swallowing him whole, slack-jawed and practically drooling over the sight. “Made for me.”

You clench at his words which rewards you with one of his sinful grunts, his head bowing slightly as you pulse around his throbbing length.

“Mhm,” You hum, digging your nails into his shoulders, little crescent moons blooming in its place. He lets out a hiss, snapping his hips all the way back in, nudging against your cervix. “Just fuck me already.”

“Always running your mouth off like a damn brat.” He glares down at you but there’s no bite to it — not with the amused crinkles that cradle his eyes with care.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Famous last words.

But Zoro didn’t do what he usually did; flipping you over and fucking you deep in the mattress until the only thing your mouth can do is sing out his name like a mantra.

His eye held the secrets of unspoken words, a question that he refused to waste his breath on — not when he already knew how to decipher the language of his gaze.

You trust me?

As easy as breathing.

Breathy pants escape his lungs as he keeps a steady pace, looking at you. No matter how many times he’s had you under him, you never fail to weaken him.

“I think it’s time we complete your little ensemble here.”

“Huh?” Zoro doesn’t answer you as he reaches for the Wado Ichimonji. You shift under him in anticipation.

“Relax, baby. I just want you to hold this for me.”

The heavy hilt lays in your mouth, muffling any of the moans that tried to escape it. Zoro's calloused hand runs along your cheek, down your jaw and chin as he appraises the view before him.

The look in his steely gaze was one you were familiar with but with an edge of possession — pride.

Countless times this treasured weapon has been wielded in his own mouth, fighting to protect himself, but more importantly, his crew. Seeing you laid out under him with a lust-blown look in your eye as tears brim your lashes is something else entirely.

“That's it. Keep holding onto it,” His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he slowly begins to thrust back into you. “Just like that.”

You let out a soft whine that sounded like a muffled version of his name. Compulsion drives him to quicken his pace, moving slow and steady until your body jiggles under the ferocity of each stroke.

“There you are. Keep it there for me and I'll take care of you, alright?”

True to his word, Zoro keeps pounding into you, his other hand trailing down your body and grabbing every bit of you he can get his hand on before his fingers catch your neglected nub between them.

The way you effortlessly clean his dirty hands, having his sword fit in your mouth like this makes it feel like it’s being cleansed in the most pure form possible. Each rapid rock of his hips has your jaw clenching down against it further, all of your enticing noises are muffled by the intricately woven hilt.

“Fuck, perfect.” The praise spills out of his mouth and pools into your gut. “So fucking perfect.”

The hilt started to slip, threatening to clatter against the floor and finishing all the work he had done on it earlier.

“Hold it.” He hisses, “Don’t let it fall.”

His hips urgently move faster, thrusting harder into you as you try your best to grip the sword in your mouth. But he knows how strenuous it can be on his teeth and jaw, so his hand slips up to cup yours.

Once you steady the sword, his hand trails down the sheath but his eye never leaves yours. With a bated breath, he begins to slide the sheath off, watching as your eyes widen in curiosity but make no protest to stop him.

The blade was now out, facing him and gleaming under the rays of light that poured into the room from the tiny window. The sight had his hips stuttering — the element of risk now flirting with his innermost desires.

You were perfectly safe in his arms, he was the one who should be worried. He knows how sharp those blades are, how a tiny graze could pierce his skin.

Yet the siren call of the silver glint beckons him as it sits so prettily in your mouth — a tantalizing sight. You may be the one under him but he was the one surrendering to your power.

Many more possibilities flashed in his mind, darker desires that had him pressing his chest flush against yours, the Wado Ichimonji only a few inches away from him.

But perhaps another time he could fully indulge in the temptations that swam around in his mind, wondering how far you two could go for each other.

For now, he missed kissing you, missed your lips on his, consuming the very air from his lungs and replacing it with your sweet noises that breathe him back to life. So he bends down further, expertly taking the hilt in his mouth and pulling it from yours.

He gives you a few deep thrusts before he rises up, ready to put the sword aside but your arm stops him.

The look in your eyes mirrors the same desire that licks at his gut, and he knows you two are on the same page — just like always.

“You want me to keep it out?” Zoro can’t hide the tone of surprise in his voice as he lazily humps against your hips. You give him a shy nod. “Why?”

“It could be fun.” The way you’re looking at him right now is killing him, slowly shredding away all of his worries and pushing him into the pits of temptation.

“It could be dangerous.”

“But isn’t that exciting?” Zoro swallows hard. It could very well be exciting, showcasing your trust for one another but…

“I don't want to hurt you.” He couldn't live with that, knowing that one of his blades had hurt you in a way you didn’t want. He'd rather slit his stomach open than do that.

“You wouldn’t but I'll tell you if it does, I promise.” You reach up and caress his cheeks with a tenderness that has him choking for air. “Our safe word can be… sake.”

“Okay.” The unease that previously rested on his shoulders flows down his back and far away from him as he lets out a soft chuckle. “Sake it is, you ready baby?”

After a quick nod, Zoro brings the Wado back between your two joined bodies.

The cool metal kisses your skin as it trails along a precise path with absolutely zero intention to harm. But to have the infamous pirate hunter Zoro hover over you, a dark gaze latched onto the point of his katana to your skin that’s budding with gooseflesh sends a chill down your spine.

It takes everything in you not to arch at the thrill, the simple act could nick your skin and end this before it even begins.

“How's that?” Zoro's voice sounds a million miles away as your blood thrums loudly in your ear. The swordsman lets out a groan as you salaciously clench around him, his fist tightening around the hilt as he continues to glide the metal along your skin.

“So good,” Your breath hitches as he continues to graze it over your collarbone. “Knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Zo.”

“Never.” He gruffs out, trying to keep his eye open although the fluttering of your walls tempts him to shut them in bliss. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this.

Trust could be hard to find in this new world, he was lucky to find a crew that he knew would always have his back throughout everything. but this? This was so much more than that.

To be able to have you in the most vulnerable position imaginable with a blade dancing along your skin, and enjoying it not because of the act itself, but because of the trust and respect the two of you have built for each other, growing into something he’d never dream of attaining.

If he wasn’t careful, he could finish right now as pleasure shoots down his spine, desperately begging to fill you up. But the last thing he’d ever do was leave you ever wanting more.

Gently putting the blade aside, he ravenously crashes back into you with a new spark of ardor — chest to chest, ferociously driving into your cunt before his lips meet yours once again.

He kissed you and tasted the familiar steel, but mixed with your sweetness that he’d never stop chasing as long any time he’d have to put this blade in his mouth.

“So fuckin’ good.” The words sink into your lips, unable to move away from you for too long. His hips erratically move now, no set rhythm as they chase the high you both desperately seek. Your nails claw into his back and force a guttural groan out of him, wanting nothing more than for you to mark up his whole body. “So fucking good for me.”

Zoro never minded pain, it came with the territory of who he is. But having you inflict it on him was the sweetest sin he’s ever known, his body bursting with pleasure as it threatens to come undone and feed into all of your desires.

“Zo-!” you gasp out, tears brimming with droplets of devotion that he can’t wait to lick up. “‘m close!”

The sweet sound of your cries only fuels him more.

“Go ahead baby, let go.” His gaze is trained on your expressions, soaking them up as it morphs into an unyielding force of pleasure.

As your back arches up into him, he’s quick to flatten his palm there, keeping you flush against him. He can feel every tremor and tremble, each of your nerves and neurons firing off and coursing through your veins.

A wave of ecstasy crashes over your body, freezing each of your limbs in place and threatens to drag you to oblivion.

“Almost there, just a little longer.” Zoro pumps into you, your cunt clamping down on him to the point he almost has to pull out as you squirt all over his lower half and the already messed up sheets. “That’s it, fuck yes-“

Zoro begins to release in your cunt with a grunt of your name, letting you milk his cock as his body shudders in the eternal bliss you so readily provide him. He pulls out at the last rope of cum, letting it land on your mound before he nudged your clit with his softening cock, ensuring to make a mess all over your pussy.

“Zoro!” your body jolts, fingers gripping his bicep. “‘m sensitive.”

“Then come here baby.” Zoro pulls you into his strong arms, carefully eyeing the blade that was still unsheathed and still set aside.

Zoro's calloused fingers catch your earlobe, gently massaging it as he inspects it.

“You know, you still need one more piece.” Zoro's gaze is intense as it sets on you. His hands trail down your body, lightly massaging it as he works his way down in a soothing manner.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“When the others get back, we’re going into town so we can get you your own pair of earrings.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Just like me.”

“Really?” The mind fogginess of the shared desire breaks away from the way beams of light emit when you smile at him.

He nods, brushing his lips alongside the temple of your head. Zoro presses his nose into your hair and inhales it.

“Quit sniffing me.” You let out an amused scoff.

“Nah, you just smell so damn good like this.” His lips move to kiss along your face, pressing into your neck before inhaling once again.

“You mean sweaty?”

“Drenched in sweat, arousal and me.” His voice is low in your ear and you crinkle your nose at the strange, but endearing compliment.

“Freak.” You tease, snuggling into him, feeling the way his muscles ripple around you in his strong, unrelenting hold.

“Takes one to know one.” He chuckles, feeling his body start to settle from the intensity of his high, melting into you and the mattress as a nap threatens to take hold. But he just had one more question. “So, if you’re dressed as me, does that mean you can drink sake as well as me?”

“Maybe we should find out.”

tags: @thesunxwentblack @autumnstuffs

#☆ 𓂃 Kinktober !#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#dividers by cafekitsune #zoro x reader #zoro smut #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #op x reader #op smut

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vampyastro · 6 days ago

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✧𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘✧

~𝖕𝖙 𝟜~

Things I say may not resonate with you as everyone’s birth chart is very different and impacts them in different ways. I am not a professional astrologer, these are just some observations I’ve made over the years dealing with different placements. Hope you enjoy!

✩ Gemini moons are full of contradictions! They tend to always contradict what they say because their minds can be so crowded and overwhelmed. They also like to learn many things and their tendency to overthink/the multiple different perspectives they see can lead them to change their minds often. However, this isn’t always a bad thing because it allows them to be very open minded and always willing to listen to others ideas.

✩ When a Scorpio mars gets mad, it can feel as though all hell might break loose. The anger these natives bottle up inside of them and eventually release can be very scary.

✩ Having Libra and Cancer placements can make natives the biggest people pleasers and it can be very distressing for them. Saying ‘no’ isn’t going to end the world and it won’t make people hate you, I promise. You are more than enough! Have a bit more confidence in yourself, people are very drawn to your loving nature and there is so much good in your heart. Don’t let yourself get taken advantage of when people try to prey on your weakness, you’re better than that.

✩ Leo Venus nativesmay love theater and art. They like to express themselves and they shine while doing so! Their passion is radiant and they have beautiful souls. They are capable of so much love and they channel that into their art.

✩ Cancer mars can be a difficult placement to have. They feel emotions very deeply and intensely. They have a tendency to be natural caregivers; very empathetic souls. This can cause them to be in fear of hurting other peoples feelings and have their emotions bottled up until one day it all pours out. This can be very cathartic for them but also distressing. Strong feelings of jealousy and yearning can be seen with this placement. To all the cancer mars out there, just know we appreciate how tender your nature is! Don’t be so scared of things, you will be fine! (Side note, cancer mars reminds me a lot of mitski songs)

✩ Pluto in the second house can have deep self esteem issues. They may place their worth on their possessions as they feel they aren’t enough and due to the transformation powers of this placement, their income may be unstable. This leads an internal struggle between trying to fulfill the soul and placing less worth on what they have around them.

✩ Prominent virgo placements can sometimes be super overbearing. These people may need to double check everything and have a hard time relaxing. They can struggle with anxiety and can have control issues. In turn this can also make the native unhealthily retreat into their own minds as an escape from what they feel is chaos. Virgos, you’re doing great. Sometimes it’s good to take a deep breath and live in the moment.

✩ Aquarius placements (especially Sun and Venus) as well as Cancer placements are very good gift givers. Aquarius placements always come up with creative ideas that the person receiving usually loves! On the other hand, cancer placements value sentimental gifts. They may look for something that will touch you emotionally or it may be something they would cherish if they were the one receiving the gift.

✩ Capricorn risings really like to take the initiative! They can be the one in group projects to assign everyone roles and make outlines for the group. They like to seem responsible and dependable and they very much are!

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 ♡

#astrology #dark astrology #zodic signs #zodiac #astrology notes #astro notes #astro observations #astro

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year ago

Text

❝ I WANT THE YOU WHO WANTS ME AGAIN ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, some comfort, in the end, | wc: 4.5 K | not proofread

warnings: death of a parent through sickness (unspecified), cheating (gojo with geto), r! goes through it (lmao), megumi is rooting for r!

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

Perhaps at one point in your arranged marriage, you had loved Satoru but that’s all but vanished away when you see how he looked at Geto. Still, you provide comfort to your husband when he seeks you even if his six eyes (and soul) all bear to you that he does not see you. Satoru realizes too late that he cares for you - that he loves you. He despises your empty stare, he wants you back. He desperately wants you back.

authors note: i know i said i was taking a break but writing this made me feel a little bit better — cathartic almost. it's been in the drafts since last year anyways so might as well. (autumn leaves by bts inspired fic)

It seemed as though even the clouds were pitying the sight before it. Grey and darkened, they gathered to block the sun as whispers of doubt combed through the trees surrounding the temple — they reach your ears despite the attempts of your mother. "Now, don't you look handsome". She tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, pursing her lips at the look in your eyes. "(Y/N)". Her hands grasp at your face. The warmth of someone's hands on your cheek jitters your brain awake, and your pupils contract back into focus. "Have you been eating well, darling?" For a moment, your heart squeezes at her kind words. It's been so long since another had asked you that question so sincerely. The tears well but your hair sways as you shake your head, urging your cheeks to form a smile. "I'm alright, mom. Just getting over a cold". She brushes her thumb over your cheek then presses a kiss to your forehead. "My son". You're pulled into an embrace and suddenly you're little again — clinging to her after she had bandaged you up from your training session. Your eyelashes darkened as tears slip past them, hands trembling as you grip her tightly. "My beautiful son". Eventually, the sun sets but the rain continues to pour. The sounds of the raindrops are violent, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder it seemed as though the Gods were angry. Angry Gods do little to scare your father. He gazes at you coldly from where your head is laid upon your mother's lap. Defiantly, you avoid meeting his eyes as you relish in the fingers smoothing out your hair. "Your husband will not be pleased with this," your mother's glare is reproachful. "Our son has come to pay us a visit, his husband needn't worry about him," his nostrils flare and he looks as though he's about to go on another rant about image, expectations, manners, servitude. But before he could, the shoji door slides open. It's one of the servant girls, her bow immaculate you could see the swirl pattern of her hair growth. "Gojo Satoru has arrived, Master (L/N)" She's addressing your father, you know because you are now Master Gojo. The air is filled with expectations. The rain does little to muffle it. Pitying her back, you rise from your mother's lap. "Inform my husband I'll be out in a moment" She bows deeper and straightens her composure to slide the door close but freezes as you address her. "Is my husband alone?" When her mouth opens to form the syllables of Geto Suguru your eyes turn to the floor. You're unsure if she's finished her sentence but find very little fucks to give as you silence her with raise of your hand. Wordlessly, she bows and closes the door.

"Ah, husband!" he slings his arm around your shoulder. His weight, his warmth, his presence — too casual it's an insult. You cared little for tradition, scoffing at it sometimes, but the way Satoru displays himself in front of your parents causes you to grit your teeth. Suguru shoes are in the peripheral of your vision, you will your gaze to the side.

Once upon a time, the four of you were friends. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and you.

Those blue summers and warm winters as first-year sorcerers. Memories so bright and heartfelt others probably only see on movie screens. Then you were betrothed to Gojo Satoru, family stuff, expectations and duty, and everything the both of you roll your eyes at. A part of you had been elated. Blinded by the idea of marrying the boy your heart beats for. Sure, falling in love would have been preferred but despite the arranged marriage, you were thick as thieves. So, in your foolish daydreams, you'd sigh at the idea of you two falling in love. Shoko could only watch as your dreams crumble before you. She tried her best to be some sort of support — shocked when she spotted you smoking her cigarettes after a year into the marriage. "I never noticed the way they look at each other". Your words follow the stream of smoke and Shoko settles next to you with her elbows placed on the railings. "I mean, I knew but I just thought...I just thought he'd look at me the same one day". She is silent as you curl over the railing, shoulders jerking with silent sobs. "How foolish, huh?" She places a hand on your back, saying nothing as you wept.

Suguru greets your parents with more tact than your husband who is smiling ear-to-ear. "How was your mission, Gojo, Geto?" the way their surnames sounded made your jaw ache as you continued locking your jaw. Your husband is squeezing you to his side, like a friend. Satoru feels your shoulders stiffening and he loosens his grip to look down at you but you slip out from under him and hastily walk towards the car. "Young Master —" a servant gasps as he attempts to match your pace, the umbrella he holds barely shielding you as you feel your tears mix with the rain. "(Y/N)!" Suguru calls, catching up to you with his own umbrella and you feel searing guilt stab at your chest. Suguru had never been mean to you — he's been there for you through the years and despite your sudden avoidance of him here he was trying to ensure you remained dry. A clap of thunder muffles your sob, the only mercy the Gods are giving you, and you will yourself to pass Suguru. The car door is slammed shut in Suguru's face and before he can wonder the driver is driving off. He stands in shock, the servant that had been chasing you sharing his expression. Satoru tilts his head, hands in his pockets as he Suguru gives him a look of apprehension once he reaches him. Your parents — his in-laws — are apologizing. More so your mother. Your father's anger is palpable despite his puckering lips. "We'll get you another car, Gojo, Geto" your father calls for his personal driver

Satoru’s eyes — with that bright, heavenly, blue that put the sky to shame — linger on the fading signature of your aura. Suguru’s bangs stick to his forehead due to the rain and the sight of him alone has Satoru tear his gaze away. They land on Suguru who offers a furrow of his brows and so Satoru reaches to wipe the wetness away.

“Hey!” the action is rough, anything but romantic. Suguru feels like a cat being pet too roughly — with their skin stretching back and eyes growing wide — and so he smacks Satoru's hands away.

Friendly. Playful. Banter. Boys being boys.

Your mother squints her eyes nonetheless. She had heard that Satoru had been less than willing to marry. Her husband had thought it was his hubris but bowed until his forehead met the floor of the Gojo clan’s home. Their name was no laughing matter — a strong line of curse users much like the Zenin’s.

But Gojo Satoru was sought after by many the second he turned 16 — the marriage proposals flooded in like a tsunami.

He refused them all. Except the (L/N)'s.

She had thought it was the dowery. Perhaps, even the fact that an alliance would soothe whatever ill tides their clans had once had. Or maybe it really was just a stroke of luck her son got along so well with Satoru while attending Jujutsu High (her husband had enrolled (Y/N) only when he heard whispers of Satoru attending).

But fear gripped her heart as Suguru tugged on Satoru’s ear.

Had he accepted...just so he could remain close to his true love?

“I’m sorry”. You pause the wiping motion, delicately lifting your head as your mother’s cloudy gaze floats aimlessly in the room. You were used to her nonsensical speeches, her random bursts of conversations and weepy apologies. It's been a year since the sickness unexpectedly came over her and you suppose that is what most people do when they’re close to death's door. Confessions of this and that just shooting out in a weak attempt to right old wrongs.

“Nothing to be sorry for, mother”. She places a hand over yours and squeezes. How frail. When has your mother looked so frail?

“Come home, be a (L/N) again”, confusion contorts your face. “Mother, whatever you’ve heard is all unfounded. Rumours. Father has dealt with them”, despite her fragility her fingers squeeze your wrists so tightly it forces your own to release the damp cloth.

“Then say that to me. Look into my eyes and tell me that bastard husband of yours is better than mine, that he’s not off loving another while you rot here”.

Colour bleeds into those lifeless eyes. She feels that same squeeze she felt when she saw Satoru wipe away the rain from Suguru’s skin rather than your tears just a year ago.

Just as quickly as they appear, that dullness returns in your eyes and she reaches to hold your face but you stand.

“Father is cheating on you?”

She’s lost you.

You walk to dip the cloth into the bowl, and your shoulders are too heavy for a 17-year-old boy. Her precious son, so forlorn and withdrawn; humiliated by the society he was in for being inadequate and unworthy.

Perhaps she deserved those titles, sick and bedridden and dying, it was no surprise that her husband is seen courting younger ladies. But not you, not her son.

“He’s no shame, you know your father. His pride comes before all”. It elicits a dry chuckle from you.

Then you suppose Satoru had more in common with your father than you knew.

The Star Plasma vessel incident, you can't believe it's been a year.

A year after that man that killed that Amanai and Kuroi and Satoru.

You remembered dropping to your knees as he admitted it out loud with such an ugly smile, shaking your head in disbelief as anger swelled within you.

Before you could even think, even grieve and rage, Geto had beaten you to it. As you looked at him with his anger so visceral it came off of him in waves you felt your torn heart crumble into pieces. It felt good to dish out that anguish on Fushiguro Toji even if you ended up eating dirt.

“Wasn’t he your husband?” Toji placed his foot on your neck. “Damn, he treats you that badly or something? This freak put up a better fight”, that day you had surprised Toji by smiling with your teeth all bloody.

“He did, didn’t he?” Your laughter bubbles and you choke on your own blood.

Toji knocked you out after a scoff.

That still wouldn’t have killed you as much. The torn pieces of your heart were still salvageable.

But then.

Then.

As Satoru came back. Warm and alive. Bloody but grinning. He did not race to you, he did not even look at you. To his credit, he simply stood there with his arms wide open.

But then.

Then.

Geto’s the one to race into them.

Ah.

Right.

Shoko was shocked to see you in her smoking spot. She hadn’t even seen you as Satoru was whisked away by the Gojo clan, only spotting Suguru following along. None had wondered where Satoru's husband was; Suguru was always next to him, so there was no void that one could spot.

“Are you alright?”

The darkness in your eyes makes her flinch.

You were dead.

She’s been around enough of death and you were dead.

Your once warm, cheerful, eyes now devoid of anything.

She held you as you cried, not knowing what more she could say to help you.

“Leave me alone”, Satoru is under the covers. He has been for days now.

Grieving.

Grieving Geto.

“Husband”, you coax. It was once a funny joke. The laughter you shared as the both of you exchanged formal titles of your marriage. It hurt to know that it truly was a joke for Satoru - not for you.

Satoru grits his teeth. His eyes were rimmed red, he himself was surprised they weren’t swelled up. His throat was scratchy, his skin uncomfortable and untended from his refusal to get up. His hair was tousled, unkept and disarrayed. It's been a week since Geto's betrayal and Satoru had been laid in your bed, burying himself under the blankets and deeper into the mattress; as if determined to be buried with his sadness and anger.

“Husband," he feels your hands on his shoulder. You know him by his shape alone. If you closed your eyes you could trace the curves that made up Satoru; even if it killed you slowly, your love was a loyal curse.

“Don’t call me that!” he raises in a grand move. The covers flew and his voice was in a yell. His glare was spine-chilling but they faltered as he saw the outfit you were.

“What should I call you then, Satoru?”

He takes you in, frowns deepening at the awful way his name sounds as you call for him. Not like his Suguru; his one and only.

“What the hell are you wearing, (Y/N)?”

He feels awful as you answer: “Funeral garbs. My mother has passed”.

There’s some satisfaction that paints your features as he is rendered speechless.

“What? How?”

“She was sick”. As he sits there with nothing to say you move to kneel in front of him. Your touch shocks him to reality. He pulls his shirt down, hoping you haven’t seen the hickeys Suguru had left on him before he decided to massacre that village.

You had. You’ve seen all of it. The lingering scent of Geto on his clothes, the hair ties on his wrist, the love bites that mottle his pale skin. Satoru may have those six heavenly eyes but he seemed so blind when it came to you.

The way he grimaces each time you’ve said his name now.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll help you wash up, Gojo”. He’d be an idiot to have not noticed that switch. Guilt is seeded into him. He stops your hands but you move them with a robotic stubbornness.

“Stop — Wait —”

“I know, Gojo.”

Silence drapes the room.

Your hands carefully thumb into his heart and cover the seed of guilt with such care Satoru’s pulse doubles its speed.

“I know you love him. So very much. I know, because when I go to clan meetings, my cousins whisper behind my back of the two of you holding hands and going on dates. When you come back late after a mission to go to Geto’s room. Or when you suddenly have Geto’s marks on you and yours on him”.

“(Y/N) — ”

“But this is my mother, Gojo”.

Your voice wavers just as he clutches your wrists in his hands. Your head hangs as your shoulders jerk up and down, twisting and squirming so you can help Satoru clean and dressed.

You know he was in pain and your heart feels for him. He needs your help. You were willing to strip down so you could wash him, and get back into this disgustingly heavy robe all over again despite how nauseating it was to do it the first time.

Funny. You can’t recall ever being one with Satoru. Your marriage was never consummated — he told you that there was no rush, you were still kids. What did he tell Geto then? Did he tell him that he had never taken you in bed? Was he fervent in his worship of him? Was their love akin to a religion? Did they worship each others temples like devout monks? How funny. The first time you’d get to see him naked and him you would be the day of your mothers funeral.

“She was my mother, Satoru!”

He has never heard you yell before. Satoru is struck by the that revelation.

It’s been a year since he was officially titled your husband and he knew you longer than that. But this was the first time he’s seen you in despair. Heard your yell.

Seen you cry.

“Please, I know he was your one and only but she was my mother. Please, please, don’t let me face this alone, Gojo”

“(Y/N)...”

“Please, Gojo...”

Your wrists slip away from his loosened grip. Crumpling onto the floor, your forehead meets the floor and his feet as your beg.

"(Y/N)". How long had your mother been sick? Why didn't you tell him — or did you? Why couldn't he remember? As his mind races to collect any memory of this past year, your tears that wet his feet water that guilt.

Satoru says nothing as the both of you appear at the funeral. The haughty eyebrows and curled lips sting more when he's there — was it shame? This burning feeling in your chest? Had you said too much to Satoru? Now he was acutely aware of how others looked at you, at your marriage. How awful.

Satoru is not used to this feeling. As a child, the eyes that lingered on him were hungry for the prize of beheading him. That had been more comfortable than this.

This was scrutinizing. They gazed on you with pity, even with his body attempting to shield you, the whispers reach your ears anyways. Have you been doing this all alone? All those clan meetings that you went to alone, the ones he'd excuse himself from saying he had a mission while he spent the day with Suguru to make him eat more and attempt to nurse him back to his side from the Star Plasma vessel incident.

Suguru had wept to him, telling him how terrified he'd been at the thought of Satoru leaving him. Why didn't you come to him? No. Why hadn't he noticed you?

The ride back home was silent. Satoru couldn't believe your father had brought his bride-to-be to the ceremony, you quelled his anger by muttering that your mother had given her blessing for their marriage.

You're staring out the window. Had those bags always been under your eyes? When did your cheeks get so sunken in? Had you...had you lost weight? He ignores the way your fingers twitch as he places his hand over yours. Your skin feels foreign — so does his. He offers a purse of his lips, sliding his hand up your arm and leaning in to embrace you.

But freezes as you pull your hand away.

"Don't force it upon yourself, Gojo". "Husband —" his smile falls as your shoulders tighten, lower lip quivering. "Please don't make me beg again, Gojo."

"What do you think, beloved?" Gojo grins brightly, bouncing his brow up and down. You were seated across from him in some cafe — he had been telling you all about how good the crepes here was a week before. "About...?" He pouts and places his elbows on the table. "My theory?" He watches as you blink, once, twice, then a faux smile climbs on your face. You turn your attention back to the melting ice cream. "Your theory about Okkotsu cursing Rika because of his love for her?" He nods vigorously. "It makes sense, right? His curse technique activating after seeing that brutal sight, it binding Rika to him". "Afterall, love is the most powerful curse", you said. Gojo's animated hand motions pause. He places his hand back onto the table. He reaches for your hand and you squeeze your eyes shut but allow it. He hates this.

Not you — He doesn't hate you. But he hates this.

After your mothers funeral, he looked through pictures. As first year students, all sunny smiles and bright eyed. The smiles got more tame as the four of you aged. His hands slung around Suguru's more tightly — even after they bared matching rings.

Satoru's never seen you smile like that anymore.

He brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Your jaw clenches.

"I love you, my beloved".

"...Thank you, Gojo".

"It's been awhile, Satoru".

No. No, no, no.

Nononononononnonononononononononononono —

Gojo can't take his eyes away from Suguru.

He tries and tries and tries but he can't. Pinned by his onyx gaze alone.

Satoru's ring burns viciously and he curls his fingers into fists.

Meanwhile, your dead-eyed gaze seemed to intensify. Everything is muffled, it felt like you were underwater. It felt like you were 17 years old again.

Abandoned. Unworthy. Unloveable. In love. Always have been. Always will be. In love with a man that was never yours.

"(Y/N), you look pale", Suguru condenscends. At least, that's what it sounds like.

Hah. Was he envious? Did he think that in the years he's been gone, you've filled the void he left? Or did he know that you never did but he was jealous anyways?

Fuck, Satoru thinks. His temples feel taut as his teeth grit together.

Kento steps infront of you and your eyes widen by an inch.

How pathetic, Gojo (Y/N). An underclassmen protecting you from your husbands ex-lover's gaze.

Why couldn't Geto Suguru just die already.

"What are you doing?" Gojo is grieving again. You should be elated but you're not. It feels too cruel. It wasn't your doing, you hadn't had any hand in killing Geto Suguru but a part of you wondered if your inner thoughts had been a wish you put out to the world. Now, Gojo was without Geto and Geto's daughters were without their father.

So you felt guilt anyways.

It was more feasible competing for Satoru's affections when his lover was simply exiled. How could you compete with a ghost?

"I'm praying for him", you replied. Gojo watches as you prepare to do so, kneeled on the floor. His eyes are rimmed with red again and he knows you've heard his cries; so here you are, sacrificing your happiness again for him.

"You don't have to do that, beloved". You say nothing as your eyes are closed in prayer. Satoru kneels behind you, his guilt had 10 years to grow and now it was a willow tree, with its leaves sweeping the lake of tears it grew from. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder; he fit so perfectly there, just like you knew he would. He's crying into your shoulder and your hand reaches back to card through the shaved sides of his hair. Your fingers lightly brushing the shell of his ear makes him shudder and he circles your waist to pull you against him. "Don't pity me, Gojo". He says nothing and neither do you.

"Say my name". His voice so close to your ear has you shivering.

"Gojo".

He shakes his head.

"My name, please, please, just say it".

Your heart clenches and as you close your eyes a tear slips past.

"I can't replace him, Gojo". He squeezes you tighter.

"I'm not asking you to replace him. No one can replace Suguru. I don't want them too, I don't want you too; I want you".

"I don't believe you".

He laughs, the slightest brush of his teeth on your skin has your stomach twisting into knots. Your breath trembles and you squirm in his hold, twisting away and getting onto your feet to get away from him. He doesn't allow you to. He blocks your way, shaking his head as he holds your shoulders next.

"I want you, (Y/N). I love you —"

How long have you wanted to hear those words. Your heart wants nothing more than to soar. But your brain knows better. "No, no, no, let me go". He doesn't let you. Satoru wraps his arms around you and your mouth opens to let out yells, fists pounding onto his chest as you try to get away from him.

"I hate you! You fucking bastard! I hate you, I loathe you!"

Satoru holds you firmly agaisnt him. Holding the back of your head preciously as he finally hears your voice raised above that whispering tone. "I hate you! I hate you so much! Why do you keep doing this to me!? I — I just wanted you, Satoru!" Your voice breaks and your sobbing turns into wailing. His heart squeezes, chest physically hurting as you sob and yell.

"I wanted you, Satoru! I just wanted you!" "Why didn't you love me, Satoru!?" Thunder rumbles and as your yells quiet down into hiccups, rain muffles it.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)". He feels your knees give out and he holds you, making you lean against him for support. "I'm so sorry, my beloved. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, (Y/N)".

When he tucks you in to rest, he isn't surprised Megumi is standing in the doorway with his eyes set into a glare. Satoru wipes your tears away, sweeping some of your hair away before placing a kiss on your forehead. He raises to answer Megumi's burning questions.

"You heard?"

"I'm not deaf".

Megumi has his arms crossed. He was an observant boy. Being raised by both Satoru and you — he notices the overexuberant Satoru's confidence wavering every time you give him smiles that never reach your eyes. Tsumiki even told him once that she finds it sad, how you both seem to be so familiar but foreign to each other.

"But one time I did see (Y/N) get flustered because of Satoru", she told Megumi whilst on their way back from school. He looked ahead, sipping on his drink as a prompt for Tsumiki to continue. "It was during breakfast. (Y/N) woke up a little late because he was traveling around for clan meetings and missions. So he was panicking so much, he burnt our rice and stuff! But then, Satoru walks in and tells him he prepared our bento. He kept it in the fridge. All that was needed to do was heat it up, he helped (Y/N) the entire time and then he just — "

Tsumiki kisses the air with a loud 'mwah!'

"He plants a kiss right on (Y/N)'s forehead. (Y/N) was so flustered he just stared down at the sink. It was cute, he's definitely still in love, they both are!"

Megumi peeks into the room. The sliver of light on your peaceful expression highlights the content curl of your lips despite the swollen eyes you bore.

"...Don't mess up this second chance", Megumi warns. He turns and marches away while Satoru huffs, scratching the back of his head as he sighs. "I wasn't planning to". He really does love you. He does. He loves you, from the ends of your hair to the tip of your fucking toes; he loves —loved, Suguru too. But this is different, you're different. But his love isn't any less or more.

He loves you.

Whatever it takes, he'll make sure you know it until his last breath.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #gay reader #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x male reader

2K notes · View notes

senualothbrok · 1 year ago

Text

Enough

Summary: You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery. A very angry Astarion.

AO3 link

This is the first fanfic I have written for about 20 years. I should be working on my novel, but this story honestly possessed me. I hope someone out there reads and enjoys this! If not, it was therapeutic and cathartic to write it.

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You have heard it a thousand times. The tales and the histories, all the songs you have sung. You are a bard, after all, and this story is as old and worn as your heart. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

You know this, and you have seen it. You have seen it twist kind men into savages, transform wary women into beasts. Your own family had suffocated you under its clutches, leveraging your gifts and talents for ever more power and influence. Stripping you bare, squeezing out every drop they could get from you. You were their very own song bird, pushed about and paraded until your fingers were raw and throat was hoarse, to grant them entry into the best parties and social circles. But you were never enough. You never sang sweetly enough, or got large enough crowds. Not enough people knew you. You should have been prettier, more alluring. All the things they made you do, but you never did enough. It was never enough.

When you had escaped from them, you had vowed you would never be like them. You had promised yourself you would never become the thing you fought against. You would be different. Better. You would be good.

And yet.

You are standing in Cazador’s palace. Blood spatters the smooth ivory of Astarion’s skin. In the nightmarish hue of the ritual chamber, he glows a strange green. His crimson eyes are all fear and desperation.

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

In that moment, you cannot say no. If it were anyone else, you would refuse. There have been many conversations with Astarion - around the campfire, in his tent, even as you walked around the labyrinth of Cazador’s living hell. You have talked to him at length about this moment. You have listened as he has confessed guilt and need and hesitation and rage. You have been kind and patient, always careful not to criticise him, not to push back too much, not to hurt him. You have been good. He must make his own decision, you have been telling yourself. He has suffered enough.

So you open your mind to him, because he asks you to. You feel his frenzied hunger as he devours the sight of every scar on his back, as though their cruelty is now beauty. You watch his features which you have come to know so well. You have seen them in sleep, in battle, in laughter, in pain. You have seen them shrouded and masked, bare and open. You watch now as they contort into something that you recognise from so many other faces and times. And as you watch, you can barely hear Cazador’s deafening screams, or register the way his mangled mess writhes and gushes. All you can see is Astarion’s widening smile as he carves at Cazador’s back, his eyes dilating like sinkholes.

You think it, even as he whisks away Cazador’s mutilated body like a rag doll. Even when Astarion slams the staff on the ground and everything around you blazes red as the blood of his convulsing siblings and the seven thousand spawn about to be slaughtered. Even when Gale and Karlach cry out at Astarion to stop, that this is a mistake, that the cost is too great. Even then, you think to yourself: this is what he wants. It is his choice. It is his right.

But in the scarlet haze, you are remembering. You are thinking of his trembling voice when he promised a broken husk called Sebastian, just moments ago, that he would free him. You think of the way his soft eyes glistened when he had thanked you and clasped your hand, stunned with the realisation that he was not just a thing to be used. You feel the crushing weight of Vellioth and Cazador and the decaying dungeons and centuries upon centuries of madness and terror. And you remember the tenderness with which he had looked at you, not days ago, believing the power of the ritual would keep you both safe. That he would protect you with it.

“I can feel their power flowing into me!”

You stare at him, spreadeagled, monstrous.

Something has begun to well inside you, like a cracking of ice, a convulsion of tears. In that whispering, you remember the promise you made yourself all those years ago. And you know, from a deep and tattered place within you, that that promise is greater than your yearning for his love.

The blade springs from your hand on its own. You watch it sing through the air and hit its perfect note in Cazador’s maimed gut. Astarion and his siblings crumple to the floor. The crimson mist lifts, and in the silence you know, with the certainty of death, that you have lost him.

You say something, but you know it is meaningless. Nothing can repair the mistake you have made. You could have refused to help him when he asked. You could have reasoned with him, urged him to stop and think. You could have told him, from the start, that you could not go through with it. And now, you have kept your promise to yourself, but not to the man you love.

When he rises from his knees and turns to you, it is the face of a stranger that you see.

“I was so close. I could have had it all, but you took everything from me.”

Hatred hardens in his every word. And then, a tide of despair.

“Cazador won after all. I’ll never escape the hell he built.”

You cannot bear it. Your failure rips through you, and you want to reach out to him, to beg and plead and weep. But you just stand there.

He looks down at the staff in his hand.

“And if I can’t escape, then no one can.”

He splits the staff on his knee. It makes such a small sound as it splinters, but it echoes through you like an avalanche. It is the sound of seven thousand spawn being condemned to death. It is the sound of their eternal suffering. And it is all because of you. The horror and guilt erupts inside you.

It happens so fast after that. There is no time to think, to feel, to act. There is the glint of a dagger raised. You are knocked back, and a searing pain slices through your shoulder as you stare up at bared fangs looming over you. Your limbs are heavy with shock, and suddenly you feel a surge of heat and the great arc of Karlach’s war hammer over you. You hear Gale shout out a spell, and you watch as Astarion topples to the side, frozen except for the furious twitching of his eyes.

“Don’t!” you hear yourself shout. “Please, stop!”

Karlach and Gale rush to your side, cradling you up, fussing over your shoulder. But you do not feel it. You do not really feel anything. All you can do is look from them back to Astarion, pleading, but you are not sure what for.

---

“You can release his hold now.”

You are back at camp, and you have recovered your voice. For a long time, you could not speak. Shadowheart and Halsin tended to your arm, speaking soothing words over you. Gale and Karlach came to sit with you, their faces creased with concern. Wyll, Lae’zel and Jaheira stood at a distance, arguing in hushed voices. All the while, you stared into the distance, thinking of the hatred in Astarion’s gaze, and everything you had done to deserve it.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gale says, frowning.

“We can’t keep him like that forever.”

“The man turned on us. He tried to kill you.”

You look into Gale’s eyes. There is warmth there, streaked with pity.

“Can you blame him?”

Gale scoffs. “Yes, I can.” Then he pauses. His voice softens. “Well, perhaps in the circumstances, in the heat of the moment…” He shakes his head. “But he truly would have killed you, had Karlach and I not intervened. And that is inexcusable, after everything you – all of us - have been through with him. After everything you have done for him.”

Your vision blurs and stings.

“I fucked up, Gale. How could I have fucked up so royally? I should never have let him start the ritual. I should never have agreed with it. I’ve broken him. Seven thousand innocent people will die in agony because of me. Because I was…”

You are not used to burdening others with your emotions. You give and not take, even when you have nothing. When you are nothing. But now, you are afraid that you will break.

“…Because I failed.”

Without hesitation, Gale lays a hand on yours. It is a such a kind gesture that it chokes you. You have always been the one to look after others, to give them what they need. That is your role. It is what you exist for. If you cannot do that, what are you good for?

“Those things were never your responsibility, my dear friend. They were never your burdens to carry.”

“But he trusted me.”

“That does not mean that you must give him everything, or watch him destroy thousands of people and himself.”

You ball your fists. “Then I should have told him that, from the start. But I went along with it-”

“Because you love him.”

You have not spoken about this with Gale or anyone else. You know it is common knowledge that you and Astarion are entangled, but you have always wanted to hide the love you feel for him away. You have always known that whatever it was that lay between you was fragile. Astarion himself was not sure what you were.

Attachment does not come easily to you. You know that if you give people what they need, there is a chance that they will stay. But there is also a chance that they will snap their heads one day and no longer want what you have to offer. And then, they will go.

You have always tried to guard yourself against the pain of that departure. Even with Astarion.

“Many a mistake has been made for love,” Gale continues. “I understand this better than most.”

“This is a monumental fuck up,” you breathe. “Not a simple mistake.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to start a competition about the magnitude and impact of our mistakes? Because if so, I believe that I would be a clear winner, and some others in our camp may also be worthy competitors.”

You are too weary to laugh. Too broken.

“Besides, I am sure if we knock our considerably enriched heads together, we can find a way to open those dungeons and release those prisoners. Especially with such a range of talented and well-resourced allies to draw on.”

You can see the questions taking shape in Gale’s head already. You give him a weak smile.

“You are only human, my friend. I know you try to be better than any of us, but even you are permitted to make mistakes.”

When he clasps you tightly to his chest, you let yourself rest into it. You want so badly to believe he is right, but you are not sure you can.

---

As you approach Astarion, you gesture behind you. You know the rest of them are all watching, wary and ready to strike at the faintest sign of danger. But you stand them down, and they linger at a respectful distance.

Released from Gale’s hold, Astarion hunches over slightly, like a cat backed into a corner. He knows he is outnumbered and vulnerable. He does not lunge towards you. His arms lie flat against his sides, his hands free of weapons. His fangs are hidden behind the tight line of his lips.

“What you did to me is worse than staking me. You might as well finish me off now.”

Every word is a cut. You flinch at each one, but you do not avert your gaze from his. Any gentleness, affection, and truth in those eyes is gone, locked behind blood-red walls. And in his abject contempt, you find a kind of freedom.

If he has already left, then you need not please him. If you are not enough, then it does not matter what you say. You have lost him already. He does not love you.

So you say what you wish you had said, from the moment that he showed you who he was, the moment you fell in love with him.

“The ritual would have killed you, your siblings, and seven thousand innocents.”

“Spare me,” he snarls. “You nodded and cooed at me, like you understood me, like you would help me. ‘I’m here for you, Astarion. I’ll help you Astarion. Tell me what you need and I’ll be there, Astarion.’ You fucking liar. You godsdamned hypocrite. You never understood me. You never wanted to help me.”

His fury is like a lash, but the pain is sobering. You brace yourself against it.

“I never said I would help you become Cazador, or let you kill thousands of people for power.”

“Please.” His laugh is vicious. “I told you from the start what I wanted. If you didn’t see that, then you’re blind. Delusional. A self-righteous idiot, living in a fantasy.”

“You wanted to be free, Astarion. To be safe.”

“You never wanted me to be free,” he seethes. “You liked me weak and broken, so I could come to you on my knees, and you could nod and smile and promise to fix me. Your own personal project, kept on a leash like a little puppy. Cuddly, harmless Astarion, healing from his hurts, all thanks to you. My saviour.”

Behind you, you can hear voices erupting and subsiding, a scuffle of shifting feet. You are grateful when no one interjects or rushes forward. This is for you and Astarion alone. It is your punishment to bear, and his truth to hear.

“You took all that power away from me,” he hisses. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was my decision. You’re worse than Cazador.”

The words wound you like arrows, but you half expect them. You have called yourself worse things.

“Cazador would have just compelled me not to do the ritual. But you gave me a taste of what I wanted, then ripped it away from me. You’re the cruellest bitch I’ve ever known.”

You do not care that hot tears stream down your cheeks, and that your voice trembles. You let yourself say what needs to be said, not what you think he wants to hear.

“You’re right.” You take a step towards him. “I should never have let you do it. I went along with it, when I should have pushed back. But I wanted you to feel you always had someone on your side. Someone who understood. I wanted you to feel loved.”

His disgust does not deter you anymore.

“You think that this is all you are. You can’t see beyond it. What was done to you. What he made you do to others. But it isn’t. It never was. You were always strong. You can be more than what happened to you. You are more than what happened to you.”

“Like you?” he sneers. “A hero? Someone so chained to other people’s approval that you’re lost without a saving mission? That’s what you so desperately want to see when you look at me, isn’t it?”

“No.” You are surprised by the strength of your voice. “Only someone who won’t let thousands of people suffer just because you did.”

Jolts of anger course through him. “You have no idea what I suffered,” he growls. “No idea what I am owed. If you had the faintest idea of it, if you truly loved me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be burning the world with me.”

You have listened silently before, when he talked about this. What he deserves after two centuries of agony. His comeuppance. You did not challenge him because you were afraid. Afraid you would offend him. Terrified that he would leave.

“Look around you, Astarion,” you say now. “Look at everyone here. We have all suffered. No, none of us have suffered what you have suffered, and I am so deeply sorry for that. But Cazador is dead and no one else will have to suffer under him. And now, no one will have to suffer under an Ascended either.”

A snide sound of disbelief. “You are so full of bullshit I can hardly breathe from the stench.”

Your tadpole rages, ramming into his mind. You expect the resistance of loathing, but he does not fight. He allows you in. And for the first time, you show him. You let him see him your parents, and your pain, and everything that was done to you. You open yourself up, the masks you put on that you recognise in him, the performances you too are familiar with in the economy of survival. You show him your promise to yourself, and your choices, and the failures you carry around with you like a noose.

He glares at you after it is over, but you think there may be less hatred in his eyes than there was a moment before.

“Why did you show me that?”

It is easier, now that there is nothing to hide.

“Because if we all burned the world because of our suffering, there would be nothing left. And because you said you wanted something real.”

He seems backfooted that you mention it. His first moment of honesty. Your first moment of connection. The beginning of your love.

“This is real, Astarion.” Your gaze is a waterfall. You cannot stop it. “Real love, messy and painful, with a real person who makes mistakes and tells you things that you don’t want to hear. Someone who sees who you really are and who you can be, the worst and the best of you, and still loves you anyway.”

He steps back, his features clenched in spasm. You think of how his hands felt on your skin, cold as ice to the touch, yet warming you inside out like summer sunlight. You remember the lilt of his laughter as you traded jibes and jests under the furs of your tent on cold nights. You breathe in his scent on the air for the last time, those hints of bergamot, rosemary and brandy that you could recognise anywhere. You are already mourning their loss.

“Then I don’t want it,” he spits out. “And I don’t want you.”

And then he leaves.

---

You are alone. You are lying in a clearing a short walk away from camp. It is spring, and the smell of earth and grass hangs around you as the sun streaks through the trees above you. Your ears are drunk with birdsong.

It has been weeks since he left. You would be lying if you said you did not miss him. Sometimes you feel his absence like a presence. It haunts and stalks you, and when the darkness comes, you cling to your pillow in your tent and weep through waves of grief that surge through you like labour pains. But at other times, you find a kind of solace in your solitude. You are not shackled by a desperation for love from a man so broken he is not capable of giving it. You are not trapped by your own brokenness in this yearning, this ache to fill the holes in his heart. And this freedom is worth the pain.

When you had asked Astarion what he wanted, he had never known. And perhaps that had struck you so deeply because you had never known either. You had never truly known what you wanted, who you really were outside of what you could do for others. You thought you were only a thing to be used, a tool to fill someone else’s need, whatever that may be. You could be good at that. You needed to be good at that. If not, you were nothing.

But you are learning. Since he has left, you are learning that you are more than that. You are learning that you can live with your mistakes. That you are enough, just as you are.

You find that you sing now, even when there is no one around. Even when it is not for a performance, or for support in battle. You sing for yourself, and you take pleasure in it, even when your notes are off key and you cannot remember the right words, even when no one is there to praise you or reward you for it. For the first time, you are enjoying your gift for no other reason than that you wish to. It is a gift, and it comes without dread or shame or conditions.

You are humming softly as you stroll back to camp. Scratch greets you with a frenzied tail, and you roll around with him, kneeling as he plasters sloppy kisses all over your face. The simple joy of this dances over the cracks in your heart. When Scratch suddenly stops, you are almost disappointed. You glance in the direction where he has bounded, an ecstatic flurry of delight. Then your eyes catch on silver shining in the sun, two bright rubies on white silk. Your breath halts.

There he is. He is different, but the same. You look at each other. And in that moment, it is enough that there is no hatred in his eyes, which flicker with uncertainty. It is enough that his mouth is not curled into a sneer, and his brow is soft and even. It is enough that you have both survived. You have shown each other who you are, and you are still here.

He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion angst #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3

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lastoneout · 5 months ago

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Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

#ask to tag #media analysis #I guess??#cw abuse mention #idk what to tag this as #loo writes

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lavenderlyncis · 1 year ago

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Join me in reviewing Olivia Rodrigo's album GUTS. I've waited years for this!!

all-american bitch - 9/10, big fan. I love it when she screams because the world is unfair. same girl, same

bad idea right? - 10/10. I know this one is controversial but I LOVE her more punky songs, I think that's when she's best

vampire - 10/10. I'm not always a fan of piano ballads, but the bridge and outro really make it for me. The hurt turning into anger and despair is just so cathartic. And the video is one of my faves of all time

lacy - 1000/10. What the hell. Did not expect to feel this much emotion from that title. Uhhh... yeah, same. I super relate to that. Whether or not lacy is supposed to be a real person or a manifestation of the beauty standard, this hits. Also, idk if I'm making this up but I dig the romantic undertones, they sell it

ballad of a homeschooled girl - "I made it weird, I made it worse"/10. OLIVIA HOW DID YOU KNOW that I lie awake thinking about all the weird things I did and said, Olivia, did you write this for me specifically??? Every day I am alive IS social suicide. I'm sorry, this is my song, actually. "Can't think of a third line", she's so real

making the bed - "I'm playing the victim so well in my head"/10. How. Does. She. Do. It? I could write an entire essay about this song. Maybe THIS is my song?? She's so good at saying exactly how I feel. I already know that this song will play a million times on my phone. Also I love the drivers license references. Big fan of the making the bed metaphor

logical - 9/10. favourite crime vibes. She's good with these songs about bad relationships. Used to be my favourite thing she did, but now I'm more invested in the songs that are about her/other experiences. That being said this song is really fucking good. This is the Olivia I fell in love with and she's still amazing at doing piano ballads

get him back! - 9/10. Olivia having ANOTHER song with speak-singing where she wants to get back with her ex?? Yes, PLEASE. Bad idea right 2.0. Fucking obsessed

love is embarrassing - 10/10. I said it before I'll say it again, angry Olivia is the best. And she's right, love IS embarrassing as hell

the grudges - 10/10. She does the paino ballads SO WELL. I think this is my favourite one on here. Because, wow, yeah, that is how it is

pretty isn't pretty - i can't rate this/10. GOD, I love it when she talks about insecurities. And don't think I don't see that skipping lunch line. It's sp hard to articulate how this song makes me feel. Especially since I've been low key comparing myself to her, even though we have entirely different bodies and faces. It's nice to know she also struggles with this. And she's right, you could do literally anything to change your appearance and you'd still be unhappy

teenage dream - 100000/10. "Is it recording? Of course it is.", the way I gasped. Okay, I love the interpretation of it ending with a child to be about growing up and childhood innocence. But the line she says?? Especially combined with the meaning of the song it feels a lot like it's about taking away youth by recording it and putting it out there just like she was supposed to be everyone's teenage dream as a child actor and young musician. This feels so personal to her while also being relatable to others. I'm 19 too, Olivia and I are born in the same year. And this is exactly how I feel about growing up. I hope it gets better, my teenage years were crap, I'm tired of being young, but it's also the only thing I can hold onto. I'm honestly terrified of turning 20. But hey, Olivia did it, so... it'll get better, right?

#i should probably stop trying to give songs numbers #they're all perfect to me #or2 #olivia rodrigo #guts olivia rodrigo #or

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magnagaruzenmon · 2 months ago

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A man named Doom NSFW

I am jolted awake, and I notice three things. The first is a badge on my chest it reads, “Sheriff of charisma: Doom” the badge is mostly one solid silvery metal with the name plate portion slotted in. This portion seemed to be more personalized.

After getting that accounted for my eyes snap to the weapons on the desk I sense a familiar malignant aura and pull from them. My weapons had been turned into two revolvers and a carbine with their blades fused to the firearms from the looks of it.

So that means I’ve been unconscious for some time possibly 3-4 days as the craftsmanship is par none, and that takes time.

The last thing I noticed was the young lady sitting in front of me. I sat up as my eyes fully “adjusted” and she came into view, absolutely stunning gorgeous figure hair cut short and just how I liked it, full lips and eyes that breathed intensity. Her hair was a light color but somehow still held strength and buoyancy.

As I moved she noticed me and I said to her,

“Am I dead, and are you an angel?”

The young lady pursed her lips into a faint smile hiding her emotions,

“Well aren't you a Charmer?” she said, my heart skipped a beat her voice was soothing and her eyes now focused were comforting and soft, “to answer your question though not that I know of Sheriff, but who knows? The man with pale horse could have revived you.” the young lady says.

I scratch my face as I think… for me its love at first sight. This girl has stunned me and I don't know how to feel really. The young lady smiles and says, “cat got your tongue?” I nod and reply,

“Its not often I'm met by someone with such captivating beauty okay,”

The lady’s eyes narrow judging before she steps toward me her eyes lock with mine then she says.

“Oh yeah you're smitten. Well Sherrif Doom my name is Momo Hirai. Nice to meet you,” I smile and take her hand. She giggles as I carefully take it and shake her hand. Since she's closer I get a better look at her. Her eyes are a lot softer and sillier up close. There's still an air of intensity around her but she’s also got a… squishy soft aura for lack of a better term. Its distracting. Her blonde/white hair wolf cut is as mesmerizing as the rest of her is. Unable to stop myself my hand finds the side of her face.

Momo surprisingly leans into my touch. “You know you're a bad omen, with a name like Doom and all,” she whispered as our faces grew close. Our eyes locked our bodies inching closer.

“Then make me a good omen and yours!” I exclaimed before kissing her.

The kiss was weird but cathartic. For most kisses are an expression of affection but this felt like an exchange of ourselves. Like I could feel myself giving a part of myself up to her and vice versa. I felt myself give up part of my relentless fire of zeal and passion what I got from her was a spring of calm and joy. It was intense as our hearts marked on each other and the stars bonded us together. When we broke it we stared at each other panting trying to calm our racing hearts. Momo spoke first

“Couldn't help yourself could you?” she teased. I shook my head and said

“Why would I settle for anything but the best?” Momo beams at me then kisses my forehead before a loud crash can be heard. We both roll our eyes before I grab my weapons and then Momo’s hand.

“Oh!” she gasps as I follow her out.

We walk outside to see the whole town (I'm assuming) rioting. I sigh dejected. I noticed that the town didn't all just look like Momo, but had a myriad of men and women with different skin tones builds and heights. In the scuffle, I also noticed some others wearing sheriff badges. I considered my next moves carefully. I could use my magic to stop the riot (and definitely scare the locals) or I could use a cantrip to maybe achieve the same effect. (with less incurred local terror)

“Well there goes my initial thoughts that this was going to be a “peaceful” job,” I thought to myself. Momo turned to me and asked if I'd help I nodded then reconsidered the previous options. I went with the former. I air-wrote a magic circle to make my voice louder than the commotion.

“Excuse me,” I say my voice echoes noticeably through the crowd. Momo turns to me and comments on the ring,

“Oh you're a mage?” she asks

I turn away from the circle so my voice doesn't boom at her.“Kinda. I didn't “study magic” in the traditional way.” I responded

Momo nods and then we turn back to the riot.

“Do you have any other tricks you can do magic man?”

I scratch my head and then say, “I have a bunch the issue is scaring the locals.”

Momo notes this as she says, “a mage who’s mindful about his terrible cosmic power, wow you are different,” she teaes. I shrug I look to her and notice a small rune on the left side of her collarbone.

“What is it ?” she asks?

I point to her collar. She looks down and laughs,“Oh so I guess you are truly in love with me” she says before she giggles some more.

“Its a mark of binding rune akin to symbolizing I found my partner, and have promised myself to them. My race does this when engaging in… marriage I think is the common word. You have one on your right shoulder t” Momo explains and I look down to see. There is an M-shaped rune on my right shoulder. I smirk and Momo asks, “what is it?”

“Well its not often that one gets married to someone so gorgeous.”

“Really you're taking this in stride?” Momo challenges. I nod.

“Before waking up this morning the last thing I remember is walking in a desert, and now I'm not only not in the desert anymore but married to one of the hottest gals I've ever seen. While it's not the best-case scenario it's still pretty good.”

Momo narrows her eyes “And what would be the best-case scenario?”

“Well, we'd be on a beach making out and living on a little idyllic villa really enjoying the honeymoon,” I say. Momo smiles and says,

“We can enjoy the honeymoon still but later we have a riot to stop…well you Mr magic Man,” she challenges. I sigh and have her move slightly behind me before I use more of my magic. As the skin on my hands and feet turn to metal and Loathefire spews out of the a familiar visage of flames covers my chest and opens. About 60-65 tendrils come out to grab the rioters and separate them nonlethally. When I was done my Loathefire dissipated I asked a simple question.

“Are you all done?” the town stared at me with a mix of intrigue and horror.

After the riot was cleared up, I found myself in a meeting with the other sheriffs: Aion, Jojo, Nevin, Grendel, Dredrom, and me, all seated at a large table in the sheriff’s office. Momo had left to help her friends Mina and Sana, the town’s tailors.

The air was thick with tension from the moment I sat down. I could feel eyes on me, sizing me up, judging whether I belonged here.

“So, who are you?” Aion asked first. His eyes were calm, but I noticed a subtle tilt of his head, the way his fingers drummed lightly on the table—he was cautious, already trying to unravel me before I even spoke.

“Well, I can’t say much, as I don’t remember much, but the name’s Doom, and I woke up this morning,” I replied. As I spoke, Dredrom and Nevin exchanged glances. Their jaws tightened—doubt, maybe even suspicion, was etched in the slight narrowing of their eyes. Nevin crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair as if distancing himself from me, while Dredrom’s grip on the edge of the table betrayed his impatience.

“I’m sorry, but I find it a little far-fetched that you would just arrive in the cloak of night, brought in by the pale rider, and have no memory,” Dredrom responded, his voice clipped. He was trying to mask his discomfort, but the way his eyes flicked between me and the others gave away his insecurity—he wasn’t just suspicious, he felt threatened.

I chuckled lightly, watching the subtle shift in their postures—Jojo leaned forward, curious; Nevin uncrossed his arms, readying himself to argue.

“Well, this pale rider offered me a job, and I guess I said yes before collapsing in the desert,” I replied, deliberately keeping my tone relaxed. Humor was often a good way to diffuse tension, but Nevin and Dredrom weren’t in the mood. Nevin’s fingers tapped impatiently on his knee, his foot bouncing lightly under the table—he was on edge.

Before they could tear into me, Jojo interjected, his voice cutting through the building tension. “Your magic—what was it?” His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity I hadn’t expected. He was intrigued, not fearful.

“Loathfire. Specifically, Conqueror’s Spoils,” I answered. I watched for their reactions. Jojo’s expression shifted slightly—his mouth tightened, and a crease formed between his brows. Unnerved.

“It’s unnerving. Don’t use it,” Jojo said firmly. His tone was sharp, flat, like a command. I noticed how his hands remained still on the table, but his fingers curled just enough to signal discomfort. He didn’t like that power, and he wanted control over it.

I paused, knowing what I was about to say would ruffle some feathers, but that didn’t bother me. I caught Aion’s subtle shift in his seat, his eyes flicking between Jojo and me, sensing the coming storm.

“Um, no. If I need to use it, I will. I don’t care about scaring people if there’s a job that needs to be done. If it’s the tool I need, I’ll use it. Besides, you’re all magic users as well,” I said, watching their faces carefully. Jojo’s expression hardened, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond. Nevin’s hand tightened into a fist in his lap, his jaw clenched in frustration. Dredrom leaned forward, ready to argue, but Aion stood up before it could escalate.

Aion’s movements were slow, measured, the way someone steps in to diffuse a situation without directly taking sides. His eyes were steady as he looked between me and the others. “Then how about you teach it to us?” he asked, trying to maintain a calm but firm tone, though I could hear the underlying tension. It was a diplomatic move, but his clenched jaw revealed he didn’t fully expect me to comply.

I sighed internally, knowing again what I was about to say wouldn’t go over well. I noticed Nevin shift uncomfortably in his seat, bracing himself for an answer he wouldn’t like. Grendel’s eyes flicked between us, watching silently, assessing.

“No. It’s not something you can just teach or learn. And with some of y’all’s spirits, I don’t think you need this kind of power,” I said, my voice deliberately even, though I could feel the tension spike in the room. Nevin’s knuckles went white, gripping the table, while Dredrom leaned forward aggressively, his eyes narrowing with offense. His fingers twitched, as if itching to reach for something—a weapon, maybe, or just the control he felt slipping.

“Oh, and what makes you so right, Mr. Amnesiac and Mysterious?” Nevin spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned in as if challenging me, his eyes burning with resentment.

I met his gaze calmly, keeping my tone measured. “You see power as a weapon. I see it as a tool. That’s the difference.” My words hung in the air, and I could feel the silent shift in the room—the way Nevin tensed, bristling under my response, while Dredrom leaned back, clearly agitated. Jojo’s gaze remained fixed on me, but there was something softer in his eyes now, a recognition maybe, or at least a grudging respect for my perspective.

Without waiting for a response, I stood up and walked out. As I reached the door, I caught Grendel’s voice behind me, low but unmistakable. “He’s strong, but he’s going to need to watch his back.” His tone wasn’t hostile—it was more of a quiet observation, the kind of thing someone says when they recognize the dangers that come with standing out.

I didn’t turn around, but I could feel the weight of his words. They weren’t a threat, but a reminder. In this world, power—whether as a tool or a weapon—always comes with a price. As I walked out I left my badge on the hook signifying I was “off duty”

Feeling hungry, I made my way down the dusty street to a building with a sign that read “Emanuel’s Victuals.” The sun hung high, casting sharp shadows across the wooden facade. As I stepped inside, the scent of sizzling meat and fresh herbs hit me—comforting, almost grounding.

Behind the counter, a man with kind eyes and weathered hands smiled at me, the kind of smile that felt like an unspoken welcome.

“How much is a heavy lunch?” I asked, stepping closer.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “We don’t really take payment here if you live here, especially not from the Sheriffs, Mr. Sheriff.” There was something about the way he said it—no fear, no awe. Just genuine warmth, like he’d already accepted me into the fold, even though I barely knew this town.

“We all work for each other here,” he added, and his words hung in the air. I could feel a sense of community in them, the unspoken bond that tied the people of this town together. It was different from the power plays I’d just walked out of with the other sheriffs. This felt real. Human.

I nodded, offering him a small, genuine smile of my own as I walked closer. He smiled back, something soft and shared passing between us in that moment. No need for words. We understood each other.

I ordered the special, and within a reasonable amount of time, a plate was placed before me—a ribeye, beautifully marbled and cooked to perfection, surrounded by spring vegetables that gleamed like they’d just been picked from the earth. It wasn’t just food. It was a labor of care, something crafted with the intent to nourish, not just feed.

As I ate, I found myself slowing down, really savoring the meal. Each bite was a reminder that life wasn’t just about conflict or survival—it was about moments like this too. Simple. Uncomplicated. I minded my business, letting the food and the quiet settle into me like an old friend.

When I finished, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a gold piece, something that was probably worth more than the entire meal. I set it on the counter and stood to leave.

The man’s eyes widened, his hand hovering over the coin like it was a foreign object. “I can’t take this,” he said, looking at me with a mix of surprise and confusion.

I laughed lightly, the sound escaping before I even realized it. “Consider it a tip,” I replied, as I headed toward the door.

His face softened, and I could feel the weight of the gesture sink in for him. In a town where no one asked for much, a small token of gratitude seemed like everything.

After leaving Emanuel’s Victuals, the warmth of the meal still sat in my belly, grounding me in the simple pleasures of this strange town. The gold coin had felt heavier in my hand than it should have. Something about this place—its people, its warmth—was getting under my skin. Despite the odd tension with the other sheriffs, I was starting to feel more… present. Like I could make something out of this place, out of whatever life I had left.

But before I could even take three steps out into the street, something shifted in the air. The world around me blurred, colors bleeding into each other like water on a canvas. My stomach lurched as the ground disappeared beneath me.

I barely had time to react before the world snapped back into focus—except now, I wasn’t in town anymore.

I blinked, taking in my surroundings. The warm sunlight outside had been replaced by dim, flickering candlelight. Shelves lined with jars of herbs, strange crystals, and an odd assortment of trinkets stretched along the walls. The air here was cool—almost unnaturally so—and carried the scent of damp earth and incense.

At the center of the room sat a woman. She stirred a cup of tea with slow, methodical movements, her pale fingers tapping the rim of the cup in a rhythm as cold and precise as her surroundings. She hadn’t acknowledged me yet, but I knew she was aware of my presence.

“You’re earlier than expected,” she said finally, her voice devoid of any warmth. She didn’t even glance up. “I thought you might have taken your time with that meal.”

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice still hoarse from the abrupt shift between spaces.

“My home.” She still didn’t look at me, her tone almost clinical, as if this was nothing more than a routine transaction. “You’re here because I brought you here.”

“And why’s that?” I took a step forward, my eyes searching her face for any sign of emotion, anything to indicate why I was here.

She finally looked up, her cold blue eyes locking onto mine. Her gaze felt like ice against my skin. “Because your only purpose is to be Momo’s companion. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refused to flinch. I could feel the heat rising in me, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Only purpose?” I echoed. “That’s it? You drag me out of wherever I came from and tell me my only purpose is to serve someone else?”

She shrugged, a slight tilt of her head. “You’re here as a favor to my friend Giselle. She asked, and I delivered.”

My hands balled into fists. I wasn’t the type to explode, but the way she spoke—detached, emotionless, as if I were nothing but a cog in some grand machine—was stoking a fire in me. “You don’t get to decide that. I’m not just some tool for you to use.”

“Tool?” She arched a brow, her lips curling slightly in what could only be described as mockery. “You misunderstand, Doom. Tools have value. You are simply a means to an end. A temporary necessity.”

The chill in her voice clashed hard against the heat in my chest. Every word she said was like a slap in the face, stripping away any semblance of humanity I had left in this situation. But I wasn’t going to let her see me break. No, I needed to get her to understand something—and it wasn’t going to happen through anger.

“Look,” I said, my voice lowering, trying to rein in the heat. “I’m not trying to start anything here. I want to understand what’s going on. Maybe we can work together—figure this out.”

Her eyes flickered, but not with understanding. If anything, they grew colder, more calculating. She set her teacup down, her fingers resting lightly on its edge. “Work together?” She chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Why would I need to work with you? You’re here to fulfill your role. That is the extent of your usefulness.”

My heart pounded harder against my chest, not from fear but from frustration. How could someone be this detached? “You think that’s all I am? A role to play in some game? You’re talking about a person here.”

“A person,” she repeated, as if the word was foreign to her. “Your personhood is irrelevant. What matters is that you fulfill your function.”

I could feel the burn rising in my throat, but I held it back. This wasn’t the time to lose it. “There’s something else going on here. You say you brought me here, but you’re not the only one pulling strings.”

She raised a brow, her expression narrowing ever so slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“The man,” I said, my voice firm. “The tall pale man who claimed he brought me here, gave me a job. You expect me to believe that’s all part of your plan?”

For the first time, her cold exterior faltered. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, brief but telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stepped closer, sensing the crack in her façade. “So you don’t know everything after all.”

Her gaze hardened again, icy walls snapping back into place. “I brought you here. That is all that matters.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady with conviction. “It’s not. You might think you can use me however you want, but there’s more to this than you’re telling me. We both know it.”

She stood up suddenly, the air around us growing even colder. “You are here because I allowed it. Don’t mistake whatever other forces you think are at play as important. Your past, your future—they mean nothing.”

I laughed then, surprising even myself. “You think my past doesn’t matter?” I shook my head. “You don’t even know what I left behind, do you?”

Her lips tightened, but she didn’t respond. For the first time, I felt like I had the upper hand, even if only slightly. There was something she didn’t know, something beyond her control.

“You want to know why I’m really here?” I asked, stepping forward. “Then let me show you.”

Before she could react, I felt a surge of energy in the room. My memories flooded back, crashing into me with the force of a tidal wave. Blood. Battles. Victory. And then… silence. I had saved a city, defeated a warlord who had terrorized my people. And then, when it was over, I’d made a choice—a choice to erase everything, to forget, because I knew the temptation of power too well. I couldn’t become the thing I had defeated. then memroriew of the desert flashed and The white rabbit witch saw the pale man i reffered to earlier.

The witch watched me carefully as I came back to myself, her calculating eyes taking in every shift in my expression.

“Now,” she said, her voice quieter but no less cold, “do you see? You chose this. You chose to forget, to walk away from everything. That was your decision.”

I shook my head. “I chose to leave behind a warlord’s crown, not my humanity.”

She said nothing, her gaze fixed and unyielding, but I could feel the tension between us shift. Neither of us trusted the other completely, but there was an understanding now—something had brought me here that even she didn’t control.

“Whatever brought me here,” I said, “it’s not done with me. And it’s not done with you either.” The white rabbit Witch smirked.

The air in the White Rabbit Witch’s home was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that made every heartbeat feel loud, every breath too shallow. The room itself was strange—walls lined with trinkets that felt out of place in any reality I’d ever known. But despite the oddity of the surroundings, it was the woman before me who unsettled me the most.

The White Rabbit Witch sat with an elegance that bordered on eerie, her delicate fingers wrapped around the handle of a cup that never seemed to empty. Her gaze fixed on me, cold and calculating, as if I were a puzzle to be solved, a piece on a board she had already mastered. I felt the weight of her scrutiny, but I wouldn’t let it break me.

“Why me?” I asked again, slower this time, my voice straining to remain calm. I needed answers, not more riddles.

She raised an eyebrow, almost amused by my persistence. “I thought I made that clear,” she replied, her voice soft but icy. “You were the perfect choice.”

“Perfect for what?” I snapped, frustrated. “To be Momo’s—what? Companion? Some… pawn you shuffle around?”

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no warmth in it. “If you want to use such crude terminology, then yes. But I see you as more than that, Doom. I see you as the toy Momo needs.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, my hands curling into fists. “A toy?” I repeated, incredulous. “You brought me here to use me like some mindless servant?”

“Not mindless,” she corrected smoothly, her tone never wavering. “Far from it. I chose you precisely because you have a mind—a heart. One that Momo would find endearing. One that she could fall for.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with a knowing look that made my skin crawl. “You were never selfish. Always putting others before yourself, always sacrificing your own desires for the greater good. It’s why you wiped your memories, isn’t it? You couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the very thing you fought against.”

Her words slithered through me, and I felt an icy weight settle in my chest. I had made that choice, long ago. To forget. To walk away from the power that could corrupt me. But the way she spoke about it—so casually, as though it was all part of some grand design—made me sick.

“And that’s why Momo would love you,” she continued, as though she were explaining an equation that had already been solved. “You’re exactly the kind of man she would want by her side. A good boy who always does the right thing. Who helps everyone but himself.”

I felt my heart twist at her words. Not because she was wrong, but because of how cold and detached she made it sound. Like I was nothing more than a carefully chosen pawn in her scheme. A chess piece placed just so.

“That’s not love,” I said, my voice tight. “You can’t force someone to love another person just because it fits into your plans.”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with a glint of amusement. “Oh, Doom, you misunderstand. I didn’t force anything. I simply created the conditions. You’ve already done the rest.”

I stared at her, confusion knitting my brows. “What do you mean?”

Her smile deepened, as though she were about to reveal a hidden truth I wasn’t ready for. “You’ve already begun to fulfill your role, Doom. You care for Momo, whether you’ll admit it or not. You can’t help it. It’s in your nature.”

“That’s not—” I started to protest, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” she said, her voice still eerily calm. “The way you look at her. The way your heart shifts when she’s near. It’s written all over you, in your eyes, in the way you talk about her. You’ve already started falling for her.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling my pulse quicken. “That’s not… you’re twisting things. I care about her because she’s a good person, not because of whatever game you’re playing.”

“Is it really so different?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, her cold gaze never leaving mine. “You think you’re immune to the pull of destiny, but you’re already tethered to her. Even now, you’re thinking of her—wondering if she’s safe, wondering if she needs you. You were always going to fall for her. That’s why I chose you.”

I took a step forward, my voice rising with anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She chuckled softly, a low, almost mocking sound. “Oh, but I do. You’ve always been predictable, Doom. Even without your memories, you follow the same patterns. You’re the hero, the protector, the one who sacrifices himself for others. You don’t see power the way others do—as something to wield like a weapon. You see it as a tool, something to be used carefully, sparingly.”

She stood up, gliding toward me, her presence filling the room like a shadow. “That’s why Momo will love you. Because you’ll protect her. You’ll put her before yourself, just as you’ve done for everyone else in your life. And in the end, you’ll realize that you were always meant to be by her side.”

I stepped back, my fists still clenched. “You’re wrong. I’m not some… plaything for you to manipulate. My feelings are my own.”

She tilted her head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Am I wrong? Look inside yourself, Doom. You already love her. You can’t even deny it.”

Her words hung in the air, suffocating me. And as much as I wanted to argue, as much as I wanted to push back against her manipulations, I couldn’t shake the truth of what she was saying. There was something there—something that had been building since the moment I met Momo.

But that didn’t mean I was going to let her control me.

“I’m not your puppet,” I said, my voice low, firm. “Whatever feelings I have for Momo, they’re mine. Not something you’ve created.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You can tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better. But the truth is, you’ve already fulfilled the role I needed you to play. You care for her. You want to protect her. And soon, you’ll realize that everything I’ve said is true.”

I shook my head, anger burning in my chest. “You don’t get to decide that. I make my own choices.”

Her eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated certainty. “Perhaps. But the choices you’ve made so far? They’ve already led you here. And they will lead you back to her.”

There was no arguing with her, not in that moment. I could see it in her eyes—the absolute conviction, the belief that she had me figured out, that I was just a piece on her board, moving exactly as she wanted.

But I wasn’t going to let her win.

“Whatever you think you know about me,” I said, my voice steady, “you’re wrong. I won’t be controlled by you. Or anyone.”

She smiled, but it was cold, hollow. “We’ll see, Doom. We’ll see just how much control you truly have.”

As I turned to leave, her final words echoed in my mind, chilling me to the core. But no matter what she thought, no matter how deeply she believed she had orchestrated all of this—I knew one thing for sure.

My heart, my choices, were mine.

The air outside the White Rabbit Witch’s home was cooler than I remembered, though maybe it was just the weight of the conversation hanging over my head. The world around me seemed hazy as I walked beside her, my thoughts swirling like a storm I couldn’t outrun. The Witch’s soft footfalls barely made a sound as she led the way toward the tailor’s shop, her demeanor unchanged—calm, calculating, as if she were already three steps ahead of me in this game she claimed we were playing.

For a while, the only sound between us was the distant murmur of the town and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the breeze. I thought she might stay silent the entire way, but then she spoke, her voice carrying that same eerie certainty that had unnerved me inside her home.

“You’re struggling,” she said softly, not even turning her head. “You’re trying to fight the inevitable, Doom.”

I clenched my jaw, not in the mood for another round of her manipulations. “I’m not fighting anything,” I replied, though the words tasted hollow even to me.

She glanced at me, her eyes sharp and knowing. “You are. I can see it in the way you carry yourself. The way your mind races, trying to reconcile what you feel with what you think you should feel.”

I didn’t answer. What could I say? That she was wrong? That I wasn’t confused, wasn’t battling against this… thing building inside me for Momo?

I’d never been good at lying, especially to myself.

“Let me make it easier for you,” she continued, her voice unyielding but not unkind. “Momo… she’s drawn to you for a reason. You’re exactly the kind of man she needs. Someone selfless, someone who will always put her first. You already do it without even realizing it.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I don’t… I don’t want to be just some puppet in your game.”

“You’re not,” she said, stopping briefly to face me, her gaze piercing. “This isn’t about me. It’s about her. And you.”

She began walking again, and though I tried to keep my mind focused, her words burrowed deep into my thoughts.

“You protect her because it’s who you are,” she said softly, almost like she was talking to herself now. “You care for her in ways that are impossible to fake. And I’ve seen how she looks at you too, Doom. Momo isn’t blind to it. You just haven’t let yourself fully see it yet.”

I shook my head, struggling against the truth she was laying out in front of me. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” the Witch replied with a small shrug. “But don’t mistake complexity for resistance. Feelings, real ones, grow despite the complications.”

I didn’t have a response to that. I couldn’t, because she was digging at something I didn’t want to admit, not even to myself.

“She needs someone like you,” the Witch pressed on, her voice taking on a more personal tone, almost… gentle. “A man who isn’t driven by selfish desires. Someone who sees the world as more than just a place to take from, but as something to give to. And you—” she glanced at me with something that looked dangerously close to pity, “you’ve always given more than you’ve taken, haven’t you?”

I looked away, my chest tight.

Before I could respond, we turned the corner, and there was the tailor’s shop, nestled between two smaller buildings. The Witch stopped a few paces before the door, turning to face me fully.

“You’re perfect for her, Doom. Whether you want to believe it or not.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto mine, and I felt that weight in my chest again, heavy and suffocating. “Stop fighting it. It’s already there. You just have to let it be.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to say something that would counter her manipulations, but the words caught in my throat when the door to the tailor’s shop swung open.

And there she was.

Momo.

She stepped out, her eyes lighting up the moment they met mine, and before I could react, she rushed forward, throwing her arms around me in a tight, warm embrace.

It was like time stopped. My arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close. Her scent—sweet, familiar—washed over me, and every single flutter and jump in my heart felt like an earthquake in my chest. My pulse raced, and I could feel her heartbeat against mine, the way her body pressed into me like we were meant to fit together.

For a moment, the world disappeared, and it was just her.

Just Momo.

And in that instant, I knew the Witch was right.

I did care for her. More than I was ready to admit. More than I could hide anymore. It wasn’t just a passing feeling—it was something deeper, something real. Something that had been there since the moment we met, whether I’d seen it or not.

When Momo finally pulled back, her eyes were shining with warmth, her smile soft and genuine. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice like music in the stillness between us.

I swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of her gaze, the way my heart was still racing. “Me too,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded distant to my own ears.

And then, just as the world seemed to settle back into place, I felt a presence beside me. The Witch leaned in close, her voice a whisper in my ear that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Don’t fight it, Hero,” she murmured, her breath cold against my skin. Her whispers echoed in my mind even after she left

I felt a strange, soothing warmth seep into my mind, calming the storm of emotions that had been raging just moments before. It was subtle, like a soft wave washing over me, but I knew immediately what she had done.

A spell.

She had cast something to calm my emotions, maybe. But despite the initial resistance in my gut, I didn’t fight it. I couldn’t. Not now. Not with the way Momo was still looking at me, her eyes full of something I couldn’t name, but felt in every fiber of my being.

The Witch pulled back, her expression unreadable, though I could feel the satisfaction radiating from her. “See?” she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. “It was always going to be like this.”

And as Momo gently took my hand, leading me toward the tailor’s shop, I couldn’t help but wonder if the Witch was right about everything.

Maybe this was always how it was meant to be.

The warm light of the tailor’s shop cast long shadows across the floor as I stepped inside with Momo still holding my hand. The feeling of her fingers intertwined with mine was grounding, almost like an anchor keeping me steady amidst everything swirling in my mind. The White Rabbit Witch’s words still echoed in my head, but I pushed them aside for the moment.

Mina and Sana were waiting inside, their faces lighting up as we entered.

“There’s our new sheriff!” Mina grinned, giving me a once-over. “Or, should I say, soon-to-be well-dressed sheriff.”

Sana gave me a playful wink, already pulling out fabrics and boots from the back of the shop. “We’re going to make you look fantastic, Doom. Momo’s been talking about this all morning.”

Momo laughed, the sound soft and melodious. “I figured you could use something a bit sturdier than what you’ve been walking around in. Especially since you have a tendency to… well, burn things.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Fair point,” I replied, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. “I’m not exactly… subtle with my magic. But I’ll try not to destroy your hard work.”

Sana and Mina exchanged glances, clearly amused by the banter between us. Mina stepped forward, placing a hand on my arm as she led me toward a row of neatly hung clothes. “Don’t worry, we’ve got just the thing. Boots and clothes enchanted to withstand whatever magic you throw at them. We don’t mess around here.”

Momo stood next to me, her gaze warm. “And besides, I’m sure you’ll look amazing in whatever they pick.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to her. “Is that why you’re here? To make sure I don’t look like a fool?”

She grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “Exactly. I have to protect my investment, after all.”

“Your investment?” I chuckled, playing along. “I didn’t realize I was part of your portfolio.”

“Oh, you are,” she said, stepping a bit closer. Her voice dropped to a soft, teasing tone. “And I expect a high return.”

Sana pretended to gag in the background, making exaggerated faces. “Oh no, they’re flirting. Someone stop them.”

Mina smirked, folding her arms. “Let them have their fun. Besides, it’s cute.”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, but I didn’t break eye contact with Momo. The tension between us felt electric, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm. Inviting. I was still getting used to the fact that I wasn’t fighting it anymore, and now, standing here with her, it felt… right.

Sana came up behind me, tapping me on the shoulder. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get to work. Doom, off with the coat.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Momo. “You sure about this? I’m not exactly… a fashion icon.”

Momo laughed, crossing her arms as she watched me. “Oh, I’m very sure. Now, stop stalling and let the professionals do their job.”

I grinned and shrugged out of my old, worn coat. It felt strange to be standing there without it, like I was missing part of myself, but Momo’s approving smile was enough to keep me from second-guessing.

Sana and Mina wasted no time, throwing a perfectly tailored shirt over my head and pulling me toward a tall mirror. The fabric was light but sturdy, the cut sharp but comfortable. The designs were floral and pretty yet still masculine in color.

“Looking good already,” Sana said, adjusting the collar. “But we’re not done yet.”

Mina came forward with a pair of dark pants and a belt, holding them up with a smile. “Try these. They’re enchanted with anti-burn magic. Even your flames won’t get through these bad boys.”

I took them from her and quickly changed, feeling a little out of my element with all the attention. When I stepped back out, though, I couldn’t help but be impressed with how well they fit. The pants were flexible, and I could feel the enchantment humming faintly in the fabric.

But it wasn’t until they handed me the boots that I really felt like I had stepped into something new. They were heavy but balanced, they were a metallic sheen that was tough but comfortable. I tugged them on, rolling my shoulders as I stood up straight.

“We call them lavaspur boots,” Mina said happily.

“They are the only non enchanted clothes we made as they are made of magical leather and metal that can take temperatures up to 15 million degrees,” Mina added

“So how do they feel?” Sana asked wide-eyed.

I moved my feet around a bit and took a few steps. “I like em… I like all of the outfits and clothes you've given me thus far. Thank you so much,” I responded

The two girls smiled and said, “Well you're very welcome Sheriff Doom,”

I turn to Momo to get her take and she stares me focused.

“You look…” Momo’s voice trailed off for a second, her eyes wandering over me appreciatively. She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing just slightly. “You look great.”

I smiled at her, feeling that same flutter in my chest I’d felt outside the shop. “Thanks,” I said softly, stepping closer to her. “Though I’m sure it’s not just the clothes. I’m pretty sure it’s the company that’s making me look this good.”

Her face broke into a wide grin, and she punched me lightly on the arm. “You’re impossible.”

Sana and Mina exchanged knowing glances before stepping back, clearly deciding to give us some space.

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind Momo’s ear, my fingers lingering just slightly. “Maybe. But you seem to like me this way.”

She laughed, a soft, breathless sound that made my heart skip. “Maybe I do,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine.

For a moment, we were just standing there, inches apart, the world fading away. It was just her and me, and the warmth between us. It was real. Tangible. And it scared me how much I wanted it to stay.

Before I could say anything else, I felt a light hand on my shoulder. The White Rabbit Witch had reappeared, silent and sudden as always. She leaned in close to my ear, her voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Don’t fight it, Hero,” she murmured, her words echoing the spell she cast earlier. This time, though, there was something else—a deeper, almost primal magic settling over me, calming the rush of emotions I’d been battling. “Just let it be.”

I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the tension leave my body. When I opened them again, Momo was still there, smiling up at me, her eyes filled with warmth and something more. Something that made my heart race all over again.

The Witch stepped back, her presence fading into the background as Momo reached out and took my hand again, her fingers fitting perfectly with mine.

“Come on,” she said softly, tugging me toward the door. “Let’s show everyone the new and improved Sheriff Doom.”

I let her pull me forward, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.

The tailor shop buzzed with laughter and warmth as I looked down at my newly acquired outfits, all thanks to Momo, Mina, and Sana’s tireless efforts. I had to admit, they’d outdone themselves. I felt different in these clothes—lighter, yet somehow more grounded. The enchanted fabrics hummed with magic, shielding me from burning them away, which was a relief.

As I finished buttoning the last shirt, Momo looked up at me, her eyes soft and warm. “You clean up pretty well, Sheriff.”

I grinned. “All thanks to my personal fashion squad.”

Sana smirked and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve. “Well, we do what we can.”

Mina clapped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “Okay, now that the makeover’s done, what’s next?”

Momo’s face lit up. “How about dinner? I was thinking we could all have a nice meal at my place tonight. What do you think?”

Sana immediately perked up, her eyes gleaming. “Ooh, count me in! What about you, Mina?”

Mina nodded eagerly. “Definitely. We’ll bring some food—and maybe a couple of extra guests?”

Momo smiled. “The more, the merrier.”

With plans made, we all parted ways for the moment, agreeing to meet later for dinner at Momo’s place. As Momo and I walked toward her home, the evening air seemed charged with something unspoken between us. Her hand was warm in mine, her laughter like a melody that lingered in the spaces around us. It felt effortless, as if we’d always been walking side by side like this.

And yet, the warmth in my chest grew harder and harder to ignore.

Stopping in our tracks, I turned to her, letting the feeling take hold. Before either of us could speak, I leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t like the others we’d shared earlier. This time, it deepened, grew more insistent, and with it, something stirred in the air around us.

I felt the pulse of my own magic responding, flaring up like embers catching wind. Behind Momo, shimmering waves of light began to dance in the dimming sky—auroras, glowing ribbons of colors that wove and twisted with a beauty that seemed almost alive.

When we finally broke the kiss, I stared at her in awe.

“You’re a mage too?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Momo nodded, her cheeks glowing almost as brightly as the auroras behind her. “Not a war mage like you, though,” she said with a soft laugh. “My magic is music and dance. It’s… gentler, I guess.”

I nodded, still mesmerized by the lingering traces of light around her. As the magic faded, we continued walking, the quiet between us now heavy with unspoken understanding.

Imagine my surprise when, as we approached her front door, I saw a familiar figure curled up on the porch—a hulking, scaly mass that could only be one thing.

“Blastoise?” I called out in disbelief.

At the sound of his name, his large, glowing eyes snapped open, and his massive tongue lolled out in joy. With a low rumble, he bounded forward, licking my face enthusiastically.

I laughed, my arms wrapping around his neck as I hugged him tightly. “I missed you, big guy.”

Behind me, Momo tilted her head, her expression one of delighted curiosity. “You know this big guy?”

Still scratching behind Blastoise’s ears, I glanced back at her and nodded. “Before I was brought here, I set him free. He was one of the warlord’s experiments—one of the few that survived.”

Momo’s smile softened as she crouched down to pet Blastoise’s sturdy shell. “I’d never have guessed,” she said.

Blastoise gave a satisfied huff, leaning into her touch as if he already adored her.

Inside, as we began preparing dinner, I couldn’t help but notice Momo’s enthusiasm in the kitchen… and the minor chaos it caused. Her measurements were off, her timing a bit rushed, and some things were on the verge of burning.

“Uh, Momo?” I asked gently, stepping in as she reached for a skillet that was a little too close to charring its contents. “Mind if I help?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, relief evident in her smile. “Please do.”

Together, we salvaged the bread from over-baking, adjusted the seasoning on the stew, and kept the vegetables from turning into an unrecognizable mush. By the end, the kitchen was filled with delicious aromas instead of the smoky haze we’d narrowly avoided.

Just as we were setting the table, I heard a low growl coming from outside.

Blastoise.

Momo glanced toward the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Blastoise, stop it! They’re our guests,” she called as she opened the door to reveal Sana, Mina, Jojo, and Nevin standing on the porch.

Sana gave a low whistle, eyeing the tortoise-dragon hybrid with amusement. “Finally gave him a name, huh?”

Momo shook her head, grinning. “Nope. Garuzen named him—since Blastoise is his friend.”

Jojo and Nevin exchanged a look, their collective sigh audible as they stepped inside.

The moment their eyes landed on me at the stove, an expression of surprise flickered across their faces.

“Wait, you’re cooking?” Jojo asked, his tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

Mina, ever the peacekeeper, laughed softly as she nudged him. “It’s not that hard to believe. He does seem like a man of many talents.”

Sana smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “Guess you’re full of surprises, Sheriff.”

Momo beamed at their reactions, clearly proud of how seamlessly I’d stepped into the evening’s preparations. I chuckled, shrugging as I plated the last dish.

“Just trying to make myself useful,” I said simply, though the warmth in my chest had nothing to do with the food. It was the way Momo looked at me—a mixture of gratitude, affection, and something deeper—that made me feel, for the first time in a long time, like I belonged.

Dinner was ready, the table was set, and the room buzzed with laughter and conversation. Blastoise, ever the vigilant guardian, settled himself outside the door, his glowing eyes keeping watch over the night.