#fate’s roll ink

[fates-roll]

Error, it is time for cake.

D-did nobody remember it was his birthday?

I’m not doing the ink & error asks right now, but… it’s a special occasion, so I doodled this up really quick anyway!

Also yeah I forgot/didn’t know it was (is?) his birthday lol. And I’ll forget again <3

Blip probably sent him a pipebomb or something.

[darkdemeter]

・issue #--・ 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

⚤ Dark Pirate!Bucky Barnes x Siren!Female Reader Pirate Bucky — semi dark Bucky — submissive/soft captive reader — possessive Bucky — SMUT 18+, Minors DNI! — P in V sex — memory loss/wiping via magic (reader affected) — light use of physical and sexual acts to avoid conflict — indirect breeding kink? — pet names — brief consumption of alcohol — I think that's it? ✎ 4.1k He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. Yet overboard and on the tide you sail across, in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul… a song so familiar yet unknown. Forgotten. Bucky reminds you yet again that there is no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  There lays a song forgotten in your heart and soul, distantly faint as the receding tide to the shore. With each spare moment of peace you were given to dwell beneath the lapping waters, you spend a portion of it in search of that song. And what time remains within the falling sand’s glass, you bask in the blue and faded black abyss. 

  Tonight is no different. You could not remember the forgotten song that lulls you tenderly, pulling through skin and scale, calling you somewhere far, much too far, away from the balancing hull above. 

  You could not abandon your captain. Betray the trust between you both. After all, it was he who found you washed atop the rocky crevices of the island, who rescued you from a fate of drying out in the sun’s merciless heat. Who took care of you when there was nothing left of the life you once knew. 

  To break that earnt trust, to betray him, you can’t think of anything far more heartbreaking than that. 

“Time’s up, my Siren,” the voice of your captain beckons you. He calls you to the surface. 

  A sigh ripples through the water and your head tilts up towards the surface, the darkened slits in your milky white eyes shrink away from the moonlight penetrating through the waves. The long limb of your tail sweeps back and forth, thrusting you upwards, skin and scales shimmering brighter as you near the barrier between water and air. The breach pulls a lungful gasp of the night's chillingly crisp air, the only warmth coming from The Avenger. 

  Hair drench-pressed and thinned forms a curtain over your features as you peer up at the looming figure pridefully arching over the ship’s wooden rail. The slivered slits of your eyes grow wider as they focus on him, with a lantern beside him, glass scorched and worn by smoke, it illuminates the upper portion of his body. His white shirt ruggedly wrinkled and loosened to showcase a muscled chest, skin tanned by the sun’s heated kiss, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black ink painted legendary stories over his body in memorabilia. Stories forged into his flesh for all to study and cower in fear.

  He summons you with a kink of his finger and you obey his silent command with an all too eager nod. Around you, the water spirals into a column and rises up, pushing you higher to reach the wooden railing. Aboard the ship, the crew is merry in their celebrations. Another successful day of conquest and battle on the high seas, another amassed sum of gold and valuables to add to hull and reputation. 

  Of course spirits would be high and cheerful tonight. And of course, what was a conquest without the captain’s prize at the end of it all?

  Gathering yourself over the rail and onto the deck, the glistening shine of your tail morphs into two shapely legs, the milky hues of your eyes and other remnants of your true body hide in their human disguise. Your eyes find the hourglass on his opposite side, the sand all gathered in the bottom glass pit. Your captain holds something out for you and you graciously accept his gift, pulling the thin veil of your robe over your naked body. 

  His ocean blue eyes scan you up and down, the left corner of his plush, chapped lips turns upwards. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He purrs his question and it brings a cold chill to run up and down your spine, your lungs freeze with what little breath they had at that moment. 

  He turns his body properly to face you, burly shoulders and thick muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His eyes fold slightly into a sharpened stare of interrogation. 

  “I–I don’t…” You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t understand, Captain. I search for nothing that is not you.”

  “Aye?” 

  Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and unique - mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep. 

  Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its link. 

  However, your mesmerised pupils flicker up in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance. 

  Your vision focuses behind him then, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.

  When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own. 

  Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.

  He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf. 

  His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea. 

  The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back. 

  “Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion. 

  “But I—” Still he penetrates you with that cold stare. It prods at you with radiant intensity, it matches the ominous scarlet glow that now burns brighter now as it moves down the upper deck’s stairs. Your eyes dart between the woman who controls the rolling waves of red magic and the ferocity of your captain’s hardpressed gaze. 

  Your head bounces quickly. “Yes...” 

  A few words of compliance are cut off by a gasp. As you attempt to follow his order and return to his cabin, he halts you within his metallic grasp and pulls you back in, curled lips mere inches from your own, in the clutches of his brazen hold, he commands your attention. Your hands are forced to rest over his chest. 

  He drawls with a warning growl, “Yes?”

  “Yes, Captain Barnes.”

  Bucky nods his head once and lets you go, his eyes flicker between the cabin door and you, silently instructing you to hurry along. Your bare feet barely make a sound over the wooden deck in your traversal towards the cabin, where you would await your captain to claim his prize. Treasure that he greedily gets to have all to himself. The conquest he takes glee in ravishing himself full of. 

  Once you’re tucked inside, exactly where he wants you, Bucky scratches at his stubbled jaw, his recent shave already beginning to grow in again. Wanda approaches his side, the fabric of her magic ceasing at her fingertips like embers passing over into lowly ashes. 

  “That was a close one,” Bucky growls, his tongue that savours your taste runs over his teeth. She hisses with a hushed tone, “With each outing she is given to delve into the sea, my magic weakens, Captain.”

  His eyes roll to glare at the woman beside him. She sighs with a bow of her head, eyes downcast as to not provoke him into thinking her words a challenge. 

  “All I mean to say is that you must reinforce her rules. She’s beginning to suspect far too much, and with each piece of recollection, my power is sapped by her own. Enforce her rules once more.”

  Bucky’s shoulders shrug upwards with an all too arrogant huff, haughty in his conviction. He idly tilts his flesh hand, admiring the piece of you he has wrapped up in his iron grasp. 

  “She will do well to keep in mind her place. She’s intimidated.”

  “She’s conflicted, Captain.” Her words bring about a scowl to Bucky’s face, lips coiled into a snarl and nose wrinkling, eyes thinning. “And it will be a matter of time before she is free of you, and you will be known as the captain who lost his siren.”

  The bridge of this knowledge leaves Bucky in a state of strife. An aspect to his notorious reputation was garnered by your captivity. The White Wolf known by all as the fearsome pirate captain who tamed a siren; held you in the oyster of his clutches. If he did lose you, then his reputation would be suffering a heavy loss. As if to sense his change of demeanour, her hands raise up with her glowing, magic tipped fingers. His nostrils flare and the harsh prestige that made him a force not to be trifled with, he commands,  “Do it.”

  Bucky struts off with a roll of thunder beneath his leather worn boots, swiping up a half drunk bottle of rum and swallows an animalistic gulp, joining in on the festivities of his crew. Wanda observes her captain for a moment before diverting her attention towards the cabin. Her hands fold over one another, and with her palms outstretched, the scarlet hue dances through the air in a thin, cloudy blanket, searching and finding the miniscule gap beneath the wooden door. 

  He pummels into you until your back pushes far into the mattress, eliciting sharp whines and sultry moans from your parted lips, breath caught in a pattern of shallow pants. He chases after his second high as he drives his cock deep into you, the sound of skin slapping skin perverts the cabin’s air and already you begin to feel your core tremble in its own pursuit for its fourth orgasm. With each powerful snap of his hips, his throat chokes out a grunt in his exertions, the girth of his cock sinks deep into the channel of your hot, velvety cunt. 

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls lowly with a hiss, “so fuckin’ tight! You feel so good, you’re— taking me so well.” 

  With an exceptionally powerful rut of his hips and he has you on the precipice of screaming, thighs quivering in their hold around his waist, heels digging into the dip of his large, muscular back. Any coherent thoughts and words die on the vine of your vocal cords, only able to procure sounds of pleasure, to chant his name over and over again. 

  “Captain Barnes!” you mewl with fervour. Bucky’s chest vibrates with a husky chuckle. “That’s right, scream my name, let the crew hear you, Love. Let them hear how drunk you are for my cock.” 

  His one palm is laced with sweat, thick and roughened fingers squeeze yours in a passionate display of his dark possessiveness over you. Your captain could be very jealous when another’s eyes lingered on you for even a second too long, many others had suffered the brunt of his fury - weapons ablaze - and you in the end suffered the brunt of his envy with his cock pounding into you for the next several hours. 

  To remind you to whom it was you belong to. 

  His lips suckle one of the erected peaks of your breasts, moaning as his tongue leaves a wet trail around it before passing over to the second to repeat the treatment. Your head turns to the side sharply when the head of his cock splits you open even further than you could previously imagine, hitting a hidden crevice that leaves you without breath. 

  He gauges your reaction, the colour of your eyes blurring, phasing between the natural milky white canvases and the hue of your disguise, your canines and incisors now elongated, all because of the pleasure that pools at the junction where your bodies meet. But for a moment, you catch the glimmer of gold still wrapped around his hand, glimmering metal gnawing and rubbing across his skin, you’re torn between your euphoria and clouded curiosity. 

  “Say it again,” he grunts with a hard thrust that makes his muscles ripple insanely beneath his skin.

  “C’mon, say it for your captain, Love.” 

  Your lips and tongue drag across the flesh of his wrist, the pulse of his racing heart beats through, you can almost taste the rhythm. His sweat tastes strong with his musk, a strong flavour of the salty sea, sandy beaches and gunpowder. 

  You moan softly, almost in a whisper, “Captain… C-Captain Barnes.”

  The effect you have on him is indescribable to him. Never has he been able to put it into words, all he can do is feel it; carnally. The repetitive pounding into that deeper and sweeter spot has your back arching up, the smooth layer of your sweat covered body rubs against his, able to feel each defining muscle, he uses his metal hand to grip hold of one of your thighs, angling you so that you’re spread further apart for him. Your eyes begin to fall heavy and roll back into your skull in your drunken haze, the shimmer of scarlet presently blooms from time to time in them.  

  “That’s right. You belong to me, little Siren. It’s my cock that has you dripping wet.” His thrusts become faster, losing the precise edge he had before, his climax inevitably as close as your own. Your nails embed crescent moons into the skin of his one hand while the other bites into his shoulder. 

  “I’m the only man— fuck! The only man who gets to have you like this. Shit… shit. ’M going to fill you up.” 

  “Please, please… Cap—”

  “Aye, I’m going to fill you up, have you nice ‘nd full until my cum is leaking out of your little cunt, Siren. Fuck… you want that, don’t you? I know you do.” 

  You gasp with each attempt to breathe, each push and pull of his cock strikes you like a match to light the powder keg, the explosion of your climaxes comes as a white hot flash in your vision, momentarily blinding you. Your hot walls squeeze around his large endowment, forcing him to thrust back and forth even harder, grunting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. 

  His seed is flushed into the channel of your pussy in thick, seething spurts that paint your walls that milk him for every precious drop. 

  What he gives makes your lower abdomen weigh a little heavier, a little bit fuller than you were before. His hips grow slower with each dissipating explosion from his tip. His large chest expands hugely with every intake of air to his lungs before deflating as a pleased groan. 

  In his reverie of contentment, having had his fill of his prize - for now - he withdraws his softening cock from your pussy, a moistened pop echoes in the emptiness of your thoughts. Bucky rolls off of you to lay at your side, atop the furs and silken drapes of the bed. Before you can make a move he uses his metal arm to drag you in closer, tucking you into his side, the coldness of his fingers skimming the delicate texture of your arm. 

  The soothing rock of the ship is enough to lull you to sleep, the lids of your eyes inching closer and closer together. 

  “Still deny that you found nothing?” 

  His question only brings your brows to knit together. You shake your head and huddle closer into his side, basking in the comforting warmth of his body. Why on earth would he ask you such a silly question? As if there was anything of importance that outranked him, by being at his side. 

  The answer you give is instant in its resolve, “I don’t understand, Captain. I needn’t find anything out there… I have you.” 

  Your answer, though unable to see it from your position, pleases him and his lips curl into a toothy smirk, long sweeps of his dark brown hair tousled about in his post sex state. You lay your head against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, eyes closing to seek rest and refuge in the arms of your beloved captain. The man that grants you safety, that promises you nights of passion followed by the comfort of his body next to yours. All he asks in return is your loyalty. Your devotion.

  For you to be his siren. 

  Behind the blurry curtain of sleep layered over your eyes, you awaken and by your estimation, only for around an hour or maybe a little more. The morn still hasn’t risen over the ocean’s horizon, the moonlight shimmering and shining over the waves. The candlelight that bathed the cabin with a sensual atmosphere had now burnt out. 

  Breaths of deepened sleep sound next to you, the chiselled sculpt of his chest you’d used as a pillow takes steady form, as he sleeps. It makes you wonder as to what he dreams about, sometimes a scowl is etched into his attractive visage and he becomes restless, leaving you to somehow comfort him. And other times, mostly after he’s spent drawing orgasm after orgasm from the two of you, he finds respite. 

  You take the time to thoroughly yet delicately rub your eyes, robbing the tiredness of its hold to take you once more. With a tilt of your head, hair coming over your shoulder to graze the top of your breasts, his other hand lay out over the bed, residing just over the edge. 

  The mysterious object that somehow you know is linked with you, but as to how or why, or its significance to you in any case, is still laced around his calloused palm. Despite its odd gleam of familiarity, you believe this is the first time you’ve seen it before, however, the tiny voice in the back of your mind says otherwise. Then you must have seen something like it before somewhere. 

  Something deep in the recess of your heart, you have to know. Is this somehow linked to the estranged longing to a home you can’t remember? Does this necklace bind you to the lost melody of times erased from your memory?

  You take caution in moving carefully, inching your way to lean over the sleeping form of your captain, skin brushing skin, you slowly rotate your hips and hoist a thigh over his waist. Heated crimson flushes into your cheeks as you analyse your newfound position, but also from the way his body stirs lightly, still enraptured by sleep yet his body adjusting to your core lining over his naval. 

  Thawed from your frozen idle of panic, you take a moment to calm the racing of your heart that hammers vigorously against your chest, your nimble fingers reach out towards his flesh hand that clings protectively to the mysterious necklace. 

  This almost feels… too easy. You swallow a silent gulp, fingers grazing against his palm when his body shifts, bumping up into yours, you pull your reach back so fast, your hand slaps against his ribs, doing your best to cover up your true intentions. His stills beneath you once more and your shoulders fall lax with a sigh of relief. 

  Again you dare another attempt to grab the necklace, this time you don’t risk breathing, holding it for what seems like forever until your lungs begin to swell with an ache that makes them feel like bubbles about to burst. 

  You work the chain until it's loosened and finally allow your held breath to escape you, the strain to remain silent proving far more difficult than you would have liked. The weight of your body shifts backwards, now sitting up, you allow your eyes to take in every detail of the object in your hands. The gold chain is light, ghostly as it graces your hands, your fingers lace and loop it around amidst the process of your conjuring thoughts. 

  Like a puppeteer pulling the strings you raise the necklace up by its precious thread. The pearl encaged by its makeshift net swings from side to side, as though even when you are completely still, it has a soul of its own accord. 

  Everything you knew about pearls is forfeit, the identity of this one brings the bevel between your brows to form in thoughtful wonder. Therein lies the piece of some puzzle, the missing notes to the melody to which you only recall the faint rhythm of the song. 

  It has to mean something of greater importance. But if it did, then why is your captain so adamant to dismiss your curious nature to find the answers?

  As if the pearl itself is the key, you hear within your heart and soul the song. Voices sing a tone that is calming to your senses, a sweet and endearing lullaby meant for you to hear whenever you find yourself in the loneliest of places, in the darkest reaches of the ocean, the connection will bring you somewhere you call home. 

  But your home is The Avenger. Aboard the ship with Captain Barnes. The man known as Bucky to his closest inner circle. So why do the voices mingling with the tide call you away from all that? With each passing second you become ensnared by the spell of the pearl, the voices of whom you somehow find solace in become louder, the softened chorus of their song echoes a hundred times over in your head. 

  Before you even give pause to reason, your own voice becomes paired with the orchestra of sirens. You have no words, and maybe you never did, all you did need is the pearl to help guide you in remembering the melody. The uncertainty of your humming eases, the unforeseen instructors aiding you, your voice is soft within its deep reverie when it all comes to an abrupt pause, a gasp severing the tune. 

  He has you by the wrist, fingers bruisingly tight and giving you no choice to pull away from him, as he often did whenever he saw you retreat from him without his say so. 

  Bucky’s eyes bear into yours, penetrating the barrier of the necklace, he stares you down the way a wolf does the lonely prey in its path. His eyes match the brooding darkness of a storm at sea, a breed of villainy that threatens those who dare to try him. 

  “Captain…” Your throat bobs with a nervous swallow.  “I– I wasn’t—” 

  Out of pure instinct to not tempt his fury, your hold on the necklace ceases and it gathers in the roughened pad of his palm, large thumb that has caressed your sensitive nub plenty of times now works against the spherical shape of the pearl, brows heavy in their judgement to assess your punishment. His movement is sudden upon the brink of your awareness, a sharp gasp that cuts into the tender muscle of your chest as he plants you flat on your back, hands both of flesh and metal pin your wrists on either side of you until the bruising ache becomes far too unbearable. But you do nothing to voice the level of your pain. He would not hear of it. His newly erected shaft ghosts over your entrance, the beginnings of your slick painting his already drooling tip.  “I’m beginning to think you like breaking my rules, Siren.”

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Yes. Yes... YAAAAS! IM DOING IT! I'm frickin' writing a pirate Bucky! Mmmm! Fuckin' love pirate stuff, I'm just living for Bucky being a hot pirate commanding a vessel on the high seas.

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

May I request a yandere naga x gn reader, [smut can be optional]

I love monster men! Sorry this took so long

Yandere!Naga x GN!Reader

CW: Death, blood, abduction, short drabble

A virgin sacrifice?

1974

The friend group of incredibly drunk college kids stood near the edge of a forest, headed by Nathan who was wielding a ridiculously goofy dagger he had found in a thrift shop, reading an incantation from equally goofy book.

"Oh Fentoo, deity of the Earth, hear our cries!" Nathan waved his dagger. "Behold, our virgin sacrifice!"

(Reader) snorted. "Who's the virgin?"

Nathan glared down at them from the stump he was standing on. "You are, now shoosh."

"But.. I'm not a virgin?" (Reader) rolled their eyes, exhausted from their friend's antics. "Why not use Gayle; he's a virgin."

The awkward nerd beneath Nathan looked up at his leader with wide eyes. "Please don't sacrifice me, Nathan."

Nathan dropped his arms to his sides, sighing, clearly upset over the amount of times his ritual was being interrupted. "Gayle's a virgin because, well.. look at him, no offense Gayle. But you're.. decent looking? Fentoo will be more likely to come if he thinks you're a virgin, right?"

(Reader) rubbed their eyes, exhausted after the amount of beer they had been chugging all night. "Right, and what happens to me when he finds out that I'm not a virgin?"

"I don't know..? He doesn't eat you?" Nathan shrugged. (Reader) couldn't tell if he truly believed in the nonsense he was spewing, but allowed him to continue regardless, ignoring him in favor for another beer.

Gayle shook, unstable on his feet. "So what do you get if Fentoo accepts the sacrifice- (Reader)?"

"Uh.." Nathan flipped through the worn out book. "Fine metals of the earth, which is his domain."

"Damn, you're going to kill me for some gold?" (Reader) playfully asked in an offended tone.

Nathan opened his mouth in a wide smile, ready to respond, but suddenly fell slack jawed, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

A dark shadow rose behind (Reader), engulfing them in an unnaturally coldness.

"No.. you shall receive nothing, but death."

A voice deep and gravely growled so lowly that it rumbled in the drunk adult's chest and made their knees knock together. Very slowly, (Reader) turned, alcohol failing to give them any liquid courage.

Blocking out the light of the moon, a being emerged from the trees and extended up, rising to his full height. With ink black, scaly skin that elongated beyond his waist, a half human half snake monster that was like a living shadow smiled down at the humans beneath him, the only visible feature being his bright white fangs.

His movements were faster than a lion's, launching past (Reader) and striking the two drunk men before they could run.

(Reader) was powerless as they watched their best friends get ripped apart in from of them, torn open by the monster's bare hands. Blood splattered everywhere, even hitting (Reader's) face with splashes of red.

And they could do nothing.

As he moved under the night sky, the moon now illuminated his body, revealing the blue shine to his scales and skin, the strong features of his mostly human, noseless face, and his long locks of black hair cascading freely down his muscular back. His black eyes appeared to be staring at everything and nothing, unblinking as he murdered two innocent humans.

(Reader) was ready to die. Frozen with fear, their drunken mind accepted their fate. Even after watching the god's jaw unhinge to consume the pieces that used the be their friends, (Reader) was still.

But their death never came.

They watched the monster eat until there was nothing left but blood stains, however, when he turned to (Reader), he was nothing but smiles.

"The debt has been paid." He stated while grabbing the ceremonial dagger off the grass.

(Reader's) face must have conveyed their bafflement, because the creature chuckled before explaining; "The sacrifice has been accepted. Now you shall be rewarded."

Liquid gold poured up through the dirt around the horrified young adult's feet, solidifying as it came into contact with the air.

A single tear cleaned away blood from (Reader's) cheek. "I don't want gold."

His smile grew, revealing the inhuman split in his cheeks. "Oh? And what is it that you want?"

He reached out a cold hand, caressing their stained face.

"Jewels?"

".. no."

"Iron? Copper?"

Each time they nervously shook their head 'no' it seemed to please the deity more.

"Would you perhaps.. wish for a long life? One full of joy, and free from pain?" His voice softened as he rubbed his thumb against their trembling bottom lip. They could see the round of Nathan and Gayle as they moved through his body to be digested.

More cries escaped them. "Yes, please."

As soon as the words left their lips, (Reader) was scooped into the creature's strong arms, cradling them to his chest.

"Good."

He carried his newly claimed partner towards his domain, the land of the immortal.

"I am Fe Ntu. And I'd be honored to give you joy and love, for the rest of eternity."

[7s3ven]

MY LOVE. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… the half-blood campers live in a world where everybody is granted a soulmate. Everybody but the favoured child of Aphrodite, who was always destined to live a life without true love.

“My love is mine, all mine. I love mine, mine, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me.”

( inaccurate details )

Warnings : Slight angst, not proofread (grammar mistakes)

A/N : late Valentines special… oops

—

Depending on what type of person you were, the concept of soulmates were either a blessing or a curse. To Y/N L/N, it was neither because she was never given a partner. The unseeable red string tied around her left ring finger never led to anybody else. Her skin never replicated the wounds of another person. Her world was always a scope covered in bright colours instead of depressing grey hues.

To others, her lack of a soulmate was great. She was free to love whomever she wanted without having to worry about a so-called soulmate. To her, it was hell. While it was true that she could like any person she chose, she would never be their first option. She was smart and beautiful and charming but their ideal pick would always be their soulmate.

It was sad, honestly. Especially when she knew boys would like her if soulmates didn’t exist.

Even when Y/N arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she was an exception. No soulmate meant no love life in other people’s eyes so it shocked everyone when Y/N was claimed by the very person who created the idea of fated partners. Aphrodite.

Y/N was awoken by loud giggles. She cracked an eye open, staring at her siblings across from her. “Why are you all up so early?” She almost groaned. It was seven in the morning and she knew her siblings always valued their beauty sleep. “Is Elvis Presley here or something?”

“No.” Silena grinned at Y/N, her cheeks flushing a pale pink colour, “Even better. A new boy just arrived last night and rumour has it that he’s cute. Cuter than Malcom.”

Malcom was an Ares kid. Ares and Aphrodite children always got along for some reason and because their parents had a complicated love relationship, so did they.

“Malcom isn’t that good-looking. What about Ben?” Y/N retorted, kicking her blankets off.

“I think Nigel is better.” Another sibling piped up, causing the whole cabin to burst into muffled laughter.

“That’s because you’re gay, Andrew!” They all exclaimed in unison, trying not to wake the other cabins.

Y/N leaned her head against her fluffed up pillow, gazing at Silena. “So, what’s this cutie’s name?”

“Luke.” Silena immediately answered, proud of herself for remembering the new camper’s name. “He came with Grover and a little girl.”

“Annabeth.” Andrew added. Y/N quietly hummed.

“Don’t be too loud.” She muttered, “I still want to sleep.”

As the commotion amongst her siblings died down, they too went back to bed. Y/N watched as Silena traced her soulmate tattoo before lying down, gently smiling. Y/N glanced at her own wrist, imagining her own mark inked onto her skin. What was it like knowing you were destined to love someone and they were destined to love you?

It must be reassuring.

Y/N didn’t remember when she drifted off, but she did and when she opened her eyes again, the sun was seeping through the light pink curtains.

Y/N lightly sighed as she sat up, running a hand through her perfect hair. That was a peek of having Aphrodite as her mother.

“Oh, you’re finally up. We thought you were sad. Too bad you aren’t.” Drew Tanaka was as cruel as ever. She was sitting at the vanity, applying a layer of pressed powder onto her face.

“Even if I did die, Drew, Silena would be the next cabin counsellor.” Y/N nonchalantly uttered as she stood up, stretching. Drew quietly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“At least I have a soulmate.” She grumbled.

When Drew Tanaka hit hard, Y/N L/N always made sure to hit back harder.

“Yeah? Well, at least my ‘soulmate’ doesn’t hate me because of a rumour about me sleeping with his best friend. Which, by the way, was true.” Y/N quickly snapped back, leaving Drew speechless. Y/N was never one to act out but when someone asked for it, she delivered a killing blow.

Like any normal Aphrodite daughter, Y/N took her sweet time in doing her makeup. She could feel Drew’s glare on her as she swiped a red tint across her lips.

Y/N arrived at breakfast a little late, just in time to see the new kids stumble into the pavilion. Girls turned to whisper to each other, subtly pointing at the boy and blushing.

“That’s Luke and Annabeth, right?” Y/N questioned as she took a big gulp from her golden chalice. Silena quickly nodded, glancing at Luke.

“See, I told you he was cute.”

Y/N shrugged but Silena did have a point. Luke, with his perfect side profile, sharp jawline, and pretty curled hair, was a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

Y/N was caught off-guard when Luke sat down at the Hermes table and immediately lifted his head, his gaze settling on her without hesitation. Y/N quickly looked away, glancing at her wrist like she always did in hopes a tattoo would appear by some miracle.

Drew saw her moment of weakness and instantly commented on it. “Still no soulmate, Y/N?” Silena sent her half-sister a disapproving stare.

“Yeah. I’ll just fuck yours, I guess.”

Drew’s face sank for the second time. “Stay away from Sulan.” She hissed, glancing at the Demeter boy who wanted nothing to do with Drew.

Fate always drew people together so it was no surprise that everybody in Camp Half-Blood had their soulmates in the same place. There were multiple ways you could find your soulmate, depending on your mark.

Silena had her matching tattoo. Drew had that damned red string that only she could see. And Andrew could only sed the world in black and gray until his soulmate arrived, which they hadn’t yet.

Across the pavilion, Luke lightly nudged a teen named Chris. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing at the H/C-hIred girl who was sitting with a group of unnaturally attractive kids.

Chris laughed for a short moment. “Y/N L/N. She will eat you alive, boy.”

“Has she found her soulmate yet?”

Demigods weren’t much better than their parents. They played around until they found their soulmate and that’s when they settled down. At least, for most. Some still had flings here and there, proving that they were just like the gods.

Luke’s question causes Chris to pause. He lightly chewed the inside of his mouth before stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon. “She doesn’t have a soulmate.” He murmured.

“How come?”

“We don’t know. She’s wondering the exact same question.” Chris shrugged before going back to his breakfast, “You can talk to her if you want but she’s a little mean so be careful of that.”

Luke quietly hummed, circling his finger around the rim of his cup.

The first time Luke talked to Y/N was when he and Annabeth were separated to go on different tours. Luke ended up with Y/N, who beamed at him and crinkled her eyes.

“Hi.” She effortlessly greeted him, waving.

“Sup.” Luke choked out, his voice accidentally going up a pitch higher. He cleared his throat. “I’m Luke.”

“So I’ve heard. Y/N.”

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence until Y/N spoke again. “Where’s your third person?” She questioned. “And I’m not talking about Grover.”

Chiron had tried to keep Thalia a secret but the gossip still managed to reach Y/N’s ears.

Slowly, Luke pointed at the tree that had mysteriously appeared this morning. It guarded the barrier between the camp and the mortal world.

“He turned her into a tree.” Luke grumbled, clearly displeased.

Y/N didn’t have to question who he was. Zeus, the king of the gods and ruler of the sky, had decided to turn his only daughter into a tree.

“Yes. The gods have always been a little… questionable. Shall we continue with the tour?” Y/N guided Luke forward. She did most of the talking while he listened, or at least tried to. It was hard when an absolutely stunning girl was standing in front of him.

“And last but not least, the strawberry field. Pretty, isn’t it?” Y/N smiled as she stared at the fresh strawberries. Luke let out a small ‘yeah’ but he was still staring at her. Y/N clapped her hands together, finally bringing Luke back to reality. “That marks the end of our tour. Any questions?”

Luke shook his head.

“Great. Oh, and if you’re worried about your soulmate, they’ll show up at some point. All the new kids freak out over it. If you’re a demigod, it’s almost guaranteed that so is your soulmate.” Y/N smiled again, making Luke’s knees weak.

Where was a matching tattoo when he needed one?

“So, uh… your soulmate… what are they like?” Luke knew he was most likely overstepping a boundary when he asked that. But Y/N, used to the shame and embarrassment of not having one, merely shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. For some reason, my mother wants me to spend my life alone.” Y/N laughed but Luke could see the pain that flashed through her eyes. The same exact agony that Luke had been experiencing after all his peers found their soulmates expect him.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t have one either.” Luke piped up. “I guess we can be lonely together.”

Y/N carefully gazed up at him. She felt a glimmer of hope spark inside her chest but she shoved it down. She refused to get her hopes up. “Everybody has one, Luke. You do too. Maybe my mom just wanted me to play the role of Cupid.”

Y/N walked off before Luke could say anything else. Annabeth instantly replaced her. “What did you say to make her leave?” For a young kid, she sure had a sharp tongue.

“Don’t even, Annabeth.” Luke’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment. He never had a problem with getting girls to like him because of his good looks, but they never stayed. And Annabeth took every chance she could to remind him of their awkward moments.

“What did you say, though? Did you mention your pet crocodile again?”

“First of all,” Luke retorted, “It was a spider. It was not a crocodile. And someone set him free! I really liked him too. And, I only asked her about her soulmate.”

“You’re an idiot.” Annabeth deadpanned, “Why would you ask that? Can’t you see that it’s a sore topic for her?”

“Not everybody is blessed with your wits, kid.” Luke playfully ruffled Annabeth’s hair while she huffed in frustration.

She quickly swatted his hands away. “What’s if she’s your soulmate?” Annabeth blurted out. “She doesn’t have a soulmate. You don’t have one. At least, you don’t have the common signs. What if that’s your soulmate bond?”

Luke chuckled. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“Maybe not… but either way, she’s still staring at you.”

Luke had never turned his head so fast. Y/N was perched on her cabin porch, leaning against the pretty wooden railing. And just as Annabeth had said, she was looking at him.

“Soulmate bond.” Annabeth repeated in that annoying singsong voice of hers.

Even as Luke walked back to the Hermes building, he couldn’t shake Annabeth’s words. Was Y/N really his soulmate? The person he had spent his entire life searching for?

Maybe. Standing next to her just felt so… right. He knew the moment he saw Y/N step out of her cabin that she’d have his unwavering attention.

Months passed by like seconds and years passed like days. Luke found himself becoming an expert at wielding a sword and not even Clarisse could disarm him. Y/N never bothered to try, always wanting to keep her appearance pristine under the hot sun.

“Do you ever get bored just lying around?” Luke questioned as he stood in front of Y/N. She was lying down under a large tree, enjoying the cool shade.

“No.” Y/N answered, closing her eyes. “I just don’t find it fun swinging around a sword in the hot sun.” The heat from the large star was unbearable during summer. Y/N hated the feeling of her clothes sticking to her skin so she was commonly found under trees during the hottest season.

“Why not try swinging around a sword at night? It’s cooler at that time.”

“I’m good.” Y/N truely was a daughter of Aphrodite, caring about her appearance above all else.

“I heard Silena found her soulmate.” Luke uttered as he sat down, keeping his distance in case Y/N didn’t appreciate his company. But she said nothing so he assumed it was fine.

“Yeah. At least he’s nice. I’d hate for her to have an annoying soulmate.” Y/N laughed yet that familiar look of envy and sadness flashed across her eyes. Y/N did well in concealing her facial expressions but her gaze never lied.

Luke and Y/N were seventeen now, almost eighteen. They had known each other for years and Luke had managed to notice some of Y/N’s subtle habits.

He also knew her opinion on soulmates. She craved for one and found the courage to despise her mother for her lack love. She prayed for one when offering a sacrifice. She dreamed of finding her other half and every time she woke up, she was disappointed that it wasn’t a reality.

Y/N knew there was more to life than relationships but why didn’t she have a soulmate? That was a query only Aphrodite herself could answer.

“Still no soulmate for you I suppose?” Y/N asked, glancing at Luke who shook his head.

“The main reason I was looking for you was because I had some sort of… theory.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. She gestured for Luke to continue.

“I don’t have a soulmate mark. You don’t have one either. What if, in a way, our lack of soulmate marks is our bond? If that makes sense.” Luke almost stumbled over his own words, suddenly feeling far too nervous.

“You think… I’m your soulmate?” Those words felt foreign as they slipped past Y/N’s lips. She was staring at Luke in slightly disbelief. “I don’t know, Luke. Maybe we just don’t have soulmates.” Y/N chuckled at the end of her sentence.

Luke’s breath nervously shuddered. “Okay… so if we don’t have soulmates then I can like anybody I want?”

“Technically, yeah.” Y/N aimlessly shrugged.

“Then I chose you.”

Y/N stared at him with her eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why me?”

“Because why not? I’m not taking pity on you, Y/N. I genuinely like you. As more than just a friend. The moment I saw you, I knew that if I had a soulmate, I would want it to be you. We can take it slow if you want. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N could only muster up a nod, still in shock.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after her indirect acceptation to his confession but finding a small bouquet of roses on her bed was not what she had in mind.

“Oh, those are pretty. Who are those from?” Silena was at Y/N’s side in an instance, curious to see the flowers.

“Luke.” Y/N muttered as she flipped over the card, staring at the messy handwriting that was undeniably Luke’s.

“So my manifestation did work!” Silena exclaimed, happily clapping her hands together. “I’ve been shipping you guys since, like, forever! And I knew you wouldn’t make a move so I manifested Luke to.” Silena proudly beamed as she rocked back in forth on her heels, “I’m so happy for you two!”

Drew, on the other hand, was not.

“Cute pity bouquet, Y/N.” The ravenette said as she waltzed into the cabin.

“I will slap you with the thorns.” Y/N fired back.

At dinner, Y/N ended up sandwiched between Silena and Drew. For two girls who seemingly hated each other, Y/N and Drew sure spent a lot of time together.

“Here comes your lover boy.” Silena teased as she watched Luke guide a new camper towards the Hermes table. Y/N wasn’t sure if she should stare or look away but Luke was already locking eyes with her, smiling so widely that you’d think his deepest wish just came true.

“He’s not your soulmate.” Drew uttered.

“I know. We don’t all have to follow the rules of soulmates, do we? You should know that better than anyone else.”

Drew scoffed, angrily stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.

Y/N didn’t eat much. Her stomach felt too queasy whenever Luke so much as glanced at her. Was she nervous? Her leg was continuously bouncing up and down so she must be.

She left the pavilion early, expecting Luke to follow after her and feeling proud of her guess when he did. “Did you like the flowers?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course.” Y/N answered.

“I really like you, Y/N. Please, just give me a chance. Who cares about soulmates? You may as well be mine.” Luke engulfed Y/N into a tight hug, his hands resting at her waist and refusing to let go.

“I don’t know, Luke.” She whispered. She had spent so much time alone in the dark that she forgot what love even felt like. Was it the butterflies in her stomach? Or perhaps the loud pounding of her heart? Or maybe her cheeks that were flushed a bright pink hue under the moonlight?

All her worries seemed to effortlessly melt away as Luke suddenly kissed her. He stepped back just as quickly but Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her again.

She wasn’t sure what was happening but she could feel small beads of tears roll down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, pretty?” Luke asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. Y/N swiftly wiped her tears away. As stupid and it sounded, that was her first kiss. And it was the first time someone showed a genuine interest in her, someone without a soulmate.

“If we do this, Luke… you have to promise not to leave me too quickly.” Y/N whispered so that only he could hear her voice.

“I don’t want my soulmate, if they even exist, Y/N. I want you.”

Those words echoed in Y/N’s head. I want you. Those three simple words set off fireworks in Y/N’s stomach. She felt her heart skip a beat.

She really shouldn’t have indulged in her own feelings when Luke might have a soulmate of his own but she couldn’t resist him when he was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes.

After that fated night, Luke rarely left Y/N’s side. He seemed to be attached at her hip and even when Clarisse laughed at him, he ignored her. Y/N was happy for a while.

It was the new girl that caused her fragile relationship with Luke to shatter into pieces. She really should have seen all this coming. She always noticed the bruises that lingered on Luke’s skin. Bruises that weren’t his but ones he simply brushed off as small injuries from all his hard training.

Y/N was the first to walk out of her cabin and, by default, that meant she would be showing the new camper around.

She had arrived early in the morning and while she was supposed to be resting in the infirmary, Y/N found her under the tree she usually sat at.

“You should be resting.” Y/N uttered. She could only see one side of the girl’s face but nevertheless, she was still pretty. Dyed blonde hair with heavy bangs framing her delicate and pale face and light grey eyes that nervously shifted from the ground to Y/N.

“They kept pestering me about my scar.” She mumbled, refusing to show Y/N her full face. “It’s my soulmate mark but they kept saying it wasn’t. Apparently… my soulmate has already found someone.”

She finally turned her head to reveal the scar. It was a jagged line, perfectly mimicking Luke’s. Y/N stiffened as the dread began to set in. She felt like she was going to collapse. Luke always preached about choosing Y/N over fate but would he do so now that his soulmate was here?

“Right.” Y/N choked out. “Well, let me show you around first.” It took all her energy to hide her true feelings. She didn’t want this girl to know that she was slowly but surely cracking under the pressure.

“I’m Lila, by the way.” The blonde muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Y/N.”

As usual, she saved the strawberry fields for last. Lila seemed impressed by the big, red berries that the Demeter kids had grown. “One last stop.” Y/N said as she led Lila to a certain cabin. She knew she would come to regret this but the matching scars weren’t exactly subtle.

Y/N knocked on the door and just as she hoped, yet dreaded, Luke answered. “Hey.” He grinned widely at her as he leaned against the door frame.

“Someone’s here for you.” Y/N stepped aside to reveal Lila. Luke paused before he chuckled.

“This is a joke, right? Y/N?”

But she was already walking, more like jogging, away.

Y/N watched from afar as Luke conversed with the girl who had the identical scar to his. It trailed over the same eye too and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize what that meant. Luke had finally met his soulmate.

And Y/N was alone. Again.

The favourite child of Aphrodite. The golden star. The beautiful role model.

She was always destined to spend her life alone and perhaps she should have fully accepted that instead of falling in love with Luke, someone she couldn’t have no matter how hard she tried.

She ended up skipping breakfast and merely sitting in front of the vanity mirror, soullessly staring at her reflection. She wanted nothing more than for an ugly scar to taint her pretty face just so she could claim Luke as her soulmate.

She traced a faint line over her eye with light brown eyebrow and imagined that it matched with Luke’s. That, in another life, she could finally call someone hers.

The cabin door opened. Y/N didn’t have enough time to wipe the eyeshadow scar off before Drew walked in. The black-haired girl made an immediate beeline for her half-sister. Y/N thought Drew was going to taunt her as usual but she was shocked when the cruel girl hugged her instead.

“Soulmate or not,” Drew whispered, “He should choose you.”

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[metalhoops]

The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was  and the One Time He Didn’t Have To

1. 

The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it. 

As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love? 

That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know. 

It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year. 

He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming. 

He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped. 

Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay. 

Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away. 

2.

The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs. 

For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper. 

The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.

When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer. 

There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort. 

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow. 

Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day. 

He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world? 

“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted. 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach. 

The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.

“You okay?”

Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes. 

“I will be.” 

3.

Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit. 

He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop. 

He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.

He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight. 

He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed. 

“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.  

“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up. 

He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew. 

Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that. 

“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish. 

The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to. 

His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.

“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.

“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed. 

“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.” 

Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.   

4.

Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.

“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him. 

He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.  

Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week. 

“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment. 

“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly. 

“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”

Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.  

“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully. 

Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard. 

“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.” 

Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen? 

5.

With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.  

He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate. 

He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass. 

Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there. 

“You good?” Steve asked.

Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.

“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.” 

If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.

+1

Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart. 

He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to. 

Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways. 

By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow. 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap. 

Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it. 

“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured. 

Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys. 

“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking. 

“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky. 

“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body. 

“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin. 

He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole. 

Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s. 

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises. 

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. 

He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero. 

“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.

“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself. 

“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.

Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.” 

And just like that, Eddie knew. 

He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer. 

“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained. 

“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.

“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.” 

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie. 

“For what?”

“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?

“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?” 

“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned. 

Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it. 

“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve. 

He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?

Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.

“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

“No more playing hero, okay?” 

Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle. 

“I think I can agree to that.” 

Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world. 

[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: mean!sukuna, unrequited love, child neglect, childhood trauma, flashback-heavy, language, repressed trauma, allusions to d/rug a/buse, mentions of s/moking, mentions of food, mentions of a/lcohol, explicit s/mut (sukuna x este), cuckcake-ish vibes, tension, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

He sees the invitation in his brother’s hand first thing in the morning, and wishes he hadn’t woken up in the first place. 

Groggy and still drunk from the night before partying with Ino and his gang of friends, Sukuna blinks the crust from his eyes with wary bleariness.

“What do they want now?”

He groans, recognizing the L/N family seal from a single glance.

Jin, clad in a beige sweater the color of boring and a similar pair of bland slacks, shakes his head. “I don’t know ‘Kuna. But, I think your future in-laws want to get to know you better.”

His brother tosses the invitation onto the dining table, and turns to refill his coffee while humming under his breath. Despite his hesitation and dismay, Sukuna reaches for the innocuous item, turning it around his fingers to check the edges; evaluating the invitation like its a show pony up for sale.

Constellation Snow paper with Waterman ink. 

The L/N’s were serious about their reputation.

A cruel smirk plays on the corners of his lips. Compared to the Naras, the L/N’s were shams in their society—new money desperately trying to climb the ladder. Your mother, Lia, was descended from department store royalty but chose to taint her blood with a middle-class business associate from Shibuya who scrappily acquired his own company at the age of twenty-five.

Your family’s history was thoroughly researched on by Hiromi even before the idea of marriage was put forth, attesting to the lawyer’s incredible foresight.

And now the snakes are waiting in the bushes to strike.

However much Sukuna wants to refuse this invite, it would not look good on the Itadoris if they dismissed a future business partner.

Jin, too, appears to have the same line of thought, sitting across from him with a slight frown. The buttery smell of coffee beans wafts in the air, coaxing him from his drunken fatigue.

“So?” his younger twin asks. “Are you going to say ‘yes’?” 

Sukuna turns the card over, flips it over to his brother. Jin catches it before it goes tumbling to the ground, tossing him a scowl. He unfolds it, reads through its contents quickly.

“A getaway for a week at their private mountain lodge,” he mutters wryly. “Whatever could go wrong?”

Hearing the note of amusement in Jin’s voice, Sukuna rolls his eyes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It's so they can force us into this alliance. How else are we going to plan an escape if we’re trapped with them on a goddamn peak.”

“Is this what you see your fate as?” Jin murmurs, trying hard not to smirk. “A trap?”

“You got a better term for it?” Sukuna grouses. “You didn’t give me a chance to say ‘no’ to the whole thing. You forced my hand before I could even consent.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jin mutters, returning back to the table with a plate of toast and some butter. Sukuna tries to grab one of the brown slices, but his brother swats his hand away with a scowl that says go get your own food.

Begrudgingly, he stands to make himself a bowl of cereal before he comes to a stop.

Usually, someone would be here to take his plate, toast his bread for him, and prepare his usual fare of strawberry jam and manuka honey on the table before he could even lift a finger. Or, they would prepare the granola and milk for him on the table before he even has to ask.

“Where’s the help today?” He suddenly realizes, perturbed by their quiet absence. 

In response, Jin hums. “I gave them a day off."

Sukuna looks at him like he has grown two heads, wondering what could possess such a man to debilitate his household like this. When he would become the man of the house, Sukuna wouldn't give them a day off on a whim like his weak-hearted younger brother.

“Why? What did they do to deserve it?” 

His blood is boiling, about to spill over in his infamous temper tantrums when Jin sighs, stopping him in his tracks with his next words.

“It’s her Death Day anniversary today.”

Sukuna almost blurts out “Who?” when the sight of Jin's grim expression suddenly jogs his memory.

He immediately remembers and wishes he hadn’t been so blunt. 

Ah.

Kaori. 

The older twin shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Happy… Death Day. I guess?” 

Sukuna was lucky Jin was in a decent mood and didn't sock him in the face for that insensitive comment. As her death was two years ago, the young air stewardess’ absence was still very much felt by her grieving husband until this day—a blow to his soft heart which he will never get over for as long as he lived.

“We need to respond to that invitation,” he switches the subject, cleaning up after himself. “Oh, and with kind consideration for our future companions, the L/N’s have also offered the Gojos and Naras an invite.”

Sukuna almost choked on his cereal. “T-the Naras are coming?” 

Without turning to him or being ticked off by the change in his older brother’s tone, Jin nods, continuing to scrub his dishes. 

“James wants to talk new business terms with Ken, and he’s interested in hearing what the guy has to offer. Also, Gojo Sr. might be bringing his best cigars. It’s unmissable.”

The older Itadori internally swore, wondering if the entire universe had just upended and gone entirely insane. 

Though he was a bastard through and through, even Sukuna could admit that having his future wife and hookup slash sorta girlfriend under one roof would be a disaster waiting to happen. 

You could never find out about him and Este. 

“That’s… interesting.”

“You can join us if you want,” Jin adds, “Only if you can keep your partying tendencies on hold for three days.”

“Just for three days?” Sukuna smirks, and Jin finally turns around, giving a look he is all too familiar with.

Throwing his hands up, the older Itadori shrugs, trying his best to look as innocent as possible.

“You know me, Jin-Jin. I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Darling, we must hurry,” your father scolds, and you struggle to keep up with them in your tottering heels. Behind you, your mother shoos you down the tarmac, towards the humming private jet ready to depart. 

“We can’t keep the Itadoris waiting!” 

The maids rush with your bags, one of them carrying your fur trimmed hat in case it flutters off your head.

Once the butlers had stowed away your luggage, each of them formed a line and bowed to you and your parents as the three of you climbed up the airstairs, waving you off with polite smiles.

“I can’t believe we’re going to spend three whole days with the Itadoris,” Lia gushes as the cabin crew starts to pat down the overhead compartments, doing their final checks. She looks radiant in her mink-trimmed fur coat hanging off her shoulders, the picture of elegance with her sleek bodycon dress and sparkling golden jewelry dripping from her throat and ears.

Relaxing into the muted beige seat, you nod. “Me, too. I wonder what activities Itadori-san likes.”

In comparison to her, you're dressed in all monochrome; your stylist came in at the nick of time to take inspiration from some of his ex-girlfriends' winter fashion—settling you into a ribbed sweater dress with some stylish earmuffs and a black trench coat that feels like a million bucks under your splayed palms.

Your mother turns to your father who was trying to catch his breath, shaking out his handkerchief to pat his shining face.

“Jiro, darling. Do you think it’s brazen if we request for them to share a room together?” 

Your father looks over his half-moon spectacles, tilting his head to the side. “Itadori-san and our daughter? Well, I don’t see why not.”

You blanch, but before you are able to voice your discontent, an air stewardess glides by with three flutes of champagne. Setting it down, she asks in a soft voice if you were all ready for refreshments.

Unsure how to broach the subject, you stew in your disappointment for the entire plane ride to Hokkaido, glad you chose the window seat so you could spend a little more time alone in your thoughts.

Your phone vibrates with a text, and you switch it on to find Utahime sending you a GIF of a cat waving a good luck banner.

Smiling to yourself, you respond with another cat GIF, this one sticking its face to a window with its whiskers twitching sorrowfully, and put your phone on silent for takeoff.

Iori could always make you smile, no matter how nervous you are. You kind of wish she could be here with you. Staring out at the passing scenery below, you tilt your head back, wondering what kind of carnage awaits at the base of mountainous Hokkaido.

Since striking lucky with his marriage to your mother, your father began divesting his profits into property, and the 5,000 feet lodge instantly became the highlight of his purchases. 

Imposing and standing firm on fortified concrete to withstand the harsh, cold mountain air, your childhood days were spent playing in the narrow hallways, fashioned similarly to the labyrinth-like interior of Europe’s oldest castles. Your parents absolutely adored German architecture with its spiraling spires and brick red slates upon such historical monuments, and wanted to emulate the design right on the slopes of Hakodate. 

It’s been years since I’ve seen the lodge. 

The last time you were there, you were just shy of your sixteenth birthday. 

Bright-eyed, and romantically wistful. You often imagined how pretty it would be to walk along the grand balcony as the sun performed its final best for the day; orange rays soaking your skin from head to toe as you admire nature's best while hand-in-hand with a man you love.

And now, your fantasies have a chance of turning into reality. 

You wonder how Sukuna will feel when he sees the spires, the chimneys, and the cozy old brick walls that allows for the warmth of the house to seep into them despite the persistent chill.

He would be impressed—you like to think he might be a bit more polite once he sees your family is just like his. Just as powerful and grand and worthy. 

Smiling secretly to yourself, you swallow down an Ambien, slip on your headphones, and settle into the comfortable seats for the start of your wildest hopes coming true.

The private car taking them up the winding road almost makes Sukuna turn green around the edges.

Jin sits beside him, a faint flush on his cheeks from the cold despite not having reached the mountain’s first base. Their mother used to always tease how he was the easiest to blush or bruise; so much different from his staunch older brother.

“The weather is lovely,” his twin muses.

Sukuna stares out the window, not bothering to hide his sulky mood. His phone is off, his last text from Este snidely insulting the L/N’s on how they only had two private hot springs in their lodge went unreplied. 

He hasn’t bothered to respond to her because he’ll see her soon enough. 

Fuck… this is some twisted shit. A part of him still can’t wrap his head around the fact that his situationship and future fiance would be in the same room together. 

Jin hums, breaking him from his thoughts, and after a brief lull, shoots up excitedly, tapping the driver’s seat. “It’s this one! We’re here.”

Unable to match his enthusiasm, Sukuna sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. The driver stops the Jeep right in front of the lodge, and for a split second, Sukuna wonders if the Ambien he took on the private-plane ride here accidentally knocked him out long enough for them to appear in the middle of Heidelberg or some far flung place in fucking Europe. 

This lodge had fucking spires, for god’s sake. 

He can’t help the bubble of distaste gurgling in his chest when he sees such opulence in the middle of nowhere. Inaccessible to the base unless with a Jeep and a day’s worth of travel, one could only imagine the amount needed to keep a money drainer like this going. 

They’re rubbing their wealth in our face, he sneers inwardly. What a nouveau riche thing to do. 

A butler rushes out to hoist their bags, allowing Jin and him the leisure to crane their necks and take in more of the grand rooms. Wooden timber floors echo the dull thuds of their boots, high beams in the same honey color wood arching and intersecting, opening the living room into an expansive ceiling and windows that seem to touch the sky. 

The interior is tasteful with accents of natural wood on the walls, a spiral staircase, and a large fireplace that’s happily belching heat across a sunken pit fitted with black corduroy sofas. A flat screen TV is on, and Sukuna almost misses a bundle moving from the end of the chair, walking right to them.

You're in a silky black dress with a sweetheart neckline, house slippers on your perfectly manicured feet. So different from the beige and bland girl he saw at the cafe that Sukuna has to hide his double take behind a sudden cough, the tips of his ears feeling a little bit warmer than before.

Jin is the one who smiles widely, bowing low. “Y/N. It’s good to see you.”

Returning his gesture, you grin. “It’s lovely to see you too, Itadori-san,” and not forgetting Sukuna, you added, “You too, Itadori-san.”

“Please, call me Jin,” the younger twin extends a note of familiarity and you receive it graciously with another smile. 

From the corner of his eye, Jin glances at Sukuna, as if expecting him to drop all formalities with the woman who was soon to be his wife. But, the older twin did no such thing; nodding to you in greeting while keeping his antipathy closely tucked to his chest.

“Hello again, Y/N.” 

Though his abrupt unfriendliness puts you off, you plaster on your best hostess smile, about to show the two brothers to their rooms when your mother’s shrill voice pierces through the quiet. 

“Jin-san! Itadori-san!” Exuberant, she bounces down the steps, fresh from a shower and wearing a new coat of makeup after the dreary flight. “You’re both here!” 

Jin takes her hand, and in a gallant gesture you never expect him to do, presses the back of it to his lips. “Lovely to see you again, Lia.”

You never thought you’d see the day when your mother stutters like a schoolgirl in love. She coughs, batting her lashes and turns to the older twin. “Itadori-san.” To him, she bows slightly, showing him deference as the older brother in this dynamic. This time, Sukuna returns her bow, knowing full well that to lord his rank over them would be disrespectful to his host.

“Lia-san. You look well.”

Beaming at the two men, your mother sinks her fingers into your shoulders. “I’m so happy you finally got to meet Y/N in person, Jin-san. Isn’t she lovely?” 

Diplomatic to a fault, the younger twin nods. “She is as lovely as you are, Lia-san.” 

Expectantly, she turns to Sukuna, who clears his throat, his skin suddenly crawling from all eyes on him. “The cold air does wonders for all of us,” were his words. You feel your mother’s fingers digging deeper. 

Sparing the room from an awkward note, you clear your throat. “Shall we show them to their rooms, mom?” Emphasizing on the last word, you effectively break Lia’s spell, her million dollar modeling smile back on. 

“Yes. Yes. Jin-san, I hope you don’t mind rooming with Gojo Satoru when he arrives. He barely sleeps, but then again, so do you. I’m afraid his father couldn’t make it due to a sudden stomach bug so he’s the only one representing the Gojos.” 

Jin remains genial. ���I would love to catch up with Satoru when he arrives.”

“Perfect.” She turns her smile to Sukuna, who feels every expectation surrounding him amplifying; dread pools in his stomach when the physical embodiment of lies and deception starts deepening her grin. Lia unclasps one hand from your shoulder to grip Sukuna’s bicep.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty to make a special arrangement for you, Itadori-san.”

He wonders if they’re going to put him with your father in a separate room; already the picture of the older man’s twisted words and smarmy grin come to his mind, trying to force his hand to hurry up and marry you.

But, what Lia says is much worse than his imagination could conjure. Her hand on his arm burns hot and prickles his skin past the cashmere sleeve.

“I’ve put a room together just for you and my daughter, of course.”

Jin swears he’s never had to drag Sukuna out from a room fast enough. 

His brother seethes, hands clenching open and close while he tries to find a quiet enough spot so the older twin doesn’t explode into a raging temper tantrum. 

“‘Kuna, it’s okay,” he consoles, but Sukuna doesn’t want to hear it. 

“How dare they think they can do this!” His jaw tenses, veins popping from his neck. The kitchen is empty, though for it to be free of errant eyes and ears, Jin can’t be sure.

“Hey, come on—don’t lose it here now,” Jin begs. 

The older twin’s volatile temper is hard to predict and even harder to cool down once he reaches that peak of no return. To think it would be triggered by a simple room assignment would be comical if Jin has had a few beers, but this just solidifies to him how acutely Sukuna truly resents you.

It takes Jin aback. You’re such a sweet person; a kind soul. Why would his brother react in such a way to you was a mystery to the younger man. He doesn't have time to prod further. Voices ring down the hallway, and Jin recognizes Adam Nara’s jolly baritone, following Gojo Sr.’s cheerful greeting to your father.

The other players have entered the game. Jin couldn't afford to lose face now.

He grabs his brother by the shoulders and shakes him a little. 

“Listen, shit face. Our enemies and alliances are just beyond this door. If you love ka-san and oto-san—” Scratch that. Sukuna cares for no one but himself. Jin shakes his head. “If you care about the money and getting your inheritance, I need you to pull yourself together. Just for this evening. Got it?”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, and Jin’s no longer the nice, younger brother he has to be in front of others. He transforms into Itadori Jin, de facto Chairman of Itadori Holdings, his shoulders squared and mouth set in a firm line. Purely meaning business.

If he wasn’t in such a rage, Sukuna would find the change impressive; he’s almost quivering in his boots. 

“You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to play nice, you hear me?” There’s a threat hidden behind his calm words—the edge of a sharp knife wrapped in between soft sheets. “You will be polite to Y/N, treat her parents with respect and you will be married by the end of this month, am I clear?” 

It stung. It bruises his ego to have Jin control his life. 

But, didn’t you give up the crown when you decided to leave the family and make it on your own? A small, bitter voice in the back of his head quips. 

He’s quick to shoot it down, though a lingering sense of loathing balloons in his chest. It’s humiliation and resignation all in one. Sukuna pauses for a second, letting Jin stew in his anger, before slowly nodding.

His younger brother exhales, and releases his death grip from his twin’s shoulders. 

“Good. If you’re antsy about the room situation, you can always tell Lia you want to protect her daughter’s virtue. It’ll be a decent enough reason and score you brownie points with the family.”

Jin’s words which were meant to soothe and comfort him, strikes a chord, flipping the switch in his mind. Excitement bubbles right in the pit of his stomach.

If I can’t change my fate in this arrangement, maybe I can influence it. 

“No,” he says coolly, taking his brother aback. “I’ll do it.” Jin stares at him as if someone had just swooped in and switched his twin with a different man. 

Is he planning something insidious? Though the Itadori Chairman has his suspicions, he can’t outright call his brother out on it—not when Sukuna is making the effort to appease and honor the deal.

“Okay,” Jin says slowly, though the note of hesitation and distrust is palpable. 

Sukuna maintains his innocent facade with a blank mask, the markings on his face starker under the orange light.

Jin represses a shudder, trying not to let the memory of that day come up again.

The voices outside grow louder, and he can scarcely ignore them.

Duty’s calling and he has to answer.

“Alright,” he murmurs into the quiet. “Let’s go outside to meet them.” Before Sukuna can leave, Jin grasps his shoulder, forcing him to round back and look at him.

Wearing a look awfully similar to Wasuke, Jin wags his finger. 

“Remember, ‘Kuna. No fucking funny business.”

He stops, rolls his eyes and plants a crooked smile in place. It’s the smile that could win any girl over into his bed for the night no matter her relationship status; reassures the most fidgety investor that their returns would be safe with him.

“You have nothing to worry about, Jin. No funny business—I promise.”

Itadori Wasuke wasn’t just a father—he was the blueprint to Jin’s lifepath. 

Ever since he could walk and talk, Jin loved following his dad around—tottering into meetings, plopping himself onto the older man’s lap and grabbing the papers on his desk to drool over them. 

Despite his status as a ruthless businessman and one of the shrewdest minds in transportation, Wasuke loved nothing more than to indulge his boys with time, wisdom, and guidance. He would never push his youngest away—always with a firm hand and a soothing voice to lead him in the right direction. 

Rainy days were Jin’s favorite. His father usually sat himself in the parlor with a cigarette and the latest paper, relaxing after a day filled with nothing but meetings.

The memory of him clambering on the couch next to him, curls of nicotine smoke filling the air, was such a vivid one Jin still thinks he can smell the tobacco on his skin. 

“What’re you doing here?” His father’s faded pink hair, a rarity in this world which he passed to his two sons, shone like silk under the amber lighting, those red-brown eyes dancing with mirth at the sight of his golden child. 

Jin fiddles with his fingers, suddenly aware of the secret he was holding and how much it could ruin his father’s mood. But, he had no choice. He had to tell his dad before the maids could beat him to it and get his nii-san into more trouble than he already was in.

“Um… it’s ‘K-Kuna, oto-san.”

At the mention of his oldest, Wasuke snaps the paper close, the fine lines around his mouth deepening.

“What happened to him? Did he do something wrong again?” 

Blaming Sukuna was a default in the Itadori home. Sometimes, Jin overhears his father lamenting to his mother past the thin doors, wondering where and how he went wrong in raising two sons who were as different as day and night.

“He… made a bet at school and…” Jin sucks in a breath.

Putting the newspaper down, Wasuke’s attention was fully on him, those vermillion eyes ablaze. “Well? What happened? Did he hurt someone?”

Flinching, Jin shakes his head. His brother may be a jerk and a rebel, but Sukuna would never hurt someone intentionally. Deep down in his heart, the youngest twin was sure of it. 

“He made a bet with some boys and lost and he—” Jin exhales out the last part in one, frighteningly quick breath. “—hewentandgothisfacetattooed.”

His father blinks. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt, pushed past his elbows were stretched across his taut arms, as if he was holding himself back from slamming his fists into the table.

“Where is he?” Deceptively calm; a storm brewing in the distance.

Jin naively hoped his father would put things right again—talk some sense into Sukuna to get those tattoos removed from his face and arms.

They were the Itadoris, a respectful house.

How was his nii-san supposed to lead a company when he didn’t look professional at all? And not to mention, they were both fifteen—they were too young to think about permanent inks and bets.

Wasuke seems to echo his youngest son’s thoughts, sinking back into the plush, leather sofa and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Jin can tell his father is going through a range of emotions—the blood rushes to his face, leaves his cheeks red, puce, and then sickeningly green around the edges.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

“Thank you for telling me, Jin,” his father finally manages to compose himself enough to pat his head. “You can go back to bed now. I’ll speak to Sukuna when he comes back home.”

Stiffly, the youngest twin stands, bowing once to his dad. He wishes the old man a goodnight and trudges back to bed, unaware of a woman lurking in the corner who slinks into the room, having heard everything that transpired between her husband and son.

“—what did he do now?”

A resounding crash shakes the walls, and Jin freezes, darting behind a potted plant to listen in.

His mother’s shrieks filter past the flimsy wood; their argument front and center for the whole house to hear.

Jin hears snatches of the altercation, his heart plummeting right to his stomach.

“—your son!” His father roars.

“You mean, our son!” his mother yells back. There’s another crash, and Jin covers his ears, shaking his head from side to side.

Make it stop, please. Make it stop. 

The guilt eats him alive, especially when he hears what his father says next.

“Fifteen years I’ve been tolerating that boy, but it has to end here. He can’t keep misbehaving as if the world owes him everything at his feet. If this keeps up—” Wasuke swears, and a heavy object crashes into the wall. His mother shrieks. “—I’ll make Jin my heir!” 

At the mention of his name, the young boy freezes, not daring to even breathe.

His father can't make him the heir. It would break his older brother's heart.

“You can’t!” she sobs. “It’s against the natural rule of things! Sukuna is set to inherit the fortune. You can’t change the order of our world, Wasuke!”

His father laughs, a terrifying, full belly roar which makes the ground shake and his chest cave in. 

“I can and I will. You watch me, woman. The will is mine and mine alone to execute. If you keep this up—protecting that stupid boy when he doesn't deserve it, I will send him to the military and keep him there until he finally grows a spine and some common sense, you hear?! I can have him killed in battle—”

Kasumi screams again, and this time, it claws straight through Jin’s soul; a wounded animal sound of a mother terrified for her young.

“Dear, please. He’s only a boy. Only a child. You can’t expect the world of him. He is your blood and flesh—”

“Someone this idiotic and foolish will never be my son and I will never claim him!” 

From the corner of his eye, Jin spots movement by the stairs. His brother, backpack slung across his shoulder, skin around his face and arms mottled and red from the tattoos, pauses at the top step.

“He has done nothing but bring shame to the Itadori name!” 

Wasuke bellows, his next words rattling the roof and breaking every heart within the vicinity; most of all, his oldest son’s who had innocently stumbled into the middle of the fray without any warning. 

“I wouldn’t care if he lived or died! I have Jin and he’s the better choice.” A loaded exhale—a reloading of more emotionally charged bullets. 

“You and that bastard can fucking rot to death for all I care."

Sukuna rubs a hand down his face, feeling the steam clinging onto his pores. 

The onsen was quiet tonight, everyone in the house either up in the parlor drinking, smoking, or by the sunken sofa fireplace, exchanging gossip about another up-and-coming family or an investment scheme gone wrong. 

He’s never been one to belong in a world like this, so Sukuna had taken his leave early after dinner with the excuse that he was feeling a headache coming along. The maids had already hauled his suitcase up to the suite he would be sharing with you, and thankfully, you were locked in a conversation with Gojo Satoru, the only other person around his, Jin’s, Este’s, and your age on this trip to notice he had gone missing. 

While his brother plays along with the whims of the upper echelon, Sukuna prefers to submerge his tired body in the mineral-dense waters. 

Though the woman he was fucking was here, too, Sukuna had reservedly given her a one-sided hug when Este walked in, green eyes sparkling and looking like the picture of allure in her ermine coat and slinky black dress. Throughout dinner, she kept on glancing at him, and he tried to pretend like her eyes didn’t bore holes into the side of his head; that her accusatory glare didn’t feel hot on the back of his neck when he was forced to sit beside you during dessert, striking up an awkward conversation.

For your part, you had no idea the woman whose bed he warms is in the same room as you, and Sukuna likes to keep it that way. There will be hell to pay if word of this gets out. 

Footsteps resound, prickling his ears. Through the steam and fog of this glass room, he makes out a familiar figure walking right towards him, clad in just a towel.

“Sukuna-san.”

Este stands, long brown hair shimmering like a coat of silky chocolate down her back, the rise of her collarbones already flushing red from the steam. There’s a look in her eyes that spells trouble when she slinks closer towards him.

Acutely aware of his nakedness, Sukuna does nothing but a cock a brow in her direction.

“Getting bolder now, I see.”

But, he doesn’t stop her from sinking one foot into the natural hewn pool, her towel melting off her body and falling in a heap behind her.

He unabashedly drinks in her curves; the mole on her left breast he loves to bite down on, those puckered nipples tightening from the humidity. The planes of her abs defined from years of pilates led right to a smattering of dark hair near her pubic bone, and he caught the slightest glance of that little hole he loves when she parts her legs, sitting comfortably against the rock across from him.

Rolling her neck from side to side, Este sighs deeply.

“What a bore this is. I honestly thought mom would let me smoke here, but she says she doesn’t want to give the Gojo’s a wrong idea.” Her full lips twist into a sneer. “You’re not looking any better.”

He scoffs, splashing her with the warm water. Este shrieks, giving him a murderous glare.

Outside, a light snowfall starts to descend, tiny flakes lingering on the transparent dome. It’s ethereal and romantic, though the woman in front of him ruins his view. 

You stand by the door, unsure if you should step in when you see Sukuna and another gorgeous woman in the onsen. They’re both bickering, and Sukuna stops when he notices you about to turn and leave.

“Hey. Join us.”

His low baritone is crisp. Commanding.

You can’t turn away, not when he’s already noticed you.

Plastering on a fake smile, you shake your head, trying to beat a hasty retreat. “M-my bad, Itadori-san. Nara-san. I thought the onsen was empty—”

Este, daughter of James Nara and one of the richest trust fund babies in Japan, snorts. She’s beautiful, but something about her sharp features and those plump lips makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s as if she’s a bloodhound, trying to sniff out your weakness. She bares her too white teeth and you’re reminded of a Great White seconds away from snapping a fish’s spine in half.

“Nonsense. This is your house, Y/N-san. You should join us. We want to know everything about you.”

The back of your neck prickles, and it’s not from the heat. 

Sludges of white gather atop the dome, trickling down to the packed ground like you were stuck inside a live snow globe. Your smile tightens around the edges and you clutch the towel in a numb grip, mind blanking out on an excuse.

These onsens were your private escape from the real world, and you rarely took a dip naked in front of your own family, let alone a pair of strangers.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, growing annoyed at your floundering and hesitation. “Look. Either you join us, or you leave us to continue our conversation. We were in the middle of something.”

Cheeks flushing warmly, you felt the chill deepening in your soul. Your smile never broke, but you darted your eyes away from his indifferent expression, corners of your lips quivering.

Snapping your mouth shut, you nod. “I… I’ll leave you two alone, then.”

The minute you leave the room, Este turns to him. “Ouch. That was kinda harsh.”

Sukuna snorts, and with the knowledge of you not returning into the room now that he had humiliated you, he brazenly draws Este to his lap, nuzzling his face into her neck.

She purrs, looking like the cat who got the cream when she straddles his lap, letting him feast his hungry eyes over her perfect body. The tip of her acrylic traces down the tattoo near his jaw, and that diabolical smile of hers deepens. 

“That was your fiance, Ryomen. You should be nicer to her.”

He makes a sound of disagreement in the back of his throat, moving his cool lips from the hollow of her neck to the rise of her breasts. Licking and sucking at her nipples, he alternates, biting down on the flesh, blowing on those buds to watch them harden into stiff, pink peaks. Her soft moans carry together with the steam rising to the top of the glass ceiling; those verdant eyes rolling back into her head from the shivers he was wracking in her body.

“Stop talking about her,” he murmurs, lifting her up slightly by the hips and sliding his already throbbing cock deep into her twitching heat. She winces, stabs her nails into his shoulders from the sudden stretch. “I need to fuck you.”

She ticks her hips forward, a little slutty show just for him. Sukuna can tell the idea of fucking him with you under the same roof is driving her wild.

“m’not on the pill today,” she whispers into the hot shell of his ear, running her tongue over the delicate ridges. Sukuna’s fingers are bruising her hips, rutting deep into her. He likes how she takes him without complaint or prep—the perfect hole to be used and abused. 

He’s thrusting into a spot inside of her that’s too deep to reach, snaking his hand around her throat and squeezing down hard.

“Don’t care,” he breathes heavily, vermillion eyes hooded; harsh tattoos lining his face jumping out from under the low light. “Just pop something after.”

He’s evil and tantalizing—the devil she readily gives her body to whenever he snaps his fingers.

Este nods, leaning back to brace her hands against his strong thighs, eager to please him. 

“Yes, Sir.”

It was once said that the greatest artists in this world found contentment within their own solitude where their wildest inspirations could come to life with no judgment from the public eye. 

Though you could not compare to Van Gogh or Monet, you had to admit that there was a shred of truth to those words. 

Mountain air fills your lungs, and you span your gaze towards the horizon as your eyes can see. The easel you requested the butlers to prepare was your standing guard, the blank canvas leaning on it your enemy to parry with.

Like a writer hunched over their incomplete manuscript, your art block was equally as vicious. The lines and colors eluded you, and you could not focus a single thought on what was to be the final outcome. 

You could paint the view, but it was overdone and frankly, expected.

Maybe you could dig deep into the stinging pain in your chest you felt the night before and scoop it up, smear it across the blank whiteness, and stain it with your embarrassment and indignation.

Sighing deeply, you lean back on the stool, setting your paintbrush down and rubbing the back of your neck.

“Art block can be a bitch, huh?” 

You whirl around to find a tall man with a mop of white hair approaching you with his hands in his bathrobe pockets, wearing a charming, lopsided smile. 

“Gojo-san,” you immediately straighten and he waves your formalities away. 

“Satoru,” he says and looks you up and down. “You left last night. After dessert. Smart.”

Letting out a gust of breath you didn’t know you were holding, you tilt your head to the side in confusion. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, just your parents pulling us into the parlor for some charades,” he chuckles at the recollection, and this close, you can’t help but notice even his eyelashes are the color of powdery white snow. “It’s been a while since I went on a family getaway. I’m not much of a homey son, you see. I rarely spend time with family and would much rather be handling business.”

“Ha,” you snort, and then, slap a hand over your mouth as if to cover for your mistake. 

Though word in your world runs rampant, no news came faster (even to a wallflower like you) of how rebellious and unorthodox the Gojo family’s only son was.

Satoru’s bright eyes, the color of a melted icy river in the middle of summer, seems to twinkle at your slip-up.

“Did I say something amusing?”

You quickly shake your head, though your warm cheeks betray you. “N-no, Gojo-s—Satoru.”

Cursing your careless mouth and actions, you take this moment to turn back to your canvas, picking up your paintbrush and pretending to concentrate on your next stroke.

Undeterred by your lack of forthcoming conversation, you feel him approaching you from the back, coming to stand over your shoulder.

“You know, if you wanted to lie, you could’ve done so by telling me how I absolutely do not deserve the Gojo Chairman position.” Those eyes sparkle with barely concealed mirth. “Or, don’t you agree with what everyone else is saying?” 

Gaping, you turn to him. “Wh—Satoru, that’s a cruel thing for me to say to someone I barely know!”

That amused grin never left his sightly lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how well-moisturized they were. Not even a dry fleck of skin on them, despite the atrociously cold weather.

As if noticing your train of thought, Gojo smiles and changes the subject. “It’s awfully cold out here. Why are you painting in the middle of such freezing weather?”

The words tumble past your defenses before you could rein them in, yet another slip up from your distracted morning. “I find the cold air to be refreshing. It helps to clear my mind.”

Gojo stands there, back straight, and for a single moment, you can imagine him in the middle of a boardroom, scrutinizing a subordinate and catching them in the middle of a flimsy lie.

But, you were not his employee, and Satoru was a welcomed guest under your roof. He could not overstep his boundaries.

“I see.” 

It seems he has something he wants to say but can’t put forth; the minute struggle in those cerulean blue eyes gives away a deeper meaning. The vulnerable connection that trembles between both your held gazes dissipates like fine mist—never there in the first place—and he’s back to being his usual cryptic, teasing self.

“I shall leave you alone then, Miss Y/N. Ah, my apologies.” He smacks his forehead, correcting his mistake instantly. 

“Wrong name. I hope you have a wonderful painting session… Mrs. Itadori to-be.”

That night, you return to the huge double rooms to find your fiance out cold.

His broad back turned towards the wall, arm dangling from the edge of the huge, ornate sofa your mother personally sourced from Istanbul. You try and fail to hide your surprise, wondering what he’s done to venture into your part of the room.

The memories twist and turn, rising like black smoke from the ashes of your dismay and stinging disappointment at how petty Sukuna could be.

“You’re sleeping on the sofa,” he mumbles, “I don’t do well with company in my bed.” 

You’re about to argue, when he takes the room, slamming the door closed and clicking it shut. At least the maids had left out some pillows and a blanket on the sofa for you both to divide and claim… but if Sukuna didn’t want you near him, shouldn’t he be a gentleman and take the couch instead? 

There’s no soothing the prickling shame you feel when you realize your fiance has given you the cold shoulder in a space that belongs to your family. Belonged to you. Is this how he will treat me for the entire marriage? You approach the door, about to bang on it with your fists when you hear the first stirrings of a snore. 

Faltering, you bite your lower lip. To risk waking Sukuna up and infuriating him further which would ruin the entire arrangement your family was trying to secure for you… or to bite your tongue for a night and hope he would be more forgiving come morning? 

You sighed, plodding over to the sofa, still in your dress which Okura-san sourced straight from an underground Chinese designer—the same talent Sukuna’s last ex-girlfriend, Sora Hyuk, was fond of. Thumbing the hem, you feel like tearing it off and throwing it into the fireplace, your cheeks warm with embarrassment and resentment.

If only your parents could see you now. 

The truth was, you could tell them what Sukuna had done—how he had embarrassed you so openly and without hesitation right in the heart of your vacation home. But, knowing your parents and how diligent they were with moving up the ladder, your complaints would be nothing but fodder for them to sneer at when they were both alone.

A daughter is nothing but a bartering chip. That is what your mother had once told you. 

And that is why, despite how coldly Sukuna had locked you out of the shared room, you took comfort in the antechamber where no one, not even the maids, could come in without your permission. 

Good thing the fire is burning, you thought, as you kicked off your slippers and sank into the soft couch, trying to drift off into an uneasy sleep. I'll count that as a small blessing for today.

Blinking back the painful reminder, you’re about to roughly shake him off the sofa, marching towards him with your expression scrunched up in anger.

Grabbing his shoulder, you give it a push, and he barely moves.

“Oi,” you huff. “Wake up. You’re in my spot.”

Another push. Sukuna doesn’t even groan.

Suddenly, a chilling sensation seizes over you. Without wasting time, you flip him onto his back, bracing yourself on the edge of the wide sofa. 

Sukuna’s eyes are rolled back into his head, the whites of them shining under the warm, orange light of the chandelier above. You scream and try to shake him, smacking his shoulder to rouse him back from unconsciousness. When he doesn’t move, you grab the first thing you see—a cup of tea you were halfway drinking in the morning, long cold and still with the tea bag attached—and throw it right into his face.

Immediately, his eyes snap back, pupils smaller than pinpricks as he roughly grasps you, dragging you under his bigger build.

Flecks of black tea fall into your face, almost dripping into your wide open mouth, frozen in a mid-shriek.

“What the fuck did you do?” He snarls, and without warning, the tea bag clinging for its dear life on top of his head slides off his pink locks and plops right onto your cheek. 

Sukuna grabs it and brings it closer to his face, sneering at the small brown-soaked sachet and tossing it over his shoulder with his scarily fast reflexes.

“You weren’t responding,” you stutter, pointing one trembling finger to his eyes. “And your eyes were rolled back. I—I thought you were having a seizure.”

“I wasn’t.” His nostrils flare, and those piercing red-brown eyes feel like they could dig right into your soul; scooping up your second-hand embarrassment and smearing it all over your shell-shocked face. “You had no fucking right to pull such a stunt on me—who the fuck do you think you are?”

It’s the most he’s ever spoke to you, and it riles you up how defensive he’s being—like you were some nuisance of a toddler purposely destroying his expensive things and not someone who was trying to save his fucking life.

Who did this man take you for?

You open your mouth, but he beats you to the punch. 

“Don’t ever touch me without my permission. Do you understand me?” 

You snap your mouth close, feeling the chagrin and indignation brimming behind your eyes. If he didn’t let you go right this instant, you were going to burst out in tears right in front of him—an act which would surely annoy him more rather than make him suddenly tender to your afflictions. 

It’s like he doesn't even have a heart.

Thankfully, Sukuna releases your wrists and rolls off you. 

“We both can’t sleep on the sofa since it’s fucking stained with tea—no thanks to you.” His expression is like someone had shoved sour powder down his throat. “I suppose… there’s the room.”

You don’t even try to hide the disbelieving confusion bleeding across your face. This man who nearly threw a fit because you had tried to resuscitate him… was buying into the idea of sharing a bed with you? 

“But, I thought you didn’t want me to touch you without your permission?”

An honest inquiry. You had only wanted to remind him of the words he said to you in case he thought you hadn’t clocked it in.

However, the reaction you receive confirms everything you implicitly knew and more: Sukuna, without a doubt, hated your entire guts for reasons unknown to you. 

Those vermillion eyes become glacial, freezing over any attempt at diffusing the tension in this situation you were trying your hardest to salvage. 

“Who said you would be on the bed?” He gestures behind his back, towards the room you were forbidden from sleeping in despite your family name stamped on this lodge.

“The floor’s comfy,” his callous words chill you right to your soul; you think you might actually start to lose it because of how cruel he’s being to you. “You can take it, can’t you?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you physically have to will the tears away—not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

“Yes,” you murmur softly, turning your gaze to the floor. 

You have to do this—you don't have a choice. 

For the sake of this arrangement. For the sake of your father’s business. 

“You can take the bed. I’ll take the floor… Itadori-san.” 

After another day in the mountains, your mother thought it was a good idea to bond with you over a foot massage. 

There’s a Thai massage parlor down at the base of the mountain, their herbal baths and footstone rubs rumored to cure even the worst altitude sickness. Driving past the winding mountainous edge slowly, the car ride was bumpy, jolting you with jerkish movements that make your head spin. As the Range Rover idles to a stop, the driver opens the doors, and your mother steps out, barely paying him any attention.

Meanwhile, you turn to the older driver and whisper, “Thank you,” while handing him a ¥1,000 bill. He takes it with a bright grin, tips his hat, and waits inside the humming vehicle as you both get started on your pampering session. 

“Sit here, Y/N,” Lia waves you over, completely ignoring the masseuse ushering her to another seat further back.

You follow your mother obediently, taking the reclining chair next to her. 

The leather creaks under your weight as you slowly slide to a comfortable position. Glancing at your mother, you’re surprised to see her eyes sparkling, and she’s close enough to grip your arm, excitedly shaking your shoulder. “So?” she demands, and you give her a confused look.

“So… what?”

“Sukuna, you dummy,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. If there was a man here, he would stop dead in his tracks, enamored by your mother’s alluring and natural sass. 

Thankfully, the masseuses were all foreign women, and as they washed your feet with soap and warm water, you hesitantly updated here about your living situation with Sukuna.

“He’s nice enough,” you mumble weakly. Lia taps her milky white French tips on the chair’s arm, waiting for you to add more. 

“Um.” You flounder. “He’s a heavy sleeper, too—barely moves when we sleep next to each other.”

Another lame addition. This time, her nose crinkles. If only she could be a fly on your bedroom wall, seeing how Sukuna treats you with disdain and exasperation; making you sleep on the floor while he hogs the king-sized bed all for himself.

“It sounds like you’re both barely speaking to one another,” Lia deduces, arching a perfectly groomed brow. “Is that right?” 

You deflate. If there’s one person in the world who can call you out on your bullshit, it would be the woman who birthed and raised you. “Yes.” You finally admit. “I can’t seem to crack through him, mom. He’s so guarded.”

At your rising frustration, she hums and leans back, eyes falling close. You follow the same, feeling the older masseuse’s firm knuckles rubbing up and down your aching Achilles tendon. 

There’s nothing filling your senses but the smell of lemongrass oil and the warmth of the heaters blowing hot air circulating around the room. Someone places a cup of tea and biscuits on your left side table, and you open your eyes; picking up the brew and enjoying the sourish sweet tang of lemongrass tea on your tongue.

“Sukuna-san is a notoriously hard man to know because of his upbringing.”

You pause, cup hovering close to your lips. Setting it down on the lacquered wood table with a crisp click, you frown. 

“What do you mean, mom?” 

Lia opens her eyes, staring up the ceiling as she rummages in her memories for a recollection you weren’t aware of. 

“Sukuna-san’s mother—Kasumi—passed away when he was just 18. Wasuke, his father, followed her 3 years after, and they made Jin Itadori heir because Sukuna fled Tokyo and stayed in Madrid for almost a decade.”

Filled with curiosity, you furrow your brows. “Did they say why he left home in such a rush?” 

“No one knows,” your mother clarifies. “But, one day, he showed up, and Jin took him back in—the prodigal brother making his return.”

“I bet it would’ve been interesting to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” you snort.

Lia gives you a look. “It wasn’t. I heard the rumors that both brothers were more than estranged—they barely spoke to each other in that decade when Sukuna was missing. But, Jin has always been a kind man, and he let his brother’s misdoings slide—just wanting him to come back home.”

You feel a begrudging sense of respect for the younger Itadori twin. “He seems more like my match than Sukuna-san.”

Your words were meant to be a joke, but it rubs Lia the wrong way. She scowls, lifting a brow. “Don’t you even dare to think of something like that, Y/N.” 

Instantly chastised, you quieten. Lia continues, on a roll from your careless remark. 

“Jin-san loves his wife too much—she passed away during childbirth and he treasures Yuuji more than any gold in this world. He would not spare you a second look, and so, Sukuna was chosen for you.”

“But, why?” 

Frustration bedevils you, and you spew out the first question on your mind. “Why would Sukuna-san be a better match for me? We have nothing in common.”

The masseuses are pretending not to listen in to the conversation, heads bent low and focusing all their attention on melting away the stress that was mounting more and more with every passing second you spent in your mother’s presence.

Lia’s left eye twitches, a sign she’s growing more irritated by the second. “Y/N, don’t spit in fate’s face when they give you a golden egg. Sukuna-san is perfect for you because he’s not picky. He would have anyone familiar with the ways of our society… even if they call you a Wisteria Woman to your face.”

Hurt bleeds through her tone, and you’re reminded once again of how low your family standing is compared to the Itadoris. While they were a family from old transportation money back during Tokyo’s electrical motor boom, your family rode on the backs of your grandfather’s standing to give your father’s ideas a chance to win over prickly investors. 

Eventually, he clawed his way through the world of politics through grit and a good dose of ass-kissing, earning a cushy spot at the top where he’s starting to see his results flourish—the first one being your marriage to a well-established house.

But, it wasn’t always a smooth journey to where your family was now. 

Your mother had to endure years of other rich wives' subtle digging and whispers behind palms—calling her a “Wisteria Woman”—mocking her patience in clinging onto your father as he steadily rose to popularity; calling her a foolish woman only concerned with social status.

It was an insincere attempt at making her an object of ridicule, at best. Your grandfather’s wealth as the king of department stores before his demise could buy over any of these small family’s trust funds three times over.

“They don’t know what they’re saying, mom,” you remind her. “You’ve always stood by dad’s side because you believed in the man he could become one day. And it’s paid off—they’re the ones eating their words now.”

Lia fixes her gaze on you, her expression softening. You think she might even reach out and pat your head. But, she only gives you a single piece of advice, further solidifying that despite all your protests, your marriage to Sukuna has already been woven in the threads of fate long before you were even aware of it. 

“Y/N, I want you to remember this well—no matter what these people say to your face or whisper behind your back... don’t you ever give them the satisfaction of seeing that they’re right.”

a/n. drama on the mountains alert! drama on the mountains alert!

btw feedbacks and reblogs will always be loved <3 thank you for supporting my story thus far i luv u

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my work, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms. and claim as your own

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: joshua

soulmates

'hand in hand, you and me. today, tomorrow, forever.'

when 00:00 glow green in the darkness, you clutch your bedsheets tighter, feeling light burn on your right wrist. it's happening. what everyone talked about, waited for, dreamed of. it tingles for few seconds and when it stops, you know that name of your soulmate is now etched on your wrist with black ink which will not come off no matter how hard you'll try. unspilled tears sting your eyes and you're about to go to the bathroom, when you hear careful knocking and gentle 'love?' from the other side of the door.

'joshua?' you question loudly before jumping from the bed and rushing to open the door. just like you predicted, your boyfriend is waiting on the other side, wearing oversized hoodie on top of his light blue pjs. 'babe, what-'

'your roommate is here?' he asks, interrupting you gently. at the shake of your head, he then points inside. 'can i come in then?'

for the first time since you started dating you hesitate. should you let him in when you don't know if it's his name on your wrist and vice versa? there are so many things on the tip of your tongue: have you checked? is it my name? am i your soulmate? your insides are churning just from the possibility of someone else's name being written on his wrist. joshua takes a second to assess your state and it doesn't take him long to understand what's happening with you. he's always been good at figuring out your feelings even before you did, always knew what to say or do to calm you down. before you can voice out your fears, his arms find their way around your waist, gently but firmly pulling you towards him. 'shh,' he whispers, hugging you tight. 'i know, love, i know.'

'i'm scared,' you mutter, hiding your face in his neck. and it's such a familiar place for you, you can't imagine not being able to do that, can't bear the thought of not having joshua this close to you.

you didn't know how joshua felt the same, how holding your trembling body in his arms made him want to tuck you away from this world and just forget about everything. if the stars decide that you two are not meant for each other then he'll write his own story, create another univerise in which you are his and he is yours because that's the only correct way of how it should be. he hasn't looked at his wrist, mostly because he is scared too but also because he doesn't have to look at it to know who is his fate. gulping, he tightens his arms around you, leaving small kisses on your shoulder.

'have you looked?' you ask in a small voice, biting your lower lip. 'what if-'

'look at me,' joshua asks, leaning back until you move your head and make eye contact. 'i haven't looked. we're both going to look right now but before we do, i just want you to know that it won't change a thing, okay? you are it for me and i don't care if universe agrees with me or not.'

'b-but, if it's not my name..' you start, not being able to finish that sentence because every word breaks your heart.

'then i will cover that name with yours,' joshua says with sureness of person who will not change his mind. 'i will go to the tattoo parlor right now and will make sure that only your name is on my wrist. i love you. do you love me?' at your nod, most beautiful smile blooms on his face. 'ah, i'm just the luckiest guy, aren't i? universe already blessed me with your love, let's check if it blessed me again, shall we?'

it's scary. your throat tightens up and heart rate slows down in anticipation. you didn't think that figuring out who's your soulmate will happen in the middle of the hallway of your dormitory with your boyfriend right in front of you, but life has its own plans. grasping sleeve of your sweatshirt, you look up at joshua, who's already looking at you with impossible fondness. you are it for me, he mouths and with this rolls up his sleeve, looking down. you don't have to look down at your own wrist, because watching surprise and happiness glow on joshua's face is the answer enough for you. when he looks back at you, there are tears in the corners of his eyes.

'it did bless me again,' he whispers, not looking away from you. his eyes are filled with awe and he brings your faces close, so close that your foreheads are almost touching. 'i would've created another universe for us but i don't have to. you are mine in this one.'

what comes out from your mouth is a mix of hysterical laughter and whimpering sob. joshua smiles and takes your hand in his, showing you both his own name written prettily on your wrist. he strokes it lovingly with his thumb as you stare transfixed, not being able to utter a single word. relief floods your system and you sag against him, smiling at the way he keeps on leaving small kisses anywhere he can reach.

'you are my soulmate,' you let out, still in shock. 'josh, you are my soulmate.'

he chuckles, nodding. 'yours, baby. forever and ever.'

he hugs you tight, looking up to the ceiling for a second, silently thanking whoever is responsible for this to happen. he prayed yesterday, promised that he won't ask for anything else as long as he'll get this wish right. i will never ask for anything else, he thinks, mentally sending this message to the universe. you gave me everything.

a/n: oh the feels :') impossible to picture anyone else for this au, so of course it's joshua. tell me how you liked it! - nini

my other works can be found here

[metafoldmaze]

Day 19: Favorite "Alt" Hermit [Evil Xisuma, Last Avatar of the First Memory]

today, i've got a drawing and a short piece of writing containing a bit of my Xisuma lore!

warning for... death and the existential horror of knowing you're the last of your kind?

Xisuma emerged from the portal like a bolt, hurtling into the Nascent with enough force to fire them into the opposite wall—that is, until their boot caught on a fabricator, wrenching its delicate cage out of shape and pitching them into the stairs face-first.

Their Avatar caught himself early, slipping into the ethereal so as not to meet their Arbiter’s fate. He steeled himself for the pain as he took a cautious look around—ouch!—and saw…

Ruins. The outpost was shattered, ceiling bowing, bricks fallen out of the walls or covered with algae where water leaked in, illuminated only by the molten rock flowing through the portal chamber.

He had just enough time to take in his surroundings before a wave of psychic torment brought him to his knees.

Xisuma’s Arbiter clumsily hefted himself to his feet, silently thanking the Slayer that he had his helmet on. Shaking off the dizziness of portal travel and the additional disorientation of their unpleasant egress, he turned around to check on their Avatar.

In that moment, the Avatar let him in.

A crushing wave of confusion and horror overwhelmed Xisuma: the desperate wail of the entire Memory. There were no words, only a stampeding nightmare, raging, overwhelming, a boiling surge of loss. They sifted through the feedback to find any dregs of connection, any sense in the caterwaul, but only fell deeper into the abyss.

The barrage carved a truth out of their mind with the precision of a sculptor and the violence of a siltstorm. This was it. This was the dying howl of their people. 

But… why? How?

Reuniting as one, they dragged themselves, prone, to the edge of the portal. It was sparking, flashing in and out; the foci were rattling in the frame. They had to go back. They had to do something—this couldn’t be it. 

The waves of horror were physical, something they had to fight with every fibre in their bodies. They reached out to the surface of the portal, like boiling ink—boiling sky—and reached through.

A surge of searing pain shot through their Arbiter’s right arm as the foci shattered, severing the connection between worlds. They were left dangling over the roiling lava, arm spasming from dimension shock, buffeted by heated air that was now as trapped as they were.

Not even seconds after the portal broke, the entire outpost shook, tremors from deep within the earth further fracturing the brickwork.

With the tremors, the Memory hushed, as if witnessing this with rapt horror. Xisuma was alone, and if they died here, the Archonate died with them.

They rolled over and looked at the ceiling, taking quick stock of the fractures thereupon—they had to get out of this room. Clambering to their feet with the help of their good arms, they stayed low as they scrambled out of the portal chamber. A cacophony of clattering rock behind them confirmed their worst suspicions. 

Only able to move on their hands and knees, and even then only barely, they dragged themselves into the corner of the next room and huddled there. Their Avatar petrified his arms and folded them over the back of their head as their Arbiter clutched his wounded arm close to his chest.

The world shook around them for some time, and the cold panic did not subside even in the stillest of moments. They sat there through the rest of the quake, and through the worst of the aftershocks, paralyzed by fear.

Their Avatar stirred first, reaching out into the Memory alone. The prior silence had since been fogged by the hushed weeping of the dead—the grief of minds that knew themselves to have become but hollow simulacra.

Grimly, they hailed him: Knight-Regent of the Nascent, Xisúma, scion of Aquhúo.

The Arbiter started at the thin sound of their Avatar’s joyless chuckle—punctuated by a pained keening.

“They promoted us. We’ve been promoted…”

[silvertongues-emeraldlies]

Marked - Prologue {B.B}

Soulmate AU - People are born with their soulmate’s initial on the inside of their right wrist in red. When they meet, the initial turns a barely visible gold. If one dies, the initial turns black. If their soulmate isn’t born yet, it’s white. Though that doesn’t last very long…on most occasions.

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warning(s): Mentions of torture (i think that’s it)

Word Count: 1,189

——

Bucky Barnes had always been the protector. He remembered his childhood filled with scrapes and bruises, not just from the neighborhood kids or his own adventures, but from stepping in to defend Steve Rogers. Skinny, scrappy Steve with his big heart, he never knew when to back down from a fight. It was on one of those summer days, the sticky New York heat pressing down on them, that they first noticed the marks on their wrists. Bucky was 16, barely old enough to know what it all meant, but old enough to understand the significance.

“Hey, Buck, look at this,” Steve had said, leaning against the railing of their Brooklyn apartment stoop. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing his skinny wrist to reveal a tiny, vibrant “P” in red ink, glowing under the sun. “Guess someone out there’s waitin’ for me.”

Bucky had stared at Steve’s wrist, a knot forming in his throat. It was something everyone dreamed of, that mark—a confirmation of belonging, of fate, of connection. “Looks like you’re not alone, Stevie,” he managed with a grin. He could feel Steve’s happiness radiate off him, and Bucky felt proud, protective. Steve deserved this.

But when Bucky pulled up his own sleeve, there was only a faint, colorless outline of an initial, but it was white, as if fate hadn’t bothered to finish the job. He laughed it off, hiding his disappointment. “Guess mine’s defective, huh?”

Steve frowned. “I dunno, Buck. Maybe it’ll change someday. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

But Bucky had already started pulling his sleeve back down, a smile pasted on his face. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I get to be a free agent. Can’t have someone tied down to me, anyway.” He winked, but Steve’s concerned look stayed in his mind far longer than he would have liked.

As they grew older, the difference between their marks only seemed to widen. Steve’s soulmate initial was a bright red badge of hope, a promise of love and loyalty. But Bucky’s remained empty, pale and unfinished. He’d learned to hide it, to laugh and flirt his way through every gathering or dance. If he could make people smile, maybe they wouldn’t notice the white mark on his wrist. Maybe they wouldn’t see that empty, hollow part of him.

Bucky’s initial might have been invisible, but his duty to his country was anything but. When the draft came, he enlisted without hesitation, a sharp determination flaring inside him. If he couldn’t prove his worth through a soulmate bond, then maybe he could through service, through courage.

The first night in training camp was harsh and unforgiving, but Bucky kept his spirits high. He worked his way through every drill, every task, driven by the knowledge that he was now part of something larger than himself. When the war letters came in, soldiers would huddle around, reading notes from their sweethearts, kissing the paper as if it would bring them closer to home. And when Bucky would feel that emptiness tugging at him, he’d close his eyes, clutch his white initial, and remind himself that he didn’t need anyone else. He was already whole, even if it didn’t feel like it.

One evening, as he wrote his letter to Steve, he paused, the pen hovering above the paper. The words seemed to blur, the memory of his colorless mark vivid in his mind. Did it really matter if he didn’t have a soulmate? Did that define his worth? And yet, no matter how many times he reassured himself, there was a pang that never faded. He’d pour his heart into each letter home to Steve, recounting the good times they shared and his worries about the future, always keeping the more vulnerable thoughts locked away. There was no point in worrying Steve.

Bucky’s last mission was a disaster. Hydra forces overwhelmed them, and soon, Bucky found himself captured, bound, and transported to a place he could barely identify through the haze of pain and exhaustion. His body ached with bruises, and blood trickled from cuts he couldn’t even feel anymore. Every nerve in his body screamed, but he bit his tongue, forcing himself to remain silent. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. When they branded him with new scars, injected him with unknown chemicals, built him a new arm in place of the one he’d lost falling off the train, and whispered promises of destruction, Bucky felt his grip on reality slipping. But through it all, the faint white outline on his wrist remained, a barely-there line that somehow anchored him. The ghostly mark he’d once hated now became his lifeline. His fingers found it in moments of agony, a small, fragile reminder that he was still human. That somewhere, somehow, he had a tether to the world he’d left behind. Days blended into nights, which melted into more endless days. His memories of Brooklyn, of Steve, of the life he’d known began to fade, lost in the haze of Hydra’s relentless conditioning. But that white initial—it was there, like a whisper, a name he couldn’t quite remember but couldn’t bear to forget.

When he was first awoken for a mission as the Winter Soldier, almost 20 years later, the world around him was cold, sharp, and unforgiving. Every time they brought him back, he’d feel a sliver of confusion, a sense of loss that gnawed at him but never fully materialized into a coherent thought. And every time he felt that emptiness, he’d catch a glimpse of the mark on his wrist—a mark he didn’t understand, a blank canvas that somehow connected him to a life he didn’t remember. In the field, he was a machine—unfeeling, mechanical, a force of destruction honed to perfection. He followed orders without question, took down targets with precision. And when he returned, he felt nothing but the cold, the emptiness that clung to him like a shadow. The white initial had become his only company in a world stripped of humanity.

But one night, after a particularly brutal mission, something shifted. He returned to his cell, the taste of iron in his mouth, the ache of bruises blooming beneath his skin. He raised his arm, rolling up his sleeve with shaking hands. And there, where the colorless initial had always been, was a red letter, vibrant and alive, stark against his skin. A letter he’d once seen only as an afterthought, an empty promise, now burned with a brightness that sent his heart hammering.

It was real. He had a soulmate. He wasn’t broken.

For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself a moment of emotion—a tear slipping down his cheek, a shuddering breath that broke the silence of the room. Somewhere out there, someone was waiting for him. He hadn’t been alone all this time; he’d just been waiting for this moment. And as he clenched his fist, feeling the strength return to his limbs, he knew he couldn’t give up. He had to fight, to escape, to find the person who’d saved him from the abyss, even if they didn’t know it yet.

———

This was a little rushed so it’s not the best. I had a friend help me write as well because i didn’t know what to write. I’m planning on making this fic a short series so let me know what you think!!

xx Cris

[fates-roll]

*Explodes you with his mind*

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Fate Inked In Starlight

Part Three

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are, or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five

Warnings - nightmares, alludes to slight depression and struggling, mentions of blood and torture, memory loss, angst, baby Eris trying to do the right thing 🥺

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That horrid metallic liquid was sprayed across the walls where you swung by your wrists, your head tossed back and blood leaking from your nose, droplets rolling backward down your cheeks and dripping on the floor.

The room was freezing, stone blocks caged you in at every direction, the only light in the room slicing through the iron bars at the roof of the chamber. A thin grey gown hung from your shoulders, nothing opulent, it was plain and dirty, soaked with tears and blood amongst other things, it was ripped up the side, the threads floating against your skin.

A scratching filled the void, the tip of a sword dragging against the stone floor, "Are you going to cooperate today?" A voice drawled and you winced as you tried to open your swollen eyes, your vision blurred and entire face aching.

Your wrists were burning, the ringed wounds tearing themselves open and whimpers straining in your mouth. Chains rattled and you felt yourself lower closer to the ground, the tips of your toes brushed against the stone but you weren't lowered enough to stand, to give your shoulders and wrists some relief.

Fingers curled around your chin, jolting it forward so that you were looking at the owner of the voice. "I asked you a question, pet," from what you could make out, his smile was chilling, eyes narrowed and cold, short black hair, and you wished your vision would clear for just a moment, just so you could really see him.

"I don't know what you want," you rasped, "I don't know what I'm doing here."

His tongue ticked against the roof of his mouth, you felt him circling you, like a predator toying with their prey, "Don't play with me, pet, you know that I don't like your games," you felt the skin of your abdomen slicing apart, pooling with liquid that ran down your thighs.

"You have the wrong person. Please, I don't know what you want," tears ran down your cheeks, searing pain drove through you and you sobbed.

The room began to rumble, with your terror or his anguish you weren't sure, "Do I have to take another thing you love to ensure your loyalty?"

Creaking metal doors blew open, and your stomach dropped at the aroma that washed away the scent of death from the room. Burnt orange peels and pine, warm rain, and a hint of caramel. Eris.

"Flora," he called to you weakly, he sounded so defeated, his voice sounded gargled and wet, and he was dropped to the floor with a thud that made you cringe.

"Give me what I want, pet."

"Flora."

Your bottom lip wobbled furiously, the room felt like it was tipping on an opposing axis, "No. Not him. Not him. Please."

"Submit yourself to me and I will spare him," he moved behind Eris, ripping his head backward and pressing the blade to his throat.

"Flora!"

"FLORA!"

You awoke screaming and thrashing, tears flowing down your face and chest rising and falling at a dangerously rapid pace, "Hey, hey," a voice shushed, hands bundled in your hair with burnt orange dancing around you, "You're alright, okay? You're in Fir Manor, you're okay," he mumbled over and over again until your breathing had slowed to an acceptable rate.

"You, you were -I," you were struggling to form words, to speak, to convey what you had seen.

The place had felt so familiar but not at the same time, like you should remember being there, like it was important to remember that place. The stench of iron and that searing pain made your stomach churn and you bolted from the bed, rushing to the toilet and emptying whatever contents in there that you could.

A cold hand pressed against your back, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades, "Come on," Eris picked you up from the floor like it was nothing, scooping you into his arms and sitting with you on the small two seater sofa before the fire. The blanket he had used to cover himself for his slumber was tossed aside, thrown over the edge of the furniture, and the rug was slightly askew from where he had hit the floor and come running to you.

Eris had made a habit out of sleeping on the cruelly small thing the moment your nightmares had started two weeks ago. Nightly, you'd wake up mumbling, incoherently trying to throw together anything that would make sense whilst panting and sweaty, pale with fright. And nightly, Eris would soothe away your troubles, he would hold you until you fell back asleep before tucking you back in your bed again.

It felt different though, that this time the nightmare had really shaken you to the point of physical shuddering. It was the first time you had alluded to him that he was present in your dream, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"You were- he was going to- I couldn't," you bubbled, shaking in his arms like a leaf in the wind.

"Hey," he cooed to you, covering you in his blanket and rubbing warmth into your arms, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

Eris was the calm. Eris was the safe place. Eris was breathing. Eris was alive. It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

Eris stood at the window, looking out into the gardens at you as you weaved between flowerbeds with Duke in tow. A pale yellow sundress wrapped around your figure, and he smiled fondly as your fingers dragged through the blooming flowers, each one of them bending toward your touch.

Nature just seemed to adore you.

It was the morning after Rhys and Azriel's visit that he found you in the gardens, feet dipped into the fountain with swirling spandrils of water flowing up your arms and neck. It was then that you both found out that you could control water, and by extension, anything made up of it.

Eris was encouraging, he had sat with you in the ponds and fountains and coached you, trained you to control your gift like he had trained to control his. And soon enough, you could summon the element from wherever you stood, your personal tendrils extinguishing his fiery rage with gentle licks across his hands.

He had noticed how the nightmares had been altering you. You had become more withdrawn, the personality that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the last two weeks now retreating. He had to do something.

The stress of your situation hadn't helped, you knew how dangerous it was to be in the Autumn Court, Eris had told you that much. He promised to protect you, and you believed him. But he didn't know how to stop the nightmares, he didn't know how to plump out the circles under your eyes. You had tried sleeping tonics but they didn't want to work on you, neither of you knew why.

"I don't want to go," you told him after he'd sat you down and proposed you visit Rhys and Azriel, both of which you had become closer with, through letters and their idle flybys to check up on you, constantly telling you of their progress, "I feel safe here. I feel safe with you."

Eris had told Rhys of the nightmares, told him that they could be memories trying to claw to the surface, told him that you needed a distraction, that you needed help. The heir wasn't sure what the High Lord saw in you, but he always offered clear advice and a bedroom at the River House with your name on it whenever you should need it.

"I know," he watched as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your eyes on the floor, "This will be good for you. You'll love Velaris, Little Flower," he ran a hand down your hair and gave you an encouraging smile.

"The decision has been made?"

"You'll be back with me before you know it, then we can carry on with your training and read our books by the fire. It's just temporary," your eyes were flooded with sadness, it was taking everything in him to not take back what he had decided and wrap you into his embrace instead, "I promise."

That's how you found yourself curled up in the library within the River House.

Rhys' family were lovely, and Azriel had tried to make you feel as at home as possible, but something just didn't feel right. The safety that you had felt wrapped around you like a shield had disappeared, replaced by a shrill chill that made you too alert. Too poised.

Velaris was beautiful. The book was lax in your hands and you found yourself reading the patterns of the stars instead, like you could simply reach up and pluck one from the sky-

"Flora?" A gentle knock sounded at the door, you turned to it, finding Feyre stood in the gap possessing an ethereal glow and trusting eyes. She entered, seemingly floating to where you sat, and took the place beside you.

Snow capped mountains and starry skies welcomed your gaze as you turned back to the window. A tidal wave of gentle light glowed beneath you, flowing like a river through a valley, that humming energy bowing its head and delving into every beautiful corner of the city.

"How are you feeling?"

"How am I supposed to feel?"

Feyre frowned, "However you'd like. There's no pressure to feel a certain way."

They had all welcomed you with open arms, Mor had even hugged you, and to everyone's surprise, Nesta had offered a shoulder to talk to if you ever felt like it.

"I struggled with nightmares too, after what happened Under the Mountain," she confessed and you found yourself looking into her quizzically, "I died to save Prythian, to save Tamlin, from Amarantha. I dealt with the repercussions of resurrection nightly afterward, I dreamt of being back there, and then one day I was here and I began to heal."

"How did you do it?"

"You find ways to ground yourself," she shrugged, curling her legs up beneath her, "Whether that be a smell, or person, or memory, you find ways to ground yourself in the present, to remind you that whatever fills your past is exactly what it is. The past."

"Do you think that these dreams are memories?"

Feyre hummed, "Maybe," the High Lady had made many a painting of the marks you had sketched and sent to Azriel, something about them intrigued her to the point of inspiration, her power thrummed when she saw them, and she took to the canvas to accurately depict how she saw them in her mind.

Amren had told you that your markings were runes, ancient things painted on walls on crystals in order to try to contain and control power. It was other-worldly, and she was able to tell you with confidence that the runes were by no means inflicted upon you maliciously, more like your body forced them to appear in order to protect itself.

Your mind floated to Eris. You wondered how he was, you wondered if he was sat alone drowning in the silence of Fir Manor whilst you were surrounded by light and echoing laughter.

"We will help you, Flora. Rhys won't admit it but, you remind him of his sister a little bit. I think that's why he's so determined to have this all figured out, so he can help you in ways he couldn't help her," Feyre had been in awe of your beauty despite the deep circles under your eyes, you reminded her of herself, like she was staring at a mirror into the past, "Even if we do figure this out and you have the option of returning home, I want you to know that you're welcome here, if you ever wanted to stay. Though, I feel someone would outbid me on that." Feyre had spied the swirl of shadows in the corner of the room when she had entered, they had been watching you and then your exchange unbeknownst to you, she smirked at them, knowing that they'd be whispering to their master that they had been caught.

"I do love it in Autumn," you had assumed she was talking about Eris, who else could she have been speaking of? "I was happy there, I think."

Feyre took your hand in hers and tugged you up, she had loaned you a few of her dresses for the time being, just until she and Mor could take you into town and buy everything your eyes landed on. They knew how it felt to feel out of place and unwelcomed, and they wouldn't wish that upon the fragile creature that had stumbled into their lives.

"You can be happy here too, if you just give us a chance?"

Hope.

For the first time in two weeks, since the nightmares began, you felt hope. Beautiful, all-consuming hope.

You took one last look out of the window as Feyre began to pull you from the room and toward her family, you found the stars that begged for your touch, sparkling brightly as if to say pick me, choose me. Their disappointment clear by their faltering shine as you willingly followed Feyre, followed her down the path of healing, a path toward the life you wanted to build for yourself.

Not for anyone else, but for you.

"I can see you. We're coming."

You bolted upright, your breath caught in your throat. It took you a moment to adjust to your surroundings, to realise that you were in Velaris, in a room across the hall from Azriel, and that Eris wouldn't be coming to bundle you into his embrace and have his steady heartbeat rock you back to sleep.

"We're coming."

Violet pools of shadow hovered before your face, they were wide, like they weren’t expecting that you could see them. The only source of light in the pitch black room where you lay. An arm emitting black curls of smoke reached for you and you flinched backward, hitting your elbow against the headboard and hissing in pain.

"You're not meant to be here."

The voice was clouded but sounded so familiar, the warmth and tinge of worry in their eyes did also, it was odd, how a ripple of whispering shadow felt so intimate.

It disappeared as quickly as it came, floating away like a freshly blown out candle, wisping up through the roof and into space.

Authors Note

Part 3!

I’m sorry if any of you are finding things a bit slow, I just want to do this fic justice.

Part 4 is gonna be wild ✨

Thinking about making this into a 8/9 part series, what do we think?

Taglist

@acourtofbatboydreams @glitterypirateduck2 @isaxbella749 @aactuaaltraash @imma-too-many-fandoms @blackgirlmagicforever

[dhampling]

one mine, both yours bard gn!reader, 1.6k

‘Is my resident corvid lacking ample opportunity to thieve elsewhere? Surely not.”

His gaze wavers slightly, but his own smile remains firmly wide. He wants information. By right of him finding these pages, he sees himself as entitled to it.

-

astarion's habit of visiting your tent leads him to your hidden pile of sonnets. your secret is out.

word count: 1,675

a massive THANK YOU to the beautiful anon who sent this my way - 'bard reader writing countless sonnets about Astarion, and him finding them' - I had a lot of fun figuring out the dynamics here, so hopefully it's something a little different!

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

“How long have you been here?!”

You, wholly aghast, pinned at the mouth of your little tent by those playfully accusatory eyes. Loose ink-laden pages in both hands as he flickers them in the air. White scintillates against the amber of the fire outside.  

He sits cross-legged in the corner by your keepsake pack, grinning ferociously; tongue denting with the tip of a fang in pure salacion. 

“I’ve found your little stash, sweetling! How far back do all these go?”

You look to him with a hint of unease you’re aware needs to go. Offer up your own coy grin and straighten your sagging shoulders.

Astarion coughs with the flare of an announcement as you fail to respond.  

“Beneath the moon, we weave a tale,

In weighty whispers, light as lead,’

A magistrate working a courtroom. The quirk of a brow. Not once do his eyes leave you.

‘A silent yearning, a hidden trail,

Those labyrinthine corridors, we now tread.”

“You’re rifling through my things, now?’

Your churlish grin rivals his. Arms fold over your chest.

‘Is my resident corvid lacking ample opportunity to thieve elsewhere? Surely not.”

His gaze wavers slightly, but his own smile remains firmly wide. He wants information. By right of him finding these pages, he sees himself as entitled to it.

You and Astarion have - remarkably - been as thick as thieves since the moment he held a dagger to your throat beside the wreck of the nautiloid. Through your time on the road so far your own banter often supersedes general group conversation, with his quick wit and deprecating humour delighting you in their scathing execution. He gives you a sounding board to tread against whilst out in the relative wilderness of the Sword Coast and for that, you thank the stars each evening. 

You know little of his own background. You know he worked in Baldur’s Gate as a magistrate long ago. You know you offer him your own blood whenever he needs it, and that those who were displeased with his condition were told in no uncertain terms by yourself that they were welcome to leave the party.

He continues boldly on. You watch his performance with silent glee, moving from the mouth of your tent to sit lazily astride your bedroll.

“His raffish laughter, euphony so sweet,

Resounds within, stokes passion's fire’

He stops and holds a finger in the air. You lean in with mock enthral.

“So we know it’s a him.”

“Very perceptive, Astarion. Pray tell - you have considered a career with the Fist, yes?”

He playfully taps you on the leg. You roll your eyes.

‘In friendship's dance, a heart starts to beat,

As adoration emerges, a burning desire.”

Whilst notoriously catty, he has a depth to him which allows for enjoyable discussion. He’s a natural performer - with which you resonate - and yet he has layers that you haven’t quite been able to penetrate yet.

It sometimes feels almost like he’s a little surprised that you want to. That you care enough to show interest in his blatantly miserable background to press him on it. Compassionately, but still insistent. 

He jokes about it. You and your ridiculously unfounded want to listen to him. To hear his thoughts, rattle them about in your own head and give a considered response in return. A gift, he’ll smile and reassure with mirth in those late night discussions; cupping your face in one hand as you bat him away in laughter. 

“Are we quite done?” You interrupt with a smile. He senses your want to move on.

Astarion drops the page from his face and rests back on his palms.

“Did you ensnare him in the end?” 

“Hm?”

He picks up a chalice and looks across to you. 

“The subject. Did you beguile him? Love unrequited no more?”

A beat of silence. 

“I haven’t, no.”

A noncommittal shrug, but a hopeful look in your eye. You’re whimsical, ever-the-optimist; you can survive this.

“You haven’t?”

His eyes are awash with scandal. Leans back, swirls his wine and purses his lips with an impish tut. Scans over the page once more from afar.

“Tentative hearts paired on the floor,

One loosely mine, but both now yours.”

Another beat of silence.

It’s been a fraught time so far, but his company has made it easier. 

You’ve enjoyed multiple messy nights under the stars together, come undone at his hand more than you’d care to regale him with; laughed in the early morning sunrise as he basks in the light and continued on as the closest of wayward friends. Drunk bottles and bottles of fine wine (finessed from Gale’s tent, obviously) all the way from the Emerald Grove to Moonrise, and now back again.

“Well. I liked it. The last full stanza was a little messy, but-” 

“Is that why you omitted it?’

He sniffs. 

"How long have you been sat in here?” 

You’ve caught him out, just as he has you, but there’s no urgency in your voice. No judgement nor malice. He has seen your secrets now. You’d intended on sharing them eventually, but a forced hand is better than an empty one.

“A small while. I came looking for you, realised you were elsewhere; and just found your pack open.” He smiles a little, wiggling his fingers.

“Read it to me, then. The last stanza.” You rest your chin on your palm, elbow on your crossed leg.

Astarion looks at you and surprisingly, there’s no guard. 

No triumph, no teasing in his discovery. Inhales.

“If I read it, then it’s real. Or it isn’t, but you’ll know I’ve read it.’

He sighs, muttering.

Oh.

Oh.

“Go on! Read it.”

He looks at you. Really, carefully looks at you. Inhales once more. 

“In twilight's embrace, where secrets reside,

In the quiet, ardour awoken,

A subtle shift, devotion now bides,

Astarion and I, our bond unspoken.”

“Brilliantly told. You’re a natural.” You smile, tilting your head to him.

Astarion sits and watches you for the longest of moments. Meets your eyes with his own.

“That’s it? You’re not mortified?” He queries. 

You frown.

“Why would I be?”

Astarion looks at you like you’re insane. Completely and utterly insane. His tone remains temperate but his eyes are almost frantic.

“I’ve just found your sonnets - pages upon pages, no less - all regaling our bond. Read one, aloud; to your face. You don’t recoil. You’re not ashamed?”

All bravado drips from his face like a wet cloth. His shoulders sag a little. 

You loll your head back as you sit, reaching for his chalice and taking a big sip as you ruminate. The wine steeps your teeth and tongue in a deep heady nectar. It’s good.

“You’re a good muse, Astarion. I’m fond of you.’

You lean in and whisper.

‘I may even go as far as to call you my favourite travelling companion, but don’t tell the others.”

His lips quirk softly. He’s slow to speak.

“I was looking forward to teasing you about this, you know.” He tuts and shakes his head, face statuesque in the low light.

“Then why don’t you?”

A genuine question. You still nurse his goblet of wine.

“Don’t make me say it, you brute.” 

You look at him with a quiet mischief settling across your features. His gaze remains narrow.

“You already have.’

A quiet sip. A smile.

‘Our bond.”

Gods. He is beautiful. Eyes foxlike in their stasis, defined by thick dark lashes; lingering on the strewn page in contemplation. Hair perfectly coiffed. Lithe fingers frozen in midair as he exhales.

A few beats of silence. 

Outside the tent, insects chirp and the fire crackles. The river floats languidly on. 

“I don’t know how to do this.” Astarion speaks quietly.

“What?”

“Gah- I don’t know. This. Any of it.” He confesses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I think we’re doing a good job as we are, no?”

His gaze turns to you, hands reaching to eagerly grasp your wrists in affirmation.

“Yes! Yes. We are.’

He grimaces.

‘I didn’t expect to… I didn’t expect I’d meet someone like you again in my life. Now that I have you here, I’m rather reluctant to let you go.”

“It’s a good job you don’t have to. Provided I never catch you rifling through my things again.’

You take one last sip of your pilfered wine as your eyes meet his in the low amber. 

‘I love you. There’s no rush.”

He takes his chalice from you and downs the remaining contents.

“Minus the very real possibility I’ll watch you succumb to ceremorphosis, or vice versa; I suppose.” He mutters through closed teeth. 

You shove him with your shoulder and sigh.

“Now then. I’ve just been absolutely humiliated by my closest friend in this whole camp. I’m tired, my back hurts, and I need to rest. Can I help you with anything else?”

Astarion’s eyes linger on yours momentarily before skimming over your lips. You swear your heart skips a beat.

“Can I?”

“Gods, yes.”

Your first shared kiss unfettered by the marrings of carnal pleasure alone is beyond anything you’d hoped for.

He cradles the back of your head as his lips press softly against yours, over and over; until he’s verging on hungry with his movement. His tongue tastes of wine and he smells so overwhelmingly of him - herbal with sweetened clinical notes of brandy - that you want to bury your head into his shoulder and spoon him until the sun rises once more. 

“Oh songbird. I couldn’t tire of you if I tried, could I?” His voice heady and deep, forehead pressed to yours,

“Can I test that theory?” You tilt your head, leaning in for another small kiss. 

“Hm?” His eyes are heavy lidded, burning in the low light.

“Stay here tonight. Let me hold you.”

He stops for a minute.

“Just… hold me?”

You hum and nod, bringing a hand to his hair and carding through it softly.

Astarion smiles.

“I’d love nothing more.”

[stale-trash]

Hi, of that's, can I please have yandere Jade x reader who tries to break up with her? (Headcanon). How would Jade react and what would she do in this situation?

I am assuming you mean Jade from Honkai Star Rail. If not, I'm sorry!!

cw: yandere/possessive behavior, very questionable behavior, implied violence, possible ooc

A/N: I have yet to play any of the quests she's in (╥﹏╥). I hope I did her justice!!

Bold of you to even assume you have the option to break-up with her. No matter how you end up in a relationship with her - willing or unwilling - your fate is sealed. 

Jade knows every aspect of her desires, from their depth to their origins. When she sets her mind to something, precious little can get in her way.

How she acquired you determines how she reacts to your ill-advised statement. If you are in a contract with her, she would take some time to remind you of your position - how truly nice you have it.  

It'd start small, like having you organize paperwork in the pawnshop where you'd get a first hand look at Lady Bonajade's dealings. Many desires are laid bare in front of you; some are honorable, others deplorable, and both are equally pondered upon by the lavishly clad woman. It’s hard to understand the logic behind most of the dealings, yet you remembered the time you occupied their positions - the way your desires slipped past your lips to be scrutinized by Lady Bonajade. 

You also get to see what happens to those who step out of line - more specifically, the bureaucratic aftermath. The written records of their punishment, outstanding debt, and next steps are so clinical regardless of the situation. It doesn't matter if they were fighting for their life or attempting to pull a fast one - there was no leeway. 

There was no reason for Jade to drape you in expensive fabric and opulent jewels. There was no reason for Jade to have you by her side doing menial tasks. There was no reason for Jade to suffocate you in her cold embrace and colder favor.

There was no reason for Jade to treat you like a lover. All the contract specified in its convoluted wording was that you're hers to use as she sees fit. 

If you somehow aren't apologizing for your behavior and willingly accepting whatever humiliating punishment she has in mind within a week, Lady Bonajade has no problem pushing you further. 

You'd lose all of her "favor" slowly until you're nothing but another IPC grunt. You won't be in any threat of dying, but there are many things worse than death prowling the cosmos. Don't worry, it won't be anything Jade can't fix given the appropriate price. 

All you need to do is apologize, and beg for her favor once again. Of course, a benevolent woman such as her would be more than willing to reevaluate your contract - though, it is in your interest to note that this is a one-time offer. If you were to repeat this mistake again, the punishment wouldn’t be so light. 

If you aren't in a contract with her, that would change. This relationship wouldn’t just end because you will it. But she'll let you slip from her embrace for now.

Jade is not above dismantling every aspect of your life piece by piece until you come crawling back. You can choose how much is destroyed - your social life, finances, career prospects, or even the lives of your close ones - by walking back into that pawnshop of hers.

She doesn't ask for what you seek nor what you desire - those are irrelevant in the face of her own. No, she asks if you've come back to your senses, a pet name rolling off her lips oh-so-naturally as if she hadn't constructed your downfall.

A contract is placed in front of you, the written words melting together into an indecipherable mess. Her signature was the only legible word in the entire document, with a blank spot ready for your own. 

You may gain everything you've naively wished for many years ago with a few strokes of ink - insurmountable wealth, a lavish lifestyle, and a lack of mundane worries - but gilded chains are still chains.

[evenstar0600]

DECEPTION | t.riddle

IN WHICH: lucius malfoy never put tom riddle's diary in ginny weasley's cauldron. instead, history puts a twist on the events and the diary is put on a shelf in flourish and blott's, only to be picked up by an unsuspecting, muggleborn witch in hufflepuff; sixteen-year-old (Name) Tyler.

PAIRING: tom riddle x afab!hufflepuff reader

WARNINGS: dark/yandere(?), mind control, manipulation, animal death, murder, hypnotism, tom riddle is a warning on his own, mental breakdowns, insanity, lady macbeth arc(?), character death, etc

Your hands were shaking. They'd been doing that a lot lately. The skin around your fingernails was red raw and bleeding, due you picking them from stress. Your pupils were blown-wide yet had a distant look to them, as if you weren't in the moment itself at all.

Desparately, you tried to scrub the blood stains that wouldn't go away. They wouldn't wash off. You felt like you were going insane. Like you were losing your mind. How the fuck had it come to this? You knew exactly how it'd all come to this.

It was a dreary August day in the summer of 1992. And your parents decided to take you back-to-school shopping in Diagon Alley for your sixth year at Hogwarts. You recalled going into Flourish and Blott's, dodging through the ever-growing line to see the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart, whom you paid no mind.

You'd spied the even-more infamous Harry Potter in the line somewhere. You were more focused on obtaining your school books for this year when you'd caught sight of it in your peripheral vision. The diary. The vintage-looking, leather-bound diary with it's worn exterior and its off-white parchment pages. And the three-word name at the bottom in a gold-colour. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Something scorched the back of your mind as helpless fingers plucked the diary off the shelf and into your cauldron with a clatter. To others, it was an unnoticed background noise but in your delirium, it sounded like the rolling East Winds of the storm last week. Crashing and forcing itself to be heard. You didn't want to take it but something beyond your control forced you to take it.

For the first couple of days back at Hogwarts, you'd neglected to write in it. Then you did. On the 9th of September, you finally wrote in it. The classic sentence starter of Dear Diary. Then came the reply. Hello (Name) Tyler. You adored Tom and wrote to him as often as you could.

Between classes. During lessons. During meals. After your dorm mates had gone to sleep. Then you began to experience the black-outs. One minute you were walking between classes; the next you found yourself near Hagrid's hut, robes drenched in a strange, crimson substance.

Your mind tried to deny it, the very fact, trying to convince you it was red ink or paint. But in your heart you knew the truth. You were covered in blood. The blood of the school roosters. And the guilt began to slowly eat you up. Consuming your heart. Clouding your mind. Until you began to soothe your madness by writing to your sweet Tom and picking the skin around your fingernails until it bled.

The same sinful red as the roosters' blood. Then the attacks followed swiftly. First, Filch's cat, Mrs Norris was petrified by the Basilik that you set loose on the school. You warned them. Writing the message in blood on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.

The victims of the Basiliks' petrification began to pile up. Sir Nicholas. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Penelope Clearwater. Hermione Granger. And it was all your fault. You'd condemned them to their fates. And the more paranoid you got. You'd hallucinate the blood on your hands. Scrubbing your hands for hours on end until they were red raw, just to get the fucking stain out.

You had your Tom to comfort you all. To soothe your ever-growing madness and paranoia. He'd appear to you sometimes. The tall, dark and handsome boy with his dark brown locks and insatiable smile. Then you figured it out. It was him. It was all him.

You'd pointed an accusatory finger at him, shaking like a leaf. "You..." you'd muttered in horror before meeting his piercing gaze with blown-wide pupils, "It's you!".

In a fleeted attempt to save yourself and anyone else, you stormed to the Girls' Lavatory on the third floor and threw the diary into the toilet. Thinking yourself safe, you relaxed. But you shouldn't have let your guard down. Tom had basically imprinted himself on you.

You always recalled his beautiful brown eyes piercing your soul, the very image was burnt into your memory. And no matter how many times you tried to forget, he always. came. back. You'd broken into Gryffindor Tower and basically ransacked the one of the Boys' Dormitories until you retrieved it.

Your diary.

You weren't yourself anymore. People around you noticed too. What happened to (Name)? Was something that was whispered among peers. Your bestfriend, Lily Peterson, had noticed too. You brushed her off, pushing her away. Then, tired of waiting, Tom summoned you down to the Chamber of Secrets.

His initial plan was to drain your life force so he could live again. But things changed. As the product of a love potion, he couldn't properly feel true, honest love but rather a warped version of it. Dark love. Obsessive love. Unjust love. His love was cruel. His touch was cruel. And he was cruel.

And you were his. No matter how you tried to stop him, you were always going to be his. "Mine," he'd murmur, holding your weak form against his own, carressing your face, "All mine,".

You'd tried to fight him off. But to no avail. You'd lost. Now, the world was going to feel Voldemort's wrath. And he'd start with the figure of twelve-year-old Harry Potter marching into the Chamber of Secrets.

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Three

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two,

A/N: Alright so this chapter covers three episodes. The FireLord and the Avatar, the Runaway and the Puppetmaster!

The gentle knock on his door alerted Iroh. He sat up from where he had been laying on the floor trying to sleep. The heavy metal door opened to reveal a Fire Nation soldier who quickly approached him.

"Ah Ming! I was getting worried." Iroh stated with a pleasant smile, as if he were greeting her for tea, and not from behind bars. The young woman, gave him a brief smile before her expression turned serious.

"The rounds have just changed, so we don't have much time." Ming whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door, as she quickly pulled out a scroll, a bottle of ink and a writing brush. She held them out towards Iroh through the bars, who took them quickly and once she had produced a small flame to provide some light, he wrote down his message.

Once done, he blew on it so that the ink would dry quickly. "I thank you for your help, my dear. It is nice to see our children carry out our mission." Iroh said, smiling at the young guard who returned the gesture with a respectful bow of her head. "My father and I are honored to be of service to such a high ranking official of the Order of the White Lotus."

The ink dried, and once he had added in the secret message that could only be revealed by flame, he rolled it up and held it out for Ming to take. "Will you be able to deliver it to my nephew?" He asked, worry gnawing at his heart as he thought of the lost young boy. Ming nodded confidentially. "My brother will be on rounds near the Prince's rooms tomorrow night. He knows of our secret work and shall ensure this reaches him."

Relief passed through him as he nodded. With a final respectful bow, the young soldier was gone, leaving Iroh to mull over what he had done.

This was his final attempt to try and help his nephew. Perhaps, he should have taken this route long ago, but he had not want to burden Zuko.

But it did not matter now. If a heavy burden meant Zuko would choose the right path, then he would have to learn to carry it.

Iroh just hoped Orora would be there to help him shoulder that burden when the time came.

                                          ————————–

Orora glanced over where Aang was mumbling in his sleep. She smiled as he rolled over before settling once more.

Where once the nights she'd stare into the fire would be a rather depressing past time, now it brought her a sense of calm. Especially since she spent the entire day trying to make sure no one tried to do seriously hurt or maim anyone.

It was a mystery how Toph hadn't crushed anyone under a rock, or Aang hadn't blasted anyone into the sky, or Katara hadn't frozen anyone, or Sokka hadn't hit anyone over the head with his boomerang with how much they all bickered. Granted it wasn't anything malicious, but when tempers were high, especially with teenagers, anything could happen.

She was the designated peacemaker within the group, a title she shared with Aang. Though while Aang used words of wisdom to calm the situation, which weren't exactly received well by the audience most of the time, Orora preferred to have them speak their mind, and try to come up with a solution that would benefit both parties.

A tantrum didn't last more then a few hours. If it was really bad, it would last a day or so, but that was the extent of it.

Still, she smiled to herself as she looked around at the sleeping figures, it was nice to have a role in the little group. It was kind of the same role she had played while traveling with Zuko and Iroh, though back then it had been exclusively for Zuko and whatever inner turmoil he faced.

Did he face any of that inner turmoil now? She mused to herself as she stared into the fire, taking comfort in the gentle warmth of it. Probably not, since he had the life he'd always wanted. Did he ever think about her? Did he ever think what had happened to her after his betrayal?

She highly doubted it, she sighed, rising to her feet and walking to where her bed roll was. Burying herself under the covers, her mind still swimming with thoughts of her Soulmate, missing the way her string briefly shone red.

Her eyes slowly slid closed.

                                          ————————–

His eyes snapped open.

Zuko's ears perked at the sound of footsteps just outside his door. Throwing off his blanket he rushed to the hall to investigate. He opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of a cloaked figure disappearing around the corner. Zuko made to follow, only to stop when he caught sight of a scroll on the floor.

The curtains all along the hall blew gently in the breeze coming from the open windows as he held the scroll.

A hand closed over the fingers that held the scroll, prompting him to look up. Orora gave him a smile from where she stood across from him.

He blinked and she was gone, but her nod of encouragement was all he needed to break the seal and open the scroll to read his Uncle's message within.

                                          ————————–

Katara and Sokka were a little occupied in a squabble, which meant that Toph and Orora had to make themselves scarce so as not to be dragged into their sibling disagreement.

"The only downside of being on an island, is that you would never be able to really get away from people." Orora stated before she jumped from one hardened lava stream to another. Toph chuckled as she followed. "Yeah! I wander how did the couples who lived here take a break from one another?" She jested to which Orora grinned.

"Maybe the wife threw the husband in the volcano?" She suggested to which Toph grinned widely. "I love how your dark your mind can get. Its really refreshing." She stated in a joyful tone, to which Orora laughed. "Oh yeah? None of the others share their dark thoughts with you?" She asked, to which Toph shook her head.

"Nope! Katara and Aang are too nice to think dark thoughts." The earthbender stated, as she created a small bridge where the distance between the frozen lava rivers was a bit too big. "And Sokka is well, Sokka."

The older girl let out a bark of laughter. "No arguments there. But I guess when you've lived in isolation like the two of us have nearly our whole lives." She nudged Toph playfully. "Thinking dark thoughts tends to be a good past time."

It was strange how much she had in common with a thirteen year old. While Orora had lived a life where she was forced to live in submission of her father and brothers, Toph had lived a life where she was coddled and treated as an invalid, just because she was blind.

The context did not matter.

What mattered was that they had each led lives where they felt like they were alone in the world.

"Whats the darkest thought you have ever had?" Orora asked Toph, to which the girl shrugged. "What my life would've been like if I didn't have my bending." The girl revealed to which Orora came to a sudden halt. "My life would be even darker then it already is." Toph continued as she kicked her foot out, loose ash forming a small cloud around her as she did.

Reaching out, Orora took her head and smiled down at her, even if she couldn't see it. "Well, the Spirits blessed you with earthbending, so lets leave it at that."

Toph smiled back, the cloud that had suddenly loomed over her dissipating, as she squeezed Orora's hand. "What about you? Whats your darkest thought?"

The older girl pursed her lips, her gaze trained towards the wide open ocean as it stretched out in front of them. "That I will die alone."

Silence followed her confession, one that was finally broken by Toph. "Woah, that's even darker then mine." She said in a tone that was half-joking and yet somehow serious and worried as well. "Why do you think that?" She asked, curious to know what went on in the older girl's mind.

Orora sighed, running a hand down her face. "I don't know. I guess because now that Zuko has betrayed me, I know there is no chance of my being with him." It still hurt saying it, but she continued. "And yeah, I could find someone else, but would I be able to have what I did with Zuko?"

So saying she slumped to sit down on the ash covered ground. Toph stayed where she was, her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what Orora had just revealed.

"I don't know Zuko as well as you or the other three do." She finally spoke, to which Orora hummed in agreement. She felt Toph shift where she stood, taking a few steps forward to stand next to her.

"But I've heard how powerful a bond can be between two Soulmates. I mean it was so powerful between Oma and Shu that they were able to learn earthbending, just so they could be together." Orora turned her head so she could look at Toph. "I mean sure, he died, but when they were alive, they always found their way back to each other, no matter how much the war forced them to stay apart."

The waterbender frowned. "What're you getting at Toph?" She asked, her curiosity peaking as Toph smiled in her direction. "I'm saying, what if Zuko finds his way back to you, just like Oma and Shu did?"

Stunned silence followed her words. Orora couldn't help but blink at Toph in surprise who was looking at her in a strangely hopeful manner. A flicker of.....something sparked in her heart, but she pushed it aside.

"I don't know Toph." She finally said with a shrug. "I doubt fate will be that kind to us." A sudden punch to her shoulder had the older girl frowning and rubbing the sore spot. Toph, who still held up her clenched fist, glared at her. "If a blind girl can find her soulmate during an all out war, then a girl who's soulmate left her once, can come back to her again."

Orora stood. "How can you be so sure?" She snapped, not wanting to get angry, but frustration did simmer just under her skin at the moment. The younger girl suddenly sobered and dropped her hand. "You've said so yourself that no matter what he did, his heart was always in the right place right?" She asked, to which Orora gave a small shrug. "I suppose so." She muttered.

Reaching out, Toph laid a hand on Orora's chest, right where her heart was. "So if his heart is with you, and you're in the right place, he'll come back to you. Its as simple as that."

Orora stared at Toph, her mouth open in shock and her ice blue eyes wide. The shorter girl shook her head. "Honestly, its amazing how people who have eyes can't even see whats so obvious. I guess its a good thing I'm blind."

So saying, the girl walked off, leaving behind a still stunned Orora who was decidedly ignoring the way her string was flickering red.

                                          ————————–

Zuko's mind was racing.

He knew his Uncle was the one to send him the scroll. But why? He hadn't gained any new information from what he had read. Other then the fact that his great-grandfather had been friends with Aang's predecessor. It was strange how two people who had been the best of friends, could turn against one another.

Or rather, Sozin had turned his back on Roku.

That part was what haunted him the most?.

Was it something that ran in the family? Betraying the people you called friends. He had done the same to Orora what Sozin had done to Roku.

Was that the point his Uncle had been trying to make?

No! He had said he needed to know about the death of his great-grandfather, yet Sozin had been alive in the end. His death had revealed nothing.

Frustration clawed at him from the inside as he marched into the prison tower and towards his Uncle's cell.

He just hoped the man would speak to him.

Slamming the door behind him as he entered, he held out the scroll that had the message on it. "You sent this, didn't you? I found the secret history, which by the way should be renamed history most people already know!" He yelled, allowing his frustration to seep into his words. "The note said that I needed to know about my great-grandfather's death, but he was still alive in the end."

Iroh looked up at Zuko, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't speak.

"No. He wasn't." Though the relief at hearing his Uncle finally speak to him warmed his heart, he pushed it aside in favor of the confusion that clouded his mind.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, as Iroh finally met his eye, and for once Zuko didn't feel the shame and guilt that burdened him since Ba Sing Se.

"You have more than one great-grandfather, Prince Zuko." Iroh revealed. "Sozin was your father's grandfather." He paused, preparing Zuko before he revealed the truth and reason behind all the conflict he felt all the time.

And really the next few words changed Zuko's outlook on life forever.

"Your mother's grandfather was Avatar Roku."

Shock raced through his veins, prompting him to drop the scroll he had been holding. His eyes widened, and his heart beat wildly against his chest. His knees felt weak, and yet it was a testament that he did not immediately drop down to the floor.

"Why are you telling me this?" He whispered hoarsely, his mind exploding with questions, each one burning at the tip of his tongue and yet he could voice none of them.

"Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself." Finally, his legs gave way. Zuko dropped to the floor, his head hanging as every moment of confusion and conflict he had ever experienced his entire life rose to the forefront of his mind.

Everything.

Everything he had done, every decision he had ever made and everything that happened to him. It all came back to his family.

His father had banished him after burning him, making him the bitter person he had been for nearly three years.

His mother had left him, influencing him into accepting that he could never trust anyone with his heart.

His sister always lied, pushing him into believing that no one would help him and that he had to help himself.

And now, his great-grandfathers.

Sozin's ideas about sharing the wealth and prosperity of the Fire Nation with the rest of the world had blinded him to all the horrible atrocities the Fire Nation had committed over the past Hundred Years.

Roku's hesitancy on taking out his former best friend was what had led to the war in the first place. If he had thought of the world, rather then the relationship he had had with Sozin, maybe the war would never have started in the first place.

"Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko." His Uncle continued to speak, his words echoing against the cold stone walls of the prison. "It is your nature, your legacy."

Was this it?

Was he meant to feel utter anguish and turmoil for the rest of his life? Was he to know the difference between right and wrong but never be able to act upon it?

He had acted upon it once before, and had suffered the consequences.

Not because he was the Prince of the Fire Nation.

But because he was the son of Ozai.

"But, there is a bright side." His Uncle's voice prompted him to look back up, scarcely allowing an ember of hope to burn in his chest.

"What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you." Iroh stated, his voice firm and stern. The time for gentleness was long past. It was time to show his nephew the utter reality and truth of the situation if he were to do something good for the world and save himself.

"Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world." Iroh was aware how Avatar Aang was meant to do just that, but he had known, long ago, that the young airbender would not be able to do all of that alone. He had to see to the entire world, not just one Nation.

Restoring the honor of the Fire Nation would be up to Zuko and no one else.

He stood, moving to the wall at his side. Iroh pulled out a loose brick and reached for the object within that was wrapped in a frayed, dirty cloth. He removed it to reveal a headdress as he walked towards Zuko and held it out for him.

"This is a royal artifact. It is supposed to be worn by the Crown Prince." Zuko stood in awe of the artifact thought to be lost long ago. The headdress gleamed in the moonlight. "Sozin gave it to Roku as a token of their friendship long ago, but it became tainted, when Sozin betrayed Roku."

Zuko blinked, before closing his eyes and reaching into the pocket of his shirt and pulling out the comb he always carried with him these days to feel her close. Iroh's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar comb.

"I suppose these two share a history of betrayal don't they?" His nephew said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion as the two hairpieces were held aloft side by side.

Iroh's heart softened, and he knew Zuko regretted the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se. Perhaps, because of the bond he shared with Orora, it would push him to make the right decision. Placing the crown atop the comb, and closing Zuko's fingers around it, Iroh gave him a look of understanding.

"Then, it is up to you to make it right."

The small room glowed with a sudden blue hue that had been dim for most of the time. However, in that moment it glowed so brightly that if anyone else other then Zuko saw, they would believe the Moon Spirit herself had descended upon them.

However, it was only the string that connected him with his soulmate.

Glowing bright and blue as he finally, finally, realized the true extent of his feelings for Orora.

                                          ————————–

"You mean, after all Roku and Sozin went through together, even after Roku showed him mercy, Sozin betrayed him like that‌?" Katara's astonished voice cut the tense atmosphere once Aang had revealed what Roku had shown him.

Orora stood to the side, frowning. "All those years of friendship." She said in a low voice. "He just threw it away because he wanted to realize his own ambitions." Why did that sound so familiar? And yet, this was not the time to think about him, the young waterbender scolded herself, focusing instead on what Toph was saying.

"It's like some people are born bad." She said, sounding confused and sad at the same time. Aang stepped up, shaking his head as he did. "No, that's wrong." He insisted, walking so he could stand with his back to them to look out at the ocean. "I don't think that was the point of what Roku showed me at all." His voice sounded so hopeful and optimistic.

Sokka shrugged, ever the pessimist of the group cut in. "Then what was the point?" He asked, to which Aang turned back to look at them. He smiled at each one of them in turn before speaking.

"Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone's capable of great good and great evil." His grey eyes landed on Orora at that part, and she felt herself stand up straight, knowing he was thinking of Zuko the same way she was. She chewed on her lower lip, slowly looking away from Aang, who continued with a small smile of understanding.

"Everyone, even the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation have to be treated like they're worth giving a chance." Aang concluded with that ever-present hopeful note in his voice.

"And I also think it was about friendships." He added with a grin. That last part did warm Orora's heart a little bit, prompting her to smile at Katara when the other girl looked at her.

"Do you really think," Toph began, sounding unsure and hesitant as she did. "Friendships can last more than one lifetime?" She asked, and Orora had to stop herself from reaching out and hugging the younger girl.

Aang reached out to take Toph's hand. "I don't see why not." He said as Katara took Toph's other hand as well. Reaching out, Orora placed a gentle hand on Toph's shoulder. "Friends are the family we choose for ourselves Toph." She said before she moved to take Aang's free hand as he held it out for her with a smile. "And I don't know about you, but I don't plan on letting go of any of you in this life or any other."

Aang, Katara and Toph both smiled at her. Sokka, however, had something else to add.

"Well, scientifically speaking, there's no way to prove that-" He began, only to have his sister shoot him an annoyed look. "Oh, Sokka, just hold hands." She said, holding her hand out towards him. Without missing a beat, his hand grasped hers.

Orora gave a soft laugh as Aang turned towards her to wink playfully. And as they stood there, greeting the new day with a more hopeful outlook on everything, Orora closed her eyes and inhaled.

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could feel someone taking her other hand.

One that she was all too familiar with.

Considering she had held that hand many many times during her time with him.

For a moment her string glowed a warm red hue.

                                          ————————–

"People are starting to talk."

Zuko looked up from where he had been going over some new firebending forms he was mastering. Mai stood leaning against the doorway, a half smile playing about her lips.

"About what?" He asked, as she walked into the room, coming to sit opposite him. "That we're dating. Something about going out and walking into the same flower shop twice."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Its just people gossiping nothing more. And its keeping Azula off both our backs, so I welcome it." He added, recalling how delighted his sister had seemed to be when she had spoken to him about it earlier that day. Mai hummed in agreement.

"True, my parents have also backed off." She pulled out a small knife from her sleeve, flicking it in the air and expertly catching it by the handle. "They were starting to look for marriage proposals for me, so dating you seems to be benefiting me as well."

Zuko followed her movement, his mind conjuring a sharp icicle rather then a knife as it twirled in the air. He had seen Orora do that very same move multiple times. Sometimes to practice, but most times out of sheer boredom.

"Have you been meeting with Kei Lo?" He asked, not wanting his thoughts to wander to Orora. Mostly because even the mere thought of her had his string glowing.

Zuko had met Mai's soulmate the first time he had gone to the flower shop. She had introduced him and Zuko had to admit, the boy seemed perfect for Mai. She needed someone to bring out the more softer and fun side of her, and Kei Lo was the right person to do it. Even the mere mention of him had a smile playing across Mai's lips as she nodded. "Yes, I met him just yesterday. My mother is starting to think I have taken an interest in flower arrangements, and my aunt is happy to keep my secret." She admitted.

Zuko smiled back, reaching out to gently pat her hand. "I'm glad you found him Mai." He said, his voice genuine. The girl nodded.

"What about you? Are you still seeing Orora?" The moment she spoke her name, his string began to glow blue. He ignored it in favor of responding to her question.

"Yeah, sometimes, every now and then." He admitted. Her appearances, where they had been quite frequent before, were now sporadic, not to mention she barely spoke in any of them.

He would never admit it out loud, but it was starting to scare him a little, how she was barely there whenever he would think of her.

As if he were forgetting what she looked like.

"Maybe you should go and find her?" Her suggestion had him staring at her wide eyed and dumbfounded. Mai only lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Obviously you miss her, so what harm could there be in going to look for her?" She made the suggestion so carelessly, as if she were commenting on the weather or something.

Zuko frowned. "I can't exactly go out and find her. For one I would need a legitimate reason to leave the Palace." He stood up, walking towards the window and looking out towards the setting sun. "Besides, I doubt she would want to see me after what I did to her." Behind him, Mai pursed her lips, nodding in agreement.

"True, but have you thought that maybe she misses you just as much as you miss her?" She stood, slowly coming to stand behind him, settling a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Trust me Zuko, it's never the right thing to run away or stay purposely away from your soulmate. It doesn't really work."

With that, she turned around and left Zuko to his thoughts.

It was strange. He had been so focused on how his betrayal had effected her, that it had never occurred to him that she would be missing him, just as much as he missed her.

Or perhaps more, he thought to himself, as his string glowed blue.

                                          ————————–

When she had left home, Orora had known she would have to leave several luxuries behind. One of them being shopping.

If there was one thing Orora loved more then anything it was shopping. In Ba Sing Se, she had always been the one to go out and buy whatever they needed. Iroh had been a little surprised at her enthusiasm, but he had not commented on it.

Traveling across the Fire Nation with Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph meant that they rarely went shopping, if ever. What money they had, they needed for supplies, and many a time Orora had to walk away from a shiny trinket that would catch her eye. All because she didn't have money.

But now?

They had sacks of it.

Her, Sokka, Toph and Aang all but cackled as they exited the town, their arms laden with several purchases, as well as sacks of silver and gold. "Spirits! Why didn't we think of doing this earlier?" The older girl said, smiling from ear to ear as she eyed the meat they had been able to buy. They would be eating really good that night.

"Don't think of the Why Orora." Sokka said, happily carrying his share of shopping. "Think of the What," He trailed off as the other three looked at him, prompting him to continue. "As in, What are we going to spend all this money on?"

Another round of laughter followed his words as they finally reached their little camp, where they dumped their purchases in front of Katara who was cooking.

"Where did you guys get the money to buy all this stuff?" She asked, looking curiously into the baskets. Aang, grabbing an apple from one of the baskets, took a bit out of it and sat down. "Toph got us money." He said as a way of explanation. "She scammed one of those guys in town who moves the shells around all sneaky-like."

Orora grabbed an apple herself. "You should've seen the looks on their faces Katara. Hilarious." She praised as she passed by Sokka and gave him a high-five, before throwing the apple at Appa who caught it in his mouth with a happy groan.

Sokka nodded as he sat down. "She used earthbending to win the game! Classic!" He shot the bling girl a thumbs up, even as his sister adopted a disapproving look. "Ah, so she cheated."

Toph, who had been about to bite into her own apple, stopped. "Hey! I only cheated because he was cheating!" She grinned. "I cheated a cheater. What's wrong with that?"

Katara shook her head. "I'm just saying this isn't something we should make a habit of doing." She reprimanded as Orora dug into their purchase to grab something, only to extract Momo by the tail who had sneaked in when no one had been looking.

Toph scoffed. "Why?" As Orora took the many apples Momo had been trying to sneak off with, leaving the annoyed animal with just one. "Because it's fun? And you hate fun?"

The girl huffed. "I don't hate fun!" Catching Momo as he sulked away, she placed him on her head. "See? Fun!" An awkward silence followed as Momo slipped off her head, screeched at her before running away.

Aang, not wanting to see Katara worry about something so mediocre stood up and lifted his headband to reveal the tattoo below. "Katara." He spoke solemnly, bowing. "I'll personally make you an Avatar Promise that we won't make a habit of doing these scams."

Katara smiled in satisfaction before turning her attention to Orora. The older girl blinked back. "What?" Katara gave her a look, one that had Orora pursing her lips before finally letting out an exaggerated groan.

"Alright! Alright! I'll make sure they don't get too carried away." She promised halfheartedly before pulling out another apple and offering it to Katara as a peace offering.

Of course all their promises meant nothing to any of them.

The very next day, after a successful round of scamming, Orora was happily wandering the streets of the town to see what she could buy. Sokka, Toph and Aang were carrying out another scam, but Orora had wanted to shop.

Pocketing the winnings from the scam she had pulled with the younger girl, she walked around in search of a good clothing shop. With the Invasion drawing near, she wanted to make something for herself. She had no desire to defeat the Fire Nation wearing their colors.

Besides, she missed wearing blue.

Though her chances were slim, maybe she would be able to find something?

She passed through the center of the town, and the sight that greeted her, had her coming to an abrupt halt.

There in the middle of the town stood a tall statue of the current Fire Lord. Orora stood there, staring up at him. Pure hatred raged in her heart as she looked at the likeness. This was the man who had burned Zuko. Who had stood over a young boy, a boy trying to do good, and mercilessly burned half his face off.

"Hey Orora!" Aang's voice barely registered in her mind as she stood where she was. The young Avatar raced to her side, his own gaze lifting towards the all too daunting presence of the statue.

"Its strange to finally put a face to the name, isn't it?" Aang said as he stood beside her. Not breaking her stare, she spoke to him. 'How do you mean?"

Aang shrugged. "Well we've all heard about Fire Lord Ozai for months, and I had no idea what he looked like till I went to school." She nodded. "Yeah, but now we have someone to picture when we talk of him." A brief pause before Aang spoke again. "He was the one who gave Zuko the scar right?" She had told them briefly about how Zuko had gotten the scar, but hadn't gone into the details. His words prompted her to tense up, her hands clenching in fists at her sides as she gritted her teeth. Anger ran through her veins as she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Aang followed after her.

"Hey! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" The worry in his tone was what prompted her to finally halt and turn to him with a reassuring look. "You didn't Aang. I'm just angry at him for what he did to Zuko." Her gaze flickered to her string. "Which is strange because why should I be angry about what happened to him after what he did to me?" Aang's features morphed to an understanding yet sympathetic look as he took the older girl's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"Maybe because your feelings for him go a little more deeper then you realized." His statement had her frowning slightly, before she sighed and shook her head. "Well whatever the reason, I don't have time to think of him right now."

Forcing her thoughts to steer away from Zuko she instead smiled at Aang. "Come on! Help me find a fabric shop! I need to buy something!" Since they were still holding hands, she quickly led him away down the street in search of the aforementioned shop.

Leaving behind the statue of the man she hated.

Pushing aside the fact that her string had glowed red the entire time she had spoken with Aang, only disappearing when she finally entered the shop and began to browse the fabric, looking for the color she needed.

                                          ————————–

He had no idea what he was preparing for. During his training, he worked ten times harder. Be it perfecting his firebending forms, or practicing with his swords. His appetite had returned since he came back from Ember Island, resulting in him having more energy then he previously had.

While he did focus on the political part of his studies, he was no more interested in all the colonies the Fire Nation had created over the past hundred years. Not to mention the devastation caused.

The librarian had been a little surprised when Zuko had asked for those specific records, but everything was given to him because he was the Prince after all.

Everything the Fire Nation had done.

Every act of violence.

The number of people they had killed, not counting the entire Nation they had wiped out.

The resources that were being sent to the armies rather then being used by the general public.

The many many machines of war that had been created to support their so called cause.

The taxes imposed on the people to pay for the war.

The law stating every member of the family were to send two children to the front of the lines.

Nothing in all his findings told him anything about the Fire Nation actually contributing to the betterment of the world.

All they had done was take and leave nothing behind.

He remembered the time he had spent in the Earth Kingdom. All those people he had met on his journey. How in one way or another, every single one of them were effected by the Fire Nation.

The thousands of families displaced by the war.

The hundreds of families leaving behind their homes because it was no longer safe.

The children who had been orphaned.

The parents who had lost their children.

Soulmates who had lost their other half.

Uncle had lost his son.

Lu Ten had lost his life.

Aang lost his entire people.

Katara and Sokka lost their mother.

Song was scarred just like he was.

Lee had lost his brother.

Orora had almost been killed.

And so many countless others.

And all of them, had one thing in common.

They all hated the Fire Nation. No one respected them. They all feared and hated him and his people.

He hadn't helped in that belief by chasing Aang and his friends around the world. And then he had gone and betrayed Orora. Then he had sent that assassin after them.

Maybe Mai was right.

Maybe he did need to go out and find her. Tell her that he was beginning to think that the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se was the wrong one.

But how could he leave?

He couldn't just up and go, that would raise suspicion, and his father might send someone after him.

As he lay there with his hand held aloft so he could look at his glowing string, Zuko came to a decision.

The first chance he got, he would leave everything, find Orora, and join the people working against the Fire Nation to put a stop to it's tyrannical rule.

Once and for all.

                                          ————————–

Their escape from the newly named Combustion Man was a close call.

Too close.

In fact, it had put all of them on edge, and they'd taken to flying as far away from that town as possible.

In hindsight, maybe she should've discouraged them from telling scary stories as a way to unwind after their most stressful encounter yet. Orora had to admit, the place they had decided to make camp was spookier then any place they had spent the night at. Or maybe it was just her imagination, she mused to herself as they all sat around the fire.

"Water Tribe slumber parties must stink." Toph stated when one of Sokka's scary stories was not well-received. "I've never been to one, so I can't be the judge of that." The older girl put in her two thoughts, adding another dried stick to the fire the burned between them.

"No, wait! I've got one!" Katara spoke up from where she sat. "And this is a true Southern Water Tribe story."

Sokka rolled his eyes, not believing his sister. "Is this one of those 'a friend of my cousin knew some guy that this happened to' stories?" He said in a sarcastic tone, to which Katara shook her head.

"No, it happened to Mom." Upon hearing that, Sokka stiffened and everyone stopped moving as they sat in utter stillness, waiting for Katara to begin her story.

"One winter when Mom was a girl," She began, her voice low and soft. "A snowstorm buried the whole village for weeks. A month later, Mom noticed she hadn't seen her friend Nini since the storm. So Mom and some others went to check on Nini's family. When they got there, no one was home." A shiver ran down Orora's spine, her arms came to wrap around her legs as she hugged herself, eyes wide as she stared at Katara.

"Just a fire flickering in the fireplace. While the men went out to search, Mom stayed in the house. When she was alone, she heard a voice. 'It's so cold and I can't get warm!'" Sokka stiffened with fear, and even Toph gulped nervously where she sat. "Mom turned and saw Nini standing by the fire. She was blue like she was frozen. Mom ran outside for help, but when everyone came back, Nini was gone."

Aang used Momo's ears to cover his face in fear, while Orora quickly shifted to sit beside Toph, who didn't hesitate in grabbing her hand as they huddled together. Sokka, who had taken to hiding behind a gnarled tree stump peaked out. "Where'd she go?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Katara shook her head. "No one knows. Nini's house stands empty to this day, but sometimes, people see smoke coming up from the chimney, like little Nini is still trying to get warm." Orora glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected Nini to be standing right there behind her.

Suddenly Toph straightened up, placing her hand on the ground. "Wait! Guys, did you hear that?" Her movement was so sudden that Orora let out a broken shriek, while Aang, Katara and Sokka clutched at one another, staring around in fear.

"I hear people under the mountain. And they're screaming." Orora blinked. "Wh-what?" She gulped, ice blue eyes wide in fear as she stared around their small camp. Sokka, assuming Toph was just joking relaxed his grip around his sister and scoffed.

"Pfft! Nice try." Toph shook her head, her hand still pressed to the ground. "No, I'm serious. I hear something." She insisted, as Orora shifted to quickly sit beside Aang who was still hugging Katara. "Toph, cut it out. You're scaring everyone." She insisted, though even her voice sounded small and meek to her own ears.

A horde of physical enemies she could face any day, but spooky stories? That was a weakness her brothers had exploited when she had been younger.

"You're probably just jumpy from the ghost stories." Katara insisted, glancing at Aang and Orora in worry, who were both huddled together.

Toph frowned. "It just ... stopped." Aang gulped, clutching on to both Katara and Orora. "All right, now I'm getting scared."

Suddenly a voice called out through the darkness, soft and gentle. "Hello, children."

The camp rang loudly with the screams of said children as they scrambled around trying to find a place to hide. But then they all stopped when they saw what, or rather who had emerged from the shadows.

An elderly woman.

An elderly woman who turned out to be a Southern Water Tribe waterbender named Hama. Who told them all about what had happened during the Fire Nation raids, and how she had escaped them before hiding here.

It was all sad and heartbreaking, and yet, perhaps it was the scary stories still floating around in her mind, or perhaps it was her older sister instinct, or the fact that they were being hunted.

But somehow, Orora didn't trust Hama.

All because the old woman seemed to watch Katara's every move with a greedy, almost hungry, look on her face when she didn't think anyone was looking.

But Orora was.

Orora was always looking.

Always looking out for her family.

Which was why the night Hama told everyone what had happened to her, Orora pulled Sokka away from the rest of the dinner party to speak with him.

"Aww come on Orora! I was just going in for seconds!' He whined as she shut the door behind them and stepped outside in the night. She gave him a look that had him frowning. "Whats up?"

No sooner had he voiced his question before she spoke, making sure she kept her voice down. "Its just...." She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes looking around nervously. "I don't know something about this place and Hama makes me feel uneasy." She revealed to which Sokka nodded. "Well the stories of people disappearing certainly doesn't help." He added, to which Orora simply nodded.

Reaching out he gave her a comforting pat on the back. "Look, we're just gonna solve this mystery, then be on our way. Don't worry, we'll all be on our guard. And remember what Aang said, not everyone we run into is bad or out to get us." When she gave him an unconvincing look he sighed.

"Look, I get you would be nervous when it comes to trusting people, but you have all of us watching your back and each other's, so really there's no need to worry." And though Sokka's words did bring her some comfort, Orora still remained alert, not wanting to be caught off guard.

Of course, that amounted to nothing when the very next morning, Hama asked to see her under the pretense of having her get something from the market, only to knock her out from behind and drag her away into the forest.

Orora woke just as Hama was tying her wrists and feet to keep her from running away. Still groggy from the hit to the back of her head, which was still hurting, Orora was barely aware of where she was as she watched the old crone go about securing her.

"You know, when the first raid happened, we sent a message to our sister Nation, begging for help. To send reinforcements." Hama spoke once she was satisfied with her bonds. A filthy rag was wrapped around her mouth to keep her from screaming. Despite the pain, the young waterbender was able to glare fiercely at Hama, anger burning in her ice blue eyes.

"Of course being so far away, they couldn't send help in time. But my brothers and sisters did hold out during our first few months in our cells. Thinking that perhaps our Northern brothers and sisters would come to rescue us." She turned her hateful gaze towards the young girl, who glared right back.

"However, with every full moon that passed, we realized that no help was coming. And whatever hope we had of escaping slowly died. And though I realize you are not directly responsible for your forefathers actions." The old crone leaned down right in Orora's face as she smiled coldly at her. "Holding you accountable is the next best thing."

Orora felt herself grow cold, her mind racing with all the possibilities that Hama would carry out on her out of the anger and hatred that had festered in her for so long.

Running her long bony fingers through the white patch of her hair in a condescending manner, Hama hummed as she smiled. "Now, why don't you wait here while I have a one-on-one lesson with your friend Katara."

Her fear for Katara triumphed her own own fear. She tried her best struggling and thrashing to get away, but Hama was strong, stronger then she looked. Pulling on the rope, she was able to tie Orora to a tree, tight and secure her there.

"I'll be back for you." She promised, before walking off, leaving the girl to struggle and call out into the wind, her voice muffled and barely audible.

The entire day she pulled and thrashed, trying to free herself. Her wrists began to ache and she knew she had split the skin from where the ropes burned against her. Even her ankles burned, and her throat ached from screaming.

All that for nothing.

Finally, during mid afternoon, she gave up. Her head hung to the side as she began to doze off, the occurrences of the day getting to her. Tears of frustration burned her eyes at every waking interval, as she cursed her own stupidity, and for not listening to her instincts.

She was worried.

Worried for her friends. But especially for Katara.

What would Hama do to her?

All day long, the questions and scenarios plagued her mind. Slowly, the sun set and the sounds of the night roused her from her half-asleep stupor. The bright light from the moon shone down on her, prompting her to inhale deeply, taking in the strength it provided her with. Her tired body gained a little strength, though the back of her head still stung from where she had been hit.

Suddenly, she heard voices.

Her ears pricked up and she focused on the voices that approached her.

Hama and Katara.

Instantly she began to squirm and pull at her restraints. She could feel the dried blood on her wrists split as fresh blood oozed out.

"And to make sure, you learn what I have to teach you, I brought a little incentive."

Suddenly Hama appeared in her view, making her recoil in fright. The old woman worked quickly, untying her from the tree and pulling her towards the clearing where Katara was standing.

"Orora!" Katara's shocked voice cut through the night, echoing the clearing as the older girl lay battered and bruised at the old woman's feet. "What have you done to her? Let her go!" She demanded, stepping forward, to which Hama held up a placating hand.

"What I'm about to show you." Hama began, glaring down at Orora in a menacing manner before turning her attention back to Katara. "I discovered in that wretched Fire Nation prison."

Orora only caught snippets of the story, trying hard not to pass out from the pain that radiated from her head. It was so difficult to focus when all she could pay attention to was the stricken look on Katara's face. But she did manage to catch the important parts of the story.

Hama had created a new sub-form of waterbending.

One that allowed her to control the water within any living creature.

Bloodbending, she called it.

"Once you perfect this technique, you can control anything or anyone." Hama continued, her gaze dropping to Orora who tried her best to glare back at her.

Katara shook her head. "But..... to reach inside someone and control them? I don't know if I want that kind of power." She said, casting a worried look in Orora's direction.

Hama shook her head. "The choice is not yours. The power exists. And it's your duty to use the gifts you've been given to win this war." she urged, before appealing to Katara's kind nature. "Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother!"

Katara closed her eyes, thinking of her mother. "I know." She whispered.

"And our sister Tribe did nothing to help." Hama added, glaring down at Orora. "You should understand what I'm talking about! We're the last two waterbenders of the Southern Tribe. We have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary!" She concluded, that scary, desperate and mad gleam coming to her eyes once more.

Katara's eyes widened in shock. "It's you! You're the one who's been making people disappear during the full moons!" Her gaze flickered to Orora. "Let Orora go! Now!"

In response, Hama simply growled. "They threw me in prison to rot, along with my brothers and sisters! And her people did nothing to help! They all deserve the same! You must carry on my work!"

The younger waterbender shook her head, pointing at Hama. "I won't!" Pride swelled in Orora as she watched her friend stand up for what was right. "I won't use bloodbending and I won't allow you to keep terrorizing this town!"

Suddenly Orora felt her entire body freeze up. A horrified gasp was muffled by the cloth around her mouth as she felt her entire body lift from the ground, the bonds fell from around her wrists and ankles as her arms and legs contorting in unnatural angles, her head falling to the side.

Her eyes widened in horror, as she tried, but failed, to move her limbs.

"You should've learned the technique before you turned against me!" Hama's voice came, snapping her out of her terrified state. Her eyes were all that she could control as they darted around, trying to see what was going on, and to escape. "It's impossible to fight your way out of my grip! I control every muscle, every vein in your body!"

With swift motions of her hands and arms, Hama used bloodbending to bring them both side by side before beginning to throw them around. The first swing had Orora crashing through branches, the sharp edges scratching her skin as she went. Somehow, her rag loosened from around her mouth, allowing her cries of pain to echo all around her.

Hama slammed her onto the ground, making her hit her head. She paused briefly with Katara, as turned her attention on Orora instead. "I'll deal with you later." She hissed, before throwing the girl to the side. Her helpless body slammed against a tree trunk, which shuddered from the impact.

The hit was enough for her to drop to the floor and for her vision to go black.

Orora's ears rang with the sound of Katara pleading and crying for Hama to stop, before everything went black.

She roused to someone shaking her shoulder.

Ice blue eyes snapped open. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she sat up, arms held aloft and at the ready to defend herself. Only to be greeted by the sight of Sokka leaning over her with a worried look. He'd barely opened his mouth to say something when something or rather someone over his eye caught her attention.

Katara.

Sobbing hysterically as Aang held her.

Her entire body screamed with pain, and yet she pushed past Sokka, barely noticing the various cuts and bruises her whole body supported. Aang pulled back a little from his embrace, looking at Orora in a helpless manner. The older girl wasted no time.

She wrapped her arms around the younger girl in a fierce and protective embrace, holding her close. Katara, realizing who was holding her, began to cry anew, burying her face in Orora's chest, her entire body shaking with each sob that wrecked through her. Orora could feel her own emotions welling to the surface, prompting tears to silently cascade down her cheeks as she held and did her best to comfort her sister.

It took awhile for them both to calm down, but once they were, they didn't waste any time climbing atop Appa and flying away into the night.

Katara sat next to her brother, leaning against him for support. Aang sat on Appa's head, though every now and then he would glance back at his soulmate in worry. Toph sat next to Orora who had Momo in her lap. "You should heal yourself." Toph spoke softly, reaching out to place her water satchel in her hands. The girl gave a nod, pulling out the water and healing the injury to the back of her head, the open wounds on her wrists and around her ankles, as well as the various cuts that littered her any skin that wasn't covered in fabric.

It was a little slow work, since her limbs felt stiff. Not to mention her whole body ached. From being thrown against a tree or because Hama controlled her entire body. She didn't know. It was a truly terrifying experience. Not being able to control her actions and being at the mercy of a mad woman.

Once done, she threw the water to the side since it was mixed with blood and dirt.

Her mind was still heavy with all that she had endured, but nothing could compare to what Katara was feeling. She pursed her lips as she stared worriedly at the younger girl. Her gaze met Sokka's who shared in her worry.

Walking on her knees, she was able to catch Aang's attention, who came to sit on Katara's other side. Guiding Toph to sit beside her, with Aang on her right side, Orora reached out and took Katara's hands.

"I think we've shared enough scary stories." Everyone, minus Katara, gave weak smiles at her attempt to make a joke. "We could all do with something a little more brighter and happier." Katara raised her red-rimmed eyes at her, her usually bright blue eyes looking so dull and hopeless that it broke her own heart. "So I'm going to recite this poem I love, about two soulmates, and the love they had for one another. Sound good?"

When no objection came, she nodded. Closing her eyes briefly, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

Her voice was soft and gentle, the words hopeful and full of love. So unlike everything they had faced in the past few days. Maybe it was the poem or maybe it was the fact that they were all together, and they were safe.

Whatever it was, it helped.

And slowly, gradually, eventually, the darkness around them began to lift.

                                          ————————–

He was dreaming.

It had been a long while since he had dreamed.

Or rather dreamed of her.

And yet, there she was, standing there with his back to him, staring out at the open ocean that gleamed under the light of the full moon.

He slowly walked up to her, unable to hesitate or even think it through. Why? Because he wanted to be near her. He wanted to see her face. In that moment nothing else mattered. Not the beautiful scenery or that this was all in his head.

He just missed her so much.

Once he reached her, he was surprised to see that she was crying. Her eyes were closed, and tears were sliding down her cheeks, every tear gleaming like a diamond against her beautiful skin.

Where he had been unable to approach her when she had appeared to him crying once before, this time Zuko didn't even think about what he had to do.

He reached up, cupping her face, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him.

Sorrowful blue met gentle warm amber.

His thumb wiped at a tear that escaped her gorgeous eyes. Call it wishful thinking, but maybe she leaned into his touch a little, as if drawing comfort from him. His head leaned down, pressing their forehead together, their noses brushing.

This was all a dream. Zuko knew that.

So then why did it all feel so real?

"I'll come back to you." He whispered, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him, the surprise clear across her features. "I promise." So saying, he shifted so his lips could press against the middle of her forehead in a tender kiss. Orora closed her eyes again, relishing in his presence, one that she had so sorely missed and yet had never admitted to herself that she did.

He pulled back, but only to hold up the finger that had his string tied around it. Of course, if was glowing a bright blue. Orora's eyes widened, and he knew she saw the color. Slowly, she lifted her own finger, showing the red hue that gleamed there, warm and bright. Zuko couldn't help the breathless laugh of happiness that escaped his lips. The sound prompted a smile to form on Orora's lips as she allowed their fingers to intertwine, allowing whatever length was left between their strings to completely disappear. Their gazes met.

"I'll be waiting."

                                          ————————–

When she awoke, there was a warmth on her forehead where Zuko had kissed her. Her string glowed a bright red through the day.

                                          ————————–

When he awoke, there was a warmth in his heart and a lightness to his soul. His string glowed a bright blue throughout the day.

                                          ————————–

And it scared her.

                                          ————————–

And it gave him strength.

                                           ————————–

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[pervcoded]

bark and bite starring sukuna ryomen

content warning: there's a weird tension in this whole fic. some violence. cursing. threats and intimidation. sfw (minors still go away). reader refers to their chest as 'tits'.

“So I wanted it right here,” You drawl, pointing to an unmarked expanse of your skin, and Sukuna takes a moment to observe what other flesh remains untouched. You are so thoroughly marked with ink, he muses, it must also run through your veins.  He knows a bad egg when he sees one - a snake slipping down your spine, the teardrop on your cheek. Eyes like you might hurt someone. Mouth that gets you into trouble.

You stare back at him. His ear twitches ever so slightly. “You hear me, stud?”  You’re talking too much already. Your fingers run over your ribs again, and you glare pointedly in his direction.

He’s gonna get to that attitude in just a bit.

“I want it black and white. Halftone. Here’s the picture.” He doesn’t look at it long.

“Yeah,” Sukuna licks his lips, a fanged tooth poking out when he doesn’t quite smile. “I got you, pup.” 

Your fellow humans should have warned you about him. He had fostered a particular reputation in his time in the scene - beyond the rough demeanor and sweet ink. 

He’s never been too careful with humans. But who’s fault is that, hm? Your kind really ought to know better.

Your skin is too soft for his machine. You’ll struggle too much when he has to hold you in place, whimper when the needle punches your skin. You will grab onto his arm. You will cry. You will beg, and it will hurt anyway; because Sukuna does not put down the needle until he is finished. Here, you are subject to the whims of this domain.

But you act like you know. Roll your shoulders and say ‘c’mon’, like you understand what you’re getting yourself into.  You are insistent, confident even, laughed at the ‘humans, beware’ poster that hung at the back of his studio. So he laughed with you - or maybe at you - harsh and scathing and putting a pin in your misplaced joy.

Sukuna is no lap dog. His tall cropped ears stab in the direction of the ceiling, tail still and stiff at your approach. Though, now that you’ve seen him up close, you don’t think it’s there at all. His attire is off-puttingly casual, the graphic print on his chest stretched so wide across a glorious chest, that the color is starting to fade a little. You tried to keep your eyes focused on his. Ignored the claws, ignored the teeth, ignored the heat under your collar. 

The dog flicked his head to the side, gaze never leaving yours. 

“Get on the table.” 

It felt more like a threat than an invitation. You eased yourself onto the cot, Sukuna disappearing into your periphery a moment as you begin to pull your shirt up to your neck. You don’t take it off fully, and it makes his eyes narrow. As you situate yourself properly, you find his eyes drifting up your body, back to your neck. The shirt. He waits, needle in hand, staring down expectantly.

You zoned out a bit. This guy’s beside manner was just as mediocre as the wolf with the black fur that recommended him to you. Last time you take advice from a dog.

“What’s your problem, stud?” Your lip is obnoxious. You’d look much better on your knees, presenting your tongue. “Getting an eyeful of tits ain’t good enough for you is it? Fuckin’ mutt.”

You chuff, pulling your top over your head, baring your neck.  “Go on.” You goad, “You wanna take a fucking bite?” You’re scared; the scent pours off of you in waves, and Sukuna feels the barest inkling of amusement. The rush to his face and sparkling in his nerves as the flesh is so carelessly exposed. Licks his teeth.

 “Do it, you fucking do-” He doesn’t give you the chance to finish before a hands’ clamping down on the tender flesh, your words meeting their fated end at the back of your throat. You don’t have fangs, but you bare them, anyway.

“I just might, pup.” He speeks coolly, detached from your outburst. “Definetly will if you don’t shut the fuck up. And keep still.” He seems to contemplate his ink machine while you try not to struggle, gone still on the table, but you still smell nervous. Tickles his nose juuuust right.

Gets an idea. It’s a bad one, but fitting for an uppity fuck like you he thinks. Need a big strong hand to guide you? So be it. But Sukuna will make sure everyone knows who you belong to.

He thinks a different tattoo is in order. On your lower back - emblazoned in black ink: SUKUNA’S BITCH.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ JJK/BANNER ART by gege akutami everything written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.