#their auras must be so calming

[13eyond13]

.

[cumironi]

YOU WILL GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS THE WORLDS BIGGEST IDIOT : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

the first time you meet your senior, GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU . . . you think they are the weirdest and most idiots person you've ever met, especially that special kid, gojo satoru.

warning : fluff

w/c : 7,8k | [☆] MASTERLIST

THE FIRST MEETING

you were walking to the mall with yuu haibara and nanami kento, enjoying the break from school and missions. as the three of you strolled down the busy streets, yuu was excitedly chattering about all the things he wanted to do at the mall, when he suddenly said, “oh, by the way, we're meeting some of our upperclassmen today! and i heard you know shoko ieiri?”

you nodded, recalling the times your father made you visit jujutsu high before you officially enrolled. shoko was always there, casually smoking or chatting with some of the older students, and she was one of the first people to welcome you with her relaxed demeanor and dry humor. but as for the others you were supposed to meet today, you didn't really know them—just heard bits and pieces from conversations around school.

“geto suguru and gojo satoru, right?” nanami groaned at the mention of their names, rubbing his temples as if he could already feel a headache coming on. “great, just what we needed... gojo-unbearable-satoru and his sidekick.”

you chuckled, not entirely sure what to expect but amused by nanami's reaction. “are they really that bad?” you asked, curious since you’d only ever heard that they were an insanely strong duo, both special grade sorcerers, which was a big deal considering their age.

“they’re both ridiculously powerful, but gojo is... gojo,” nanami said, his tone dripping with exasperation, “geto’s alright, i guess. but gojo's insufferable.”

as you arrived at the mall, you spotted shoko first, leaning against the wall near the entrance with her phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. beside her stood two guys who had to be the infamous geto and gojo. geto looked calm, with long hair tied up and a gentle smile on his face. gojo, on the other hand, had that cocky grin and his signature sunglasses, radiating an aura of arrogance even from a distance.

“there they are,” yuu pointed out cheerfully, waving at the trio.

you hesitated for a moment but followed yuu and nanami as they approached the group. shoko spotted you and gave a small wave, her expression softening slightly. “hey, you made it,” she greeted you, her tone as laid-back as ever.

as you and the other first years finally approached, geto and gojo turned their attention toward you all. gojo was the first to speak, eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses as he shamelessly scanned you from head to toe. he had that smirk—the kind that screamed he thought he was better than everyone else—and he leaned forward, one hand still stuffed casually in his pocket.

“hey, so this is the new kid?” he drawled, his tone light but with an unmistakable hint of mockery. geto nudged him, a silent warning flashing in his eyes, but gojo barely seemed to notice, too caught up in his own amusement.

you raised an eyebrow, already unimpressed. you’d heard all about gojo satoru from your family—the endless talk about his six eyes and his bullshit special grade powers like he was some kind of walking legend. honestly, you’d had enough of that nonsense to last a lifetime.

crossing your arms, you met his smirk with one of your own, not backing down in the slightest. “wow, the great gojo satoru, huh? must be exhausting, carrying around all that ego,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “heard so much about you—mostly that you’re just an arrogant prick with some fancy eyes.”

gojo blinked, a flicker of surprise breaking through his smug expression, but it quickly turned into a grin. “oh, i like this one,” he said, clearly entertained by your sass. “she’s got some fire.” nanami and yuu couldn't believe what they were hearing, their eyes widening at your boldness. gojo, however, seemed to delight in the fact that you were snapping back at him instead of cowering away like most people did.

he leaned in closer, a sly smile on his lips as he looked down at you, his sunglasses hiding his eyes but the mischief in them was palpable, “well, well, well... the little first year has some bite.” geto watched with amusement, leaning against the wall and hiding a smirk behind his hand.

geto chuckled softly, giving you a knowing look as if to say he was used to this kind of reaction toward gojo. “don’t mind him,” geto said, his tone much gentler, “he likes to push buttons.”

“yeah, well, he’s not pushing mine,” you said with a shrug, refusing to let gojo’s attitude get to you. you weren’t about to be intimidated by some guy who thought he was untouchable. if he wanted to play that game, you’d play right back, with just as much sass and zero tolerance for his bullshit.

gojo laughed, a sound that was as arrogant as it was charming. he liked you. you were different from other people he’d met, and to say he was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement.

“oh, i like this one,” he repeated, his smile widening. “she’s not scared of me, suguru. it’s refreshing.” geto chuckled again, shaking his head slightly, “yeah, she's not intimidated by your god complex,“ he teased.

as the six of you strolled through the mall, browsing shops and occasionally stopping when something caught yuu’s eye, you couldn’t help but notice how geto and gojo kept glancing at you, their heads tilting toward each other as they whispered and smirked like they were sharing some inside joke. it was irritating, really—especially gojo, who seemed to be making it his personal mission to get under your skin.

you tried your best to ignore them, pretending to be engrossed in whatever store display was nearby, but you could feel their eyes on you, that smug energy radiating off of gojo like a beacon. he’d throw out little comments here and there, light jabs that were clearly meant to see if you’d react.

“so, what’s your deal, huh?” gojo suddenly said, breaking the conversation you were having with nanami about some new movie. he fell into step beside you, leaning in with that same annoying smirk. “you’ve got quite the attitude for a first year. something to prove, maybe?”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to look at him as you continued walking. “and you’ve got quite the mouth for someone who’s supposed to be ‘all-powerful,’” you shot back, keeping your tone casual but laced with a bite, “maybe try using it for something other than annoying people for once.”

geto snickered softly from behind, clearly entertained by your responses, while gojo just grinned wider, like he was enjoying every second of your defiance. “oh, come on, don’t be like that,” gojo said, pretending to pout. “we’re just trying to get to know you. you’re kinda fun when you’re not glaring at us.”

the entire time, yuu was stuck between looking like an excited kid in a candy store and watching the interaction between you and gojo like he was watching a tennis match. seeing someone stand up to gojo’s arrogance was a rare sight, especially for someone as much younger as you.

nanami, on the other hand, was simply exhausted by the whole thing, his eyes narrowed as he looked at gojo and muttered something that sounded like ‘annoying prick.’ while gojo continued his verbal banter, geto quietly watched.

“yeah, fun,” you muttered, your patience wearing thin, “or maybe i just have a low tolerance for bullshit.” gojo laughed, the sound loud and obnoxious, drawing a few stares from passersby. “guess we’ll just have to see how low that tolerance really is,” he teased, nudging geto, “bet i can make them snap by the end of the day.”

you stopped walking, finally turning to face him with an unimpressed look. “oh, please,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “if you think i’m gonna lose my cool over some smug, overconfident special grade who thinks the world revolves around him, you’re in for a long day, gojo.”

for a split second, you thought you saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he quickly covered it with another grin. geto chuckled again, nudging gojo as if to tell him to ease up. “looks like you’ve met your match, satoru.”

“yeah, yeah,” gojo waved him off, still smirking. “but that’s what makes it interesting, right?” you just rolled your eyes again, turning away from them to continue walking. if gojo thought he was gonna get the better of you, he was sorely mistaken. you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you snap—not today, not ever.

by now, nanami was silently rooting for you not to let gojo get under your skin. yuu was practically vibrating with excitement, enjoying the spectacle like it was a circus show. and geto—geto was clearly entertained, barely holding back a smile behind his hand as he watched you brush off gojo’s attempts to rile you up.

despite your outwardly unbothered demeanor, gojo was not about to back down. he loved a challenge, and there was something about your attitude that intrigued him.

so he continued, throwing out more snide comments and subtle jabs.

YOU AND GAKUGANJI'S GUITAR

ever since that first meeting at the mall, geto and gojo had made it their mission to annoy you every single day. they always found a way to tease you or mess with you, and it felt like they had some kind of radar for whenever you were in a decent mood, swooping in just to ruin it. and it didn’t help that your classmates started hanging out with them more, dragging you into their chaos whether you liked it or not.

you’d tried to brush them off, but they were relentless—gojo especially, always throwing some sarcastic comment or smug remark your way, while geto would watch with an amused smile, occasionally adding his own little quip that was just enough to push your buttons. it was like a game to them, and you were the unwilling participant.

one afternoon, you’d finally had enough and decided to take some time alone, venturing into the forest to clear your head. you needed some peace, some quiet, and more than anything, a break from those two idiots who always seemed to find you no matter where you went. but it wasn’t just for relaxation; you were digging for something with a shovel in hand, trying to keep your mind focused and away from the usual annoyances. the quiet, the solitude—it was exactly what you needed.

you were deep into your task, almost losing track of time, when suddenly you heard a voice behind you—smooth and way too familiar.

“what’re you digging for, a body?” geto’s voice rang out, and before you could even register it, you jumped, letting out a scream as the shovel slipped from your grasp and clattered to the ground. your heart raced, and you whipped around to find geto standing there, his expression half-amused, half-surprised at your reaction. geto and gojo stood there, both grinning like they’d just won the lottery. gojo was barely holding back laughter, while geto wore that usual smug smile, clearly pleased with himself for catching you off guard.

“damn it, geto!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your chest to steady your breathing. “are you trying to give me a heart attack? what the hell are you doing here?”

gojo snickered, leaning against a tree with that same insufferable grin. “we were just taking a walk and saw you out here,” he said, clearly not sorry at all. “but now i’m curious—what are you digging for? burying evidence or something?”

you huffed, quickly realizing that your attempts to have a moment of peace were quickly being ruined by the two special grades who had a habit of making your life more difficult.

you crossed your arms, trying to regain your composure and glare at them defiantly, but your heart was still racing from being startled. “none of your business,” you grumbled, turning away to pick up the shovel.

gojo snickered again, leaning against the tree and looking like he was enjoying himself way too much. “aww, no need to be so defensive,” he teased. geto’s eyes flicked to the electric guitar lying on the ground near the hole you were digging, and he immediately recognized it. a smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned closer, arms folded casually.

“is that gakuganji’s guitar?” geto asked, his tone filled with amusement.

your movements froze instantly, your back still to them, slightly bent over as you were mid-dig. the tension in the air shifted, and even gojo raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face growing wider as he realized the significance of geto’s question.

you let out a frustrated sigh, your gaze darting between geto and gojo as you tried to keep your composure. the shovel felt heavy in your hand, and you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this all looked.

“it’s not his guitar,” you said, forcing yourself to sound casual despite the nervous tremor in your voice. you avoided eye contact, focusing on the ground as if it held the answers to your predicament. “i—uh, I just found it here.”

geto raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your story, while gojo’s grin grew even wider, clearly relishing the situation. “oh really?” geto said, his tone skeptical. “just found it, huh? out here in the middle of nowhere?”

gojo let out a barking laugh, unable to contain his amusement any longer. "oh, this is rich," he snickered, clearly enjoying your obvious lie.

geto chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “seriously? you really think we’d believe that?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “out here, in the middle of the forest, you just happened to stumble upon the esteemed gakuganji’s prized guitar?”

gojo leaned against the tree again, still snickering. “nice try, but you’re gonna have to do better than that.” you scowled, feeling your patience snap as gojo and geto continued to mock you. their laughter and disbelief were grating on your nerves, and you couldn’t hold back your frustration any longer.

“fine,” you snapped, turning to face them fully with a fierce glare. “it is his guitar. that old bitch was pissing me off today and i hate him, so i took it. happy now?”

a moment of shocked silence followed your admission, the duo clearly not expecting such a straightforward response.

gojo’s laughter faded as he stood up straight, his smirk becoming more intrigued than mocking. “seriously?” he said, his eyes flickering between you and the guitar. “you really took his guitar just to mess with him? that’s ballsy.”

geto stayed quiet for a moment, eyeing you with a mix of surprise and admiration. “you really don’t like being pushed around, do you?” you crossed your arms and scowled at the two of them, clearly fed up with their reactions but unable to mask your irritation.

“hey, he was a bitch, okay?” you snapped. “he’s just lucky i only took his guitar and didn’t yank out all those hairs on his face. i’ve got more patience than he deserves.” gojo's grin returned, wider than before, clearly impressed by your audacity. “damn, you really don't hold back, do you?” he chuckled.

geto chuckled softly as well, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “never a dull moment with you around,” he muttered.

you shrugged, focusing on your digging as if the ground was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen. “yeah, well, some of us don’t have time for polite small talk,” you said with a hint of a smile. “i prefer getting things done, even if it means ruffling a few feathers.”

you gave them a quick glance before returning to your work, feeling a bit more at ease now that you knew they weren’t completely against you.

despite their initial surprise, gojo and geto chuckled, clearly enjoying your defiant attitude. they exchanged amused glances.

“ruffling feathers is an understatement, i think,” gojo said, leaning back against the tree again. “you're more like a tornado that just blows through everything in sight.”

geto nodded in agreement, his smirk softening into a smile. “but it's definitely entertaining.” gojo snickered, leaning against the tree once more. “feisty, rude, and unpredictable,” he noted. “you're definitely a unique one, that's for sure.”

geto chuckled softly, looking at you with a hint of admiration in his gaze. “looks like there's more to you than meets the eye,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. you rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance at their comments, but deep down, a small part of you was secretly enjoying the attention. it was the first time they'd actually given you a compliment—even if it was backhanded—and it didn't completely suck.

“oh, please,” you muttered, digging with more force than needed. “don't suddenly start being nice to me—it's weird.”

but gojo just chuckled, undeterred by your dismissive tone. “oh, we're not being nice,” he teased. “we're just stating facts.”

geto nodded in agreement, a smile still on his face. “like it or not, you've caught our attention,“ he said, his tone playful. “you're not easy to ignore, you know.” you turned to face them, your cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. your glare was as sharp as you demanded, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

gojo shrugged casually, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having on you. “it means you're interesting,” he said with a smirk. “we keep an eye on things that pique our interest.”

geto leaned against a tree opposite to gojo, his arms crossed as he added, “and you, y/n, have definitely piqued our interest.” you felt your eyes widen, and your cheeks started to heat up as the realization sank in. “shut up,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed but unable to completely hide the embarrassment in your voice.

gojo chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “aw, looks like someone's blushing,” he teased, his smirk growing wider.

geto's smile turned into a soft chuckle as he watched you try to brush off their comments. “it's cute when you get flustered,” he remarked, his tone light and playful. you grumbled under your breath, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as gojo and geto’s teasing continued. their comments were starting to get on your last nerve, and you were done playing along.

“yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you muttered, barely hiding your irritation as you turned away from them.

without another word, you took the shovel and, with a determined swing, cut the guitar in two. the sound of the wood cracking echoed through the forest, and you threw the broken pieces into the hole, your actions rough and deliberate.

“take that, you old bitch,” you mumbled to yourself as you covered the hole with dirt, clearly imagining it was gakuganji’s neck you were burying instead.

gojo and geto stood there, watching your dramatic display with a mix of surprise and admiration. they had expected you to be defiant, but your fierce determination took them by surprise.

as the sound of the guitar splitting echoed through the forest, they exchanged amused glances. gojo's smirk widened, while geto chuckled, clearly entertained by your boldness. geto spoke up first, his voice filled with amusement. "that was certainly a... unique way to say 'fuck you,' wasn't it?"

gojo watched you with a mix of fascination and surprise, his usual smirk softened by a look of genuine admiration. he could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as he took in your fierce, unapologetic display. it was like you had turned the whole situation into a dramatic, personal statement, and it had a profound effect on him.

his eyes were fixed on your form, and he felt a rush of excitement that he couldn't quite ignore. for a moment, the teasing and playful facade melted away, replaced by a deeper, more intense emotion. the raw intensity of your reaction had hit him harder than he expected, and he was almost afraid you’d notice just how much it affected him.

gojo nodded absentmindedly, still caught up in the rapid beat of his own heart. “yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “definitely one for the books.”

geto's smile widened as he noticed the subtle change in gojo's demeanor. he saw the way his smirk faded into something more sincere and felt the shift in the air. he knew gojo well enough to recognize when something had piqued his interest, and your defiant display had certainly done just that.

he glanced at gojo, a knowing look in his eyes, before turning his gaze back to you. “careful, satoru,” he teased, a sly smile on his lips. “you're looking a little smitten over there.”

you noticed gojo’s reaction before you heard geto’s teasing remark. the slight pink in his cheeks and the way his posture seemed a bit more tense caught your attention. even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses, you could tell from the way his expression had shifted that something was definitely different.

you gave gojo a look of disgust, clearly unimpressed by his sudden change in demeanor. “seriously?” you said, your voice dripping with annoyance. “what’s wrong with him?”

geto chuckled, enjoying the fact that you had noticed gojo's unease. he loved to see his friend squirm, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"aw, don't be so hard on him,” he teased. “he's just experiencing some... unexpected emotions, that's all.” gojo shot geto a dirty look, silently signaling him to shut up, but geto just snickered and ignored his silent plea.

you maintained your disgusted expression as you took in the interaction between geto and gojo. yhe way geto was teasing gojo and the evident discomfort it caused him only added to your irritation.

“weirdo,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tossed the shovel to the ground with a clatter. you turned on your heel and started walking away, clearly done with the whole situation and eager to put some distance between yourself and the bizarre scene.

as you walked off, you could still hear geto’s laughter behind you, but you chose to ignore it, focusing instead on finding some semblance of normalcy away from their antics.

gojo's eyes followed you as you walked away, his demeanor still a mix of surprise and mild mortification.

“great,” he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. “thanks for that, suguru.”

geto just shrugged, his smirk still in place. “what? i was just being honest. it's not my fault you have a thing for the feisty ones.” gojo shot geto another glare, his cheeks still slightly pink. “shut up,” he muttered, sounding more embarrassed than angry.

geto chuckled again, clearly enjoying the situation a bit too much. “oh come on, don’t deny it. i saw the look on your face. you were practically swooning.”

“i’m not,” gojo retorted, his voice coming out more defensive than he intended.

“you are,” geto insisted, grinning widely.

“i’m not,” gojo said again, his tone more strained as he tried to maintain his composure.

geto’s grin only widened at gojo’s weak protestations. he knew he had struck a nerve.

“oh, come on. you can’t fool me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “i know the look of a smitten man when i see one. and you, my friend, are wearing it loud and clear.”

TREE AND TWO PARASITE

you sat under the tree, savoring the shade and the cool breeze against your skin. the popsicle in your hand was a perfect escape from the relentless heat, and you eagerly opened the package, snapping the plastic off with a quick twist. the moment the cold, sweet treat touched your tongue, a satisfied moan escaped your lips, the icy chill instantly refreshing.

you leaned back against the tree trunk, enjoying your brief moment of peace. you were supposed to be training with yaga’s curse doll, but you couldn’t be bothered—combat practice was the last thing you felt like doing today. you were perfectly content to hide out here, enjoying your popsicle and the quiet, far from yaga’s stern instructions and that annoying doll.

just as you were getting comfortable, you heard rustling nearby, but you ignored it, too caught up in the bliss of your popsicle to care who might be approaching.

as you were lost in the bliss of your moment, the sound of footsteps approached, followed by familiar voices. before you could even react, gojo and geto appeared out of nowhere, their presence instantly breaking your peaceful escape.

you groaned in annoyance, already expecting some kind of teasing from them. but what you didn’t expect was gojo leaning down with that stupid smirk of his and snatching your popsicle right out of your hand. without a second thought, he put it in his mouth, his grin widening as he enjoyed the stolen treat.

“are you serious?” you snapped, glaring up at gojo, who was clearly pleased with himself. the audacity of it made your blood boil, and you could see geto trying to stifle a laugh beside him, clearly enjoying the show.

“come on, satoru,” geto chuckled, giving him a playful shove. “you’re really gonna steal a popsicle from her?”

gojo just winked, still savoring the cold treat. “what? sharing is caring, right?” he said, voice muffled slightly by the popsicle, as if that made his actions any less infuriating. your annoyance only grew as geto chimed in, clearly finding the situation hilarious. gojo’s cocky demeanor made you want to punch him in his smug face.

you crossed your arms, glaring daggers at him. “oh, come on,” you snapped. “that’s mine!”

but gojo just chuckled, shamelessly enjoying his stolen popsicle. “finders keepers,” he said through his smug smile, his fingers holding loosely around your popsicle.

you huffed, eyes narrowing at gojo as he shamelessly continued to enjoy your popsicle. the audacity was enough to make your blood boil, and you were done playing along with their annoying antics. without missing a beat, you reached over and snatched the popsicle right out of gojo’s hand, earning a surprised look from him.

“this is mine,” you said firmly, taking a deliberate lick of the popsicle as if to prove your point. “if you want one, buy it yourself.” your glare dared him to argue, and you could see geto stifling a laugh at gojo’s expense.

gojo couldn't hide his surprise at your boldness. he had expected you to protest and whine, not take back your popsicle with such determination. and the way you took a defiant lick, without a care in the world, was both irritating and admirable.

he glanced at geto, clearly annoyed at the amused look on his friend's face. gojo opened his mouth to say something, but geto beat him to it.

“oh, looks like she’s not messing around,” he teased, a wide grin on his face. you rolled your eyes at geto’s comment, not in the mood to entertain their teasing any longer. with a deep sigh, you finally turned your attention to them, still holding your popsicle like a prized possession. “why are you guys even here?” you asked, annoyance lacing your tone.

as they sat down, you noticed gojo positioning himself beside you—way too close for comfort. you didn’t even realize how close until your shoulder brushed against his. you flinched slightly, your personal space suddenly feeling invaded.

gojo, seemingly unfazed, leaned back casually, his shoulder still lightly pressed against yours. “what, can’t we just hang out?” he said with that insufferable smirk, as if he owned the world and everything in it.

geto leaned back against the tree, clearly enjoying the dynamic. “yeah, we figured you could use some company, y’know? since you’re so ‘busy’ running from training,” he added with a chuckle.

you shot gojo a quick glare, scooting away just a bit to reclaim some space. “if i wanted company, i wouldn’t be hiding out here,” you mumbled, taking another lick of your popsicle, as if to reclaim the moment they interrupted.

as you shifted away to maintain at least a hint of personal space, gojo’s smirk only widened. he chuckled at your attempt to distance yourself, clearly enjoying your stubborn defiance.

“aww, don’t be like that,” he teased, leaning in closer again. “you know you love our company.”

geto just chuckled and shook his head, finding the whole scene amusing. “he has a point, y/n,” he joked. “we’re pretty entertaining, you have to admit that.” you let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as gojo leaned in even closer, completely disregarding your obvious need for space. you turned your head, giving him a flat, unimpressed look before shifting your gaze to geto, who seemed all too amused by the whole situation.

“no, you two are not entertaining,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “if anything, you two are going to go down in history as the world’s biggest idiots.”

you took another defiant bite of your popsicle, savoring the cold sweetness while ignoring the way gojo’s shoulder brushed against yours yet again. gojo’s smirk morphed into a full grin, not at all bothered by your insult. in fact, he seemed to thrive on your defiant attitude. he leaned in even closer, his shoulder still pressing against yours despite your obvious discomfort.

“oh, wow. harsh,” he remarked, his voice dripping with amusement. “aren’t you just a ray of sunshine today?”

geto chuckled and chimed in, clearly enjoying the exchange. “yeah, you do seem a bit prickly today, y/n. what’s got you in such a grumpy mood?” you raised an eyebrow, fixing both gojo and geto with a serious, unamused expression. their teasing was getting old, and you weren’t in the mood for their games. gojo’s smug grin and geto’s easy laughter only fueled your irritation.

“seriously?” you said flatly, your gaze shifting between the two of them. “you two are the reason.”

you held their stare, refusing to back down or give them the reaction they were fishing for. “maybe if you both found something better to do than annoy me every chance you get, i wouldn’t be in such a ‘grumpy mood,’” you added, your tone laced with sarcasm.

gojo chuckled in response to your flat tone, clearly loving the fact that he was getting under your skin. “aww, don’t blame us for your bad mood,” he said, his voice oozing with mock innocence. “we’re just here to brighten your day.”

geto chimed in, his smirk mirroring gojo’s. “yeah, we’re just spreading a bit of joy and cheer.” the two of them chuckled at each other, obviously enjoying the effect they were having on you.

you rolled your eyes, thoroughly annoyed by their nonchalant attitude. “yeah, because being a major pain in my ass is such a great way to spread joy and cheer.”

gojo’s smirk only grew wider at your biting remark. he found your feisty side downright amusing. “oh, come on. you know you love it when we annoy you.” geto chimed in, clearly enjoying the exchange. “yeah, your grumpy little huffs and eye rolls are the highlight of my day.”

gojo chuckled, his smirk still firmly in place. “and don’t forget your adorable little scowls,” he added, his voice filled with mockery. you let out a heavy sigh, your patience wearing thin with their constant teasing. “so annoying,” you mumbled under your breath, leaning back against the tree with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

despite your words, there was a small part of you that didn’t mind their company as much as you pretended to. but admitting that, even to yourself, was a hit to your pride that you weren’t willing to take.

you crossed your arms and stared up at the sky, trying to ignore the way gojo’s presence lingered too close, and how geto’s laugh seemed to fill the space around you. it was frustrating how they managed to worm their way into your day, no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance.

gojo chuckled at your mumbled complaint, not buying your exasperated act for a second. he had known you long enough to catch the subtle hints that you weren’t as annoyed as you were trying to appear.

he leaned in even closer, his shoulder still touching yours. “aww, don’t be like that. you know you love having us around.”

geto chuckled at the exchange, clearly enjoying the back and forth between the two of you. “yeah, admit it. we’re the best part of your day.” you couldn’t help but chuckle, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. you shook your head slightly, glancing between the two of them, their expectant faces so full of mischief and teasing.

“yeah, right,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully but unable to keep the warmth out of your voice. they both grinned, knowing they had managed to break through your defenses, even if just a little.

gojo and geto exchanged a knowing glance, clearly pleased with themselves for making you crack a smile. they knew they were slowly chipping away at your stubborn exterior.

gojo leaned in even closer, his arm brushing against yours. “see, you do like having us around,” he said with a smirk, enjoying the way he was able to get under your skin without even trying. geto chuckled and nodded in agreement. “yeah, we’re growing on you like a fungus.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks as gojo leaned even closer, his presence both irritating and oddly comforting.

“please, shut up,” you muttered, turning your gaze away, but the slight upturn of your lips betrayed your attempt to seem unbothered. gojo and geto shared a knowing look, both of them clearly amused by your reaction. they could tell that you were trying to hide your feelings, but they weren’t buying it for a second. the way your cheeks blushed gave you away.

“aww, look at that,” gojo teased, his smirk widening. “our little grouch is blushing.” geto chuckled and nodded. “yeah, i bet she secretly loves our company.”

you let out a huff, deciding not to dignify their teasing with a response. instead, you shifted slightly between them, settling onto the grass and lying down with your back to grass. closing your eyes, you block out their smug expressions, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face.

“i’m going to take a nap,” you announced, your voice muffled by the wind. “be useful for once and don’t let yaga find me.” they can clearly see the exhausted in your face, the bag under your eyes. their heart softens as they take the sight of you between them, deciding to stop teasing you for a while and let you rest.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief look at your sudden change in behavior. they could both pick up on your exhaustion, the bags under your eyes all the tell-tale sign that you hadn’t been getting enough rest.

they both silently agreed to back off on the teasing for the moment, knowing you needed a break. gojo sat back a bit, giving you some breathing room, while geto settled on his back, resting his arms behind his head. “alright, get some rest,” gojo said, his voice softer than usual. “we’ll keep an eye out for yaga.”

the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, both of them quietly observing you as you laid between them, your eyes closed in exhaustion.

gojo quietly observed your sleeping face, taking in the way your features looked uncharacteristically relaxed in sleep. he found himself thinking, for a moment, how oddly peaceful you looked when you weren’t bickering with him.

geto glanced over at gojo, noticing the soft look on his face, and chuckled quietly to himself. he had seen that look before and he knew exactly what it meant.

[aventurineswife]

I'm currently experiencing hsr brainrot help me, may I request aventurine, blade, sunday, jing yuan and boothill about their types or preferences(appearance, personality, and stuff like that) for their future significant partner? I'm not sure if this had been already done so ignore if yes!! Also I'm a new follower and I've read many of your works recently, I really love your writing style and how it ticks my brainrot just righttt ♡♡♡

HSR Characters and their preferences in a S/O

A/N: I tried my best here, but I didn’t get into specifics about hair color, eye color, or other physical attributes (except for scars and such). So please, don’t come after me (I’m joking, of course). After all, at the end of the day, it’s all fictional! 💀 And this is just my personal opinion on what the men would want in a S/O 😇. I hope you like this!

Appearance:

Aventurine is captivated by individuals who radiate subtle individuality—those who blend sophistication with an undercurrent of boldness. Unconventional touches like asymmetrical accessories, vibrant patterns, or a daring hairstyle intrigue him, especially when worn with confidence.

He’s drawn to a balance between practicality and elegance—someone whose style is functional yet carries an artistic flair, a quiet rebellion against conformity.

A piercing gaze, sharp and confident, mesmerizes him. He loves the challenge of eyes that seem to see past his charm and into the broken truths he hides.

Scars, blemishes, or physical imperfections catch his attention. They whisper untold stories he aches to unravel, providing a glimpse into the person beyond the surface.

Personality:

Aventurine seeks a partner who thrives in the dance of words and wit. He’s fascinated by someone who can keep him guessing—playfully resistant to his charm and never predictable.

He’s drawn to people who’ve endured hardship and emerged stronger, finding common ground in shared trauma or survival instincts.

While Aventurine guards his vulnerability, he craves someone with the emotional intelligence to see past his bravado. Their ability to intuit his needs, even when unspoken, creates a sense of safety.

He admires a grounding presence—someone self-assured yet humble, who can counterbalance his more dramatic tendencies without overshadowing him.

Compatibility:

High-stakes situations invigorate him, so he appreciates a partner who thrives under pressure. Whether it’s in a game of strategy or a tense negotiation, he seeks someone who can match his composure and cunning.

Trust is a slow-burning process for Aventurine. His partner must be patient, willing to navigate his walls without forcing him to open up before he’s ready.

Dynamic:

Aventurine doesn’t just want a lover—he needs a partner-in-crime. Someone willing to embrace the thrill of calculated risks, whether it’s a dangerous gamble or a perfectly executed scheme.

They balance his indulgent tendencies, providing a steady hand when he flirts with self-destruction. Together, they form a dynamic duo—equal parts chaos and control.

Appearance:

Blade has little concern for traditional beauty, focusing instead on the feeling someone evokes. He’s drawn to understated traits that exude calm, mystery, or quiet strength.

A serene or enigmatic aura captivates him, especially in those who seem like they’ve weathered storms of their own. Scars or imperfections are less flaws and more badges of survival—silent testaments to a shared pain.

There’s a certain poetry in subtlety that Blade finds magnetic, such as the way someone carries themselves or a fleeting, knowing glance.

Personality:

Blade’s ideal partner must embody gentle resilience—a quiet strength that offers stability amidst his chaos. He’s not drawn to overt displays of power but rather to those who endure with grace.

His partner needs to respect his emotional distance and allow their bond to deepen organically. They provide solace through presence, not pressure.

Understanding his guilt and anger without pitying him is crucial. He needs someone who offers comfort without trying to “fix” him.

He admires individuals who remain true to themselves, even in the face of his volatility. Their grounded nature becomes his anchor.

Compatibility:

Blade struggles with verbal affection and grand gestures. His partner must value actions over words—small, meaningful gestures like a shared silence or a comforting touch.

Loyalty is paramount. Blade often tests boundaries, whether intentionally or not, and needs a partner who remains steadfast in their care.

Dynamic:

Blade seeks a relationship built on mutual protection. His ideal partner isn’t there to save him but to walk beside him as he confronts his demons.

Their love is a slow-burning fire, marked by quiet moments of vulnerability and unspoken understanding. They don’t demand his trust but earn it, piece by fractured piece.

Appearance:

Sunday gravitates toward those with an ethereal or graceful quality—a beauty that feels otherworldly yet grounded. He appreciates the quiet elegance that reflects his Halovian heritage.

Symbolic trinkets or meaningful accessories, like earrings or pendants, resonate deeply with him, mirroring his love for intricate details and subtle meaning.

Personality:

Sunday is drawn to those who counter his melancholic worldview with a hopeful, compassionate perspective. He needs someone who gently challenges his ideals without dismissing his emotions.

His partner must possess a quiet, unwavering self-confidence. They confront his twisted philosophies with patience and understanding, offering a grounding presence.

A partner with a playful streak appeals to him, especially when it contrasts with his solemn demeanor. Their lightheartedness reminds him of life’s simple joys.

Compatibility:

Sunday needs a partner who can understand his lofty ideals and gently challenge them, offering a grounded perspective that helps him reconcile his desire for a perfect world with the imperfections of reality. They should help him navigate his philosophical struggles without dismissing his emotions.

Sunday thrives in a relationship where emotional depth is paired with moments of lightness. His ideal partner balances serious conversations with a playful streak that brings joy and reminds him of life’s simple pleasures, helping him reconnect with spontaneous joy.

Trust is built slowly for Sunday, so his partner must be patient, allowing their bond to deepen organically. They should provide stability and comfort, supporting him as he works through his emotional walls and guiding him toward growth without forcing him to change before he’s ready.

Dynamic:

Sunday’s ideal relationship thrives on emotional intimacy. His partner navigates his philosophical struggles with care, providing warmth and optimism without trying to fix him.

They challenge his tendency to idealize perfection, helping him rediscover beauty in imperfection and spontaneity.

Appearance:

Boothill is drawn to raw, unrefined beauty—someone who’s lived and survived, marked by the stories their body tells. Scars, tattoos, and bold fashion choices are a reflection of resilience and adventure, and he admires individuals who wear their history as a badge of honor. He’s captivated by those who can rock vibrant, contrasting colors or mismatched styles with confidence, projecting a sense of strength and individuality.

He’s particularly fond of eyes that burn with fire and determination—eyes that match his intensity, yet hold a vulnerability only the right person can see. Confidence is key, but it’s that unpolished confidence, the kind that’s earned through hardship, that pulls him in.

Personality:

Boothill craves a partner who can match his fierce energy and boldness. He’s drawn to those who share his burning passion for justice and fighting for what’s right, even if it means breaking the rules. He admires fearless individuals who challenge authority and embrace a world of gray, not just black and white.

A sharp, witty partner who can banter with him is essential—they need to hold their ground in arguments, but still know how to make him laugh. Beneath his hard exterior, he secretly yearns for warmth and loyalty, someone who sees past his rough exterior and recognizes the vulnerabilities hidden underneath.

Patience is a challenge for him, but he seeks someone who can balance his impulsive nature, tempering his decisions with wisdom while never dulling his fire. The ideal partner doesn’t just soothe his rage—they fan the flames in the best way possible, stoking the fires of his passion and his purpose.

Compatibility:

Boothill’s partner would have to keep up with his relentless pace, matching him in the heat of battle as much as in life. They must be able to stand beside him during intense moments of action, yet offer solace and understanding in quieter, more reflective ones. His ideal relationship is built on equal footing—where passion and respect for one another fuel their connection.

Their dynamic would never be boring—full of challenges, shared adventures, and a fiery bond formed through trials, risks, and the occasional reckless decision. They would push each other toward greatness, not with soothing words, but through daring acts of loyalty and love.

Dynamic:

Boothill wants a relationship full of intensity, one where his partner isn’t afraid to stand by him, even if it means navigating chaos or defying the odds together.

This is not a relationship where either party is passive—it’s a partnership of equals, where each individual’s strength and spirit fuel the other. Their love would burn brightly, fueled by both passion and unshakable loyalty, with both of them walking side by side through any storm, ready to fight for each other and what they believe in.

Appearance:

Jing Yuan is drawn to elegance and grace—someone whose appearance radiates composure and quiet strength. He appreciates fine details and a refined aesthetic, as he values artistry in all aspects of life. A partner who can carry themselves with quiet dignity, with clothing that flows or intricate designs, would catch his attention.

However, while Jing Yuan admires serenity, he finds himself captivated by the unexpected spark in someone’s personality. A playful glint in the eye or a mischievous smile is enough to unsettle his calm demeanor, drawing him in even more. He appreciates someone who can maintain their elegance but isn’t afraid to reveal the more unpredictable, adventurous sides of themselves when the moment calls for it.

Personality:

Jing Yuan is in search of a partner who has a calm, patient demeanor—someone who understands the complexities of his strategic mind and the burdens he carries. His ideal partner is not only compassionate and wise, but also someone who can see the long-term view, matching his ability to think and plan for the future.

At the same time, he’s charmed by a partner who can bring a sense of spontaneity to his life. While he thrives on stability, he appreciates the occasional touch of unpredictability—someone who can light a fire under his more sedentary tendencies, adding a dash of excitement to the otherwise peaceful routines he enjoys. He values a balance of tranquility and energy, where his partner’s playfulness can bring joy without overwhelming him.

Compatibility:

Jing Yuan’s ideal partner would have the patience to stand by him through quiet moments of reflection, as well as the capacity to engage with him in deep, meaningful conversations. They would respect his thoughtful, strategic nature, while also encouraging him to take moments of respite, enjoying the beauty of life’s simpler pleasures together.

They would need to understand his need for a sense of long-term stability, yet not let him become too withdrawn or passive. A deep intellectual connection, rooted in shared wisdom and mutual understanding, would lay the foundation of their bond. Their connection would be built on the steady progression of trust and affection, growing subtly over time.

Dynamic:

Jing Yuan seeks a partner who can offer emotional intimacy without pressuring him for more than he’s ready to give. They’d share moments of serene companionship, where quiet silences are comfortable, and words aren’t necessary to convey their bond. However, his ideal partner wouldn’t shy away from challenging him, nudging him out of his intellectual ruts and helping him see the world in a new light.

The dynamic would be one of mutual respect, with his partner both grounding him and adding an unpredictable spark to his life. While he values peacefulness, he enjoys the occasional adventure or light-hearted moments that break through his more serious demeanor, reminding him that even in the pursuit of wisdom, life can be full of wonder.

P-please don't come after me...😭😕

[petalsonmoon]

breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out… you're falling in love.

(i'd just like to say that in this scenario i imagined UA as an university so they're a bit older... thank you for reading <3)

you had no one to blame but yourself. you read too much and you never know when to stop. but really, how can you go to sleep when the found family are about to perform the heist?

so when school was back things got complicated. your brain had its own routine by now so when you were laying in bed and the moonlight was trying to get in through the curtains it felt like you just drank 3 bottles of coffee.

your celling was making your mind combust this is why you got up and decided to take a little walk. you left your dorm and went for the stairs, feet light as the moonlight touching the walls. maybe you should buy a sleeping mask. or try meditation. new year new habits.

when you arrived at the communal space you were trying not to let the frustation win the fight against your empathetic consciousness. one side of your head was screaming that the begining of a school year should be centered, organized and fierced and an insomnia on your first day is not a great start. the other part was giving you a gentle pat on your head saying that life doesn't end when you graduate and you just have to take one day at a time.

you find yourself walking very slowly towards the kitchen and sitting on your usual stool. the third one from right to left. the whole place was beautifully iluminated by the moon. isn't sad that the moonlight is actually an reflection of the light that hits them? must be isolating.

there was a mini jar on the counter filled with m&m's. you slided it close to you and started to eat the yellow ones.

it was 5:28am acording to the microwave. m&m's were a great breakfast.

but the moon itself was pretty once iluminated by the others.... so it must feel pretty, right? seen? especially if it knows us, humans are captivated by its brutal and elegant greyness,

"the fuck is this?"

you jump. like cartoon jump.

and he didn't even scream he merely whipered. a rasp and crude whisper but a hushed tone nonetheless.

"holy jesus bakugo-" you whisper back with your hand on your chest trying calm it.

"what are you doing?" his interrupition as strong as he is.

"you scared the shit out of me." you complete. sort of ignoring his question.

he stayed still a few feet away burning you with his red eyes. his natural rage and powerful aura filling up the space.

"morning." you say. not in a good mood to smile but with enough chocolate in your system to sound gentle.

his eyes were on you for 5 seconds (5 minutes in your head) before he growled and moved, walking around the counter, turning one single light of the relatively big kitchen and started to get everything to prepare his healthy breakfast.

since first year, bakugo grew gracefully for those who noticed. although he changed he'd still murder you with an m&m if you said that out loud. you're definitely not that close to the boy but you were one of those who got enchanted by a determination so big and fierce someone could get blinded by it.

just like you were constantly astonished by momo's bright and calculated mind or todoroki's immense gentleness after a life that lacked warmness, you spent those 3 years seeing bakugo as an inspiration.

although his whole group of friends had a confidence you wished you had. they intimidated you. hagakure says it's you being stupid.

you watch as the boy moves fast and domestically calm through the gabinets, knowing exactly what he needs and wants.

with his large back facing you he started chopping and boiling and cooking. all the yellow m&m's had ended by the time one of you said a word.

"why are you up?"

raspy and soft. but you were not expecting him acknowledging you at all.

"hm..." your eyes focused on his back. "insomnia. vacation consequences."

you hear a distant grunt.

"so you came here to eat chocolate?" he kept preparing his dish in an annoyingly organized way.

"well, if my body is not feeling like being healthy might as well join his thinking."

"great thinking." he concludes and it's not even lacying with sarcasm. just full judgement.

it takes a few seconds for you to toughen up and keep talking.

"any tips?"

with that he turns and looks at you for a few seconds. you hold his gaze.

he only answers when he's back at glaring at the vegetables. "just fucking sleep."

it's so blunt it cracks a chuckle out of you. you betray yourself and take a single red m&m to your mouth.

"you ever slept in?"

"no." he rumbles.

"not even like, 5 minutes?"

"no."

"that's crazy..." you whisper to yourself.

"that's discipline." he defends not whispering back.

"yes, it absolutely is." you sounded silly but that was not the intention. "once me and tokoyami tried to make a schedule and wake up at 5 to train together"

it was fun trying to be healthy doing team work. you remember him telling you that dark shadow was also excited to practice outdoors since it was going to be dark still the time you agreed. "we only did it for a week."

you see him shake his head and murmur something you took 3 seconds to decode. "more than what i was expecting"

"okay!" you protest softly. "not all of us wants to be the best there is"

"and that means i can't judge you for being stupid?"

he blunts it out. as you said, bakugo was stil an angry, angry person but with patience and respect on the edges now. if you look closely.

"and some of us are not that competitive... like, really not. ever played uno with me?"

you hear him taking a deep breath. you don't know if that's an "yes" a "no" or a "i dare you to keep talking"

so you keep talking. "and i tried, doesn't that count?"

"it doesn't if you don't even do the bare damn minimum" his voice still raspy and very dure but the sleepiness not there anymore "not sleeping fries your brain." he resolutes.

"but this brain is also the reason i have anxiety so i'm just paying it back."

he finally turns to you with those immaculate sharp red eyes and points at you with the knife he was holding. "stupid."

"no, fairness." you smile and point a red m&m at him.

you held his gaze until he turned again. but then he finished part of whatever he was doing and drops the knife, washes his hands and turns to you again.

now you're getting goosebumps because he's walking towards you.

"you should've given me tips to sleep if you didn't want me annoying you at 5 in the morning" you defend yourself of something. you're really grateful for the courage the dawn gives people.

"is this gonna be a recurring thing?" he whisper. he stops in front of you, a counter between you both.

"don't know. it might be."

your hand was going to another red m&m when he stopped it. "stop eating this shit."

"then do you mind giving me cooking tips as well?"

his eyebrows furrows and he takes another deep breath letting go of your wrist. the counter was not that big. he was too close. "just focus on your breathing and it'll help you relax. even if you're not sleepy breathing techniques do help."

oh!

he did try to help you and that was sweet and you couldn't help but smile. "thank you."

he quickly turned around and went back to the stove grunting in response "don't need you yapping my ears off at the one time i have peace in this place."

with that you got up from the stool and went to your dorm feeling lightheaded.

── ☆ ──

after that there was no reason not to take deep breaths and count before sleeping. of course the problem was not fixed but it actually helped! there was some nights where your brain could not for his own health turn off the lights and it took you couting till 50 to relax but overall. you were sleeping at least 6 hours straight so a win is a win.

your relationship with bakugo evolved from not talking at all to you saying hi to him and him grunting in return. the universe decided to be kind to you by pairing you two a few times to spare during some of aizawa's classes and it was so unhealthy how you felt happy and annoyingly you with him.

so some nights you did had to trick yourself into not think about bakugo. to not think about how domestically warm and confortable it would be to cook with the boy if you were a little bit more than friends.

and then you blink three times remembering you were at best his colleague and you shouldn't be thinking this just because of an exchange of 30 minutes and a few swift but blazing conversations.

but it's a reasonable crush if we analyze the bigger picture.

you're not one with much confidence, and even though you're not one with many romantic experience too it's an understandable situation having a bloom of emotions when you finally have nice exchanges with the person you admire the most in class.

right?

four weeks later, saturday happened.

you've been doing good in training and even your studing sessons were making you proud so you decided to give yourself a deserving movie night.

things were great when you watched a movie and then another one but you decided you wanted a sweet popcorn to accompany you with the third one. and that went terribly wrong.

which is where you are now, looking at whatever annomaly you were swiping in the frying pan.

"of course you're involved with that god awful smell." he grunts from a few meters behind you and you're not sure how you didn't hit his head with how far you jolted.

"fucking hell bakugo!" you turn to him and it's noticible he’s trying to hold the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. don’t look that way. "how does an angry bird like you have such a light feet?"

"by not wanting to wake the losers" he concludes coming closer to you to discover what was happening at the crime scene.

oh! he smells good.

at 5am? criminal. cinnamon but with a touch of sandalwood. you truly wanted him to give you a prolonged hug.

"you are a fucking dimwit." he grimaced.

"i'm not great with new recipes!" you didn't have a single argument this time.

"ruin popcorn it's a new level." he walked towards the trash and opened. it's kind of a superpower that his expression alone could criticize so many aspects of a person.

you defeatedly walked to him with the pan in hands and threw its content in the trash.

"hopeless." he whispered as he took the object from you and walked to the sink.

you pout and make way to sit in your stool by the counter.

"i make a neat rice." you whisper back.

he immeditaly let out a chuckle. "i bet."

why were you still here was a question you'd burned with the imaginary popcorn. so it took you while to say anything,

"i remember in second year," really nice of them to keep replacing the m&m's in the jar. it was a good distraction look for the yellow ones. "when we were celebrating jiro's birthday and everybody was outside, i was going back inside to refil my water cup when i heard kaminari's voice desperately apologizing-"

a loud noice startled you. it sounded like a pot hitting the sink. you're not to make assumptions but it felt like he knew where you were going.

so you kept talking. "and suddendly you barked at him to shup up-"

"i didn't fucking bark-" he interrupted snarling. oh he was so sweet.

"-turns out he accidentally ruined a small part of her cake and you fixed it in record time. and didn't even eat it. i'm quite sure you went to bed after the happy birthday" you interrupted his interruption.

it was a quiet night so by the sounds you could identify that he started to do whatever he was doing a bit more angryly.

"cakes are stupid." he rumbles.

"they are important on birthdays."

"fucking dunce face can't keep his mouth shut-" him angrily replying with his back to you was a bit comical.

"in his defense" in the counter, you make a heart with the yellow m&m's you haven't eaten yet. "i traded this information giving him my piece of the cake that day."

you glace up and he was still treating the food with rage. "because surprisingly i'm not a big fan of cakes."

"weird coming from someone with the most crappy eating habits."

"i know, right?" you answer and he doesn’t respond. you fill the little heart with the red m&m's.

you take a deep breath.

"it was nice of you" you look up. "the number one spot is in safe hands."

he stilled. for about 7 seconds.

then he started to move again. calmly. you start to eat the yellow m&m's and after a while of him preparing his perfect little breakfast he speaks again.

"you being a sting in my ass since last year and telling me proudly." he says, his voice a bit more deep and cemented.

"yes, i like to think i'm a nice little bee." you admit.

"HA!" his rough laugh invaded the room.

"they're pretty and united and very important-"

"will you include the part they make honey and you can"t cook for shit?"

"it's a team work!" you defend. "don't you think that when a bee has problems with her honey, another one doesn't come to help?"

now you try to hold your laughter from your own statement.

"that's just pathetic." he answers.

"you're just not a bee." you resolve. you start to eat the red m&m's left. "you're more like a lone wasp. they're big and quite prett-"

your discourse is interrupted when a small bowl is strongly put in front of you spreading the red dots.

"hey!" you're about to protest when its contents finally loads in your brain.

it's popcorn.

with chocolate.

you feel the little bees in your stomach make a mess. a pure and chaotically comforting emotion fill your heart and there is no going back now. how can a furious boy make you breathe so peacefully?

when you finally come back to the moment and look up he immediately turns around and goes back to the stove.

"bakugo-"

"no." his tone heavy and definitive.

you take a deep breath and try to relax. not fighting the small smile in your face anymore.

"bakugo." your tone soft but as decisive as his.

he fights for a second but turns to you with a locked jaw. his eyes the sharpest you've ever seen, giving you nothing to unravel before going to sleep.

"thank you." and with that you leave the kitchen.

── ☆ ──

the following week you felt like suffocating but also very fucking joyful.

nothing prominent changes in your rotine. you're still dedicated to have a good sleeping pattern and things with you and bakugo haven't changed. and you weren't expecting them to.

but you needed saturday to come.

you were going to be there on purpose this time. and you were fiercily holding the ballon of insecurities screaming that you were too in clouds of your emotions to not think your decision carefully.

so it's 5:37 when you're getting closer to the kitchen, the familiar hiss and chopping of the food capturing the place making you shiver for some reason.

a well known reason but whatever.

you gently pull your usual stool to sit on it and your eyes lock to his figure, who froze for a millisecond when you made the sound.

your hand automatically made way to the mini jar that lived in the counter only to find nothing there.

you whip around to glare at him.

"who did you threatened to blow to get my m&m's removed?"

he took his time finishing whatever he was doing and turned to you very slowly. to have his attention on you once again sent intense shivers all over your body.

"why am i involved?" he soflty replies and you think you like his voice a little too much.

"you're always involved."

"always?"

"yep." you nod.

he leans his body back on the sink putting his hands on his pockets. boy, it's really fucking unffair to be heavenly beautiful like this.

you pout. "i just want my yellow m&m's back."

and then. and then

he measures your face before taking his right hand out of his pocked, setting a yellow m&m on his tongue and closing his mouth.

"come get it." he replies nonchantly.

your body suddenly feels solid and your blood it's cathing on fire. there is no way this scene wasn’t a creation of your most desired dream that was buried deep in your consciousness.

"well?" he arches one eyebrow and you blink. twice.

you decide in a millisecond to fight fire with fire. you're not a confident person but you could pretend to be.

you get off the stool and walk around the counter, only to sit on it placing yourself not far from him. you feel his eyes piercing you until yours met his.

"someone told me once i don’t even do the bare minimum…" you motioned to the empty space where the jar used to be “why would i go there if it can come to me?”

you hold his gaze while he took four steps to arrive and place himself between your legs.

he’s fixated on your mouth while you decide your favorite color is the color of his hair.

his slight smirk felt like an illusion when he breathes in your mouth “you little minx.”

then his mouth was against yours.

his hand found the back of your head making he deepen the kiss deliciously firme. a kiss as intense and imposing and skilled as the boy.

your hands made their way to his hair and it felt like a fervent dream when his own hands were now behind your thighs pulling you illogically close to him. his tongue ardent against yours making your whole body melt in his and when you scrap where his hair meets his neck his throat makes a guttural noise. you wanted to overflow in him.

when you pulled apart you’re a bit dizzy.

“you taste like chocolate.” you blur out.

placing his hands on your jaw he touches featherly your mouth with his tumb.

“why don’t you let me find out what you taste like, brat?”

[yesihaveaobsession]

A Well- Tailored Affair

Alastor x female! reader

Summary: Being The Radio Demon's one and only personal tailor has it own perks.

A/N- Sorry I have been gone for quite some time!! But I'm back, I had NOOOOOO idea what to write and this thought came to me mid sleep at like 12am So anyways I hope you enjoy!

ALSO this was gonna proofread because I didn't have time and I missed yall so sorry if it sucks 💀

Being a tailor in Hell was no small feat, especially when your main client was none other than the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. When you first took the job, you didn’t expect it to be much of a challenge working with his specific tastes. But over time, you came to know him like the back of your hand.

Today, he was scheduled for a fitting. He had dropped off a newer jacket last week but he said he had business to attend to and he'd come back next week and that was today. As always, the atmosphere of your small shop—which wasn’t far from the hotel—was calm and cozy. You were currently cross-stitching a dress for Rosie for some type of event in Cannibal Town when, suddenly, the bell above the door jingled. There he was. Alastor stepped inside with his signature grin, accompanied by the hum of radio static. The aura he carried was palpable. The moment he entered, you could feel the air shift.

"Ah, my favorite tailor!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide before resting his hands on the microphone in front of him. With a slight tilt of his head, he asked, "Have you missed me?"

You chuckled softly, stepping away from your work and already reaching for the measuring tape. "You were here last week, Alastor. Hardly enough time to miss anyone." You smiled. His grin didn’t falter, though you didn’t notice how his crimson eyes lingered on you longer than usual. Truth be told, Alastor liked you. More than he should, and more than he realized. Part of it was the trust he placed in you to handle his precious suits, which were such a vital part of who he was. But it was also because you treated them with such grace. You knew what you were doing and were exceptional at it. Not to mention, you were one of the rare souls in Hell who wasn’t afraid of him. And lastly, you were undeniably pretty—he thought that too.

"Ah, but a week without your company is an eternity, my dear," Alastor replied. You brushed off his words with a smile. He often gave small, sweet compliments about your work and how he missed you, so this wasn’t anything new. Yet today, his words seemed to carry a different meaning.

You rolled your eyes playfully, motioning for him to step onto the fitting platform. In front of him was a large mirror—he loved checking his reflection to ensure he always looked impeccable. "Alright, charmer, let’s see what we’re working with today. Did you tear another sleeve during one of your dramatics?" you teased, looking from the sleeve up into his eyes.

He let out a melodic laugh. "Guilty as charged! I simply cannot help myself. Life—or afterlife, rather—demands a flair for the theatrical!"

As you worked, your hands expertly adjusted the fabric of his jacket. You noticed his gaze drifting to you frequently. At first, you thought he might be scrutinizing your technique, but no—this was different. His grin softened ever so slightly whenever he thought you weren’t looking. Watching your focused expression gave him an odd fluttering sensation, almost like butterflies in his stomach.

"You’re very precise," he remarked, his voice quieter than usual.

"Kind of comes with the job," you replied with a smile, pinning a sleeve in place. "Can’t have the Radio Demon walking around in anything less than perfection, right?"

"Indeed. And you, my dear, are perfection. I must confess, I’ve never trusted anyone else with my suits. You have an extraordinary talent."

You paused, caught off guard by the bold confession—especially coming from him. "Thank you, Alastor. That means a lot," you said, grabbing the needle and thread.

"And," he added, tilting his head as though studying a particularly fascinating piece of art, "it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite easy on the eyes." Was he kidding? He had to be, right? Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you nearly dropped the pin you were holding. "Oh! Uh, thanks."

He noticed your reaction and chuckled, clearly amused. "Did I fluster you? My, my, how delightful!" Alastor grinned, watching you through the mirror. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. "Stop moving," you muttered, focusing on adjusting the flaps on his suit. You finished stitching up the rip on his sleeve with a clean, neat stitch—it was a relatively easy fix.

The silence grew heavy until he broke it. "You’re one of the only few who doesn’t fear me, you know… It’s refreshing."

"Well, I figured if you were going to do something to me, you would’ve done it already," you replied with a smirk, stepping back to admire your work. Alastor’s grin widened. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I find your company far too enjoyable to spoil."

You shook your head, laughing softly. "Alright, smooth talker, you’re good to go. You can come and pick it up in 24 hours." You watched as he stepped down from the platform, adjusted his jacket, the one he came in with and turned to face you. "Splendid! I’ll be counting the seconds until I see your lovely presence again!" He started toward the door but paused, looking back over his shoulder with that ever-present grin. "Oh, and my dear, do save a moment for tea when I return. I’d like to enjoy more of your delightful company." You smiled, shaking your head. "You better not rip your coat on purpose in the next 24 hours!" you shouted after him.

You heard his laugh echo as he left, leaving you standing in the middle of your shop, flustered and smiling despite yourself. Maybe being Alastor’s tailor wasn’t so bad after all.

[nosyrobin]

need mor inosuke!reader ned i need

INSOUKE!READER WITH BATFAM

Other work of inosuke!reader

Being a menace to society and the woods make the batboys shake in their boots.

Literally dick catches you in the weirdest positions ever. It’s unreal when you twist your body like a pretzel and all you say is, “it don’t hurt! :D”

Dick was so close to calling Alfred to come untwist your body before you did it yourself. Molding your body like play-doh. He stays up at night thinking if you are real or not…

Jason, tried to shot you so you cannot try to attack him. Failed when you wrapped your whole body around his oddly and got him in a thigh chokehold. You smiled with sparkles emit from your body. Jason grumbled with a feral look, swinging his arms to try and hit you. But he couldn’t as you then lifted your legs flipped your body upside up. Smiling in victory as you just stood there idiotically.

Tim, he isn’t phased much by you. Something by his relax and crazed obsession for coffee made you just stand there like “oh! He likes this wild drink, I must drink it!” Which you did. You enjoyed it, if only you didn’t get knocked out by it fully. Tim just sits there at his desktop, watching the boar head snor loudly. Arms and legs sprawled out, he couldn’t help but chuckles liking the crazed and weird person.

Damian, hates the boar head. But tolerates it by its way of nature towards animal. You had saved a baby bird from falling off a tree branch. Literally sliding in the ground like a baseball player and catching the ball. You got up with a shiny aura, happy to help the poor bird as you climbed the tree with ease and joined its mother to it.

Damian watched amused as Titus wagged his tail at you. Barking and going at you, you jumped off the tree and pet the dog. “Come titan! Come!” You laugh as Titus ran up and pounced on you playfully. You laid down in the grass, Titus now calmed down sat perfectly still by you. Damian walked up to you with a small scowl upon his tanned face.

“His name is Titus you imbecile..” he says with a soft scoff, sitting by you as you took off your boar head. Your face shined beautifully with the sun. How can a crazy person like you have such a goddesses face but a god body mixed together. You were surreal to him.. a mystery.

And lastly Bruce…Bruce is just with it with Your shenanigans. Running on your hands as you laugh that crazy laugh. Having a boar head on you as you are half naked.

He could try to make you not follow him when he’s Batman and is going his daily patrols. But when you show up and immediately tackle a criminal to the floor. Breaking down a WWE move on them, he just stands there as the criminal begs for mercy.

How the hell did you even get adopted by the Batman?

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

MATTHEO RIDDLE— not horribly tall, but slightly above average. strong arms; what he doesn't have of height like the weasley twins, he has of muscles on his arms, even though not a ken-like amount, which he finds ugly. dark curls— inherited by his mother, the insanely crazy bellatrix lestrange, and beautiful eyes that he has no clue where he got from. long lashes, defined jawline.

in short, a handsome, easily found attractive, young man. and with that bad boy attitude? well, mattheo riddle is every girl's guilty pleasure of a daydream.

some, because they'd like to have their attitude and confidence fucked out of them, by mattheo riddle who certainly takes no bullshit. others, because they delusionally believe that they can somehow fix him— turning a doberman into a golden retriever.

mattheo riddle who's the only first year to not tremble under snape's gaze, because his father is voldemort. the thing, the person he fears the most.

mattheo riddle who doesn't even blink when teachers, older students and even intimidating people yell at him— this is child's play, compared to the cold, frightening aura of his father, and the eery sound of his mother talking to him; one second, she's calm, putting on a (scary) loving persona— then, she's raging, yelling and slamming things, hands on the table, almost throwing hands at her son.

mattheo riddle who stands on the end of the line, letting students get in front of him and even threatening some to take his place on the line, so he stands further behind. this only happens once, during that one professor lupin's class, with the boggart— because mattheo knows that it'd take the shape of his father, walking eerily towards him. not only does he hate the thought of having his classmates gossiping about him, about his family and making even more assumptions about him; but also knows that he'd stand there, paralyzed. incapable of even raising his wand, much less utter such an easy spell like riddikulus. for mattheo, what's ridiculous is his situation; how he'd love and thank the heavens, if he could have such a silly fear like insects, ghosts, or even clowns.

mattheo riddle who grows extremely confident because nothing scares him at hogwarts; after all, his father isn't there— the only thing that makes mattheo riddle tremble is his presence. anything else isn't half as frightening as coming back home to his mother, bellatrix lestrange, and father, voldemort he-who-must-not-be-named.

mattheo riddle who becomes scary and intimidating, so that no one can scare or intimidate him instead. he spent most of his third year at hogwarts practicing on the mirror— a way to turn his beautiful eyes into a dead stare, making sure that the shining glint of his eyes disappears, to become so scary, that no one would dare to mess with him like tom riddle does. or even draco malfoy, who tried to do this back on their first year, bullying mattheo into becoming his friend and follower—, but all of this was before they became genuine friends, along with theodore, lorenzo and blaise.

mattheo riddle who's known by the unhinged brother, less smart riddle— while others, who are aware of tom riddle's tendencies, call him the older psychopath brother, brilliant riddle. such a charming pair of siblings, aren't they?

mattheo riddle who smokes a whole package of cigarettes with theodore nott, when they're on the train back home. for holidays and for summer vacation, in silence, because they're too anxious and nervous to come back home, to leave their (although they're too proud to admit) safe place — hogwarts.

mattheo riddle who respects his older brother, tom riddle, because he thinks that in many ways, tom is like their father sometimes. and that scares him.

mattheo riddle who only learned how to swim and to stop fearing lakes, when his slytherin friends teached him.

( this happened on lorenzo's house, since he invited his friends to spend some days there, during summer vacation. after all, his parents are the less... frightening, in a way, and blaise zabini gatekeeps his mother from his friends, for obvious reasons. besides, lorenzo has the largest pool! upon realizing that mattheo stayed behind while they played in the swimming pool, the boys, for once, didn't turn the situation into a joke. draco stood behind, throwing opinions and dictating that they were doing it wrong— while theodore and blaise stood each by mattheo's side, making sure that he wouldn't get scared if he felt like he was drowning, while lorenzo is in front of him, advising on what to do. it was a mess. a mess that became a core memory of true friendship. )

even so, mattheo hates to go to a point of the lake where he's no longer tall enough to touch the sandy surface— because suddenly he's seven years old again, with tom riddle standing on the edge of the lake, smiling darkly at the sight of his baby brother drowning in the cold water.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who, after all of these years, still stares at his older brother with a mixture of resentment and sorrow— secretly, mattheo still wishes to be close with tom. to have a normal brotherly friendship with him, even if they're everything but a normal family. so, mattheo riddle, who envies pairs of siblings whenever he sees them around hogwarts halls, hugging, lightheartedly bullying each other. wishing he could trauma dump shared experiences of his parents with tom, who would've demolished inch after inch of mattheo's pride and feelings, calling him weak.

mattheo riddle who doesn't join draco when he bullies the weasleys. he never defends them either; he doesn't need to, because the redhead siblings stick around for each other. mattheo doesn't know if his heart feels like crying, or ripping apart with a vicious, angry jealousy that he doesn't have that. a sibling that cares enough to take care of him.

mattheo riddle who drinks and drinks and drinks until he passes out, or until he almost throws up his stomach away— rarely accepting any kind of help whatsoever, because he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

because pain and finding out a way to solve things by himself, is what he grew up used to. because his mother is a bipolar, sadistic woman; because his father is too feared by mattheo for him to even dare to consider asking for his help; because his older brother, tom riddle, isn't a pillar he can lean on to— rather, a pillar that would glady fall on top of him, crushing him under debris. he's another person to be feared, and who'd leave mattheo even worse than he already is.

mattheo riddle, who hesitantly accepts lorenzo and theodore's help. because lorenzo is too much of a mother of the group (whenever blaise isn't around, but mattheo doesn't think he'd ever allow the zabini boy to help him either. of course, this happens whenever lorenzo isn't planning his way to another girl's bed either) and by far, the most caring of the boys. or at least, the one who easily shows his worry without a hundred walls surrounding his heart.

and theodore nott, well— mattheo thinks that the term best friend is too corny, so he settles to admit that theo is the person who understands him the most. if he doesn't have tom, he has theo, to sympathize with his shitty situation, because theo's family and hardships are too similar, even though they don't share a last name.

they have matching wounds, inflicted by different people, but similar situations.

and because theodore is awfully moody, sarcastic and would punch mattheo into reason, well— mattheo unwillingly accepts theodore's (forceful) help.

· · ·

mattheo riddle who only ever has deep thoughts when he's throwing up from the alcohol, or becomes self-conscious of himself. of the evilness he provokes, of the unchanging way his fate was decided, as soon as he was conceived in his mother's womb. how he, no matter how he'd like to change, believes that he's a lost cause.

something that's not worth the effort, since mattheo riddle, younger brother of tom riddle, son of bellatrix lestrange and the dark lord himself, must have been born with a vicious evil heart. how could he not, with a family like this?

it must be on his dna. or so he believes.

when he's drunk, puke being wiped out from his lips and alone in the bathroom— this is the only time when mattheo riddle allows himself to pity himself. other than that, he'd scoff at the thought of doing so; because that's a weak thing to do.

and to survive his family, mattheo wouldn't dare to be weak a single day of his life. he might get killed if he allows a moment of weakness around his family. whatever family means, anyways.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who's always the first one to start a fight— and never the one to end it. either his friends push him away, or he's held down by some spell casted by one of hogwarts' teachers.

however, he will start a fight with a group of five gryffindors, if they make a nasty comment about mattheo's friends. if they dare to assume, to gossip, to say one mean word about the friends that tolerate mattheo's behavior even on his shittiest days. the first thing he does is grab the last one talking by the collar, so that his fist naturally punches the guy's face. yes, mattheo can keep up a fight with five guys— even though he knows that, as much of a good and violent fighter as he is, there's no way that he won't leave with a few bruises (and bloody knuckles from rashly punching back and forth).

nevertheless, mattheo riddle won't ever allow theodore or his friends to join him, if he's about to have a 1v1. not even to intimidate or make a single threat— mattheo thinks that it's pathetic and coward to do so, which is why sometimes, mattheo doesn't help draco when he puts up a stunt against a single student (or a group that is outnumbered by malfoy's little friends). when draco comes back, mattheo won't scold him— but he won't shut up either, at least making sure that by some miracle, draco understands how coward it is to do that, from the sarcastic comment that mattheo throws with no hesitation.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

mattheo riddle who actually has one of the most beautiful smiles. once his usual dead stare is gone, showing how those dark eyes of his can look so sweet and bright— squinting into half moons, when he truly laughs or smiles genuinely. his smile is one that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there isn't any evil or meanness to this slytherin boy.

mattheo riddle who is so touch starved, that only a warm gaze from you, is enough to melt him and (at least mentally) get him on his knees. those dark eyes soften and follow every movement of yours— looking like a lost puppy, when you eventually shift your attention to something else, your gaze leaving him. he won't grab you, he won't yell for your attention out of pride— but if you were to look into his eyes, you'd see how mattheo silently hopes to some deity that you'll have your attention on him once again.

mattheo riddle who doesn't know how to be gentle, because he never knew gentle touches, caresses and soft approaches. this man is almost stupid because of this sometimes— mattheo isn't even aware of his own strength, so when he does hurt you unintentionally (by grabbing holding your wrist) and gets scolded about it... he'll genuinely look at you, confused. sure, he'll apologize— fine, sorry!

. . . however, mattheo isn't sure what he did wrong. was it really that hurtful? to him, he was simply holding you, not grabbing...

( because mattheo riddle was never held, only yanked or dragged along. )

mattheo riddle who would love to have people playing with his hair. twirl his curls around your fingers, tug at it (but gently, please! he easily complains at the slightest hint of discomfort!), massage his scalp, caress his dark hair— mattheo melts and for a moment, wonders if sleep does arrive to him this fast at night, like it does now that you're touching him there.

so yes, during classes, mattheo sneakily stands on the door frame— carefully watching where you decide to take your seat, before he marches up to you so he can take the other chair of said desk.

mattheo marches confidently, hands on his pockets and body a little bend to the front; focused on his target: you.

all of his concentration is locked on his goal: your attention for the whole class. and if he's too late, because some annoying girl or asshole with pants got there before him? one glare from mattheo, and they're gone.

mattheo doesn't even bother to take his books; he greets, crosses his arms on top of the table, settles his head there— and if you're too slow to understand what's this whole preparation for, well, mattheo has no problem to make his intentions clear, by (much gentler, this time) grabbing your hand and settling it on his head. among his dark curls.

and if you notice that they look softer and taken care of— well, mattheo won't be catch dead and much less alive saying it. but blaise noticed how mattheo bought a new shampoo, conditioner and a weird bottle that seems to help curly hair like mattheo's.

AND HOW DID AN ALL-IN-ONE SHAMPOO USER LIKE MATTTHEO, KNEW WHAT PRODUCTS TO USE IN WHICH ORDER, FROM DAY TO NIGHT? oh, that was easy; mattheo spent an evening leaning against the entrance of the slytherin common room, watching intently every student that entered or left during that hour of the day. his eyes glared up and down— searching for a slytherin, be it a witch or a wizard, older or younger than him, that has a type of hair similar (if not identical) to his.

finally, a slytherin girl was on her way to hang out with her friends. that is, until mattheo nonchalantly grabs her by the collar of her shirt, right when she innocently passes by him, then drags the girl along with him to a secluded corner of the slytherin common room.

( out of love for life and respect for their well-being, it's safe to say that her friends didn't come to save her. though, props to them, because they kept watching... just in case. of, you know, having to search for help. )

the slytherin girl trembles on her spot, rethinking her life choices; wondering if she had done anything to offend mattheo riddle, the dark lord's son— not the psychopath, the unhinged one. when he bends down, so that he's face to face with her, eyes squinting with his jaw clenched...

she closes her eyes. wondering if she'd be punched or have her hair grabbed to be slammed against the wall. however, after awkward ten seconds pass and her body is still intact, she opens one eye, to see mattheo making a grimace.

a grimace that would be funny if he wasn't so scary. a grimace that seemed to ask, 'what the fuck are you doing?'. which would have been verbalized, mind you, if mattheo didn't have a list of priorities at the moment. he opens his mouth, and this slytherin girl feared to have hallucinated such an innocent, random question.

'which products do you use for your hair?'

( ten minutes later, after having explained her hair routine in detail to mattheo riddle himself, who took notes and hummed for her to keep going, the slytherin girl goes back to her friend group. pale. she doesn't give details— no one would believe her. and she doesn't think that mattheo riddle would like having people know that he's about to spend 100 galleons on hair products to please you. )

౨ৎ please understand that i'm trying my hardest, ♡ ͡

my head's a mess, but i'm trying regardless . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i noticed that i have a few mattheo girlies enjoying my writing, so! please consider this a little bittersweet drabble for you. once again, tysm for the feedback! ♥︎

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[furuu]

꒰ ♡ ꒱ continuation of this drabble!

∘ʚ ♡ You stared at him, heart pounding, still trying to process what you were seeing. The bowl lay shattered at his feet, and the tiny blob you had placed in water was no more. Instead, the very real and very imposing Ryomen Sukuna, in all his Heian-era glory, sat casually beside the wreckage. His muscular form and sharp, intimidating presence were a stark contrast to the squishy little blob you had tucked in just the night before.

And yet, despite his terrifying reputation, there was no malice in his gaze. His four eyes, two narrowed slightly, gleamed with what looked like amusement. The way he tilted his head, the playful quirk of his brow—it was all so bizarre. This was the King of Curses, and he was sitting in your room, almost… relaxed?

"You’re awake," he repeated, his voice low and smooth. It had an edge to it, sure, but it wasn’t harsh. "You really went through all that trouble for a little surprise?"

Your throat felt dry. What were you supposed to say? You had gone to bed with a tiny blob floating in a bowl and now woke up to this—an ancient, fearsome being watching you with an expression that was more curious than cruel. It was almost as if he were… amused by you.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “I… I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Sukuna chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through the quiet room. His gaze shifted lazily to the broken bowl beside him. “Obviously,” he drawled, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Though, I must say, for a human, you have a decent taste in aesthetics. But next time,” he said, casting a side glance at the ceramic shards, “maybe use something less fragile.”

The teasing tone in his voice caught you off guard. You had expected something much more sinister, but here he was, sitting in your room, acting almost casual. Your mind raced, still trying to reconcile this version of Sukuna with the stories you had heard—the stories that painted him as a bloodthirsty, ruthless curse who tore through villages and devoured sorcerers.

Still, his presence was overwhelming. He exuded power, even in this calm state, and you could feel the weight of his aura pressing against your skin. Yet, he wasn’t attacking. He wasn’t even threatening you. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to just sit there, watching you with that curious, almost playful expression.

You blinked, your mind finally catching up to the situation. “So…” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. You weren’t sure how to handle a situation like this—how does one handle the King of Curses suddenly materializing in their bedroom?

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. He leaned back slightly, resting one arm on his knee as if settling in for a conversation. “So...?” he echoed, a mocking lilt to his voice. “You’re the one who followed the instructions. Did you not expect something magical to happen?” His grin widened, and his sharp teeth glinted in the morning light. “Or were you hoping for something else?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as his words sunk in. You had followed the instructions on the note, expecting something magical, yes—but you certainly hadn’t expected this. You fumbled for a response, but Sukuna’s deep, rumbling laugh cut through the air before you could find your words.

“Relax,” he said, his voice dropping to a more casual tone. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, now would I?”

You swallowed, trying to push down the lingering fear that curled in your stomach. He was right, of course. Sukuna had the power to end you in an instant, and yet… here he was, speaking to you as if this was all some elaborate game. The thought was both unsettling and strangely comforting.

Gathering your courage, you met his gaze. “So… why are you here, then? What happens now?”

Sukuna’s smirk softened slightly, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “That depends on you, little human.” His voice was smooth, almost inviting. “You’re the one who summoned me, after all. You took care of that ridiculous blob form, didn’t you? You must’ve wanted something more.”

You blinked, taken aback. Wanted something more? You had just been following the note, doing what you thought was a harmless little ritual. But now, with Sukuna sitting here, his sharp eyes watching you so intently, you weren’t so sure.

“I didn’t know—” you began, but Sukuna waved a hand, cutting you off.

“Spare me the innocent act,” he said, though his tone was more teasing than harsh. “You wanted something magical to happen, and now it has. The question is… what will you do with it?”

You stared at him, your mind racing. What did you want? This was Sukuna, the King of Curses, sitting here as if waiting for your next move. The situation felt surreal, like you had stepped into a dream you couldn’t quite wake up from.

Sukuna leaned forward slightly, his grin returning, though it was softer now. “Tell me, little human,” he purred, “do you want to keep me around? Or are you going to toss me out like some discarded toy?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question. Was he serious? You weren’t sure if he was playing with you or if there was some genuine curiosity behind his words. Either way, the weight of his presence was undeniable. Something in you knew that once this door was opened, there was no going back.

With a deep breath, you met his gaze, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled slightly. “I… I didn’t summon you on purpose,” you said quietly, “but I guess… I wouldn’t mind you sticking around.”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his grin widening. “Good answer.” He leaned back again, his posture relaxed, but his gaze never left you. “Then I suppose I’ll stick around for a bit. Let’s see how much trouble we can get into, shall we?”

You couldn’t help but smile, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling inside you. Ryomen Sukuna—terrifying, powerful, and dangerous—was staying. And despite the unease that lingered, you couldn’t deny the thrill of it all.

You let out a soft yawn, the adrenaline finally wearing off. The weight of sleep was creeping back in, and despite the bizarre situation, your body was craving rest. Sukuna’s imposing form loomed over you, but in your sleepy state, the fear and tension had dulled into a strange kind of comfort.

Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the clock. It was still early, barely past dawn. The whole thing—his appearance, the shattered bowl, his unsettling yet playful questions—it all felt like a weird dream. Too tired to overthink, you found yourself blinking up at Sukuna, his four sharp eyes still trained on you with an amused glint.

Without even realizing what you were saying, you mumbled, “Hold me for the night?”

Sukuna blinked, his grin faltering for just a second. The great Ryomen Sukuna, feared by all, paused at your sleepy, groggy request. His four eyes widened slightly, as if processing the absurdity of your words. You didn’t notice, though—your eyelids were already drooping, too exhausted to care about how awkward your request might have sounded.

“Seriously?” he muttered, but you were already leaning forward, head resting against his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He hesitated, glancing down at you, completely thrown off by the casual intimacy. It had been centuries since anyone had dared get this close to him—let alone asked him to hold them.

For a moment, Sukuna considered leaving you to sleep on your own. This was beneath him, after all. He was the King of Curses, not some comforting presence. But as your breath slowed and your body relaxed against him, something shifted in his expression. His smirk softened, and a quiet, almost reluctant sigh escaped him.

With an eye-roll, Sukuna slowly, carefully, wrapped his four arms around you. His movements were deliberate, as if testing out how this worked. One arm cradled your shoulders, another curved around your waist, while the other two gently held you in place, your small frame nestled against his chest. It was strange—foreign, even—but for some reason, he didn’t hate it.

You sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body, completely oblivious to the fact that you had just fallen asleep in the arms of the deadliest curse in history. Sukuna glanced down at you, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face. He huffed, a soft chuckle escaping him despite himself.

“Ridiculous human,” he murmured under his breath, his lips curling into a smirk once more. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”

But even as he muttered the words, Sukuna didn’t let go. His grip on you remained firm, yet careful, and as the early morning light filtered through the window, the King of Curses stayed by your side, cradling you in his four powerful arms as you slept soundly, completely unaware of the strangeness of it all.

Maybe sticking around wouldn’t be so bad after all.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

[samodivaa]

frenzy of lust and sin 1〗

Part 2 Pairing: Instructor!Bucky x Recruit!Reader

Summary: During your training to become an agent, you've earned the moniker "Sergeant's girl" around the base—that doesn't give him the right to be possessive or jealous, but what gives you the right to be a brat? Warnings: sexual tension, age gap, sparring Words: 3.4k

Bucky knows that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. Thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. Sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. Sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. In short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or clock. As such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. And if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. The body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed. But the feeling is not leaving, he can’t control it. Jealousy. He is witnessing himself become daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. But in the end, it’s an instinctive feeling. Your presence has flattered him from the first time you met, you are full of ambition which leads Bucky to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone.

He keeps the acquaintance and has no temptation to show his rough side in your company, and has the sense to be ashamed of being rude towards such a young lady. You are the only recruit who gets this side of him, but it is a secret in his heart, he is guilty of such a secret, because he has to forcefully hold it. He keeps his hold on his affections towards you unalterably, not showing what he is truly feeling. With all his superiority as your hand to hand combat instructor, he finds it difficult to keep it professional as more time passes. As he falls more for you. ============================== The moment you enter the room, he discerns your soft-featured face, pensive and amiable in expression, eyes which are large and serious, your figure almost too graceful. It forms a sweet picture―and your aura. It's…intoxicating. It's shining, it always shines. 

“Good morning, Bucky” you have a sweet, low manner of speaking as you walk towards where he is sitting. “Good morning” his voice sounds ill-natured, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the secret he knows about you. He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but it is too much, even for Bucky.

You reflect for an instant, with knitted brows “Are you okay?” “Of course I am, why do you ask?” he whispers crossly.

A surprised laugh almost breaks free from your lips, because his naturally reserved disposition is exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of moroseness today and you wonder why that is. Bucky slightly widening his eyes, parts of his lips, but there is absence of arrogance as his features become unreadable again. He rises up from the bench, but you have no time to express your worry further as you gaze at him with a troubled countenance, because it might be something deeper. ==============================

It is all because of three days ago.

As he carries his basket to the laundry room, he spots a look for a washing machine with a finished cycle. He opens the door and unloads the freshly washed clothes, placing them into the basket in front of the machine―but these clothes are familiar. Leggings, he knows them by heart. Curiosity is gluttony. It is a great temptation to look through all of them, piece by piece. And although his demeanor is calm, his eyes betray a maelstrom of emotions—his self-control is shattering. The impulse lurks. His gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Jesus. He is hard. And sometimes, to regain sanity, he has to acknowledge and embrace the madness. Bucky wavers for a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled by the naughty spirit within him, sits on the floor and finds a red dress underneath the leggings―curiosity sparking in his eyes as his lids to twinkle, because he has never imagine you wearing such feminine clothing. Until now. He wants to see the curve of your back, the dress clinging to your chest and waist, flaring over your hips—and certainly wants to look at your tits in it.

“Fuck”  His throat gurgles slightly, looking at the cloth through his lashes like the starved man he is. It is almost impossible to express himself out loud, satisfaction speaks louder than words. He is overwhelmed by emotions, leaving him both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. He neglects his throbbing cock, but his attention remains the dress as he falls victim to countless daydreams.

There is scarcely time to experience a thrill of his arousal before he sees something else—male boxers. He stands stunned. Paralyzed. Breathless. But there is no time for inaction. His mind floods as he tries to make sense of what he is seeing.

—Men are punished by their sins, not for them.

Seeing the boxers, he speaks of lust in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed—illusions are bound to be shattered, reality finally sets in. An indescribable look flits across his face, because that sparks his anger. It is so wrong to feel like this, yet he is firmly persuaded that a great deal of his consciousness, in fact, is a disease, the more deeply it sinks into that mire and the more ready he is to sink in it altogether—Jealousy. He hates those insoluble problems and contradictions of human nature, and that he is capable of conquering his fragile inner center—only silence remains. To take back his power in any given situation, he needs to focus on the things he can control. The thoughts he chooses to think is usually the best place to begin, but by a natural impulse his mind starts to wonder—about this man kissing you, touching you, fucking you. 

==============================

That’s how his unusual behavior is fueled, expressed, plainer than words could do, the intense anguish at having made himself the instrument of opposing his own jealousy. You enter the room and he is already waiting for you and as you approach the bench where he is sitting, he is  supposing you are going to say something, looking up. The expression of his face seems disturbed and anxious as three days ago, lips are half asunder, as if he wants to speak, and draws a breath, but it escapes with a sigh instead of a normal sentence.

“You know, relationships are not allowed here” “What are you talking about?” you pursue, kneeling down by him and lifting your winsome eyes to his face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when it is right in his own world to indulge it. “It is part of the rules, you sighed it” he goes on, less sulkily. “Yeah and I am not in a relationship” you respond, peevishly rising to your feet.  “You just slept with some random guy?” “It is not against the rules” you exclaim in an irritated tone, chafing your hands together and frowning.

“So how was the sex?”  he asks too casually, his countenance growing graver. Bucky has an unusual gloom in his face, that makes you dread something from which you might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. Will he expel you from the training program?

“What do you mean?” you ask, with an accent of indignation. “How was it” he asks, emphasizing each syllable “When he fucked you?” —Jealous makes tongue unconscious

You avoid aggravating his fiery temper by staying silent, not knowing what attendees his anger and the curiosity of your personal life. His behavior today provokes you exceedingly, but you lay the blame on his latest mission which was a disaster. He doesn’t have power to conceal his emotions anymore, it sets his whole complexion in a blaze. Bucky rises from the bench, scoops up his water bottle, takes a long gulp from it  and impatiently bades you to go to the training mats, terminating the conversation with a sequel of horrid imprecations in his mind. You know that It is as much a part of him as his limbs, this need to make sure that you are safe, to protect you. But this is the first time that he hasn't been so kind to you. And you remember a definition of chivalry you’d heard once: a man protecting a woman against every man but himself. Through the madness of his words, a part of his soul is revealed—a part of him that has to do with the past. Even if people around him try to forget it, the past remembers him. That void in his chest fills with anger sometimes and it is scary to witness it.

You don’t want to spar with him, but you won’t back down either—back and forth you go, shifting your feet and moving across the mat like some wild, ferocious tango. It is exhilarating to be moving like this with you, so close Bucky can see your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, little drops of sweat as they run down your face. Then it happens. You couldn’t get your arms up in time and Bucky’s next kick hit you squarely in the side. The attempt to conceal the pain doesn’t work as you feel all the strength go out of you as your back hits the ground hard. In a second he gets on top, which makes you wriggle and squirm, trying to throw him off. He grins down at you, enjoying his momentary superiority and the feeling of your smaller body underneath his. You don’t let the mental block or panic control you, ideas flow so rapidly that you have not time to decide what to do—you scowl adorably and arch up against him in a way that sends electricity through him—and that unbalances him enough for you to flip him over and straddle him.  —He is a mournful wreck ruined by his biggest weakness, you. You are on top now, pinning him, grinning down with sparkling eyes. He is exasperated, because he doesn’t know what this look means. He put it somewhere between indifference and pride. Your eyes are so intense he wants to look away—or never look away, he can’t decide, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you as if you fear that you would vanish if he is to remove it. To his shock, the heavy breathing, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, the intense stare, the rivulets of sweat, arouses him even more. 

“It was nice” you declare, emphatically, speaking sincerely “The sex was nice” you add in a tone particularly calculated to provoke him. 

You seem to allow yourself such wide latitude with both your actions and words today, it really leaves him speechless and you laugh at his reaction as if you are inclined to make it no laughing matter to Bucky. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are staring at each other, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, and you can swear at this moment you sense something more. It surprises you that he doesn’t say anything in return. You are not used to seeing Bucky like that—without the attitude, without the facade. He tries to conceal his reaction from you, but his face grows cloudy at your reply, his heart grows pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that reaches its climax when you silently rise and leave the room as Bucky ponderes your reply painfully. He would not have wanted to hear of staying a second longer anyways. ============================== It is a continual nightmare. He needs several days off from all training sessions to meditate on his thoughts in solitude. He persuades his conscience that in a way it is not his fault as possessiveness is a problem, rooted in his ill-bred past―he suffers greatly, because of the brainwashing, torture, his mind struggles between disorder and order, trying to find a balance between the two extremes. 

But he can't keep on running, he needs to face one of his biggest problems―for all his time that he has spent with you, he couldn't avert that excess of emotion: mingled possessiveness and jealousy has overcome him completely lately. The nearer he gets to the facility the more agitated he becomes and on catching sight of it he trembles in every limb. You are young, beautiful and there is something contagious when you act like a brat, it takes root in him and his desire grows along with him―your presence is a moral poison that contaminates his whole mind.  —There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You are forbidden. Young. His best trainee.

============================== You are already sitting on the bench and turn around when the door opens. Eye contact. How can he mitigate his adoration for you when he can't concentrate half the time he is around you?

“Good morning, Bucky” 

You say with feigned playfulness and he notices a mischievous smile on your lips. As if you are on hostile terms with him, but still somehow friendly. And what amuses you is painful to him beyond expression―he doesn’t say anything in return, but sits next to you, and looks thoroughly indifferent as he takes the water bottle out of his backpack. It is normal thought, you are alarmed at his recent indiscretion, and the disclosure he had made of his behavior in a transient fit of anger. Bucky is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while this sludge, guilt, eats away at his insides and he is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time. ―He needs to say something. Finish the session and go home. It is that simple.

And he stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink from your bottle. Then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. What the actual fuck. Was that on purpose―he has come here to train you and once again, he is left speechless. Then. You lean in, your scent filling his nostrils. He is shocked to feel his throat tighten with a primal hunger, just to hear: “Don’t you like me?”

You laugh softly, utterly feminine sound that galvanizes all of his senses. You lean closer, allowing Bucky to savor the sweet, sinful energy which shimmers from you―some primitive male instinct warns him of your innocence―like a bloom on a vine, fragrant and dainty. He scowles―don’t pinch it off. His heart knows no peace, because everything is wrong with having feelings for you.   *What is she playing at? Is she trying to provoke me? It's working*

“It's not that I don’t like you, it's only that in your presence I don’t like myself”  he speaks without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.

Now, you are the one left speechless, but manage to preserve your external composure, in spite of his ghastly countenance and strange confession. You find childish diversion in the idea of pulling his mental strings―you struggle desperately to not smile as your mind obsessively plays and replays his words, your eyes narrow into thin slits as your gaze doesn’t leave his, because your suspicions are confirmed, he likes you. That describes his change of habitual conduct. A hideous notion strikes you, how wonderful it would be to use the satisfying exhibitions of power and control to deliberately create more desire in him―only to capriciously deny it. It is clear that he doesn’t know that you are a virgin if he accuses you of sleeping with other men. The question is―what exactly provoked him? But your abstraction is evidently so deep, and your whole aspect so misanthropical that Bucky thinks how uncomfortable you might be feeling. He reflects that all those words will be branded in his memory, and they eat him deeply, eternally, because he should have not said them. All because of his greedy jealousy. He looks astonished at the expression on your face, only assuming what you might be thinking of him―he gazes at you with mournful and questioning eagerness, clearly on the verge of madness. He endeavors to say something, but can’t manage it which makes him compress his mouth as he holds a silent combat with his inward shame, meanwhile, your mind offers a perfect plan. 

“Do you want to kiss me?”  

You whisper, anxiously, yet boldly―mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he is. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as his eyes stare at your lips for a few moments.

“Watch that mouth” 

A wicked curve appears on his lips, because your pure innocence is a kind of insanity to his mind that sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Kiss you? He wants to fuck you. You are so impetuous and bold―addictive. “Or what? You will kiss it?”

You say which makes you glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need. Innocent and virtuous, you represent the exact type of female he needs to avoid…“Or I will fuck it”―ugh, he can’t say that, but he wants to. God, he feels so naked knowing you have clearly identified his desire for you. He can’t go any further down. Rock bottom. His mind is a mess, but he has no intention of cleaning today. You lean, but before he can say anything you lean back and smile, leaving him to grapple with an absurd sense of disappointment. Teasing Bucky is part of the fun that comes before kissing—oh, you will for sure ruin him long before you touch him. It will be more satisfying to exhibit power and control than deliberately creating desire—only to capriciously deny it. His smile is faint and lopsided, his answer takes a long time, which is uncharacteristic: “Don’t do that again” Bucky’s voice is measured, his longing raw. Self control is all he has left. His face feels scattered in pieces and he can’t not keep it straight. The feeling is a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it is like that. All he can think about―is you. “Why? What will you do?” Your laughter sounds like music, you just  can’t miss a chance to remind him what a brat you are and that's when a sense of his folly compels him to mutter: “Why don’t you really keep your mouth shut?” You guess he utters those words, at least, though his voice is hardly intelligible. You know his voice well, bright and brittle, but now it has the thinnest layer of ice over―you know that he feels guilty about liking you. His question is an attempt to repress the intensity of your delight. He looks at you with a droll expression―half angry, half laughing at your boldness. “Why don’t you-” your exhalation carries a rasping tremor as if holding back a giggle “-give my mouth something else to do?” His mouth gaps, but no sound comes out. He stares at you, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes:

“I have no words” he articulates softly. “Bucky…” you tease him  “You always have something to say” And yet, he freezes stiff, as if he has been pushed onstage in a play where he doesn't know the lines―God, you’ve broken him. You’ve managed to render him speechless―Dominance. Control. These things are the roots of Bucky’s character. And you are the first person to defy his dominance and to challenge his self control. What a languid woman, a force of gravity by which you irresistibly make him speechless—and at the same time, fuel a new side to him. Eye contact. There is more in the eyes. Longing. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him like you own him, openly teasing him as if it’s normal. And now you know that he needs you. This scarred, broken man needs you...and you want to be there for him. There is a silent promise not to let his secret out, but there is no promise for not teasing him purposely from now on—you jolt at the knowledge that you are instilling his inner peace to such an extent. 

Part 2

[uvobreakmylegs]

As Fate Would Have it

red thread of fate soulmate! AU with Razor x reader

this fic now has a Part 2 written by @hypnoswrites! please read Man-Made Destiny once you've read this part!

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of death

Word Count: 12.2k words

He hadn't said anything to you.

After returning to your hotel room only to immediately be jumped by the man who had clearly been laying in wait for you, he had yet to utter a single word, instead staying quiet through the process of grabbing and restraining you. Even when you had tried to kick and scream when you realized that you were being attacked, he didn't explain anything or mutter out any curses when you were successful in hitting him a few times. Not even to mock you when it was clear that you were lacking the strength needed to do any sort of damage to him.

It was only for a short period of time that your limbs were free, and now you were laying on the hotel bed, your wrists bound behind your back, your ankles tied together and a washcloth from the bathroom having been forced into your mouth in order to keep you quiet.

Earlier you were crying and screaming into the material of the makeshift gag, the terror of the situation overtaking you. But when nothing further happened, you managed to calm down enough to keep quiet, and now you were waiting for what he intended to do from here. With how tightly he had bound you, there was no scenario where you got out of your constraints on your own. Which meant there were only two possibilities: a third party would find and untie you, or he would untie you himself.

The first possibility seemed incredibly unlikely.

That second possibility seemed like it would only happen if he viewed you in a positive light.

So you stayed quiet, hoping that your silence would be interpreted as submission.

Currently the man was across from where you lay on the bed, sitting forward in the chair that had been placed in front of the window. In the initial attack, all you had truly registered was how much taller and stronger he was in the way he had picked you up and threw you onto the bed without any effort. Now that things had calmed down and you were trying to be smart about the moves you made, you were able to take in the details you hadn't noticed before. Like his short, spiky purple hair and his prominent cheekbones.

The way the light from the nearby lamp hit him somehow made him feel even more intimidating than he already was, the shadows almost creating an ominous aura about him. As if you weren't scared enough of him already.

At least he wasn't touching you anymore. After he'd gagged you, his hands stayed on you while you continued to struggle. And even after your struggles had died down completely, they stayed there, occasionally to gliding up and down your body while he stared at you.

What exactly those dark eyes were seeing when he stared at you in that way that felt so intense, you couldn't begin to imagine.

It was a relatively recent development that he'd had enough of it and moved away from the bed, shifting the blinds of the window slightly to peek out before sitting down across from you, watching you with a pensive look on his face.

Being that you were now in a calmer state, you wished you could ask him why he was doing this. What he wanted and what he planned to do with you.

…. It wasn't completely true that you wanted to know the answer to the last one; you were too scared that he would tell you that he planned on ending your life. Or maybe he was planning on selling you. Both of those things happening was also a possibility.

How much time had passed since you had first entered your room was unclear – you kept your gaze on him, waiting to see if and when he would act.

When that time finally came and he did speak, it surprised you.

“This must be terrible for you.”

You blinked when you heard his voice for the first time, but continued to keep quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I kept thinking of what I should say,” he told you, “what I could say to make this easier on you, so you could understand what's going on. And while I don't think that I'm terrible when it comes to words, I've never found myself more stumped than I am right now.”

He sighed as he added “if only you could see it, or if I didn't have to get back so quick, it wouldn't be this way. I wouldn't have needed to do this to you.”

'Do this'?

Tears began to fill your eyes again, and despite how you had told yourself to keep quiet, you tried to speak. Desperation drove you to beg for your life, something that could've been a horrible decision if he was easily angered, but his eyebrows raised slightly while he hummed.

“You want to say something?” he asked.

You nodded eagerly.

He considered you a moment before he got to his feet, returning to sit on the edge of the bed and placing one hand firmly on your shoulder.

“I'll take this out,” he began, motioning to the washcloth before adding “but make sure you don't scream. It'll only end badly for you.”

You nodded again, this time in a much more steady manner as you were desperate to show that you were calm and wanted to cooperate.

The man was satisfied with that, and he pulled the washcloth out of your mouth, freeing your tongue from the taste and texture of the heavy fabric that had grown wet from your saliva. You couldn't help but cough for a moment, relieved to get that out of your mouth. All the while he kept that hand on your shoulder while also being prepared to gag you again if you got too loud.

But you followed his instruction, and he seemed to relax some when moments passed and you didn't start screaming.

Then you spoke to him.

“Sir,” you began, “please don't kill me.”

At that, he smiled.

“Ah, that was what you were worried about, was it?”

He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as he said “don't worry. You aren't going to die.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

He pulled you up into a sitting position and moved your legs so they were placed over his lap. With how your wrists and ankles were still bound, it felt awkward, but you didn't dare make any move to try and free yourself. Not right now.

“It would be terrible for me if you died,” he said, “so believe me when I say that's the last thing I could ever want.”

You didn't understand how exactly that could be bad for him, but you nodded as if you did.

“Um, so,” you began, “can I ask what exactly it is that you do want?”

“For you to come with me.”

“Come with you? Wh-where?”

“An island.”

“… An island?”

He saw the way your eyebrows furrowed and patted you on the cheek as he said “I feel all of this is something that will make more sense if you see it rather than have me explain it to you. So while it might be confusing for now, I promise it will become clear in time.”

“For now,” he continued, “I need your full cooperation.”

“….. So you can take me to an island?”

“Yes.”

You wanted to ask what happened after that, but he spoke again before you were able to.

“You can't use nen, so we'll need to go the long way to get there,” he said, “we'll be leaving tomorrow.”

What the fuck is nen?

That thought flashed through your head before you focused on the second part of his sentence: leaving tomorrow?

“I-I'm supposed to head back home tomorrow,” you told him, “people will notice when I don't come back.”

“Then we'll have to get going early.”

He smiled as he said that, speaking as though this was a last-minute trip that you were a willing participant in and brushing off what you said completely. Like the fact that there were people who would notice once you were gone wasn't a concern to him. He didn't care that he was taking you away from them. He didn't care that you didn't want to go with him.

And there was nothing you could do about that. After all, the first thing this man had done was prove to you that you couldn't fight him off.

As much as you wanted to scream and yell at him to let you go or cry out for help in the hopes your neighbors would hear you and call for help on your behalf, at best all that would do was get that washcloth stuffed inside your mouth again, and that was at best. If you wanted any chance of getting away from this man, you needed to get him to trust you enough so his guard relaxed.

It was the only way.

“With that said, we should get some sleep,” he told you, patting you on the cheek again while he added “we have a long drive ahead of us, and once we start, I want to make as few stops as possible.”

He gently pushed you back onto the mattress before moving your legs off of his lap and standing back up.

You were compelled to speak again when he began to walk away.

“Can I ask one last question?”

He paused, turning to look at you as he said “of course.”

“Who….. Who are you?”

He smiled at you and answered with his name.

“Razor.”

There was little sleep to be had that night. While the bed in the hotel room was incredibly soft and comfortable, it was hard to sleep when you had a kidnapper nearly twice your size laying next to you. The feeling was made worse during the times of the night when he put a hand on you again, running up and down your side with experimental touches. He knew you were awake during those times as well, as more often than not you weren't able to keep in the scared noises that came from your mouth whenever his hand brushed near your neck or went lower than your stomach, still fearful of his intentions. He didn't reprimand you, likely because you were doing your best to be quiet. But he didn't stop either, not seeming to care at all how much this was distressing you. To top it off, your arms remained bound, forcing you to try and rest in an uncomfortable position that guaranteed you would lose sleep no matter how soft the mattress was.

Dawn had barely cracked when Razor got up, shaking you awake when it felt like you had just barely gotten to sleep. Your tiredness was definitely showing even with how hard you tried to be alert, because he chuckled at you.

“Don't worry,” he told you, “you can sleep in the car if you need to.”

However, the moment you were placed in the passenger's seat, you were wide awake again. And as Razor drove you away from your hotel and down the highway in the opposite direction of the airport, despair settled in the pit of your stomach. You were being kidnapped, and you were doing nothing to stop it because there simply wasn't anything you could do.

So you sat there silently with your hands bound again as he took you, and the only saving grace of the situation was the fact that he'd tied them in front so you were a bit more comfortable this time.

Razor stayed silent as well while he kept his focus on the road.

An entire day passed with barely anything being said. You didn't say anything unless he spoke up first, and when you did speak, it was just to let out a “yes” or an “okay” to whatever he told you to do. Like when he tossed you a protein bar and told you to eat, or when he told you to keep your hands on your lap so no one passing by might catch sight of your bound wrists.

Cooperate fully. Make him think you were too scared to go against him. Wait for him to let his guard down.

The worst moment was when he stopped the car to fill up the gas tank, and he allowed your wrists to be free once more as he let you out to use the nearby restroom. Before letting you go, he whispered a warning as he told you not to get any stupid ideas. You didn't need any clarification: there was only one person at the station that you could see, standing away from the pumps so they could smoke their cigarette in peace. With only them seeming to be present, trying to get help here was a stupid idea, and one you would only do if you had no care for the innocent bystander who would undoubtedly suffer because of it.

It was when you were leaving the bathroom and heading back to the car that you felt heavy. Razor's eyes were fixed on you when you stepped out, and the sight had you frozen for a moment.

You didn't want to go to him. Every instinct in you was telling you to run, run as fast as you can and don't look back until you find somewhere safe.

But he was expecting that.

Despite the laid back body language he displayed, a gut feeling told you that he'd be on you the instant you tried getting away from him. That same gut feeling told you that it was better not to anger him. Even if he said that he didn't want you dead, how the hell could you trust a man who had kidnapped you?

You walked back to the car, albeit slowly. If your pace was enough to annoy him, he chose not to comment on it, though the instant you were both back in the car he restrained your wrists again.

Razor drove well into the night, not stopping to rest even when you felt it was too hard to keep your eyes open. You fell asleep like that, and when you woke up early the next morning with an ache in your neck, he was still driving, and you wondered if he had slept at all that night.

After another breakfast of an energy bar and bottled water, you got up the courage to ask him a question.

“How far will we be driving?” you asked.

“Until we reach the coast.”

“Ah.”

That would take a while, then. You weren't that close to any oceans. So it would be a long time spent being around him in the small space of the car.

At least he couldn't do anything to you while he was focused on the road, right?

Turning your attention to the window, you saw that the highway you were on was now slowly filling up with traffic. It was still early morning, thus the morning traffic was merging on the road. Much to Razor's displeasure, as you heard him make an annoyed grunt when he was forced to slow down the speed of the car.

It was disheartening to know that the trip would last that much longer.

You expected that today would be a repeat of the previous: he would say very little aside from ordering you now and then, and you would keep quiet and do as he said. The less you needed to speak with this man, the better.

But then he spoke up.

“You seem tired; are you sure you don't want to sleep more?” he asked.

It took you a few moments to reply, and during that time he glanced over to you. That was what spurred you to respond.

“I don't think I can,” you answered.

“If the front seat is too uncomfortable for you, I can pull over and you can move to the back.”

“I'm okay.”

“… I see.”

You kept your eyes averted from him, not sure what all of this was about but not wanting to poke the bear to find out. Why was he pretending to look out for your well-being? God, all you wanted was to be away from him.

But now with the traffic forcing him to drive far beneath the speed limit and the already long road you had ahead of you, getting away from him wouldn't come any time soon. And now it seemed that your previous question had encouraged him to talk to you, as Razor broke the silence once again.

“You're free to talk, if you'd like.”

“…. I'm okay.”

You didn't say anything after that, and once a few moments had passed, you sensed his gaze on you again when he looked over to you.

“You're getting bored of doing nothing but sitting, aren't you? Why don't you tell me about yourself?” he asked.

The fuck did that mean?

You shook your head, and you felt his confusion grow as he continued to watch you.

“You seemed more eager to speak the other night,” he commented.

Probably because I was panicked from getting jumped in my hotel room, you thought to yourself. Now you didn't want to say anything, or even know anything about what would happen to you. The previous day you had spent in silent dread only built up your paranoia and your fear and you didn't want to hear some story from him that was undoubtedly untrue all to keep you calm for the journey.

You didn't need to know the details of what would happen, the scenarios in your mind that slowly began running wild being all that you needed to guess as to what your fate would be at the end of all this. You were definitely going to die; the fact that he didn't care about you seeing his face seemed like proof of that.

So why give him the satisfaction of feeding you false hope that things wouldn't be as bad as you thought they would be?

Although…..

You had to admit that the island story felt like a weird lie to feed you. Surely he could've come up with something better, some reason that wasn't quite so mysterious. Then again, you couldn't think of any good lie to feed to someone who was being kidnapped.

But again, why in the world would he say that?

The traffic around you was starting to get better when you voiced that thought.

“Why do I need to go to the island?” you asked.

“Because I need you,” he answered.

“For what?”

He didn't answer, and you glanced back over to find that Razor's smile had fallen as he kept his gaze on the road. It didn't seem like he intended on answering you. If that was the case, then you should leave it be. No sense in angering him unnecessarily. He was the one in control, not you.

But he eventually surprised you when he chose to speak again.

“Unfortunately,” he began, “that's one thing I can only explain once we get there.”

“Oh.”

That again.

“Is there a reason why you can't explain now?” you asked.

“Because it may be a bit too difficult to believe simply hearing it.”

“So leaving me without answers for however long you lug me around is the better option?”

Your regretted saying that as soon as the words left your lips. It had been too forceful, too angry and not in line at all with the role of captive you were meant to play. Him not doing much to you had you growing too comfortable, too bold, and Razor obviously noticed it too as he looked over to you with one of his eyebrows raised.

One look from him was all it took for every fear to return, and you went back to cowering in your seat, mumbling a soft “sorry.”

He hummed but said nothing further.

An uncomfortable silence was now in the air, interrupted only by the way Razor tapped his finger against the steering wheel.

You noticed something then: a piece of teal colored string that was wrapped around his pinky. One with some sort of design printed all over it, though it was too small and too far away from you to make out any details.

Your eyebrows furrowed. With the way he'd been touching you that first night, shouldn't you have noticed that before? Then again, how could anyone be paying attention to such fine details after what you'd been going through in that moment?

Ultimately, you took your attention off of that; whatever that was, it couldn't have mattered.

“Have you ever seen my face before today?” he asked.

It was late in the afternoon when he asked that, the third day since he had kidnapped you playing out without much talk aside from the orders he would give you whenever he stopped to refill the car's tank. Despite the talk you had the previous day, he didn't push further to make you speak to him. Maybe the last conversation felt just as strange for him as it had for you.

Evidently he was moving past that now as this new question hung in the air.

Your eyebrows furrowed, but instead of asking him why he was asking, you looked at him and tried to recall if there was any spot in your memory where you had seen his face before all of this. There was a reason he had asked, right? He wouldn't just ask such a thing randomly, right?

Maybe he'd been stalking you for a long time.

As hard as you tried, however, you came up blank in terms of any previous memories that involved your kidnapper, and after a few moments you slowly shook your head “no” in response.

For some reason, Razor actually seemed relieved at that, smiling as he said “that's good.”

“…. Why is that good?” you asked against your better judgment.

With that smile still on his face, Razor shook his head as he replied “I'd rather not go into it. I don't want your opinion of me to go any lower.”

…. What?

“Why would my opinion of you matter?” you asked.

Now Razor seemed confused, glancing over to you while asking “why wouldn't it matter?”

Why wouldn't it matter?

Was he fucking serious?

“Because I've been kidnapped?” you responded, “because I have no say in any of this? Because you were waiting in my hotel room for me, and then you tied me up on the bed? Because it's pretty amazing that I haven't died yet, and there's still a good chance that everything you've been saying to me is a lie so you can keep me calm before you gut me like a pig and dump me in a ditch somewhere.”

He wasn't smiling anymore, his expression now turned serious. You should've been worried about how it didn't seem like he was paying attention to the road.

You should also stop talking. The way you were going right now, you were liable to say something bad that would upset him.

But did it matter if you upset him if you really believed he was going to kill you?

“After you did all of that, why the fuck does my opinion of you matter?” you asked, “why do you care about how your kidnapping victim feels? If you weren't such an awful person, you wouldn't have kidnapped me in the first place. How the fuck can you sit there and be worried about if I like you or not?”

Razor pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Fuck

You averted your eyes as you started to shake.

He'll do it here. Shoot or strangle you and then dump you in the back. Take whatever it was he wanted from you and then throw you away like garbage. That would be the way your life would end, and you were powerless to stop it.

There was no chance of survival, and there was nothing you could do but prepare yourself for the inevitable.

He's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me

Razor placed his hand on top of yours.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you jerked your body away. The furthest you could go was the door, slamming your hands on the window as you ended up against it, pressing yourself against it as far as you could while tears began to fall. This was it. You shut your eyes, waiting for something bad to happen. Either metal being placed against your flesh or his hands wrapping around your neck. Maybe even a plastic bag placed over your head.

Why did he need to pick you?

Why couldn't he have left you alone?

You flinched again when you felt his hand on your shoulder. As this time there was nowhere else for you to go, his hand stayed.

Nothing more than that.

It took you a while to realize that he wasn't doing anything else. With however many minutes had passed with you hyperventilating and crying, he hadn't moved forward with any action other than the hand that he had placed on your shoulder.

After realizing that you were still alive when everything was telling you that you should be dead by now, you came to another realization: the way his hand was placed on your shoulder was almost as if he had done it as a way to comfort you.

His hand was warm where he touched you. Were it not for the horrible situation, it just might have made you feel a bit better.

By that point your cries had quieted down, and he took that as an opportunity to softly speak your name.

You glanced over at him through blurry vision.

He was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed, but he didn't seem angry.

Razor actually looked sad.

“Are you really that scared of me?” he asked.

Tears continued to roll down your cheeks as you nodded, and that only seemed to discourage him even more.

“Even after I told you that I'm not going to hurt you?”

“How can you expect me to trust anything you say?” was your response.

Razor stared at you, his hand still on you. His lips began to part as if to speak, but then he turned his head away from you, looking out through the windshield and at the highway before him.

“Can't argue with that,” you heard him mumble.

Then he removed his hand and returned his attention to driving the car, pulling back out onto the road and continuing on.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of the drive.

It was late when Razor decided to stop for a bit, pulling off of the highway and renting a room from a small and rather seedy-looking motel. He'd left you in the car while he went to get a room, and while he still warned you not to try anything, his tone wasn't quite as harsh as it had been those times earlier. It was as though he was trying to be more gentle with you.

You didn't respond except to nod silently.

Now it felt like you were repeating the situation from that first night: the both of you on the bed with you feeling incredibly unsafe while trying and failing to get any sleep. The biggest difference this time was that the mattress of the motel was uncomfortable as shit, and you shifted every few minutes as you tried to find a spot that felt nicer.

At least you weren't sleeping in the car again, you told yourself.

He was still awake. Although you tried not to pay attention to him, it was hard to keep your eyes averted whenever you turned to face his direction. More than once the two of you made eye contact, and immediately after you would turn away. You would have stayed facing away from him if only the goddamn mattress wasn't so awful. And shouldn't he be asleep by now?

The fact that Razor was still awake and alert after three days of what appeared to be constant driving wasn't normal; who the hell could go that long without rest? How had the two of you not yet died in a car crash?

Maybe kidnappers were built different, you dryly thought to yourself.

“…. Do you want to watch anything?”

Razor's voice interrupted that thought train, and you noted that his tone was soft again when he asked, but you shook your head as you stared straight ahead at the wall next to you.

He hummed, and it sounded like he was disappointed.

But for some reason that wasn't the end of it.

“What can I do to make you trust me?”

….. He had some nerve to ask that, after everything. Was he aware of that? Probably. Despite that odd thing regarding your opinion of him, he was pretty self-aware on how wrong all of this was. You'd be justified in ignoring him, though. Razor would probably recognize and understand that, as well.

…..

Even if you were justified, what good would that do you?

After a moment, you remained where you were but pulled your arms upward, holding your bound wrists in the air for him to see.

A few seconds passed and nothing happened.

You figured that his lack of action meant “no”, and with a sigh, you began to pull them back down.

Razor grabbed them.

For a second, all you felt was panic at his sudden touch. You were reminded of that first night and how powerless you were.

It only lasted a moment, however, as Razor grabbed at the zip-tie and, with a slight tug, snapped the plastic off of you. Within a moment, your wrists were free.

… Were they supposed to break that easily?

“Is that better?” Razor asked.

“…. Yeah.”

He pulled away, his eyes remaining on you after. And now that he had done as you wanted, there was a certain level of expectation in the air, such as you would look at him and have a conversation. A proper one.

Continuing to ignore him now seemed like it would be a bad idea.

So you sat up, turning around on the bed so you were facing him. He seemed pleased by that, so that wasn't bad.

But fuck he was intimidating.

Surely after the past few days your fear of just looking at and speaking to him should have gone down somewhat, but no. Looking at him head on while he had his full attention on you had your palms beginning to sweat.

You grabbed the pillow you'd been resting on and wrapped your arms around it as you held it close. Maybe that was pathetic but it made you feel better.

“Ready to talk?” Razor asked.

“Depends on what you have to say,” you answered, “if you're going to tell me that you'll be knocking out my teeth before you feed me to pigs then I'd rather you not say anything.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.

“I told you that you're not going to die.”

The firmness was back in his tone, and you sensed that he was getting to the point of being aggravated.

You looked away as you held the pillow tighter.

“Okay,” you breathed out, “I'll believe you. But then….”

You inhaled before you spoke.

“I want to know why you're taking me. And I don't want an excuse about needing to wait until we get to wherever. I want answers now.”

“I've been pretty cooperative, so I at least deserve that much,” you added.

You glanced over and then away again, still nervous about his potential reaction. While he didn't seem to have anger issues, he more than likely had limits when he was pushed too far. If he wasn't going to kill you, he could keep you alive to experience worse.

A second quick glance revealed that he was staring at that string around his finger.

Then he made eye contact again as he asked “do you think you could listen to what I have to say with an open mind?”

“Uh, sure?”

Razor didn't seem as pleased about the uncertainty that made it's way into your voice, but after a moment's hesitation, he seemed to resolve himself as he spoke again.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

You blinked.

“….. What do you mean?” you asked.

“That there are people in this world who are connected and are meant to be together?” he explained.

“Connected how?”

“By a force that's invisible to most,” said Razor, “like a red thread that you can only see if you have the ability to look.”

What

You blinked again, not sure of what to say.

“I… I guess I've never thought about it,” you began, “if I'm being honest, I'm really not sure.”

“I see.”

Again, there was disappointment in his tone.

Despite being worried to question him, you hesitantly asked “is…. Is there a reason why you asked?”

You had a bad idea as to why he'd mention such a thing. But you held onto hope that this tangent about soulmates was just his way of trying to make a joke so you felt better. Or maybe he was bringing up something this random just to fuck with you. Even that wouldn't be too bad.

He answered your question with a question of his own.

“What would you do if I said we were soulmates?” he asked.

“….”

…. Oh god.

This entire time you'd been convinced that Razor was going to kill you, no matter how much he said otherwise. And if not that, maybe that he would sell you off to someone. Now you were learning that all of this was happening because he was crazy. He'd seen you and was pushing some sort of fantasy onto you while justifying it with the notion of 'soulmates'. That had been all he needed to feel no guilt over tying you up and kidnapping you – because in his mind, what he was doing was right.

Of all the combinations he needed to be, why did he need to be both mentally unstable and unreasonably strong?

That was the other important thing: regardless of his sanity, he still posed an incredibly dangerous threat physically. As he continued to watch you while he waited for you to say something, you were aware that it would be a bad idea to flat-out say 'no'. Better to play along at least somewhat.

“…. I don't know,” you eventually told him.

Razor let out a soft sigh as he said “you think I'm insane, don't you?”

“N-no. Nothing like that,” you replied.

He hummed, and the way he hummed sounded as though he didn't believe you. Then he reached over and began to caress your cheek, making you cringe internally. While you wished you could get his hand off of you, you told yourself to deal with it for now.

“I wish I could show you proof – I really do,” Razor said, “but I'll get into some serious trouble if I use nen while I'm out here.”

That word…. He'd mentioned it before, though you still had no idea what it meant.

“So it needs to wait for the island?” you asked.

“Exactly.”

“…. Okay.”

Better to not make a fuss, you told yourself. Act like you're potentially open to the delusions he's spewing out. Delusional people prefer it when others agree with them, right?

Still, to find out that he had taken you because of such a reason….

The worst case scenario now was that you wouldn't get away and you'd be stuck playing out Razor's romance fantasy with him. At least you wouldn't be dead, right?

…..

It might be a good idea to get off of the soulmate subject, at least for now. And since he was mostly willing to be open and honest with you, now might not be a bad time to question something else he had said.

“Can I ask something else?”

The fact that you were changing subjects was obvious, but he seemed to accept it as he pulled his hand away as he answered “go ahead.”

“Why did you ask if I had seen you before?”

For some reason, that question was the one that had him frowning, and he tore his gaze away from you as he sighed.

“I don't know that you want to hear that answer,” he told you.

“Why?”

“It's not pleasant.”

“So?”

“… I'd rather we wait a while before we get to that discussion,” Razor said.

“I don't want to do that,” you replied.

He grimaced at your response, but oddly enough he didn't seem to be getting upset as he had been when you made that comment about him killing you. Maybe that was why you were spurred to push for him to speak.

“You said you want me to trust you, right? Why not answer?”

“Because you won't be happy with what I tell you.”

“Can it really be worse than what you've done to me so far?” you asked.

“If you can imagine the sort of crimes that get someone sent to death row, then yes.”

“…. Oh.”

Razor turned his head towards you, and you got a certain sense of “I told you so” when he looked over.

What he did couldn't have been any small crime – given how easy it had been to imagine him killing you, murder was the first thing you thought of. But even then, convicted killers didn't always get sentenced to death. There was that guy from Zaban who had literally torn his victims to pieces and while he had gotten over 900 years in prison, the fact that he hadn't been put to death was mind boggling to many.

So just what had Razor done to get himself on death row?

And why was literally everything about this only managing to become worse and worse?

“Why were you sent to death row?” you whispered after a few moments.

It wasn't much of a surprise when he took a bit to answer, frowning again as he stared off at the space in front of him. He didn't want you to know anything about this for some reason.

But eventually, he answered.

“I killed some people,” he said.

“How many?”

“You don't need to know.”

“Why did you kill them?”

“Because I could.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

That's horrible, you wanted to say. But you refrained. Not only because it would be pointing out the obvious, but it probably wouldn't do any good saying that to a man who admitted to something as awful as murder.

Because I could

The words echoed in your head, and you couldn't help but note how there had been a distinct lack of remorse in his tone. Almost as if he didn't care about the lives he had snuffed out for no reason.

A weight settled in your chest at that thought. Why it did remained unclear, but you found yourself wanting to make this better somehow.

“Do you feel bad about it?” you asked.

“What?”

His confusion was evident.

“Do you feel bad for killing those people?” you clarified, “if you could do it all over again, would you leave them alone?”

Why you now wanted so badly for him to agree with what you said was also unclear. Razor was a kidnapper and an admitted murderer – one who was bad enough that he earned himself a spot on death row. Why did it matter to you whether he was sorry for what he'd done?

But regardless, it seemed that was what your heart wanted.

Razor hadn't answered you, and in fact, he was looking at you as though you had grown three heads.

… That wasn't a good sign.

After a few moments where it seemed he was trying to pick his words carefully, he spoke up.

“I don't see much value in thinking about things I could've done differently in the past,” Razor answered.

Then he reached over to you.

While this time you didn't flinch or jerk away, you stiffened immediately, the pillow you held becoming squished between against you as you anticipated him putting his hands on you again.

Surprisingly, Razor paused when he saw your reaction, seeming thoughtful as he watched the way you sat, virtually petrified on the bed with a terrified look on your face.

Could he really blame you? He just told you a lot that warranted being worried about him. Even moreso than before.

Evidently he didn't, as he pulled his hand back and smiling at you again as he said “the important thing is what's happening now, and what our lives will be like from this point onward.”

“So let's not focus anymore on that,” he added.

Stop talking about it, was what he meant.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding in agreement.

Razor seemed pleased with that.

Not long after he told you to rest up, and within a few minutes the lights were off. Once more you needed to try and get some sleep while you lay next to your kidnapper, and the only saving grace was the fact that he was keeping his hands off of you this time. But while you tried to get some meager amount of sleep, you weren't able to focus much on his semblance of respecting your personal space. Instead, there was only one thought going through your head in that moment:

He wasn't sorry

Your wrists weren't tied up when you left the motel the next morning.

That was nice.

And while Razor wouldn't let you out of the car, he did stop at a restaurant to get you a to-go order of pancakes when you asked him to. Eating them in the moving car was awkward but you appreciated that he humored your request.

That was also nice, even if it had the potential of being your last meal before Razor took you to that island.

The knowledge soured the meal somewhat, but as much as you hated to admit it, you weren't so sure now that you would be escaping him. Razor hadn't given you any opportunity to take advantage of, and even with him giving you a bit more freedom of movement, he made a point to lock you inside the car during the time he was gone.

That made sense. After everything, you couldn't see him being foolish enough to leave you alone without having taken some step to secure you beforehand. It was actually pretty surprising that he was giving you the freedom he was after what he'd told you in that motel room.

Though maybe it wasn't too surprising when you considered the fact that he wanted you to like him. While the soulmate thing was complete bullshit, that was what Razor believed. So it made sense that he would want you to feel good about him since he planned on keeping you with him from now on.

That last part had never been said, but you got the sense that would be what happened if Razor got his way.

The rest of your life being spent playing into this man's delusions….

You would have shuddered at the thought if not for your fear that Razor would notice it.

“We'll be driving through the rest of the night,” he told you some time later, “and by tomorrow morning we'll have made it to our boat. From there it won't be too long of a journey to the island.”

You nodded along, though hearing what he said caused a pit to form in your stomach.

Once you were on that boat, the chances of escape were next to zero. It would be better to throw away any thoughts of escape if you were to reach that point.

To try and get away while on the water would be suicide.

He asked you questions every now and then, and though it wasn't as strong as it had been the previous night, you felt that pressure like you needed to answer him in exchange for the kindnesses he had shown you.

So you did what he wanted, and every time you glanced to him after, you saw a pleased look on his face.

You should've felt bad for him. Razor was the one who clearly had a lot of issues – things that, if he was a bit more mentally well, he probably wouldn't have done. Maybe. But then again, you were the one being dragged along with him against your will, so your sympathy could only go so far.

The sun was setting when Razor pulled over to another gas station to refill the tank. This was probably the last stop like this that you'd be making, if what Razor said earlier was correct.

The hand drier in the bathroom was still roaring when you left, only to be muted once the door shut behind you. As you had done a lot over the past few days, you immediately headed back towards the car as you knew your kidnapper wanted you to.

Only this time he wasn't watching you like a hawk.

Razor was by the car as the tank continued to fill, leaning against it as he stared out into the distance. Your gaze followed his, and you found that he seemed to be staring at a factory that sat in the distance, if the long, rectangular building accompanied by several smokestacks were any indication. Or perhaps he was looking beyond that, at the city that which was several miles away but still visible from where you stood. Or maybe it was just the sunset. It was at the time of day where the sky was at its prettiest.

Instead of entering the car once you returned, you went to his side and stood next to him, copying the way he leaned on it. He glanced at you, but said nothing about what you were doing. He only returned his gaze to the sight in front of him.

And then an odd expression morphed onto his face.

One that was almost wistful.

“Are you okay?” you asked cautiously.

Razor seemed surprised, looking back at you as he asked “why?”

“You look a little sad, I guess.”

“Do I?”

He looked back in the direction of the factory and the city that sat far off in the distance, and that wistful expression returned. As much as you wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, that question felt like it might be too intrusive and could potentially cause a bad reaction from him, particularly if it involved his past. He really didn't want you to know much in regard to that.

He let out a sigh.

“I guess I am, a little bit,” Razor said, “this is the last time I get to be out and about in the world like this. Once we get back to the island, I know I'll never leave again.”

“Never?” you repeated.

“Never,” he said, “the purpose of leaving the island every so often was to find you, and now that I have, there's no reason for me to come out here like this.”

He leaned his head back, now looking at the darkening sky above him as he added “I knew it was coming, but I didn't think it would bother me, knowing that this is the last time I can walk around like I'm free.”

“… Are you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

“Death row convict.”

“Ah. Right.”

You went over the new information in your head.

“So you can't leave the island once you go back?” you asked, “is it a prison?”

He let out a short laugh.

“It's a prison for some of us, but even then it's nicer than any traditional prison you'll find,” he said.

“Us? There are others like you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but don't worry, you won't need to interact with them.”

You nodded, though your eyebrows furrowed as you thought on it a bit more.

“Will I be able to leave at all?” you asked.

“No.”

You sighed.

“Figures.”

Kicking at a bit of rubble by your foot, you said “so, the plan from here is to go to an island where we'll never leave, and then just….. Hang out there forever?”

“There's a bit more to it than that.”

“Hm.”

When Razor reached for you that time, you didn't flinch or shy away. And when his hand settled on your shoulder, you didn't give much reaction other than to look at him.

“It won't be that bad. The places you'll be able to go to are the nice ones,” he said.

“…. It's still really depressing that I can't ever leave once I get there.”

Razor smiled at you, and this time the sadness he felt was even more obvious.

“I know.”

Then he stood up straight, announcing “we should get going.”

You nodded, and you wordlessly walked around the car to get to the front passenger's seat.

When you were both in the car and after you'd buckled up, something else strange happened.

Razor reached out and pulled you towards him, your head resting on his chest while he kept you in something that resembled a hug.

“I do regret that you've gotten dragged into this,” he whispered against your hair, “I really mean that. While I can't do anything to stop it, I'll do my best to make it easier for you. I promise.”

In that moment, you had no insights as to what Razor was truly thinking or feeling, no clue that everything he'd just said was a genuine promise from him that he intended to keep. So you had no idea how his heart skipped a beat when he felt your hands reach up and hold onto his jacket. You had no idea of the relief that filled him when you moved in closer and reciprocated his hug.

“I trust you, Razor.”

As those words were whispered from your lips, you had no idea that, in that moment, Razor truly believed that he had your acceptance.

There was no one else on the docks when you got there in the morning, arriving early enough that the morning mist was still present as Razor navigated the car through various warehouses and massive walls of shipping containers. Was it unusual for such a place to be completely empty at this time of day? You weren't sure; you didn't know enough about this kind of place to be able to tell what was normal or not.

All the sight did was guarantee that no one other than Razor would witness the last moments you had on the mainland.

Eventually the car came to a stop not far from the edge. Just as he had said, there was a boat sitting in the water. It wasn't anything new as it looked quite battered, but presumably it would make the journey that Razor wanted it to.

Though it would be morbidly funny if, after all of his efforts, it were to sink in the middle of the trip.

“Let's go,” Razor told you.

He stepped out of the car, and after a few moments, you copied the action.

The smell of the ocean air hit you after you got out. You stood there, your hand gripping at the top of the door to keep yourself steady as you looked out at the water before you, and then the boat.

One last leg of the journey, and then you'd be stuck with Razor for good.

…..

No one would ever find you, probably. Your disappearance had more than likely been reported by now, but all efforts to find you would be focused on that hotel you'd been staying at and the surrounding area; who would ever think to look for you on the water? Even if someone remembered seeing your face and informed the authorities, how would they reach anything other than a dead end once they got to the shoreline? You didn't have the time to leave some sign of you behind, nor could you with Razor undoubtedly watching you as close as he had been. You couldn't do anything.

Once you stepped on that boat, you weren't getting away from him. To try and do so would be suicide, you reminded yourself.

Your grip on the door became harder and breathing became more difficult the longer you stared at the boat.

I don't want to go I don't want to go I don't want to go

And again you asked why he needed to pick you.

Razor's voice saying your name forced you away from your thoughts, and you turned your head to see that he had your luggage slung over his shoulder and a concerned look on his face as he watched you. Your internal freak out wasn't as internal as you thought it was, then.

Swallowing a few times, you eventually asked “can I just….. Can I have a minute?”

“…. Alright.”

Then, to your utter surprise, Razor turned and began walking towards the boat.

Leaving you behind.

……

Was this some kind of test? Or maybe…. Did he think that since you were now at this point, he could relax a bit in watching you? Was he that confident you weren't going anywhere?

Razor continued making his way to the boat without a single glance back at you.

Your heart began to beat hard against your chest as you realized: you could run.

If you waited until he reached the boat and then made a break for it, you might just have a decent head start. If not to escape the area completely, then to find someplace to hide. Maybe find a phone and call for help. If it was a landline phone, they should be able to figure out your location without you needing to try and figure out where you were exactly.

If he caught you, it'd be bad for you, sure. But….

As he went further and further away, you were acutely aware that this was the first chance you had gotten to make an escape. The only chance you had. Were you really going to waste it by being too afraid of him?

….. No.

For once, you were going to take control of the situation.

And you were leaving.

You kept watch as Razor stepped off the dock and onto the boat, your things still in hand as he made his way to the cabin. Your hand was still gripping the door, your knuckles becoming pale from how hard you held onto it.

When he went inside. That was when you would run.

Once he stepped through the low doorway of the cabin, you did just that.

You pushed off from the door and you ran.

All you heard was your shoes on the dock and your own heartbeat in your ears as you propelled yourself forward. That felt a bit odd; you would have expected to hear him call out in anger on seeing you running. But at you reached the end and turned a corner past a line of containers, you didn't hear anything from him. There was no indication he even noticed that you had fled.

That was even better. While he would notice soon enough, every second you got with him being unaware would help in aiding your escape. You could do this. With every step forward you took with no sign of Razor coming after you, your confidence grew.

And then, after exiting the row of containers and reaching a warehouse, you saw a godsend:

A man.

He stood at the end of the structure, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on you once you rounded the corner. With black hair sticking out of a odd blue cap and the rest of his blue and white clothing looking slightly worn, he looked raised an eyebrow as he took in your disheveled state.

You, on the other hand, felt relief upon seeing him. This was someone who could help. If you could explain what was happening, he could get you away and call the police. Then all of your problems would be over.

You could go home.

So you ran towards him, calling out “sir! Please, help me!”

He said nothing, but when you stumbled as you reached him, he took his hands out of his pockets so as to steady you, keeping his hands on your arms while you grabbed at the long blue scarf that hung from his neck.

“Please,” you said again, gulping as you did your best to maintain your composure, “I've been kidnapped. We need to get out of here and call the police.”

“Kidnapped? Who would kidnap you?” the man asked.

“He-he said that he's a death row convict,” you began, “he was waiting for me in my hotel room, and he tied me up and took me with him. Now he's trying to take me to some island and he says I can't ever come back.”

When the man didn't immediately respond, you got a bit more frantic as you cried “I swear, I'm not making this up! I've really been kidnapped, and I need the police before he tries to get me again! All of this is true!”

The logical part of your brain knew that getting hysterical wouldn't help you. But you weren't able to be completely logical in that moment. Now that you were so close to escape, you couldn't control yourself. You needed him to listen to what you were saying.

Finally, the man nodded.

“I believe you,” he said.

Relief rushed through you as you smiled, and you held onto his scarf tighter, unwilling to let go of this lifeline.

You spoke to the man again, asking if he had a phone, or better yet, if he had a car, and if he knew how far away the nearest police station was. He didn't really answer, though perhaps he couldn't with the way you were rambling in that moment. But you noticed when he looked past you and down the path that you'd just come from.

Your eyes followed his gaze and just like that your words died in your throat as your grip on the man's scarf became tighter, this time from fear.

Razor was there. Staring at you.

And for the first time, you saw true anger in him. Those dark eyes glared at you across the distance as he saw you in this unknown man's arms.

He's going to kill me

You looked back to the man, ready to beg for him to help again, for him to get you out of here before Razor murdered both you.

The man spoke before you could.

“Is this them, Razor?” he asked.

…. Huh?

He knew Razor's name?

How? You hadn't told this man what your kidnapper's name was. You were certain that you hadn't.

“Yeah,” your kidnapper answered.

Razor was talking to him? Not flying into a murderous rage and killing you both? The nonchalance of his reply was also a shock.

“Huh. I'm a little surprised,” the man said as he looked back to you.

“Surprised at what?” Razor asked. He started to walk forward at a moderate pace, taking his time while he kept his eyes fixed on you.

“That they got away from you,” the man answered.

You tried pulling away from him then. But the grip he had on your arms was ironclad, and no amount of wriggling would free you.

This man was far, far stronger than he looked.

“That was an error in judgment on my part,” Razor answered, coming to a stop as he had now reached the two of you by the warehouse.

“I'm sorry to have made you step in, Ging,” Razor added.

Ging?

The man who held you laughed.

“I don't mind,” Ging answered, “saves you the hassle of catching them again, right?”

“Right…..”

Razor's voice trailed off as he stared at you again, and with him being so much closer this time, you felt your entire body shudder while your heart beat pounded in your chest again, now being caused by pure, unadulterated fear.

He was so, so mad.

Ging then smiled at your kidnapper.

“Well, aside from this little mishap, everything else work out well?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Razor answered. His attention finally went back to Ging, and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Glad to hear it.”

Ging was saying something else to him but you couldn't completely hear it. You still tried to slip your way out of Ging's fingers, but it was no use; he wasn't letting go unless he wanted to. Tears were welling up as you continued the futile effort. And somehow, the fact that he wasn't even acknowledging your attempt to get away only made it worse.

Why? Why did Ging need to be here to catch you? Why did you need to have such awful luck?

What was going to happen to you now?

You didn't want to find out, and so despite knowing that there was no hope of getting away now, you still tried.

If there was such a thing as divine intervention, you wanted it right now.

“Ah, Right. Before you go, I need to see that you haven't used your nen,” said Ging.

Instead of answering, Razor held up his hand, showing the teal bit of string that was still wrapped around his pinky.

“Just needed to check,” Ging told him, “we'd both be in trouble if that was broken.”

“I know.”

“Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way-”

Finally removing his hand from where he'd been gripping you, Ging unexpectedly turned you around and pushed you, causing you to stumble forward.

Right into Razor.

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, and his hold on you was immediate and unforgiving, gripping you to the point that it hurt. Like with Ging, you wanted to struggle. You wanted to try and do everything in your power to break free of him.

But unlike with Ging, there was an air around Razor now that felt dangerous.

No, worse than that.

It truly felt like he was ready to kill someone.

And with that aura that surrounded you to the point that you felt like it might actually smother you to death, you couldn't bring yourself to fight against him. It was all you could do to keep your feet planted firmly on the ground.

Meanwhile, Ging and Razor were continuing their conversation.

“Think your replacement will be happy to see you back?” Ging asked.

“They'll probably just be relieved that they'll be done overseeing my duties,” Razor answered, “it usually takes them a few days after before they're at one hundred percent power again.”

“Well of course. The emission system was designed with specifically you in mind. There's no way anyone can run it as smoothly as you do.”

“Yeah.”

Despite his short answer, there was a hint of pride within Razor's voice, and the heavy air around you lifted somewhat.

Ging then looked back to you, smiling as he said “and now we've got this one, it'll be even better than before.”

And just like that, the air was suffocating again. It was like Razor had briefly forgotten the way he had been upset with you only to be shortly reminded of it.

Did Ging know that would happen?

…. Did he do it on purpose?

“Well, I'll let you get going then,” Ging then said, “I'm sure there's a lot you need to talk to them about.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and you're free to use your hatsu now if you need to.”

Razor nodded as he said “see you, Ging.”

Ging waved in response before he turned away.

Razor did the same, one hand remaining on your arm as he began to drag you behind him.

Except your legs didn't want to work, still feeling weak and like they would bend beneath you at any moment. You stumbled along for only a few steps before he bent down to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder.

He handled you roughly as he did so, the breath in your lungs pushing out with a sharp gasp before he continued along. Again he was holding you tightly after, as if with the intent to bruise, like he wanted to leave marks on your skin beneath your clothing. You frequently felt the way his fingers twitched, like he was fighting the urge to do something violent. You were crying now, but your throat was too clogged up to make any noise.

The position you were now in allowed you to watch Ging as he walked away from the two of you. His hands were in his pockets again and he walked at a relaxed pace.

If you weren't so terrified of Razor you might have screamed at the man who gave you back to your kidnapper. Maybe wish torture and death upon him.

But you didn't dare let any noise escape you now.

Why did this need to happen to you?

That thought repeated itself through the entire walk back to the boat while you quietly cried atop Razor's shoulder. Like that very first night, he had yet to say anything. And once you reached the small flight of stairs that led down inside the boat, he moved you off his shoulder.

He pushed you down the stairs just as quickly and you tumbled down into the darkness.

Despite the short fall, it still hurt when you landed, your arms taking the brunt of it. However, you barely let out a pained groan afterwards, instead quietly sitting upright before you curled in on yourself, nursing your bruised arms. It still felt like a bad idea to say anything. Even though Razor hadn't come down, you still felt that air around you. Something bad was going to happen shortly.

The sound of an engine coming to life and reverberating through the small vessel caught your attention, as did the way the boat began to move away from the docks and out onto the water.

Perhaps that meant he wouldn't come down. If he was too busy driving the boat, then you would probably be left here until he reached his destination. That wasn't bad. If he took some time away from you, then maybe he wouldn't be as upset when he saw you again.

Deciding on that being what was most likely to happen, you settled down on the floor, anticipating a long, lonely journey.

Someone's hand grabbed at you in the darkness.

Now you screamed.

On instinct, you tried to pull your arm away. Your attempt was unsuccessful, and the hand hauled you up to your feet.

Another hand grabbed at you, this time clamping down onto your leg. No matter how hard you tried to kick them away, you couldn't escape their grip.

Someone else grabbed your legs, wrapping their arms around one of your knees so you were unable to move. At that same time, someone else grabbed your free hand, and both of your arms were stretched out away from your body, making it even harder to struggle.

You still tried, though. Even when a body came up from behind you and hooked their elbows beneath your armpits, you did everything in your power to wiggle out of those hands that held onto you.

If only that had been enough.

Within moments you were completely immobilized, your body held down by the multitude of hands that had come from the darkness. The only thing you could do was scream, and the ability to do even that was taken away when a large palm slapped over your mouth. Tears continued to stream down your face.

The lights were suddenly turned on, forcing you to close your eyes while you heard Razor descend the small flight of stairs. It took a few moments of blearily opening your eyes before they adjusted to the light, but when they did, you found Razor standing in front of you.

But you weren't able to keep your focus on him for long, not when you saw who was holding you. Several men dressed in white and blue, their blue caps covering their eyes.

….. No, not men.

Things.

They weren't human. They couldn't be. Despite their humanoid shapes, the wide smiles that were filled with the dangerously sharp teeth wasn't something any human you knew of possessed. The pure white skin was also a sign that these weren't human. Not just from the sight alone, but from how that skin felt against your own. It felt artificial, and their touch was completely cold. And while you weren't able to see any of their eyes due to the blue caps adorned with numbers, every single one of them was looking right at you, smiling at you while they held you down.

Your breathing became harsher as you began to truly panic, your sobs muffled by the hand that kept you silent. You were quickly becoming lightheaded.

Somehow, the one that was covering your mouth realized this as they pulled their hand away, and you took in a few desperate gulps of air before you focused on Razor again.

His expression was just as grim as it had been when he was outside.

“Trust is an awful thing to break,” he said.

He stepped forward, and your body tensed as you tried to back away from him. Unsurprisingly, the grip those creatures had on you remained strong.

“It can take a long time to build up even in the best of circumstances, and then it can shatter completely with a single lie,” he continued.

“Or a single act.”

Razor stood before you now, towering over you with a dark look in his eyes.

“I thought we had an understanding,” he said to you, “after what we talked about, after what you said to me yesterday, I really thought that we had gotten somewhere. That even if you didn't entirely understand it, the soulmate connection was enough to keep you from running,” he continued.

“But you were lying through your teeth about everything, weren't you?”

His expression when he said that was too scary and you looked down, focusing instead on the creature that had wrapped it's arms around your knee.

You weren't allowed to look away for long as Razor grabbed you by your face and forced you to look up at him, being forced to maintain the uncomfortable eye contact.

Unable to keep yourself calm, your breathing came in harsh as you stared back at him.

And for some reason that seemed to have an effect, as the look on his face softened ever so slightly.

Razor sighed.

“Maybe…. Maybe this hurts a bit more than I expected because we're soulmates,” he thought aloud, “maybe I thought, even without the nen, that you would understand faster because the connection should have been enough.”

“I-I'm – I'm not-” you began.

He moved his hand up so it covered your mouth, cutting you off from whatever excuse he felt would fall from your mouth. Now that you were again unable to speak, you sniffled against his hand while the tears that ran down your cheek met with his fingers.

The boat was still moving, and had seemingly picked up a bit more speed as it continued forward through the water. It was going further and further away from the land, further and further out to the open ocean. You remembered what you had told yourself before:

You weren't getting away now.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you slumped over in the grip of those monsters, your body going limp. Continuing to resist now was thoroughly meaningless.

And some part of you said that it always had been.

It was still quiet; Razor said nothing more, you only continued to quietly cry and those creatures hadn't uttered a single word the entire time. The only things that kept it from being completely silent were the hum of the engine and the sound of the waves that hit the hull of the boat.

When he pulled his hand off of your mouth, you said nothing, continuing to stare up at him as you bit your lip.

Then Razor smiled.

“Ah well. Us being soulmates doesn't mean that we won't make some mistakes now and then, right?”

Despite the pleasant expression on his face, the mood in the room was anything but. Even when he used his thumb to wipe the tears from your face, the action lacked any sort of kindness. There was still a smothering aura that surrounded both him and you, though now it had significantly lessened.

But that didn't make him feel any less dangerous.

“We have several hours before we get to Greed Island – that's plenty of time for us to become acquainted properly. And I'm sure that by the end of it, we'll have both learned some things about each other.”

The smile on Razor's face had never looked more menacing.

“After all, if there's anyone who can forgive me about what I'm about to do, it'll be my soulmate, right?”

[br0kenangel]

𝐔𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢'𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

The sun was bright and merciless as it shone over King’s Landing, illuminating the grand corridors of the Red Keep. Y/N was in her chambers, meticulously inspecting herself in an ornate mirror. Her silver hair was a masterpiece, styled in elaborate braids that framed her face like a crown. Her gown, a deep crimson with intricate black embroidery, clung to her figure in all the right ways, emphasizing her undeniable beauty. Jewelry adorned her neck and wrists, glittering with every movement, adding to the aura of perfection she worked so hard to maintain.

She tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing her reflection. "Absolutely perfect," she purred, a smirk playing on her lips. "As usual."

A knock on the door interrupted her self-admiration, and she sighed dramatically, already irritated by the intrusion. "What is it now?" she called out, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Ser Harrold stepped into the room and bowed. "Princess Y/N, His Grace requests your presence."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Let me guess—it's about that little crying evil again?"

"His Grace insists, my lady." Ser Harrold replied, his tone polite but firm.

Y/N sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder with an air of exasperation. "Fine, fine. Let's get this over with, then. I have better things to do than cater to a toddler."

As they made their way through the grand halls of the Red Keep, Y/N’s heels clicked sharply against the stone floors. Servants bowed low as she passed, but she barely spared them a glance.

When they reached the nursery, Y/N paused just outside the door, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don’t see why I must suffer this," she grumbled. "He’s just an annoying little demon, constantly crying and demanding attention."

"Princess," Ser Harrold said gently, "he is your betrothed."

"Betrothed," Y/N repeated with a sneer. "To a child who still soils himself. How utterly delightful."

The door opened, revealing Viserys cradling a squirming, red-faced Aegon in his arms. The toddler was in the middle of a tantrum, his cries echoing off the walls.

"Y/N, my beautiful daughter," Viserys said, relief evident in his tone. "Aegon has been fussy all morning, and I thought perhaps seeing you might calm him."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. I suppose I’m to be a nursemaid now."

The nursemaid approached cautiously, holding out the still-crying Aegon. The child’s face was blotchy with tears, his little arms flailing in distress.

"I do not want to hold that little—" Y/N began, her tone full of disdain, but before she could finish, Aegon’s cries abruptly stopped. He looked up at her, his violet eyes wide with curiosity, and suddenly, his tiny arms reached out, making grabby motions toward her.

Y/N stared at him, unimpressed. "What does he want?"

"He wants you to hold him, my lady," the nursemaid said, a hopeful smile on her face.

Y/N sighed dramatically, clearly annoyed, but reached out anyway. Instead of cradling Aegon gently, she lifted him by his armpits, holding him at arm’s length like he was some dirty rag. "You look disgusting," she informed him flatly.

Aegon’s lower lip trembled, his eyes welling up with fresh tears. Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, Seven Hells—fine!" she snapped, pulling him closer to avoid another tantrum.

As soon as he was within reach, Aegon’s tiny hands reached out and cupped her face, his chubby fingers patting her cheeks with surprising gentleness. Y/N stiffened, but before she could pull away, Aegon babbled in a soft, sweet voice, "Pwetty! Pwetty!"

Y/N’s scowl faltered for just a moment as she stared at him in disbelief. "Annoying and loud, but at least you’ve got good taste, I suppose," she muttered, begrudgingly impressed.

Aegon giggled, his entire face lighting up with pure joy. His small hands moved to her hair, tangling in the silver strands, his laughter bubbling up like the sweetest music. Y/N wanted to push him away, to demand he stop, but there was something disarming about the way he looked at her, his eyes wide with admiration and awe.

"Pwetty!" he repeated, his voice full of innocent delight as he continued to play with her hair.

"Yes, yes, I know," Y/N said with a sigh, though she couldn’t help the small, almost reluctant smile that tugged at her lips. She sat down on a nearby chair, placing Aegon on her lap. He immediately began to tug at the ribbons on her gown, his little fingers fascinated by the shiny fabric.

"I’m not a toy for you to play with," she remarked, her tone sharp, though she made no move to stop him. His small fingers played with her jewelry, his eyes wide with wonder as he babbled softly to himself.

Y/N glanced down at the boy, who was now contentedly settled on her lap, still cooing and playing with her dress. She couldn’t help but let out a small, reluctant chuckle. "You’re lucky you’re not that hideous," she said, more to herself than to him. "But don’t think for a second that this means I like you."

Aegon responded with a bubbly laugh, his chubby cheeks dimpling as he grinned up at her. He rested his head against her chest, snuggling into her as if he belonged there. Y/N rolled her eyes, but her hand instinctively moved to rest on his back, patting him gently as she muttered under her breath about how this was a complete waste of her time.

"Don’t get used to this," she warned him, her tone firm. "I’m not here to coddle you."

As she looked down at Aegon, who was now happily playing with the rings on her fingers, she couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of something close to affection, though she quickly smothered it. Aegon looked up at her, his eyes wide with adoration, and babbled once more, "Pwetty!"

Y/N smirked, shaking her head. "Yes, yes, I’m pretty. But you," she said, her tone returning to its usual sharpness, "you’re just an ugly little thing."

Aegon blinked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, clearly not understanding her words but somehow sensing her tone. His little face crumpled as if he might cry again, and Y/N sighed heavily, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "Oh, don’t start that again," she snapped, but before she could say more, Aegon reached up and patted her cheek again, this time leaning in to give her a slobbery, baby kiss.

Y/N stiffened, utterly horrified. "Did you just—" she began, but Aegon giggled, clearly proud of himself, and nestled back against her, his little arms wrapping around her neck.

She stared at him, utterly exasperated. "You are the most annoying little creature in all of Westeros," she muttered, but when Aegon looked up at her with that wide-eyed, adoring expression, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

"Fine," she grumbled, letting out a dramatic sigh. "You can stay for now. But just this one time, and don’t you dare think this means you’ve won me over."

Aegon simply giggled, resting his head against her chest as he snuggled into her even more, utterly content. Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes, but a small, almost fond smile played at the corners of her lips despite herself.

"Ugly little thing," she muttered again, though her tone was softer now, her fingers gently stroking his hair as he dozed off on her lap.

Part 2 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[artemiszy]

I read your Hades x Persephone reader story when the seasons changed, and I loved it. Is it okay to request a story about Poseidon and Amphitrite reader? If it's okay with you?

THE WRATH OF THE SEA | Poseidon X Reader

Poseidon x Amphitrite!Reader | Record of Ragnarok

"In which the fearsome sea god is furious, and perhaps a wife can give him some peace."

WARNING. poseidon being himself(a little shit). forced relationship. FEMALE READER

The waters, normally an extension of Poseidon's serene power, were now in constant turmoil. High, violent waves crashed against the shores, dragging away boats and leaving the skies covered in dark, threatening clouds. Fishermen were afraid to venture out to sea, and the usually peaceful sea creatures were restless, as if sensing the anger emanating from the depths.

Poseidon, the God of the Sea, rarely showed his emotions so openly, but in recent days, even the other gods had begun to realize that something was terribly wrong. Deep in the ocean, his palace of coral and precious stones was shrouded in a heavy atmosphere. Marine guardians and servants moved silently, fearful of disturbing their lord. Poseidon himself remained on his throne, his eyes fixed on a distant point, as if searching for something that even he could not define.

In the great hall of the Council of Valhalla, where the gods gathered to discuss the fate of the world, the tension was palpable. The thrones were occupied by the powerful deities, but there was a notable emptiness; Poseidon's place was unoccupied. He, who should have been present to discuss the matters affecting his domain, had isolated himself, absent both in body and spirit.

— "There is something wrong with the seas." — One of the gods began as the others murmured throughout the vast hall. — "Poseidon is not at peace, and his unrest is affecting our entire domain."

— "And what should we do?" — Another god questioned. — "We cannot allow the outburst of a single enraged god to cause irreparable damage."

— "Then let us send someone to confront him!" — Proposed another god with a determination that bordered on enthusiasm, perhaps a god of war, be it Ares or from another pantheon. — "Perhaps some powerful creature, a titan, or even an army of monsters or gods. That should calm him down."

Before another god could answer, two black ravens, Hugin and Munin, Odin's messengers, flew into the hall, landing on the arm of their master's throne. Odin, the father of all, tilted his head slightly, as if he were hearing a whisper that only he could understand, his wise eyes turned to Zeus.

Zeus, the king of the gods, held his hand up signaling for everyone to be silent, then the old-looking god put his hands behind his back and began to laugh a few short times.

— "Brute force will not solve this problem." — Zeus informed, in the center where his throne was. — "What my brother needs is something more... delicate. Poseidon has always been lonely, even among us. He needs someone who can bring balance, calm the chaos that is in his soul." — And then he announced it to everyone as if it were a simple and obvious solution. — "My brother must marry."

Zeus's suggestion hung in the air like a bolt of lightning about to strike. There was a murmur among the gods, who exchanged uncertain glances. The idea of ​​Poseidon, the ruthless and secretive tyrant of the seas, marrying was almost inconceivable. However, the circumstances called for extraordinary measures, and everyone there knew it.

And who, among the many deities, nymphs, and other beings, would be capable of assuming such a role?

Odin, the wise father of all, who had remained silent until then, nodded slowly, his long beard swaying slightly.

— "Balance is the key to avoiding chaos." — Odin said, his deep voice filled with ancient wisdom, silencing everyone else with only his powerful aura. — "A marriage could provide that balance. But who would be capable of uniting with Poseidon?"

The question hung in the air, with no immediate answer. The gods knew that finding a wife for Poseidon would be no easy task. The choice should be made with caution, for this union was not merely a matter of love or desire, but a necessity to preserve the order of the seas.

— "Let me handle it." — Zeus waved one of his hands in a relaxed manner. — "I know my brother very well. We will calm the seas, and he will find the peace he so seeks."

The murmurs grew in volume, but no one openly disagreed with the suggestion, although they had their doubts. The idea of ​​the merciless God of the Seas of the Greek pantheon who was capable of even terrorizing other deities, and marrying seemed like a distant idea.

Zeus turned his gaze to Poseidon's throne in the council of Valhalla, which, at all times, was empty. His brother was absent from the meeting, wrapped in his own internal storm. Zeus knew that to persuade Poseidon, it would take more than words or orders. It was a matter of making him realize that, without balance, even the most powerful could fall.

— "I will speak with him." — Zeus declared at last, banging the gavel. — "And with that, I declare the meeting closed."

In the heart of the ocean, far below the tumultuous surfaces where the storms raged, tranquility still reigned. It was there, in the depths, where the currents were gentle and the sunlight was only a distant whisper, that (Name) and her sisters, the Nereids, spent their days. (Name), the oldest and most beautiful of the sisters, was known for her kindness and grace, virtues that made her beloved among all the creatures of the sea.

On that particular day, the sea was rougher than usual, even in the depths where the Nereids usually gathered. However, (Name) and her sisters did not allow the tumult of the waters to interrupt their moment of fun. They were on a reef near the surface, where the currents brought a refreshing sensation, and the environment was perfect for their games.

— "(Name), look at that wave!" — Shouted one of the Nereids, laughing as she glided along the crest of a wave that was forming over the reef. — "It's taller than anything we've ever seen!"

(Name) smiled, her (e/c) shining with the light filtering through the water. She was about to answer when a distinct movement caught her attention. Two figures were approaching the reef, their imposing outlines quickly recognized by all the Nereids. It was Zeus, the king of the gods, accompanied by his older brother, Poseidon.

— "Look there..." — Murmured one of the Nereids, bowing slightly to them.

The Nereids, always respectful, moved away discreetly, leaving the way clear for the gods to approach. (Name), however, felt her heart accelerate unexpectedly. Poseidon, the god of the seas, was a figure that inspired fear. She only knew him from afar, from the stories told by the others, and from the austere presence he maintained over his domain. But now, he was there, in front of her, and his eyes seemed fixed on her in a way that made her stomach turn.

— "The sea is rough today, brother." — Zeus commented, his tone carrying a lightness that contrasted with the gravity of the situation. He cast a playful glance at Poseidon. — "But it seems you found something that caught your attention."

Poseidon, always austere and rigid in posture, gave Zeus a stern look, but did not respond immediately. His eyes, however, betrayed his interest. He observed (Name) with an intensity that he could not hide, even from himself. It was as if, in that moment, the rest of the world became irrelevant, and only (Name)'s graceful figure mattered.

— "She is... interesting." — Poseidon finally murmured, more to himself than to his brother.

Zeus let out a low laugh, noticing Poseidon's rare tone of voice, which almost seemed like a glimpse of vulnerability.

— "Different, yes. Maybe that's exactly what you need, brother." — Zeus said, with a mischievous smile on his lips behind his long white beard. — "Who knows, a wife to calm the seas?"

Poseidon looked at Zeus with sharp eyes, but did not argue. Instead, his thoughts began to fixate on the idea, something he had never considered before. Zeus's suggestion, although made with a playful tone, planted a seed in his mind.

Meanwhile, (Name), unaware of the conversations that were happening between the gods, went back to playing with her sisters, but the weight of Poseidon's gaze did not leave her mind. She tried to focus on the laughter and fun around her, but a part of her consciousness was alert, feeling that something was changing.

The days passed, but (Name)'s mind kept returning to that strange and silent encounter with the god of the seas. She tried not to think about it too much, but something inside her knew that that moment, that look, held more meaning than she could understand.

Until one night, when the waters were calmer and the sky shone with the starlight reflected on the surface, (Name) was alone, lost in thought. She had moved away from her sisters, seeking a moment of peace in a deeper corner of the ocean, where the currents were gentle and the rarefied light created an atmosphere of stillness.

It was in this moment of solitude that (Name) heard, in the distance, a whispered conversation that made her stop. Curious, she swam towards the source of the sound, hiding in the shadows so as not to be noticed. Her ears caught the voice of her father, Nereus, in discussion with figures she did not immediately recognize, but who seemed to exude an unfamiliar authority.

— "We will calm the seas when Poseidon is satisfied." — Said one of the voices, deep and emotionless. — "He needs a mate, someone who can calm his fury."

(Name) felt a chill run through her body. They were talking about Poseidon and his need for a wife, her mind began to connect the dots quickly, and a feeling of unease settled in her heart.

— "But who would be worthy of such a role?" — Nereus asked, with a worried tone.

Before the answer came, (Name) heard a whisper from her sisters, who were closer, but still out of sight hiding in some corner. They were talking among themselves, and the word "marriage" reached (Name)'s ears clearly, followed by her own name. She held her breath, her heart racing.

— "It can't be..." — She murmured to herself, backing away slowly, fear forming in her chest.

Without waiting for more, (Name) turned and swam as fast as she could away, the sound of her own heart drowning out any other thoughts. She didn't stop until she found a safe haven, away from the disturbing conversation, but her mind was in turmoil. Poseidon, the god of the seas, was being pressured to marry. And the looks he had given her, the whispered conversations, everything pointed to a single, terrible conclusion.

For days, (Name) tried to avoid thinking about the subject, but the idea that she might be considered for marriage to Poseidon was something she couldn't shake. She felt torn between duty and her own desire for freedom. However, before she could make any decision, her destiny caught up with her.

On a night when the full moon illuminated the waters with a pale glow, (Name) was alone, once again, near a coral reef. The environment, which would normally calm her, now seemed suffocating. She couldn't shake the thoughts of Poseidon, and what it could mean for her future.

Suddenly, the sea around her began to change, the waters, previously calm, began to swirl slowly, creating a growing whirlpool. (Name) felt a fear plant itself in her chest even before she saw the imposing figure of Poseidon emerge from the center of the current, his rigid posture and icy gaze made it clear that he was not there for trivial conversations.

— "(Name)." — His voice echoed like a raging ocean, filling around them, despite being in a calm tone. — "You will be my wife."

The statement was more of an order than a request, and Poseidon's intimidating aura made (Name)'s heart beat even faster. She instinctively backed away, fear taking over her senses.

— "I... can't..." — She shivered, trying to find words that wouldn't come. Poseidon's overwhelming presence made her feel small, insignificant.

Poseidon stepped forward, his face impassive but his eyes betraying the fury contained within him. He wasn't used to being challenged, and the idea that (Name) could refuse his proposal, or rather, his demand, seemed inconceivable to him.

— "You will be my wife." — He repeated, even more firmly, as if his will could bend reality around him.

(Name), in a panic, took one last look at the god of the seas before turning and fleeing. She swam with all her strength, her desperate movements creating a trail of bubbles behind her. Poseidon watched her escape, his eyes narrowing, and the sea around his began to churn violently, reflecting the storm brewing within his soul.

As (Name) disappeared into the darkness of the depths, Poseidon remained behind, his anger growing by the second. The seas began to roar in response.

(Name)’s escape was not just an act of desperation, but a catalyst that threw the ocean into even greater chaos. Her refusal and fear in the face of Poseidon had wounded the god’s pride, and he was not one to be challenged, least of all by someone he believed had a right to claim. While (Name) dove into the darkest depths of the ocean, seeking refuge in the vastness of the sea, Poseidon remained on the reef, his face a mask of coldness as anger bubbled within him.

The currents around the world began to go haywire, the tides became dangerously unpredictable, and the waves swept across lands with a fury that made even the gods fear the worst. In Valhalla, the Council met again, this time under much more serious circumstances.

The great hall was filled with worried murmurs. The gods were restless, aware that Poseidon's destructive power was not something that could be easily contained. Odin, sitting on his throne, watched the unfolding chaos with stern eyes. His ravens, Hugin and Munin, flew around the hall, their caws adding an even more ominous tone to the atmosphere.

— "The seas are out of control!"— Said one of the gods, his voice thick with concern. — "If this continues, there may be a catastrophe that not even we can foresee!"

Zeus, who sat on his throne in the center, remained neutral, but the way his nails scratched hard on the arms of his throne suggested that not even the king of the gods had been able to foresee this. He knew that Poseidon's wrath was as much a force of nature as a reflection of his brother's emotional state. And now, that wrath was being manifested in a way that threatened to become even more dangerous.

— "We cannot ignore this any longer." — Zeus said, his eyes darkening beneath his thick brows as he looked at the other assembled gods. — "We must find a solution, before it is too late."

Hugin landed on Odin's shoulder, his voice rough and full of knowledge.

— "Poseidon will not be appeased until he has what he desires!" — The raven said, his words echoing through the hall.

Munin, flying close behind, added in a somber tone. — "And what he desires, he believes is rightfully his!"

Odin nodded slowly, his thoughts immersed in possibilities and consequences. Poseidon's stubbornness was well known, and it was wise to recognize that forcing the god of the seas to bow to the will of the Council would not only be difficult, but potentially disastrous.

Zeus, on the other hand, was determined to resolve the situation once and for all. He knew there was only one thing that could calm his brother, the presence of (Name) by his side. But finding the Nereid, who had hidden herself in the depths, would be no easy task.

— “I will go and solve this myself.” — Zeus declared, his voice firm. — “If it is the Nereid that Poseidon desires, then we will bring her to him. But this must be done carefully. We cannot risk making the situation any worse.”

The other gods agreed. As the Council dispersed, Zeus’s thoughts were focused on one thing: finding (Name) before the sea became a destructive force beyond any control. He knew where to begin his search, for even the vast ocean could not hide its secrets from a god.

He remembered Doris, the mother of the Nereids, who had a strong bond with (Name) and knew all the secrets of the ocean. Doris was the only one who knew exactly where her daughter was hiding, and Zeus knew he could use that to his advantage.

At the bottom of the ocean, Doris was in her sea cave on the surface, worried about (Name)'s fate and the chaos that was ravaging the seas. She felt the weight of responsibility, knowing that her knowledge could either save or destroy.

It was at that moment that Zeus appeared, his imposing presence filling the narrow space of the cave, his eyes glowed yellow, but there was also a calculating coldness in his gaze.

— "Doris, I need your help." — Zeus said, his voice reverberating through the walls of the cave despite his calm tone.

Doris, although she respected the king of the gods, felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew he had not come here without a dark purpose.

— "What do you wish, Lord Zeus?" — She asked, her voice cautious.

— "You know where (Name) is hiding," — Zeus stated bluntly. — "And we need to bring her back to Poseidon before things get worse."

Doris was silent for a moment, her eyes falling to the ground. She knew that betraying her daughter's trust would mean losing her love forever, but she also knew that denying Zeus could have dire consequences.

— "I cannot force my own daughter into something she does not want..." — Doris finally answered. — "She fears Poseidon, and rightly so."

Zeus, unmoved, stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. — "I do not ask you to force her," — He said, his voice soft but filled with veiled threat. — "I ask you to convince her, to use your motherly love to bring her back willingly. Tell her whatever it takes to make her return."

Doris felt her heart sink, but she knew she had no choice. If she didn't act, the sea would continue to rage, and Poseidon's fury would not be contained, and Zeus didn't seem like the type to take "no" for an answer without terrible punishment.

With a resigned nod, she agreed. Zeus knew he had gotten what he wanted, and disappeared, leaving Doris alone with her thoughts and her difficult mission.

(Name), hidden in a cave at the bottom of the sea, felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. She could feel Poseidon's fury in the waters that surrounded her, and she knew she couldn't hide forever. But fear paralyzed her, the fear of being forced into a fate she had not chosen.

Alone and desperate, (Name) wondered if there was any way to escape her situation. But at the same time, a part of her knew that the sea, with all its vastness and secrets, was Poseidon's domain. And in his domain, no one could hide forever.

It was then that she heard a familiar voice, sweet and comforting, calling her from outside the cave.

— "(Name), it's me, your mother, Doris." — The voice called. — "I need to talk to you, my daughter."

(Name) hesitated for a moment, but then ran to the cave entrance, relieved to see her mother. She threw herself into Doris's arms, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth.

— "Mom, I'm so scared..." — (Name) confessed, her voice breaking. — "Poseidon... I can't go back to him."

Doris held her daughter's face, looking into her eyes with a mixture of love and pain. She knew what she needed to do, but that didn't make the task any easier.

— "I understand your fear, my dear." — Doris began softly. — "But what you don't know is that Poseidon's fury isn't just anger... it's pain. The sea is in chaos, and he needs you by his side to find some kind of peace."

(Name) shook her head, still hesitant. — "But he's going to force me to be his wife." — She whispered. — "I can't live like this."

Doris sighed, trying to hide the pain in her heart.

— "Poseidon promised he won't force you." — She said, lying softly. — "He just wants to talk to you, to understand what you want. If you don't want to stay, he'll let you go, but first, he needs you to restore the balance of the seas. Everthing depends on you, my daughter."

(Name), despite her doubts, began to give in. She wanted to believe her mother's words, in the love Doris had always shown her. If there was a chance to prevent the destruction of the world and restore peace, maybe she should at least try.

— "Okay... Mom." (Name) said reluctantly. — "I'll go with you, but only to talk to him. If he tries to force me, I'll run away again."

Doris smiled, though her heart was heavy. — "I'll be by your side, don't worry. Everything will be fine."

Upon returning to Poseidon's kingdom, (Name) was immediately greeted by the tyrant of the seas. His eyes were filled with a mix of desire and fury, despite his neutral expression.

— "(Name)." — Poseidon said, his voice deep. — "Finally, you've come back to me."

(Name) stood her ground, trying to remember her mother's words. — "I have returned, Poseidon, but only to talk. Do not force me to do anything, or I will leave again."

Poseidon smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes. — "We will talk, my dear."

He promised, but (Name) could feel the weight of his will, the power he exerted over the ocean and over her. As Doris watched, she knew she had thrown her daughter into the clutches of the sea monster, but she also knew there was no other choice. The world was at stake, and sometimes, even a mother's love had to be sacrificed for the greater good.

And so, (Name)'s fate was in Poseidon's hands, and the future of the seas was uncertain as never before.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astro thoughts : short n sweet <3 moonshinin' <3

Moon in the first house - Very empathetic sweet creatures. Def could be used a lot by people that they love and trust because they can be very giving to their energy a little too much. Attractiveness is through the roof as their auras are usually more open. Very smooth, soft bodies and have an innocent energy around them majority of the time. Its hard to stay mad at them.

Moon in the second house - They need time alone so they can get their thoughts in check. This is a taurus ruled house, so sometimes their emotions can be thru the roof, but they can be extremely level-headed/grounded with the way they move through their circumstances. Money can flow to them smoothly if they keep their focus high on the prize. Other wise, they can be duped by peasants with their fortune if they are not careful.

Moon in the third house - Very practical, intelligent nature. Honest and self aware. Very deep and can bond with anyone if you let them. Truly can keep you on your toes with each convo they have. Can talk to much, or can be way too quiet No in between. Can make a friend outta anyone tbh.

Moon in the fourth house - Light hearted nature. Very sweet and kind to anyone they meet but they keep to themselves a lot. They do NOT like too many people in they're space and it is a treasure to meet them AND to have them around 24/7 because they do not like being around just anybody. You gotta be more complex to get to know them, they are truly a one of a kind. Mysterious nature.

Moon in the fifth house - Great actors. Have a lot of gifts in the arts and could soothe people's emotions with them if they allow their vulnerable side to show. Children LOVE them and are usually inspired by them. The personality of this individual is raw, gentle and nurturing and they must be protected.

Moon in the sixth house - Boundaries is a big thing for this group. Gotta keep their energy in check because they can almost be like in hermit mode. Needs friends that understand their nature to keep them balanced. Animals and plants are their best friend.

Moon in the seventh house - Can have issues with lovers do to their high intensity with their emotions. It's almost like people can't see them for who they are and theirs a lot of potential of a transformative love. With the moon shining its light here, they are almost capable of turning anyone into a special relationship if the chemistry permits.

Moon in the 8th house - Beautiful souls that have a gift in penetrating the minds, souls and bodies of the people they meet. They have internal woes that never seem to make it to the sky, but they know how to water them and make them grow in the ground. True balance is needed with them so they almost always are going thru dark nights of the soul just to get them their. They have a lot to learn, but also so much to show to themselves and others as the journey is a long beautiful one in the end.

Moon in the ninth house - Captivating souls who are needing to bond with people who can change the perception of their mind through the eyes of travel or simply growing in this lifes journey. They know a lot about their favorite topics and would love to share it with anyone who wants to listen to them. Calming auras who enlightens you with the way they think, and are meant to teach and inspire in some way, shape, or form.

Moon in the tenth house - The sweet talkers of the group. The audience just adores them. You really can't stay mad at them for to long. They have sensual energy and people feel this right away. Celebrity energy. Secretive by nature. Most don't know a lot about you, even if your emotional state is in full view to everyone. Masters of manipulation, don't say I didn't warn you ;)

Moon in the eleventh house - Can make friends as soon as they walk out of their house. Shy and reserved in new environments but tend to be a lot sweeter and open up when their comforted. Has a unique presence and a distinctive style. Could almost convince anyone of anything as their looks and attraction tends to make people look the other way.

Moon in the 12th house - Alluring. Majestic. Spontaneous & a wanderer. Protect these children at all cost. There is more than what meets the eye. They attract a lot of people like bees to honey. But flies like you too. Can't let everyone in, they don't know what to do with you. Gotta be more open with being yourself, no matter how mysterious you come off. Boundaries are needed for this group since they are more prone to evil eye as their secretive by nature. People are always trying to spy on them and see what they have that they don't.

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 10 | You're Supposed To Know

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, angst, verbal argument

Synopsis: When an argument between Terry and Havana sends them into a spiral, love is the last thing on their minds. Terry’s inability to see the situation through Havana’s POV becomes the single catalyst for a bomb that's ready to self-destruct.

Now, Terry must come to terms with the fact that this may be the end, and it’s all his fault. In a moment of desperation, Terry returns home and seeks advice from his parents. His parents give him raw and unfiltered guidance that shakes Terry to his core.

“Will Terry’s indiscretions ruin everything he and ‘Vana have built, and is forgiveness even an option?”

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 6 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 7 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 8 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 9 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“’Vana, don't you walk away from me!” Terry yelled behind me as I stormed out of the bedroom.

“No, fuck this! I'm going home! You’re acting like I'm the problem!” I yelled back. I continued to walk into the living room without slowing my pace.

I was on fire. My mind was going 100 miles a minute, and nothing was going to calm me down. I didn't want to talk anymore. Terry's lack of understanding could only be tolerated for so long. He was letting his pride get in the way.

“Come here!” Terry said, grabbing my arm.

“Let me fuckin' go! I'm not doin' this anymore. I'm sick of explainin’ myself!” I yelled as I snatched my arm from Terry.

“Aight, ‘Vana. Calm yo’ ass down. We've been at this all day, and I'm tired. What the hell are you still mad for?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

What was I still mad for? Terry couldn't be this dumb or naïve.

“What am I still mad for? What kinda dumbass question is that? You don't see what you did wrong?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“Watch it! You gettin’ beside yourself, mama. Keep it civil,” Terry said, eyeing me. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Anger was the only emotion present in the room as hues of red dominated our auras. Red was all we had the capacity to see at this point. Our eyes veiled in our pursuit of blood. Lacking empathy and compassion in every word we spewed out of spite. There were no white flags in our future.

We were no longer seeking a resolution, instead, we were now struggling to declare a winner. Who was right? Who was wrong? Who did this? Who did that?

Ears were no longer listening as we were too focused on responding. Quick, sharp tongues leave no room for gentleness. Battling it out like two wordsmiths who hate each other, finding value in inflicting pain with the same lips we used to express the deepest depths of love.

Unknowingly, we both wanted it to stop, but that meant someone had to lose. Unfortunately, I was stubborn, and so was he. Neither set of lips yielded long enough for a reprieve. This was nothing more than a senseless act of immaturity. Both of us were unaware of just how fierce and passionate the other could be when we felt unheard or misunderstood.

“Civil? Keep it civil?! You can't be that dumb, Terry? You don't see nothin' wrong with what you did… Better yet, what you didn't do?” I asked, poking him in the chest.

“Don't do that!” Terry said as he lightly grabbed my hand. “Just stop it, ‘Vana! Use your fuckin' words and talk!” he said, putting my hand by my side.

“Don't fuckin' touch me! You obviously don't care! I've talked all damn day. I've used my words. I've cried. I've… I've… I'm done!” I said, turning on my heels.

“What did I just say?! Stop walkin’ away and talk!” he yelled again.

My movements stopped. I was beyond exhausted. We had repeated the same conversation over and over. Each time getting an even worse result. This fight would not end tonight or maybe ever.

With a heavy heart, I decided for both of us.

At this moment, I would rather walk away than continue to fight. Even if I felt like I was right, we were too far gone. There was probably no coming back from this. Trust was gone. Communication was broken. Feelings were hurt. Lines were crossed. Too much was said, and too much was left uncertain. My heart was damaged. Maybe, I wasn't built for this.

“I'm not repeating myself again! If you think you're right, fine. Fuck it. I don't care anymore. There's nothing more for me to say when you're supposed to know…. Hell… How don't you know?” I said, opening the front door.

I walked out the door, half expecting Terry to stop me. When he didn't follow me, it only reinforced my decision.

After all of that, I was forfeiting this battle.

I conceded. He won.

“Son, tell me what happened?” Rochelle, Terry's mother asked earnestly. She leaned over and kissed Terry's head, hoping to comfort him.

One thing Ms. Rochelle didn't play about was her baby boy Terry. She had yet to meet Havana, so this was a bit of a problem, considering her baby had shown up teary-eyed and distraught over a girl she had never met.

“She found out about what happened between me and Taylor. I was gonna tell her at first, but then I didn't see the need to. It ended right there. It ain't like I kept communicatin’ with her,” Terry said, leaning back in his seat on the couch.

“What you mean by that? What happened wit’ you and Taylor? Mae Ann told me Taylor said she saw you a few days ago. Is that it, or is there more to this story?” Rochelle said, rubbing Terry's back.

“I mean… yes and no,” Terry shrugged.

“Son, spit it out,” she said, rolling her eyes. She could see straight through Terry. He was trying his hardest to repress his feelings, but Rochelle knew Terry was at war inside his head. What she didn't know was that Terry’s internal monologue was growing more chaotic by the second.

“I met up with Taylor after she texted me. She asked me to go with her to Eli’s grave. I mean, we were together when he died. So, I felt like maybe she just needed a friend. So I went—,” Terry said.

“Terrence Richmond! I'm starting to see why this woman was pissed off. You met up with your ex, and didn't think to tell her that? Even if nothing happened, that leaves way too much up for interpretation. Use your brain, baby!” Rochelle said, crossing her arms.

“Well, I didn't want her to get mad at me or get the wrong idea,” Terry said, sinking into the couch.

“And how did that work out, huh?” she said, leaning up to grab Terry's face and forcing him to look at her. “Look at me,” she continued.

“I just thought it would be best if she didn't know. I know ‘Vana. She woulda tried to kill Taylor. Hell, she'd probably woulda tried to kill me, too!” Terry exclaimed. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Terry tried to figure out the best way to tell his mother the rest of the story. “To be honest, Mama, that ain't even the worst part. Taylor kissed me, and… uh… tried to… uh… touch… y’know,” Terry said, nodding towards his groin.

“Unh unh! Terrence, did you at least stop the girl?” she asked loudly. The more her son talked the more she understood Havana’s sentiment. She would wring his father's neck if he didn't tell her about something like this.

“Yes, of course I did. We were in my truck which made it worse. I pushed her off and held her back as best I could, but I was driving. Plus, she kept tryin', so I dropped her off at Julie's. I promise, Mama. Nothing happened. I just honestly didn't know what to do after that,” Terry said, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Nothing happened, my ass! So, you mean to tell me that you let this girl kiss and touch all over you, then expected your girlfriend to be okay with it? Wait a damn minute… I thought you said you didn't tell her,” Rochelle said, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I didn't… She did,” Terry mumbled under his breath.

“Who did? Who is she? What are y—. Terrence! I know damn well you didn't let Talyor tell her first. Come on, honey. This ain't right, and you know it. You should've known this wasn't gonna end well,” she said, popping Terry upside his head.

“Rochelle!” Terry’s father, Franklin, yelled as he entered the room.

“Go ‘head. Tell your father about the mess you done got yourself into. Franky, you gotta hear this,” Rochelle said, shifting in her seat.

Franklin sat in his recliner, facing Terry. “Boy! Talk! Ain't no sense in hangin’ ya' head,” he said, leaning up to get Terry's attention.

Terry sat in silence for a moment. He started the story over, telling it from beginning to end. The more he talked, the more he realized how disappointed his parents looked and the worse he felt. It was becoming more evident to him that he fucked up. Havana had every right to be mad.

“Chelle, can you give us a minute? I think this might be one of those conversations, baby,” Franklin said, rising from the recliner.

“Alright. Please, talk some sense into this boy,” Rochelle said, standing.

Franklin approached Terry's mother kissing her on the cheek. Rochelle left the room and left the two men alone. Franklin knew that this was a conversation that needed a Father's touch. His mother could only understand to a certain extent.

“Son, listen. Before I even start speaking, do you even know what you did wrong?” he asked as he sat back in his recliner.

“Yes. I just… I just didn't think it was that serious. I never wanted to hurt ‘Vana. I love her too much. I thought I was protecting her,” Terry said, looking at his father.

Franklin stared at his son. The look on Terry's face was all too familiar. This was the face of a man who knew he messed up but didn't know if he could fix his mistake. He knew his son well enough to see that whoever this girl was she had Terry's heart— all of it.

“That’s a start. At least, you know you were wrong. Listen to me, son. When it comes to women…., or better yet, when it comes to love, omission is lyin’. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. You let another woman tell your woman something she didn't know about. What makes it worse is that Taylor ain't some random woman, she’s a woman you gotta past wit’. That’s gonna immediately throw some doubt in there no matter how much she trusts you. I can only imagine how Taylor spun that story. So, of course, her initial thoughts are gonna be all over the place. She’s gonna question why you weren't the one to tell her, and if nothing happened, why'd you hide it? You left too much unanswered, son. Then, you let another woman answer for you,” Franklin said. He could see the wheels turning in Terry’s head.

“I know, Dad. It’s just that I don't even think she wants to see me, let alone talk. ‘Vana was more than pissed. She looked hurt. I shoulda followed her. I shouldn't have let her leave. She was right there—,” Terry said, sniffling.

“Son, what I'm about to say is gonna hit you like a shot of whiskey with no chaser. Stop thinking like a man and think like a lover. Don't you dare call that woman tryin' to talk over no phone. Go find her, and let her know how you feel. Meet her wherever she's at, pour yo’ heart, hit yo’ knees. Do whateva you need to get yo’ woman. But before you go over there, you gotta come to terms with something. She don't have to listen, and she for damn sure don't have to forgive ya’. All you can do is let her know how you feel. Hell, show her how you feel. You want that girl bad enough; you won't give a damn about how you look in that moment. Look at me, Terrence! When you get done, her heart should be full, and yours should be empty. Do you understand me?!”

A/N: Remember, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

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[moonselune]

Hey so I saw your ask with female companions and inexperienced tav and could you make one with male companions + Rolan and Raphael? I love your writing!

OOoooOOo yes yes and thank you so much nonnie!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

In the candlelit corner of Gale’s tent, the areanwas imbued with an aura of warmth and intimacy. The flickering flames cast gentle shadows on the canvas, creating a serene ambiance that seemed almost magical. You stood near the edge of the bedroll, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your tunic, your heart pounding in your chest.

Gale noticed your apprehension immediately. His eyes, warm and understanding, met yours as he approached, closing the distance between you. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch comforting and reassuring.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said softly, his voice like a soothing balm. “I understand how you feel.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your self-consciousness pressing down on you. “It’s just… your ex was a literal goddess,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “How can I possibly compare to her?”

Gale’s expression softened even further, a tender smile spreading across his lips. He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You are worth a thousand goddesses more,” he assured you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Mystra was a chapter in my past, but you… you are my present and my future.”

His words brought a rush of warmth to your cheeks, but the nervousness still lingered. Gale seemed to sense this and took a step closer, his body radiating calm and confidence.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promised, his voice gentle and patient “There’s no rush, no need to hurry. Take as longs you need and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, reassuring kiss. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of warmth and affection. Gale’s kiss was soft, patient, a promise of the tenderness and care he would show you that night. As he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours. “And remember, this is about us, about our love. Nothing else matters.”

His hands moved to your shoulders, gently guiding you towards the bedroll. Every touch, every kiss was filled with love and reverence, as if he was worshipping you with his actions. Gale’s patience and understanding made your nerves slowly dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of trust and intimacy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

You stood near the bed of the inn room you had rented for the night, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Astarion, ever the charming and confident one, was watching you with an amused yet tender expression.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “I must admit, I didn’t expect that.”

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I… I’m just inexperienced,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. “I thought… I thought you’d assume I was more experienced, considering…”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. “Considering how beautiful you are?” he finished for you, a playful smile tugging at his lips. When you shook your head, held a laugh of disbelief leaving your lips. Astarion stepped closer, his demeanor softening. "Or how cocky you act?"

You tried to pull away, embarrassed, but Astarion held you firmly, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Don’t shy away from me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “I didn’t expect this, but it makes me feel… honored, in a way.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Honored?”

He nodded, his expression serious yet tender. “This is my first time being with someone I truly love,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of vulnerability. “All my previous encounters… they were never about love. But with you, it’s different.”

Astarion’s confession took you by surprise, the raw honesty in his voice breaking down the last of your defenses. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

“We’ll take this at your pace,” he promised, his breath warm against your ear. “I want you to feel comfortable, to feel cherished.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. A gentle exploration that made your heart flutter. Astarion’s touch was both confident and careful, his hands caressing your back in soothing strokes.

As he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. “Just trust me,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “We’ll make this special, together.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll stepped towards you, his eyes warm and understanding as he took in your worried form.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to take your trembling hands in his. "You don't need to be nervous."

You looked down, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's just… this is my first time," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't want to disappoint you."

Wyll's eyes widened in surprise, and then a soft smile spread across his lips. "Your first time?" he repeated, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and reverence. "Well, that makes this moment even more special."

His reaction caught you off guard, and you found yourself relaxing a little. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Wyll assured you, his cheeks turning a bit pink as he spoke. "I’m honored that you’d share this with me. Truly. And, um… I have to admit, I’m a bit flustered myself."

His honesty and the adorable way he fumbled with his words made you smile. The tension in your shoulders began to melt away as you realized that Wyll was just as nervous and excited as you were. He guided you gently to the bed, his movements careful and considerate.

"We’ll take this slow," he promised, his voice soft and reassuring. "I want you to feel comfortable above all else."

Wyll's touch was light and tender as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was sweet and gentle, filled with affection and care. He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes to make sure you were okay before continuing.

His hands moved to your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he kissed you again, this time with a bit more confidence. You found yourself responding, the nervousness giving way to a growing sense of trust and intimacy.

As the night progressed, Wyll's sweet words and gentle touches made you feel adored. He was attentive to your every need, his actions guided by a genuine desire to make this experience as special and loving as possible. Lying together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that Wyll was the perfect balm for your nervous heart. And in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The gentle glow of the firelight filled Halsin's quarters, casting a warm and inviting light over the room. You stood at the edge of the bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Sensing your nervousness, he approached slowly, his presence calming and reassuring, and if you weren't panicking you would poke fun at him for treating you like a spooked horse.

"You seem tense," he observed, his voice soft and soothing. "What's on your mind, my love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of self-doubt wash over you. "It's just… you've had many lovers," you confessed, your voice trembling. "I don't know if I can compare to, well, any of them."

Halsin’s expression softened and he chuckled, reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and tender. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Just being with you is more than enough," he continued, his voice filled with sincerity. "You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone. I am more than happy to go slow, to make this moment special for both of us."

His words brought a sense of calm over you, easing the tension that was wrought in your body.

"Really?" you asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Really," Halsin assured you, his smile warm and genuine. "We will take this at your pace, with no rush. I want you this to good for you, wondrous even. Everyone deserves to feel the ecstasy that nature provides us.."

His hands moved with gentle care, exploring your body with a reverence that made you feel truly valued. He took his time, ensuring that you felt comfortable every step of the way. He had to confess, he was so used to sex being rather full on, that taking it slow was refreshing. The intimacy you shared warmed him in a way he hadn't felt before and by the time morning came, he could only wish he could just do it all again.

(You two did)

(Numerous times)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The soft glow of candlelight filled Rolan’s chambers in Ramazith's tower, casting dancing shadows across the walls. You stood at the edge of the bed, feeling a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. Rolan, usually confident and self-assured, looked uncharacteristically awkward as he watched you, his eyes filled with affection.

He stepped closer, his usual bravado replaced by a tender nervousness. "So, um… you really haven’t done this before?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Yeah, it’s my first time," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just… I don’t want to mess it up."

Rolan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Well, that makes two of us," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I mean, not that it’s my first time, but… you’re just… you’re gorgeous, and I don’t want to mess this up either."

His awkward honesty made you smile, and you felt some of your nerves start to ease. "You think I’m gorgeous?" you asked, feeling a bit more confident.

Rolan’s eyes widened, and he nodded fervently. "Of course! You’re amazing," he said earnestly. "I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you that for ages."

You stepped closer to him, feeling a sense of warmth spread through your chest. "I think you’re amazing too, Rolan," you said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

He looked down at your joined hands, his expression softening. "We can take this slow," he said, his voice gentle. "We don’t have to rush anything. I just want to be with you."

You nodded, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you. "I’d like that," you replied, your voice steady.

Rolan guided you to the bed, his movements careful and considerate. As you lay down together, he continued to speak softly, his words filled with affection and nervous excitement. His touch was gentle, his kisses sweet and sincere.

As the night progressed, Rolan’s nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced by a genuine desire to make this moment special for both of you. His awkwardness turned into endearing attentiveness, and you found yourself feeling more and more at ease.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The luxurious boudoir was dimly lit, a warm glow emanating from the ornate chandelier above. Raphael, ever the charismatic and smooth-talking devil, watched you with an intensity that made your heart race. Raphael stepped closer, his eyes filled with a smoldering affection.

"You’re nervous," he observed, his voice a soft purr. "Don’t be. You are a vision, and I’m honored to be your first."

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks flush. "It’s just… this is all so new to me," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

Raphael’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup your cheek. "You have nothing to fear, my love," he said soothingly. "I will take care of you. Tonight is about you, about us."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You are worth more than all the treasures in the Nine Hells," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. "I will go slow, cherish every moment with you."

His words brought a sense of calm over you, easing the tension in your body. "Really?" you asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Really," Raphael assured you, his smile warm and genuine. "I want to make this special for you. Every touch, every kiss, will be filled with my love for you."

He guided you gently to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. As you lay down together, he continued to shower you with words of affection and praise. His touch was light and tender, his kisses soft and lingering.

Raphael’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he spoke, "I intend to savor this, every moment. Corrupting such an innocent soul is a delight beyond measure."

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful whack on the arm. "Raphael!" you scolded, unable to hide your smile.

"I jest, my love," He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. Though you only half believed him. He was true to his word, however, and regardless of what Haarlep had told you he was a very generous lover.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so sweet to write I hope y'all enjoy it ! - Seluney xox

[graveyardcuddles]

Breakfast in Bed

A/N: just a dadstarion drabble. feeding as a love language. mdni.

word count: ~ 3000

tags/warnings: sfw, shameless fluff, soft spawn astarion, baby fic, mentions of reader being pregnant in past tense, breastfeeding, soft blood-drinking (? lol), tav reader, mom reader, soft vampire romance, hints of angst, just lots of sweetness, playing fast and loose with dnd lore about dhampirs and vampires.

You're enjoying a rare deep sleep when a small yet powerful sound jolts you into a state of semi-consciousness with alarming urgency. You can barely register your own body around you, attempting to roll and shift. Suddenly, you feel a familiar cool hand touch your shoulder. "Shhh, it's alright, love. I've got her."

Astarion. He must have sensed your panic at your daughter's cries before he even had the chance to grab her himself. You sigh in relief as he quickly moves to soothe her.

"Gods below, whatever could be making that absolutely hideous sound? Has a little gremishka gotten into our home?" He says with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he pads over to her cot.

Untangling yourself from the bedding, you open your eyes just in time to see Astarion gently lifting your tiny daughter out of her bassinet.

"Darling, waking up your mother so early?" He tuts. "And here I was hoping to make this a peaceful morning."

Despite his mock scolding, his expression betrays the softness of his eyes, wide with adoration. His lips curl upwards in a carefree way that you've never quite seen from him with anyone else. A secret smile that only she can pull from him. She scruches her little legs, and he places a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his hand covering almost her entire back. He coos to her as her cries taper out into little whines. Nestling her close to his chest, Astarion tucks her tiny head under his chin. Rocks her gently while shushing her until she goes quiet.

You watch as her tiny scrunched body relaxes as she calms in his hold. So enchanted you are by the two of them that it takes a moment for you to notice the aroma of food coming from behind you. You turn around and see a small tray on your nightstand with a bowl of porridge, two hard-boiled eggs, toast, and some blackberries.

Once again, you find yourself struck by how much he's changed in the years since the Nautaloid. He never used to cook for you before, and you never resented him for it. You couldn't expect him to be enthusiastic about cooking when he couldn't even taste what he made for you.

All of that changed after the news of your impending little one broke. He had quietly taken to practicing a few basic meals for you. They often lacked the amount of seasoning you normally preferred, but with your overly tender stomach, the bland meals ended up being a blessing on days you could barely keep things down.

As you eat your breakfast, you watch the two of them. Somehow, he's always had a remarkable talent for calming her. Something else you never imagined. You used to tease him about it frequently: "Oh sure, I go through all the hard work only for you to be the favorite, then?" He had simply smirked, barely able to contain his triumphant aura.

He's talking to her now; always talking with her about anything: one tangent will lead to another story and then another. He carries on conversation with her as he would any adult, despite the fact she can't even babble yet.

Even before she was born, he would speak to her in the womb. He knew your heartbeat would be a source of comfort for her when she was born, just as it was for him. She would recognize you from it, know you. He lacked the ability to provide that same comfort but hoped his voice would make up for his lack of heartbeat.

In truth, you were awed every day by how naturally Astarion had taken to caring for her, and how much she in turned seemed to take such comfort from him. You remembered how he refused to believe it at first. How something so small and innocent and precious could possibly come from him, an undead creature. Him, with his red eyes and fangs and cold skin. He had been so afraid of frightening her with his appearance at first. You had reassured him constantly, and he had seen his own likeness in the form of portraits over the years. But he could never be sure you weren't just placating him. Could never be sure those artists weren't simply flattering him.

The first time she opened her little eyes and peered up at him, Astarion let out a sigh of relief that her irises weren't a vampiric red. As her tiny eyes bore into his, he tried to discern what their true color was. You were half-delirious from exhaustion as you watched the two of them become acquainted. Barely thinking, you sleepily suggested to him that perhaps her eye color took after his original shade from before he was turned.

Astarion grew quiet and still for a long moment, something inside of him seemingly triggered by your words. A memory locked away long ago, lost to time. For the second time that same day, his body was hit with deep racking sobs. As he cried quietly into your shoulder, he clung to the little bundle in his arms, a part of himself thought long lost now given back to him.

He brings her to you now, settling down next to you in bed. You cuddle up next to your husband and baby. He's still too enthralled with her to pass her off to you, as he often is. He kisses her little hands and cheek. He smiles radiantly, far past his fears of scaring her. You're more than content to let him hold her as you eat.

She's calmed down now, her soft delicate features smoothed and her big bright eyes looking up at you both. Those captivating eyes are like faceted gemstones, a rare shade even amongst High Elves. Her skintone is similar to yours in color but with an unsettling washed-out, pale undertone that would be alarming on any other child who wasn't a dhampir. Branches of veins show through her semi-translucent skin. Her soft, silky miniature curls were the color of milkglass.

Your little one is deceptively fragile-looking, sickly even. It's easy to forget sometimes how powerful they could potentially be one day. Even at her tender young age of eight weeks, she's a formidable one. Eating and crying with equal fervor. Small and mighty. Just as opinionated as her father.

She wastes no time in letting you know both know she has needs that must be met. Rolling towards Astarion in his arms, she presses her tiny face into his chest. Her little mouth opens up as her face nudges around his shirt, seeking nourishment. You both giggle at her frustrated attempt.

"I think that's my cue, love." You place the tray back on the nightstand and gently take her from him to nestle her in your arms. Pulling down one strap of your nightgown, you begin feeding your babe in a peaceful ritual you had mastered weeks ago with her. Astarion settles in behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder. For a few minutes, he simply watches the two of you. When he takes note of your unfinished breakfast, he grabs a handful of blackberries from the tray and holds out for you to eat at your leisure as you cradle her.

It isn't lost on him, the way in which you were the first person to ever feed him. Truly feed and nourish his body, with the very blood from your own body nonetheless. Never in a million years did he ever think he would one day witness you feeding his child with that same body. An entirely brand new soul, somehow born of your union. Innocent, beautiful and alive. A part of Astarion was alive again, and he could hardly believe it even as he faced each new challenge head-on.

Since she was born, he would sometimes go without feeding for days at a time. Though the elk, deer and boars that populated the nearby woods provided ample prey for him, you knew he hated leaving you two behind even for a few hours of time that it typically took for him to hunt.

He was trying to hide it, but you could tell he was starving now. His face was a little more hollow than usual, eyes a bit more sunken, skin paler and colder. It was truly a testament to how much he adored your daughter that despite his sickly appearance, he still radiated with joy in her presence.

The blackberries run out. You tilt your head to look at him. "You should feed," eyes fixed on his. He blinks at you, obviously surprised at your suggestion. "Just a bit of my blood before you go hunting."

It takes more than a bit of willpower to stifle your giggle at his reaction. Astarion had never been one to hesitate accepting your blood.

"I- Darling, come now. You're sweet to offer, but we shouldn't. Not when you're already expending yourself," his arms snake around your waist, and his cool fingers knead into the softness of your belly comfortingly.

"Ha, trust me, this is nothing compared to feeding you while traveling and fighting for our lives in the wilderness," you assure him.

"Besides," you gesture at the jewelry around your neck. "That's what this is for."

The Amulet of Silvanus, which had already been more than useful to both of you during your time traveling, had come to have many more beneficial properties than you could have imagined at the time. It restored your blood levels, allowing Astarion to feed on you regularly. And even though he had abstained from feeding on your blood while you were with child, it had been found to also be useful in keeping your milk supply up, giving it a second use once your baby had arrived.

"It's alright," you insisted, eyes and voice soft. "I feel strong enough for this again, my love. Truly. And I trust you," your daughter continues to nurse peacefully, blissfully unaware of the conversation between her parents.

"At least let me take the edge off of your hunger, Astarion. I know you won't go too far. Besides," a smile forms on your face, unable to hold back your enthusiasm any longer. "You know I've missed it, too."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a smile that made your heart ache so much you swear it could have killed you.

"My love," he kisses you on the forehead, then on your lips, then both of your cheeks and your lips again. It's soft and reverent, gentle and loving.

"Always so good to me." He strokes your hair and kisses you some more before pulling away gently. His maroon eyes broke from your gaze and locked onto your little one.

"Are you sure about this, though?" There was a hint of hesitancy in his voice despite his previous enthusiasm. "I don't want to do anything that would hurt you around her," he whispered, conflict clear on his face. You considered his words carefully.

"Well..." You start with a hint of playfulness. "I don't know if you remember, dear husband, but this?" You gestured at your nursing infant. "Feeding her? It was painful at first. And we don't even know if she'll need blood one day. But if she does, I'll be providing it for you both." He looks guilty already, so before he could respond, you followed up. "But even so," you cup his cheek, gently forcing him to look you in the eye. "No matter what happens, she can't hurt me." His eyebrows raised, and he smirked at you with obvious skepticism.

"When we first found out about her, we vowed we would love her, no matter what. Even if her hunger drove her one day to drain innocent people dry." You gaze down on your little dhampir, your precious 'baby monster,' as she fed. "At the time, I was scared, but now... my love for her is so deep. I know nothing will ever change it. Nothing could ever possibly change it."

You look to him and see his eyes were round with wonder. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable, my heart. But just know you don't have to worry about hurting me. You could never hurt me, my love."

He sighed, looking at you with a sort of incredulous amusement that would normally be followed up with a statement about how nothing you say ever makes sense. Instead, he takes the hand that had been caressing his cheek and kisses it longingly.

"I'll never understand what I've done to deserve you, my dear," his nose runs along your inner wrist, savoring your scent.

"Hmm, besides helping me save the world? Well, making me laugh and being adorable definitely doesn't hurt."

"Our daughter is adorable. I am enigmatic and alluring, NOT adorable," he rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Hmm. Sorry love, but I'm afraid all evidence points to the contrary. Our daughter gets her looks from somewhere, and you know who she takes after." Astarion can't hold back his grin he looks down at her and strokes her silvery curls. The semblance between father and daughter was no small point of pride for him.

"Alright, my love. I know better than to argue with the mother of my child." He slips in behind both of you easily, pulling you up so your back is flushed to his chest, allowing yourself to lean back into him.

His arms come up under where both of yours are supporting your babe. He cradles the both of you protectively. "I've got you. I've got you both," he reassures. Your little girl continues to nurse peacefully, both parents holding her tight.

Astarion noses at the base of your neck and inhales deeply. Soft kisses pepper up and down your neck before his lips hold still in place, silently asking permission once more.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder in answer, giving him greater access. Taking a deep breath, you feel the familiar sting of his fangs breaking your skin. He was so gentle, sinking his teeth in fast enough so as not to make the sting linger, but also slow enough so as not to bruise the skin. His fangs work back and forth tenderly, taking great care to keep the bite bleeding while not opening the wound further.

You find yourself easily relaxing. "You're still gentler than she is most of the time," you joke.

His lips attach around the bite wound, gently latched just enough to keep them sealed around it. The flow of blood stayed slow and steady this way, trickling gently from you to him. In your arms, your little one is also feeding eagerly. For a moment, you can't help but giggle at how the sound of Astarion's suckling at your neck joins in with her own precious little eating noises. Her tiny ears wiggle adorably with each drink, and while he refuses to acknowledge it, you can feel Astarion's own ears make miniscule twitches when he feeds on you.

Sighing happily, you sink deeper in his embrace. You had truly missed being able to provide this for him. Time seems to slow down to a hazy crawl as you savor this moment. In the warmth of your bed, surrounded by your little family, you feel as though you could spend an eternity here. You wish you could. It wasn't easy to sacrifice so much. Give so much of yourself over to caring for your babe. But it was moments like this that had made your many sacrifices worth it.

Your undead love at your back and your tiny, half-undead infant in your arms. The feeling of his cool chest and her not-quite-warm-enough little form were somehow the most natural thing in the world. The steady beating of your heart sustaining the both of them. They were both supposed to be impossible, wrong, and profane to everything sacred and divine. And somehow, they were perfect. And you were lucky enough to have them both.

Though you're more than prepared to supplement your daughter's diet with blood the moment the need arises, you feel grateful in this moment that she's still satisfied with your milk. Melancholy borders on the edge of your warm and blissful feelings. Astarion has spoken often of how painful the blood hunger can be for him. You try to keep it to yourself, but guilt squeezes your heart when you think of her with those same hunger pains. Astarion has already sworn he will guide her through them, teach her to hunt on animals when she's strong enough. As you look upon your daughter, you can only hope to yourself that she and Astarion keep each other close, even if you one day leave them behind. There had been talks of ways the two of you could extend your lifespan, and you invested every hour you could spare into researching life-extending magic.

Yet if your endeavors failed or you died prematurely, after some time, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries in the future, you will be the one who leaves first. Astarion will remain unliving and physically unchanging, and while dhampirs were said to be more alive than undead, they were exceptionally long-lived creatures. Sources the two of you researched varied greatly, but all accounts agreed that dhampirs could outlive High Elves by centuries, possibly thousands of years if they renewed themselves with blood. Two ancient souls, undead and half-undead, largely unchanging in an ever changing world. Astarion and her would need each other.

Just as you begin to feel lightheaded, he pulls away, licking and kissing your bite to seal the wound and carefully collecting any stray strands of blood. "Easy," his arms are diligently wrapped around your babe, keeping her supported and snug. "Restore yourself, darling," he encouraged.

You nod sleepily and bring your hand up to touch the amulet. "Te Absolvo," with a soft flash of healing magic, your dizziness was instantly gone, the buzz in your head replaced with Astarion's sweet praises in your ear.

"Thank you, my love," he whispers. He presses a deep kiss into your neck, where your fresh bite mark heals. Your daughter has finished her meal now as well, and you pull your gown back up to tuck her closer to you. She snuggles up on your chest, and you stroke her back softly. She's fast asleep again already, her schedule leaning more and more each into the nocturnal with each passing day. Another early manifestion of her dhampirism.

Nocturnal sleep schedules, blood hunger, spider-climbing, shape-shifting. It didn't matter what new challenges the two of you might face with her. You trusted Astarion would be there for her. He would struggle. He would make mistakes, you know. But he has you both.

As you hum sleepily to your baby girl, Astarion nestles into your neck tenderly. He mumbles unto your skin quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard.

"You have given me everything. Thank you."