You Had Never Been The Biggest Fan Of Love.

Just thinking about tracing Suguru's scar.

Word Count - 0.9k

A/N - I dedicate this piece to the Anon that flooded my inbox with 30+ messages telling me how it was canon that Gojo didn't have any scars.

Read the Gojo version here!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

GETO never let you see his scars after he received them — suddenly he was covering himself up with thick sweaters and baggy clothes. You noticed … you always noticed.  

But you said nothing, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to something that he was very clearly adamant on keeping hidden.  

One night, however, your curiosity got the better of you. You didn’t mean to pry as much as you did, but you desperately wanted Geto to know that you weren’t going to suddenly start looking at him differently because of some raised skin — you wanted him to be comfortable around you. 

You wanted things to be like they were before. 

He was different. You could see it as clear as day.  

His hugs didn’t last as long as they once did, instead of bear hugs that he wouldn’t pull away from unless you did first, you received a half-assed sideways squeeze.  

It felt like he didn’t want to be touching you in fear of contaminating you, like you would catch some otherworldly disease that didn’t yet have a cure. It hurt you – it stung in a way that nothing else could compare to.  

When you sat on the couch beside him, he would scoot a few inches away from you. 

When you laid down to take a nap beside him, he’d offer you only his pinky and nothing else.  

When you went to embrace him, his body would angle itself so that his shoulder rested against your chest.  

“Suguru?” you whisper to him under the cloak that night provided, turning to face him properly. He mimics you, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with the use of his elbow, palm resting against the side of his face.  

“Hmm?” he hums in response, eyes studying your expression. His face pinches in slight concern at your narrowed eyes and furrowed brows — something was very clearly upsetting you.  

“Are we okay?”  

He pauses, staring quizzically at you as if you had somehow sprouted another head. His free hand extends, finger rubbing affectionately against your cheek.  

“Course we are. Why do you ask?” he murmurs, breath catching in his throat as you push yourself to sit up. Your legs cross, one ankle over the other while you maintain eye contact with Geto.  

Your mind reminds you of what he had been doing; the behaviors that he had been displaying. What wasn’t he telling you? 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not wanting to accidentally make a big deal out of something that could otherwise be nothing. 

“What are you hiding from me?” you whisper, already feeling tears build on your waterline at Geto’s shocked (and worried) expression. He looked so conflicted, so unsure that it made your heart crack.  

And even though he wants to believe that he has no idea what you’re referencing … he does.  

He looks away from you, and even though it’s only for a moment, it only makes your heart sink deeper into your stomach. “It’s—“ 

“Please don’t sit there and tell me it’s nothing,” you practically beg, voice cracking. Geto lets out a small sigh through his nose, adjusting himself so that he sits in front of you.  

“(Y/N)—“ he begins, but the way that you shake your head at him only makes him feel guilty, “—are you sure?” 

Your silence tells him everything that he needs to know.  

Slowly, and albeit very hesitantly, Geto lifts his shirt, revealing an ‘X’ shaped scar on his chest. Your breath hitches at the sight of it, the sound making Geto flinch.  

He tosses the shirt aside with a barely audible plop, not daring to make eye contact with you in fear of what expression you wore. So instead of glancing at you, Geto forces his eyes shut.  

They shoot right back open at the feeling of your fingers lightly tracing his chest.  

Shocked, his eyes flicker up to watch you. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together, a worried indent to your forehead as your nails slowly move over the raised skin.  

You don’t say anything to him, not that you really need to. You knew that this — this gentle touch — was what Geto needed. He didn’t need half-assed reassurances that carried no weight. 

No, what he needed to know was that you were here, right with him, at his side — you weren’t going anywhere.  

Your finger reaches the end of where his scar slightly raises his skin. You shift forward, laying your palm against the center of the ‘X’, feeling Geto’s heart thumping against your fingers.  

He says nothing. You say nothing.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own. He returns your softened glance.  

“You’re so handsome Sugu … you know that, right?” you whisper tenderly, finally breaking the silence. The sigh he lets out in response is shaky, tear-filled.  

Before Geto has the chance to shake his head, your lips are on his scar, the softness of you contrasting greatly with the roughness of his skin.  

You glance back up at him, letting out a shocked squeak as he tugs you into his arms. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck, arms winding around his midsection.  

His breath shudders as his nose tucks into your hair. “Thank you.” 

You smile against him, turning your head and laying a chaste kiss against the skin of his throat. Your arms momentarily tighten around him, eyes closing in content. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too angel … thank you.” 

hi i hope you’re well! i love your writing and i was hoping to make a req for gojo. reader riding his face and he’s just sloppy with it because he’s obsessed with her and how good she tastes and he won’t stop talking about it either lmao full on loverboy <3 thank you so much!

Sypnosis - Read above request.

Warning(s) - This is just smut guys, c'mon, read the request.

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

“C’mon baby, pleaseee?” Satoru whines, turning his head so that his cheek rests against your inner thigh. His eyes flicker up to you, wide and puppy-like. God, you could already feel yourself folding. 

Your fingers pause their scratching of Satoru’s scalp, eyes boring into his own as you force yourself to wear a stern expression.  

“I don’t know ‘toru,” you murmur offhandedly, wincing as Satoru’s expression falls. He sighs, breath fanning out over the exposed skin of your leg — which sends a shiver up your spine.  

He pouts, bottom lip jutting out as his arms squeeze around your waist. You jolt, not having expected the gesture.  

“What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“I crush you…?” 

Satoru hums, tilting his head as if he were weighing his options. You bite back the laugh that bubbles in the back of your throat, nearly allowing your resolve to crumble.  

“What a way to go out—“ 

“Satoru!” You slap a hand against the back of his head, chuckling breathily as he dramatically yelps, then burying his head into your stomach. “Don’t say things like that.” 

He groans, the vibration of his voice tickling your skin. Your fingers return to his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp — it makes you giggle how he immediately leans into the touch, practically purring. 

“Pleaseee~?” Satoru begs, flashing you his signature puppy eyes again in the hopes that it would break you down enough to say ‘yes’ to his one request. 

(In truth, he was making it seem like this was his last request before he would surrender to the skeletal hands of Death.) 

“Are you sure that you want me to sit on your face?” you raise your eyebrow. The expression that Satoru wears is comical — his eyebrows flattened and his eyes narrowed in the most ‘Are you kidding me?’ look that you had ever seen. 

And that’s what brought you here. 

On top of Satoru’s nose. 

Rocking your hips against him as you desperately chased an orgasm that was right there.  

The lewd sounds of Satoru slurping up every bit of what you offer him only makes the coil in your stomach tighten. His tongue is buried in your heat, greedily licking up every last bit of your essence and moaning against you.  

You brace yourself on your palms, hands on either side of Satoru’s head with your fingers curling up the sheets. You throw your head back, moaning out in such a pornographic way that Satoru genuinely thought he had cum in his pants (he didn’t … yet).  

His tongue moves upward, lips latching onto your clit as he roughly sucks on the sensitive bundle of nerves, holding your hips steady as you begin to lose your balance on top of him.  

“C’mon pretty girl, wan’ you to cum on my tongue,” Satoru murmurs against you, the vibrato of his voice sending a delicious shiver up your spine. 

You glance down, the coil in your stomach nearly snapping at the mere sight of Satoru’s eyes peering up at you, pupils lust blown from the position that you were currently in.  

A broken moan falls from your lips as you rock your hips against his face, clit just barely rubbing against the tip of his nose. “‘toru!” 

The lewd sound of Satoru gulping down all your pussy offers him is the answer that you receive — that which finally pushes you completely over the edge.  

Your body stutters, nearly losing your balance. Satoru’s hands grab at the skin of your thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh and leaving behind small crescent marks from his nails.  

His tongue works you through your orgasm, tongue kitten-licking your clit until you’re convulsing on the verge of overstimulation. Your chest rises and falls in whiny pants, body trying to lift itself from Satoru’s mouth — but he continues his relentless actions.  

Your fingers tangle themselves into his hair, nails grazing against his scalp and tugging upward on the strands. Satoru groans against you, the vibration keeping you teetering on the edge of another orgasm. You tug your bottom lip up between your teeth, biting down into the flesh and swallowing another moan as it rises in your throat.  

Finally, after one last tug to his hair, Satoru lets you fall back against the bed, chest rising and falling as you attempt to catch your breath. He turns his head, grinning at you with that same shit-eating grin that he always wore in situations where he was proven right.  

"See, nothing bad happened!" Satoru grins as he tugs you into his arms, pressing chaste kisses against your neck as you lean into him, nose tucking into the crook of his neck.  

You hum in response, eyes already fluttering shut as exhaustion begins to seep into your bones. Satoru only chuckles to himself, squeezing you tighter against him and pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline. He glances down at your sleepy face, smiling to himself as he cards his fingers through your hair, nails scraping against your scalp.  

"So can we do it again?" 

"'toru!" 

Read part two here!

His head was so quiet. 

Your head was so loud. 

That voice didn’t belong to you, nor did it belong to the pink-haired boy who stares at you with widened, scared eyes. His hands shake as they reach out for you, but there’s something that stops him from closing the distance.  

You blink, eyes heavy as something inside of your chest twists — almost painfully so. You lift a hand to the front of your shirt, bunching up the fabric and glancing up at Yuuji. He still looks downright horrified, but you can’t seem to figure out why. 

And suddenly … everything in your head was silent.  

In front of you stretched an endless void, the light diminishing completely before you could even process that it was there. You open your mouth to speak, or to yell for help, but nothing but a pathetic garble falls from your parted lips. 

“Hmm, didn’t think I would enjoy a brat’s body quite as much as I do this one.”  

It’s your voice, but at the same time, it isn’t. 

Yuuji’s heart drops to his stomach, widened eyes burning with tears. Now he knew why you sounded so different.  

Those dark black marks. 

Those rings around your wrists. 

That sadistic glint to your usually softened eyes.  

No. 

Yuuji stares silently, his heart now in his throat as he stares at you … or rather … your body.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own, and he can see the last traces of you being promptly snuffed out like a candle left out for too long.  

“Let her go.” 

A deep chuckle that feels so unlike you tumbles from your parted lips. Your head tilts back, eyes glaring down your nose at Yuuji.  

Yuuji swallows the growing lump in his throat, clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists.  

Shit. 

Do you guys wanna see this continued? I half-assed this in class LMAO.  

000 - rules page

hi there! listed below are just a few ground rules for this blog.

-> i write mainly for female readers, but will write for other readers upon request

-> i am 100% okay with both fluff and angst, but am a bit iffy on full-length smut fics

-> i do not write character x character relationships unless in a poly situation (writing for satosugu x reader, etc)

I WILL NOT WRITE THE FOLLOWING -> r*pe, smut for characters that are minors, anything having to do with sc*t, p*ss, v*mit, incest, stepcest, illegal age-gaps, gender-swap characters, descriptive gore

don't be afraid to send in a request, as i accept the majority of them and try to write them within a timely manner!

Just a random, domestic scenario that I thought of about Astarion and it made me soft enough to put into writing.

Picture this …

Astarion, especially after everything that he’s been through with Cazador, definitely has to re-teach himself what it means to love without primarily focusing on physical intimacy. Everything that he’s ever known about loving someone, or rather, everything that he thought that he knew about loving someone is restricted solely to sex.

Of course, his understanding of love drastically changes when you waltz into his life. You with your words of affirmation, you with your soft hands, you with the hugs and kisses that don’t necessarily lead to something more. It strikes him as odd … why is it that you saw past his body and looked at him? Really, truly looked at him.

In the beginning, it scares him. It invokes a feeling in him that he wasn’t able to define, and in truth, it scared him. It scared him that every time your arms wrapped around him or every time your lips touched his, he felt warm. For a second, for one singular split second, Astarion felt alive.

And because of that, he pushed you away. It scared him even more when you actually let him.

“We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” you’d told him one night. You were sitting up beside him, his head resting beside your thigh while his eyes stared up at the flickering night sky. “I have no problem waiting for you.”

And wait for him you did. Never once did you pressure him into anything, never once did you make him feel as if your touch was anything but comforting — you didn’t want him to revert back to the mindset that he had become so accustomed to. When he reached for you, you did the same. And if he didn’t, you never grew angry with him.

For that, he was thankful.

All of your waiting comes to a head one night at the camp’s fire. As usual, you sit at Astarion’s side, both of you sitting in a comfortable silence. His fingers itch to hold yours, but he wills himself to stay completely still — even though he wants to hold and touch you, something in him roots him to his place, preventing it.

“Astarion?” He turns at the sound of your voice, blinking away the glazed look that had pained his eyes in favor of looking at you instead. Your eyebrows pinch together, creasing the space between your eyes. “Are you alright love?”

“Fine,” he answers, voice dead and cold. You hum, nodding your head, not prying any further. Even though he certainly doesn’t want to speak about what plagues his mind, a small part of him also wished that you would pry — likely because he knew that eventually, he would crack.

But you don’t. Because you understand the possibility that he would shut himself away further, retreating back to a place where you might not be able to reach him. “Alright, but if something is bothering you, you know that I am here for you.”

“That’s what … scares me,” Astarion whispers, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the camp’s fire. You turn your head to him, gaze catching his profile, silently waiting for him to continue. “Why do you stay … knowing that what you give isn’t reciprocated?”

His question catches you off guard. Was that what was bothering him? His inability to reciprocate the love that you so easily gave to him? Your heart sinks, eyes softening as you angle yourself to look at Astarion fully. The intensity of your gaze makes him feel as if you’re looking through him — through the flirtatious facade that he had put up constantly and seeing Astarion. Seeing ‘Little Star.’

Your silence worries him; makes him feel as if what he had asked you was wrong. Your lips are pressed into a firm, thin line with your eyes focused so intently on his own. Astarion feels as if you’re analyzing him … judging him. But you’re not, and he knows that you’re not.

“Because I don’t do the things that I do expecting it to be reciprocated,” you answer easily, allowing your lips to turn upward into a soft smile. A smile that begins to melt away the iceberg of worry nestled somewhere in Astarion’s chest. You inhale deeply, holding your hand up with your palm facing Astarion. “Here, if you’re okay with it, I want you to lay your palm against mine.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow, confused. His gaze flickers between your upheld palm and your eyes, which hold no ounce of malice or ill intent. Hesitantly, and very slowly, he lifts his palm. And slowly, very slowly, he brings it towards your own, laying it flat against yours.

Shockingly, the touch doesn’t burn. It doesn’t leave behind a searing scar that he would look at with distaste. Instead, it fills him with a comfortable warmth, one that reinforces the genuine love that you feel for him. The love that extends far beyond physical intimacy, far beyond sex — far beyond anything that Astarion had ever experienced.

“Something as small as this,” you say, not moving your palm from against Astarion’s, “is enough reciprocation for everything.”

He remains silent, watching you. You smile, and as if running on autopilot, he returns it.

singledad! nanami having the hots for yuji’s kindergarten teacher who has the tendency to overwork herself to the bone in the name of her precious students

he gets her to unwind with him 🫣 they fuck LMAOOOLLL

Sypnosis - Read above request.

Pairing - !SingleDad Nanami x !Kindergarten Teacher Reader

Warning(s) - None besides some foul language.

Word Count - 2.6k

A/N - Hi, yes, okay, I know the request had a smut element to it, but I took a fluffy route. If you want a part two that has that smut element or an alternate version that focuses on that smut element, please send me a request and I will get to it as quickly as I can! But I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

ENCOUNTER 1 : 

“There! He’s over there!” Yuuji says happily, his grip over your hand tightening as he points to a blonde-haired man standing in the crowd of awaiting parents. You follow his gaze, smiling kindly as the man lifts his hand in a wave, grinning at both you and Yuuji.  

“Alright, off you go then,” you smile down at Yuuji, releasing his hand and watching as the six-year-old toddles over to his father, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s leg and smiling widely up at him. His father stands straight, waving once more to you before vanishing into the crowd. 

ENCOUNTER 2 : 

"Mr. Nanami, correct?" You cast a glance down at your clipboard before your gaze returns to the blonde male standing in front of you. He nods, smiling apologetically as Yuuji tugs once again on his arm, trying his hardest to get his father's attention. "You can both come inside." 

Nanami smiles again as he walks past you, taking a seat on the too-small chairs that you had set up in the center of the classroom. His knees curl up to his chest, but he says nothing as you sit in front of him, smiling first at Yuuji before your gaze shifts to settle on him.  

"Yuuji is an absolute pleasure to have in class. He's very helpful with others and myself, he focuses on each task he's given – he's a very gifted student," you explain, lifting up the pages on your clipboard and smiling as Yuuji's toothy grin widens, gleeful with the praise you were giving him.  

"Is that so? I'm very glad to hear that," Nanami nods, turning then to Yuuji and placing a palm over the top of his head. The six-year-old giggles, leaning into his father's touch with a closed-eye smile.  

You watch the interaction with a gentle smile of your own, fingers releasing their hold on the papers of your clipboard and listening as they quietly fall into place.  

ENCOUNTER 3 : 

"Papa, look! It's Miss (Y/N)," Yuuji bubbles happily, tugging on Nanami's pant leg and pointing in the direction that he had seen you. Curious, Nanami allows his gaze to follow Yuuji's finger – the scolding he wanted to give about pointing falling dead in his throat.  

You're preoccupied with whatever shopping list is curled between your fingers, lips pressed firmly together in thought as you struggle to decide which brand of potato chips to buy. Nanami can't help but silently admire you from his place farther down the same aisle. His lips tug upward in a soft smile – maybe one day he would have enough courage to stride up to you. 

ENCOUNTER 4 : 

"Oh, hello. Did Yuuji forget something at home?" you inquire curiously, raising an eyebrow as a very disheveled Nanami straightens himself out in front of you. His fingers fiddle with his tie, trying to make it look a touch more presentable – but to no avail.  

"I apologize for my appearance, this morning has been hectic. But yes, Yuuji accidentally left his lunchbox," Nanami answers, holding up the small metal lunchbox decorated with superhero stickers – some scratched and some brand new.  

You smile gently at him, reaching out to take the lunchbox from his fingers. "Don't worry, we all have those mornings," you say reassuringly, chuckling gently at Nanami. He returns your smile, cheeks warming at the lingering feeling that your fingers had left behind.  

ENCOUNTER 5 :  

"Hey, isn't that Yuuji's teacher?" Gojo asks, lifting his index finger to point across the bar. Nanami's eyes follow Gojo's finger – which then widen at the sight of you mingling with a few friends, nursing a fruity cocktail in your hand.  

Nanami hums in response, trying his hardest to return his attention to his drink, but your outfit is much too tight, pushing up exactly what needs to be pushed up and making your figure just that much more attractive. Behind his eyeglasses, his gaze roams up and down the dips and curves of your body, his lips quirking up in tune with his wandering eyes.  

"Yeah, it is," he mutters offhandedly, lifting his glass to his lips and resting it against the skin there. Gojo smirks, lowering his finger before standing from his place at the bar. Nanami's eyebrows pinch together in curiosity, watching the snowy-haired male swagger his way across the bar – not stopping until he reaches where you stand with your friends, then throwing a slender arm over your shoulders.  

The once loose grip Nanami had over his glass is replaced by a tight curl of his fingers, one that could surely shatter the glass should he apply the right amount of pressure. His eyes narrow in an almost predatory manner – watching as Gojo smiles at both you and the friends that had come along with you.  

You return his smile and laugh at the cheesy jokes that he throws your way, but Nanami can see the hint of discomfort that lies behind the curl of your lips. Oh, so that was Gojo's plan. 

Downing the rest of the whiskey in his glass, Nanami stands from his place at the bar, striding across the small space until he stands just a few inches away from you, your friends, and Gojo – the latter of whom is wearing that shit-eating grin he always wears when his plans work out just the way that he wanted them to.  

"Oh! Mr. Nanami! I didn't expect to see you out here," you say, turning quickly to glance at the blonde as he wanders into your line of vision. Your smile, once uncomfortable and forced, was now that same smile that you flashed at him when you noticed him at dismissal. "It's nice to see you." 

Nanami's cheeks heat, and he silently thanks the bar for being so dim, its lighting hiding the gentle pink hue that imbues over his face. "It's nice to see you as well Miss (Y/N)," Nanami nods at you, feeling himself smile as you shift an inch closer to him.  

"Oh, would you like to join me at the bar? Your friends can as well, if they'd like," Nanami offers, shooting Gojo a pointed glare. Gojo only smirks, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. That bastard. 

You glance to your friend, who nods encouragingly at you. You turn back to Nanami, smiling at his offer and reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm – your touch lights a small fire underneath his skin, one that he most certainly does not complain about.  

"We'd love to, thank you." 

ENCOUNTER 6 : 

"Where's your father Yuuji?" Your voice is a quiet mumble, your fingers still closed around Yuuji's as the both of your gazes sift through the crowd of awaiting parents – and yet Nanami is nowhere to be seen. The pink-haired boy sinks back onto his heels, a saddened look falling over his face as he leans into your side.  

"I don't know," he mumbles in response, his eyes already glossing over with tears. You soften, kneeling down to be at eye-level with the boy and smiling as reassuringly as you can at him. "Did he forget me?" 

You shake your head quickly, squeezing the tiny hand that still rests in yours. Yuuji sniffles, his cheeks puffing out in an adorable pout. "No! No honey, your father did not forget you. It could just be that work is keeping him a little later." 

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Yuuji nods, rubbing his free hand against his tear-filled eyes, sniffling. You smile again, squeezing his fingers before guiding him back to the entrance of your classroom.  

He follows, sitting down at his seat and taking the coloring sheets and colored pencils that you offer him, already scribbling away at the black-and-white monkey that laid in front of him. You take the seat at his left, feeling your heart warm as Yuuji tilts the sheet towards you – a silent invite for you to color with him.  

You take one of the colored pencils that he offers you, coloring in a small section of the page and occasionally looking up to your classroom door – where the hell was Nanami?  

"Wait here for a moment Yuuji, I'm going to call your father, okay?" You lift a hand to ruffle the boy's hair, smiling at him before silently moving towards the chorded phone tucked into the corner of your classroom, located just behind your desk.  

Just as you finish dialing in the now familiar number, the door to your classroom opens, revealing a disheveled Nanami. He leans quietly against the doorframe for a moment, catching his breath before Yuuji turns, smiling widely at the sight of his father.  

"Papa!" 

You turn from where you stand beside the phone, smiling in relief as you watch Yuuji bound up to Nanami, wrapping his little arms halfway around his father's legs.  

"There you are. I have to admit, I was getting a little worried about you," you admit with a smile, waving to Nanami as you walk closer to the pair, watching through softened eyes as Yuuji reaches for his completed coloring page, wanting to show his father.  

"I apologize for my lateness. I had not expected my office to keep me as late as they did," Nanami apologizes, bowing his head at you. You wave him off, then folding your fingers together in front of you.  

"It's not an issue at all. Though you did give Yuuji quite the scare," you admit, not failing to notice the way that Nanami's smile fades for a quick moment, but returns when Yuuji lifts his coloring page up to him.  

"Oh," he hums, turning to Yuuji and laying a palm against the youngster's head, lovingly ruffling his hair. "I apologize Yuuji, I didn’t mean to frighten you." 

"It's okay Papa! Miss (Y/N) and I colored together!" Yuuji bubbles, his eyes crinkling in a wide smile as his eyes momentarily flicker to you. "See? I made this one look like you." 

Nanami smiles fondly, then turning to you and once again mouthing his thanks. You merely wave him off, watching with a smile of your own as Yuuji continues to explain each little character that he had colored in.  

ENCOUNTER 7 : 

"Good morning Miss (Y/N)!" Yuuji exclaims happily, smiling brightly up at you as Nanami leads him forward, releasing the little boy's hand as he tugs his father towards you.  

Biting back the yawn that rises in your throat, you will yourself to smile back at your student, waving politely at him and watching through half-lidded eyes as he lets go of Nanami's hand. He opens his mouth to question you, but is immediately distracted by the call of one of his friends.  

"Good morning Miss (Y/L/N)," Nanami bows politely at you, one that you return clumsily. His eyebrows pinch together in a mixture of curiosity and concern – you weren't acting like your regular self. Your once bubbly attitude and bright greetings were replaced now by half-assed "good morning's" and small waves that carried none of your usual warmth.  

"Morning Mr. Nanami," you return, your smile wobbling as your eyes flicker to meet his own. It's then that he notices the exhaustion that weighs heavy on your eyelids, practically tugging them down to a point where you look as though you're about to fall asleep standing upright.  

"Are you feeling alright this morning?" 

"Oh yes, just tired is all," you wave off his concern, smiling once again at him before a comfortable yet uncomfortable silence falls over the both of you. "I'll be seeing you later?" 

"Yes, have a good day," Nanami smiles at you, his heart warming when you return it – though it doesn't quite reach your eyes that way that it would normally. You wave again at him as he walks off, then turning to your awaiting students and clapping your hands once together.  

ENCOUNTER 8 : 

"Oh! Miss (Y/N)! My papa wanted to talk to you after school today," Yuuji mentions to you, smiling as he glances up from the worksheet that he had been previously occupied with. Your eyebrows pinch together in intrigue, glancing down at the pink-haired boy and tilting your head at him.   

"Alright then, I'll be waiting for him," you reply with a kind smile, then continuing your routine check on the rest of your students, being sure that none of them were struggling with the work that you had handed out.  

< … > 

"Yuuji mentioned that you wanted to speak with me?"  

Nanami swallows the growing lump in his throat, suddenly feeling oddly choked up as you stand in front of him, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his neck. His shirt feels tighter than before, the air surrounding him is suddenly hotter than it had been previously.  

"Yes – uhm – my apologies if I am taking up your time," Nanami begins, fiddling with his fingers and scratching at already existing hangnails, "but there is something that I wanted to ask of you." 

You smile kindly at him, a gentle laugh falling from your parted lips – a sound that Nanami wishes that he could commit to the very depths of his memory.  

"You're not wasting my time at all," you're quick to reassure him, your gaze momentarily flickering to Yuuji as he takes advantage of the empty classroom, organizing the books in your small-shelved library.  

Nanami inhales deeply, holding the breath in his chest and wondering if what he was about to ask would make you view him in a different light – though he sincerely hoped that you wouldn't.  

"I was wondering...and forgive me if this is too forward...if you would like to join me for coffee sometime this weekend?" His voice is dangerously quiet, a light shake to his voice as the fear of being rejected finally sinks into his bones – maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all.  

Your laughter dies down, fading completely as you stare at Nanami – you certainly hadn't expected him to ask you that.  

Just as Nanami opens his mouth to apologize again, you cut him off.  

"I'd love to." 

With cheeks dusted pink and a smile that could only be compared to a lovesick fool, Nanami glances up at you, feeling his chest warm at the sight of your dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes.  

< ... > 

"So that's how you and Papa fell in love?" Yuuji tilts his head curiously, biting back his yawn as he nestles further into his comforters. You smile gently at him, reaching a hand out to affectionately ruffle his hair, threading your fingers through his pink locks.  

"That's exactly how Papa and I fell in love. He took me for coffee that very weekend, and the rest is history," you recall with a lovesick smile plastered onto your face. Yuuji smiles sleepily, a sight that you mentally commit to memory.  

"I'm happy you and Papa met," Yuuji whispers adorably, yawning again before his heavy eyes finally flutter shut, exhaustion taking over him. You smile again, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against his forehead before you stand from his bed. 

You turn your head, jumping at the sight of Nanami standing in the doorframe to Yuuji's bedroom, leaning against it with crossed arms and a gentle smile on his face. "How long were you there for?" Your voice is almost accusatory as you walk into your husband's arms, resting your own around his neck and tracing your fingernails along his nape.  

"Long enough to hear you retell that story for – what – the eighty-fifth time?" Nanami perks an eyebrow at you, leaning down to slot his lips against yours. You hum against his mouth, tugging him a bit closer and biting playfully at his bottom lip.  

He pulls away after a moment, the tip of his nose affectionately brushing against your own, his large hands squeezing playfully at your waist.  

"And every time I tell it, you hang off of my every word, don't you?"  

Nanami smiles, his lips ghosting over your own as he tugs you impossibly closer, your chest pressed flush against his own.  

"That I do." 

TOJI who comes home late from work to a silent house. All of the lights in the house are off, the only source of illumination being the flickering screen of the television, and even that is stuck on a multicolored SOURCE UNKNOWN screen.  

“Baby? Y’in here?” he calls out to the empty living room, eyebrows furrowing in a mixture of confusion and concern as he toes off his shoes.  

He continues through the silent apartment, dutifully checking each room before finally standing in the doorframe of the master bedroom. Against his better judgement, Toji’s lips turn upward at the sight that lies in front of him.  

Toji approaches the bed, sitting at its edge and being careful to not accidentally crush your legs underneath the weight of his body.  

You look so peaceful wrapped up in the sheets of your shared bed, lips parted in gentle breaths with that tiny line of drool trickling down from the corner of your mouth.  

He reaches a finger out, stroking the back of it against your cheek and grinning to himself as you subconsciously move closer to the warmth radiating from his skin.  

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, lowering himself to lay across from you. He opens his arms, scooping you into them and tucking your head into the crook of his neck.  

You hum sleepily against his skin, eyes fluttering open as your arms wind around his midsection, followed then by your legs tangling with his own.  

“Hi baby,” you murmur, bleary eyes blinking up at him as he cranes his neck to gaze down at you.  

“Hey,” he mutters, laying a kiss against your forehead and grinning to himself as you snuggle closer to him. “Sleepy?” 

“Mhm. Tried t’wait up.” 

His chest warms at your words, arms momentarily squeezing you. He’d never admit it to anyone — he’d rather die than say it aloud … but you made him so incredibly soft.  

Only you. Only you. 

Hey hi hemlo

Love your writing style so much, that asshole Gojo fic made my heart squeeze like you wouldn't believe

Can I make a request?

A foreign Jujutsu Tech teacher/sorcerer struggling to do paperwork in Japanese. Satoru and/or Suguru try to help, but end up a distraction instead lol

A Welcome Distraction

Sypnosis - Working is already grueling enough, made worse only by the human-sized distractions that are ... the loves of your life.

Warning(s) - None, this is really just pure fluff.

A/N - This really just spiraled into Gojo being an absolute distraction, but I hope y'all enjoy nonetheless!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"There she is!" 

"Satoru … restrain yourself, even if it's just for a second." 

With a smile already curling the corners of your mouth upward, you turn your head to your classroom door – which had been swung open by Gojo, a wide smile already plastered onto his face. Not too far behind him was Geto, whose apologetic eyes flicker to you and whose lips quirk upward in an equally as apologetic smile.  

You say nothing as Gojo enters your classroom, beelining to where you sit behind your desk and wrapping his arms around you. His chin lowers to rest against the top of your head, a content hum rumbling in his throat when you lean back in his arms.  

“Hello sweet girl,” Gojo says with a wide smile, tilting his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You hum, then turning your head to watch Geto as he approaches. 

“Hi. What brings you both around here?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, turning in your seat to get a better look at Gojo. He peers over your shoulder, glancing at the unfinished paperwork that you had been tending to for the better part of two hours.  

Geto leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and sneaking a glance at your paperwork. “Hi honey, we just wanted to check in on you.”  

You smile, accepting the kiss that Gojo leans in to steal from you, his hands holding either side of your face as his lips curl into a boyish grin against your own.  

Geto rolls his eyes, reaching out to grip the collar of Gojo’s shirt and lightly prying him away from you; though he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest at both of his lovers doting on one another.  

“That’s sweet of you both, but don’t you have physical training with your students today?” you tilt your head, remembering how Gojo was supposed to tend to the first-years and Geto the second-years.  

At the mention of fulfilling his teacher duties, Gojo groans childishly, hanging his head so that his forehead hits against your shoulder. His back arches uncomfortably, but his discomfort is lessened by the sound of your sweet laugh.  

“I let them have a small break, I couldn’t let Satoru run rampant,” Geto replies teasingly, grinning down at you. You set down the pen in your hand, lifting a hand to Gojo’s hair and scratching at his scalp — which he doesn’t hesitate to purr at.  

“Not true!” Gojo murmurs against your shoulder, removing his head from your shirt and turning to glance at Geto with a dramatic pout, bottom lip jutted out like a child who had been denied a snack before dinner.  

"It's entirely true love," you nod in agreement, chuckling breathily to yourself. Gojo huffs, this time completely disconnecting from you and taking a step away from your desk. He crosses his arms over his chest, still pouting.  

"You're both just so mean to me, and for no reason," he complains loudly, borderline stomping his foot against the ground as his gaze flickers between you and Geto. You turn to your raven-haired lover, both of you sharing a knowing smile just as Gojo grows annoyed with being ignored.  

Geto once again sneaks a glance at the paperwork scattered about your desk; ranging from mission logs given to you by Ijichi to student papers that you had procrastinated grading. His eyebrows furrow at the notes that you had scrawled into the paper's margins, but he doesn't bring any attention to it. 

"It's not being mean 'toru," you try to reason with your childish lover, but he merely presses his palms against his ears and hums obnoxiously. You sigh in exasperation, rubbing your temples before turning to Geto – your only saving Grace.  

Geto chuckles, catching Gojo as he dramatically falls into the former's arms, head knocking against Geto's broad shoulder.  

"Come now, you know she didn't mean it that way," Geto says, voice shaking as he struggles to hold back the chuckle that rises in his throat. "There isn't any reason for you to be this dramatic." 

It's your turn to chuckle now, the noise making both men smile lovingly at you. You half lean over your desk, arms covering your now abandoned paperwork as you turn your attention to both Gojo and Geto. 

"He's right, I don't mind that you both came to visit me," you say truthfully, lips still curled upward in that smile that your lovers could spend hours admiring. "I appreciate it actually." 

Gojo immediately disconnects himself from Geto's arms, beelining for you once again and wrapping you up in a bone-crushing embrace. You laugh heartily in his arms, squealing as he effortlessly lifts you from where you sit behind your desk.  

"'toru! I have work to do!" Your plea to return to working goes completely ignored by the snowy-haired man, who only tightens his grip around you and proceeds to spin you around. Geto joins in on the laughter, his chest warm and his eyes crinkled in a loving smile.  

Even with your complaining, and even with your pleading, you truly do love the distractions provided by not just one … but both of the loves of your life. 

Hey! I saw that you’re writing for JJK characters - do you have a limit on your requests? I have some ideas!

My first one is yuta x sorcerer reader where they’re starting to develop romantic feelings for each other and reader begins to put themselves down by comparing themselves to rika (yuta is unaware they’ve been feeling this way)

Thank you!!🫶🫶🫶

Sypnosis - As odd as it was, you were jealous of a curse. But in truth, your own self-worth was to blame for the situation.

Warning(s) - canon JJK violence, mature themes, foul language, RIka (I love her but she terrifies me)

A/N - I feel like this request would actually be me if I was at Jujutsu Tech, so thank you Anon for unknowingly making me feel very seen.

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

It all started when you slowly began to distance yourself from Yuuta.  

"Hey, Maki!" Yuuta waves, jogging towards Maki with a smile plastered onto his face. His arm is lifted in a friendly wave, one that Maki returns as he makes his way over to her. "Quick question, have you seen (Y/N) anywhere? I've been looking all over and I just can't find her." 

Maki hums in thought, the tip of her weapon tapping against her lip. She shakes her head shortly after, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. "No idea, I haven't seen her either." 

Yuuta's face falls, an expression of worry overtaking the smile that had previously turned his lips upward. His fingers fidget with one another, nails scraping against the sides of his skin as worry crawls into his stomach.  

"I'm sure she's just caught up with her own missions, that's all," Maki says reassuringly, taking a mental note of the concerned expression that had slowly wormed its way onto Yuuta's face. She reaches out, placing a gentle palm against his shoulder and squeezing, smiling at him.  

He nods in agreement – there had been times where his missions piled up and he was left with little to no time to relax. Maybe you just so happened to be caught up in the same situation, it wasn't unlikely.  

"Right, yeah," he mutters offhandedly, his gaze shifting to the floor. He stares down at his shoes for a moment, feeling the pit of worry in his stomach only deepen.  

< ... > 

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Yuuta smiles widely upon seeing you walking beside Inumaki. He lifts his hand in a wave, pausing as he notices the darkened expression on your face. Your eyes flicker away from him, and through the side of your mouth you mumble something to Inumaki before quickly departing.  

Yuuta slows as he grows nearer to Inumaki, eyebrows knit together curiously. Already, you were halfway down Jujutsu Tech's front stairs, back turned to both Yuuta and Inumaki.  

He watches as you leave, turning then to Inumaki, who also stares curiously at you. The sudden change in attitude was unlike you — and he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t curious as to why you acted out the way that you had. 

“Is everything okay with (Y/N)?” Yuuta inquires, lifting his finger to his mouth, nibbling nervously on it. Just over his shoulder, Rika watches curiously, her head tilted slightly to the side in a mixture of jealousy and intrigue.  

"Salmon," Inumaki responds, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.  

< … >  

Groaning to yourself, you catch your head as it falls into your hands. Laid out on your desk are your schoolbooks, none of which have anything written into them even though your original intention had been to catch up on the homework that you were missing. 

But, of course, your mind had wandered elsewhere, too focused on a different situation entirely – your avoidance of Yuuta.  

You hadn't meant to avoid him as much as you did, but it wasn't as if you could help it. Each and every time you did so much as look at him, she was right there to curl a protective hand around him, tugging him further and further away from you with every interaction.  

Was it a little pathetic that you were comparing yourself to a Cursed Spirit? Maybe. But that didn't eradicate the fact that she actively kept Yuuta from doing anything with anyone – Maki was lucky to be within a five mile radius of Yuuta for training purposes.  

Rika was protective – but it wasn't that fact that bothered you. What bothered you was the fact that, unlike Rika, you weren't able to protect or be there for Yuuta in the same way that she could. You weren't nearly as strong as she was, you were a measly Third-Grade after all.  

You couldn't even keep up with your classmates – even Maki was too swift for you sometimes. Of course, there was always room to improve, but watching everyone else improve while you remained the same stung, like a fresh wound that you had just poured peroxide over.  

Even with your lack of skill, your classmates still respected you like they would any other Jujutsu Sorcerer. Maki always made sure to offer her hand to you after training with you, Panda would offer you helpful advice when you ran the track with him, hell, even Inumaki would fix your form when you practiced your Cursed Technique.  

And, of course, there was Yuuta.  

He was the one to cheer you on during training, he was the one to help you patch whatever scratches your body sustained after lessons, he was the one to crack muttered jokes to you while Gojo lectured, he was the one to cut his lunch in half on the days that you had accidentally forgotten yours in your dorm – Yuuta had been there for you since the very beginning.  

So then why did she make you as insecure as she did? 

Rika was a curse, a manifestation of negative emotions. Her sole purpose is to protect Yuuta in situations where he's incapable of protecting himself. And even then, you had only really seen her in action once – and that was when she had lost control of herself watching Maki overpower Yuuta during a physical lesson.  

You sigh to yourself, fingernails scratching against the sides of your head. A gentle sound rouses you from your thoughts, and it's then that you realize you had unintentionally started crying. You stare down at the tear marks that had fallen onto the pages of your notebook, smudging the lines and your writing.  

You lift your fingers to swipe your tears away, already feeling pathetic at the fact that you found yourself crying over an issue that you genuinely had no control over. It wasn't as if you could exorcise Rika and suddenly all of your problems would have fixed themselves.  

A knock at your dormitory door stops that thought before it can escalate.  

"(Y/N)? It's me!"  

Yuuta. 

Quickly, you swipe your palms against your eyes, no doubt leaving the skin there red and irritated. Huffing in annoyance, you wipe the end of your shirt against your eyes, praying that he wouldn't be stupid enough to point out the obvious once you opened the door.  

You stand from your desk, not bothering to push in your chair as you stride towards the door. On the other side is Yuuta, his lips pulled upward in that smile that always seemed to brighten everyone's day, no matter how dark it may have been.  

You don't say anything, already feeling guilt seep into your bones. Even with you avoiding him constantly, Yuuta still came to find you. God, you felt like such a bitch.  

"Hey," you say quietly, swallowing the waver in your voice and forcing yourself to smile at him.  

"Hey. I – uh – noticed you've been distant lately. Is everything okay? Is there anything that you want to talk about with me?" Yuuta offers softly, wringing his hands out nervously in front of him. He did that often, mainly when he spoke to Maki. It was cute to you, how nervous he was.  

"Oh," is all you manage to get out. Your eyes flicker away from his, instead watching as a group of students wander the hallways, turning the corner before vanishing from your line of sight. You know that Yuuta is still watching you expectantly, wanting you to say something but also not wanting to force you into an uncomfortable conversation.  

No time like the present, right? 

"It's a stupid issue, really. I wouldn't want to--" 

"It's not stupid if it's you (Y/N)," Yuuta cuts you off, his cheeks immediately burning a bright shade of pink. He swallows quickly, lifting his hands and waving them back and forth. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to cut you off! But it's true!" 

You stare in awe at him for a moment, your mouth dry as you stand silently in the doorframe of your dorm. Neither of you say anything for a second or two, staring at the other as if they had sprouted a second head.  

"Sorry...how about we just talk, yeah?" Yuuta offers, his lips turning upward in another one of those smiles that melts your heart.  

You nod, stepping to the side and permitting him entry. He walks past you, taking a seat on the small couch in your dormitory. He had been in there many times before, but recently, many of your little traditions had faded into nothing but little memories.  

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, tugging the skin upward before you release it just as you feel blood beginning to drip from the self-inflicted wound.  

Hesitantly, you sit on the couch beside Yuuta, lifting your legs and crossing your ankles over one another. He waits patiently for you to start talking – the last thing that he wanted was to make you uncomfortable.  

"I swear I didn't mean to be so distant," you begin. A buzzer sounds loudly in your head – liar. You continue anyway, ignoring the little nagging voice nestled in the back of your mind. "It's just, I don't know, I haven't felt great recently." 

Yuuta remains silent, his hands folded in his lap as he watches you intently. He can feel his heart clenching at your words, how had he not noticed that you were suffering before?  

"Why?" 

"Because I'm not like you or anyone else. You all are special, you're all talented in your own way. Hell, even Rika is--" 

You cut yourself off before you bite out an undeserved insult towards Rika. Your jealousy of her was strong, obviously, but you never wanted to verbalize that to Yuuta. What if then he turned his back on you too? Then you'd really be left with absolutely nothing.  

"I just don't feel like I'm supposed to be here – at Jujutsu Tech," you finally admit. Internally, you cringe at just how childish your voice sounds, how it breaks between words and shakes as you bite back the sobs that rise in your throat.  

You pause at the feeling of someone's fingers slipping into your own. Your gaze flickers down to where your hand had been resting on the couch, shocked to see that Yuuta had bravely reached out to hold your hand.  

"You do belong here (Y/N). You're just as good a sorcerer as any of the rest of us, if not better. I mean, who else could take on Inumaki in a fight and stand a chance?" 

Your lips quirk apprehensively into a smile. Yuuta smiles at the sight of it, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his fingers momentarily squeeze your own.  

"I've always thought that you were the strongest," Yuuta whispers, talking as if he's sharing a secret that he wants only you to hear. Your cheeks heat at his words, eyes widening slightly.  

"Really?" 

Yuuta nods happily, squeezing your fingers again. "Yeah." 

You find yourself smiling at him, feeling your heart warm at his sentiment. Suddenly, every single negative comment you had ever uttered to yourself fades into the void – replaced instead by the warmth that Yuuta's words had provided you.  

"And I've always love-" Yuuta cuts himself off, pressing his lips together into a firm line before he's able to finish. You glance upward, already feeling your heart sink at the sight of Rika hovering behind Yuuta, her clawed hand resting on his shoulder. It feels like she's tempting him to finish, wanting to have an excuse to begin screaming and throwing a tantrum. 

You retract your hand from Yuuta's grip, but amazingly, he reaches for you again. For the first time, he ignores the curse behind him, keeping his focus solely on you. Only you. 

"Yuuta-" 

"I've always loved you (Y/N). And I hate to hear you say that you think you aren't as strong as the rest of us because in all honesty, you're stronger than any of us could ever be," Yuuta explains, wincing as he feels Rika claw into his shoulder, but he continues to ignore her presence.  

"If it wasn't for you, I don't think that any of us would be where we are right now." 

Weirdly enough, you feel yourself tearing up at Yuuta's words, the burning sensation of tears blurring your vision, obscuring your view of Yuuta. He smiles at you, using his other hand to brush away the tears that just barely cling to your bottom lash line.  

He opens his arms to you, smiling as you shift into them, pressing your face into his shoulder and allowing yourself to be wrapped in the warmth of his embrace.  

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice caught by the fabric of his shirt, but he hears you all the same.  

"You don't need to thank me for anything." 

Can you write one where Astarion realizes that Tav is acting strangely because it's actually Orin and the actual Tav is kidnapped by her?? Thank you so much and I love your work!!

A/N - Oh my god I absolutely adore the trope of kidnapped lover being rescued (the parasites in me crave the angst). I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun writing it! So thank you @fanficlov-3-r <3

I Know You

Preview - "And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, '(Y/N) isn't amongst us.'"

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, canon BG3 violence

Word Count - 3.9k

Astarion prided himself on his ability to have memorized everything about you, from how your nose scrunched when you saw something you disliked to how your eyes sparkled when you noticed him staring at you from across the fire. It was those little things that simply made you … well … you. 

Which was why he found it very offputting when he noticed your excessive alcohol intake while attending a Tiefling party. Yes, you liked to indulge in a glass of wine or two while you chatted happily with Astarion or any of your other companions – but never had he seen you cradle an entire bottle of wine to yourself and drink it in its entirety. 

But that behavior was only one of multiple that he had noticed throughout the night; you were dancing with any Tiefling who offered their hand, you seemed to stray away from him and the others throughout the night, and the smile you wore did not reach your eyes in the slightest. It seemed fake, similar to the smiles that Astarion had once flashed at you to get your clothes off. 

“Is it just me or does (Y/N) seem a little … off?” Shadowheart comments, her eyebrow raising as she watches you indulge another Tiefling in a drunken dance. You stumble over both your feet and his own, a detail that both she and Astarion narrow their eyes at. 

For an oh-so-grateful leader, you were being careless tonight. 

Astarion’s eyes follow those of Shadowheart’s, landing on you just as you are finishing a dance with your fifth Tiefling of the night. He bows to you shakily, and in return, you curtsy – another move that Astarion had never thought he would see you perform. 

“I must say that I agree with Shadowheart. Excuse me for a moment,” Astarion abandons his half-empty wine glass, sliding it across the bar. The bartender raises a brow at Astarion, but says nothing. 

You chuckle heartily as a Tiefling female approaches you, in her hands a sparkling glass of champagne. You take it from her the moment it’s offered, just about to bring it to your lips before a pale hand clasps over your shoulder. 

“Ah-ah darling, I think that’s enough with the drinking for one night,” Astarion says with a fanged smile, angling himself so that he’s able to pluck the champagne glass from your hands quickly. You turn to him, eyebrows pinched together in an expression that mixes frustration and shock – as if you had been caught doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Come off Astarion, I can indulge if I so choose,” you retort quickly, fingers extending towards your glass. Astarion lifts his arm, the glass just barely out of your reach. “You are indulging tonight, are you not?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling against your shoulder as his scarlet eyes rake over your figure. Something was wrong, it wasn’t just your general composure – it was everything down to the very way that you stood on your own two feet. 

“While that is true, I am watching what I indulge in,” Astarion says, already glancing at Shadowheart, who nods knowingly. She mumbles something inaudibly then to Gale, and soon a secret message is relayed over all of your companions. 

The Tiefling female had long since left your side, only adding to your annoyance that Astarion had come to your side. You turn sharply to face him, eyes narrowing at him. 

“And just explain to me why you thought it necessary to disrupt my fun?” you snap, glaring daggers into the vampire who stands in front of you. Astarion merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. His eyes flicker over you again, and it is in that moment that he realizes something … you were most certainly not you. 

And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, “(Y/N) isn’t amongst us.” 

“Because I know you (Y/N), and right now,” Astarion pauses only to yank you closer, lowering his lips to your ear. “You are not who you say that you are.”

You freeze in his arms, eyes flickering to look at him. The crease in your eyebrows vanishes, your expression of frustration replaced now by one of shock. “What are you on about?”

“Oh come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” Astarion growls, his grip over your wrist tightening, “I know (Y/N), and she would never indulge in such things of her own accord.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not protesting as a very angered Astarion drags you out of the Tiefling party. He is quickly flanked by Shadowheart and the others, none of whom offer you looks of sympathy – if anything, they look just as angered as the vampire in front of you. 

The moment that your feet touch camp, your wrists and ankles are promptly tied by Karlach, who offers you no answers even as you demand to know what in the hells is going on. Astarion stands quietly at her side, his arms folded over his chest whilst his mind promptly races.

Where were you? Who was sitting in your place? Where the hells were you?

With a singular wave of his hand over your body, Gale reveals Orin to the others, then steps back and glares down his nose at her. In response, her lips only turn upward in a grin, one that sends a shiver down the spines of those that surround her. 

“Where is–”

“Oh please, save me the dramatics,” Orin says with a roll of her eyes, adjusting herself so that she sits comfortably. Her attention moves to Astarion, her smile widening at the sight of the expression that he wears. 

“You have five minutes to answer our questions before–”

Orin’s head tilts in Lae’zel’s direction, her eyes crinkling as her smile widens impossibly further. Her lips part, a delighted chuckle falling from her lips. “Before what? You kill me? If I die, (Y/N)’s location dies with me.”

In a flash of white and silver, the blade of a dagger is pressed against the skin of Orin’s neck, pressed down just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. Astarion kneels in front of Orin, narrowed eyes glaring daggers into her as his lips pull back in an angered growl. 

“You will reveal (Y/N)’s location lest you want to end up a paled mess on the ground.” He was shocked by how much your disappearance had affected him – especially considering that he was supposed to be keeping his affection for you a secret from the others. 

There was a reason behind his secrecy, however, a reason that you had agreed with when he had first proposed the idea to you. It was for your safety, for your protection. But it seemed like even with that … he still couldn’t keep the one thing that kept him sane safe. 

Orin chuckles, leaning forward so that her nose just barely grazes his own. He can feel her breath as it fans over his face – it disgusts him. 

“Is that so?” Her head tilts, another delighted chuckle bubbling up her throat and spilling over her lips. Astarion pushes the blade further against her, ignoring the yells of warning delivered by the other members of the party. 

His eyes narrow, his eyebrows pinch together, and his expression hardens. Orin only chuckles again, sighing dreamily in a way that reminds Astarion of a hopelessly lovesick girl. Gods, what he would give to plunge the blade of his dagger into her neck. 

“Fine, but I hope you know I’m not yielding because of your … intimidation,” Orin murmurs, pouting childishly as Astarion pulls her to her feet, still glaring at her. He says nothing as he drags her past the others, not checking over his shoulder to see that the others have followed him.

< … >

Another chilled shiver runs up the length of your spine, using your vertebrae as a ladder. You turn uncomfortably onto your side, trying once again to tug your ankles from their shackles. All you’re met with is the sound of rattling metal. 

It had been a few hours … or perhaps even a few days since you last saw the others. You didn’t know – perhaps time worked differently when you were captured. 

The last you remembered, you were walking silently along a forest pathway with Astarion a few feet behind you. You were engrossed in the beauty of the willow trees that hung silently over you, their branches serving you the beautiful luxury of shade that covered you from the sun’s blaring rays. 

Just as you turned a corner in the forest, a cold hand that wasn’t Astarion’s clasped over your own, tugging you away into a forest patch. One good knock to the side of the head … and that was the last that you were able to clearly remember. 

When you awoke, your ankles were shackled to a wall and your wrists were bound with rope, rubbing uncomfortably against your skin and leaving behind angry red marks. 

Your body had been littered with marks; cuts, bruises, and gashes. At first, they hadn’t hurt you at all – but you blamed that entirely on your adrenaline. Now every cut burned, every bruise ached, and every gash felt as though it would never stop bleeding. 

Surely every vampiric creature within a 50-mile radius could smell your blood … especially considering how much of it lay in a disgusting puddle surrounding your body. 

A shaky breath escapes you, one that you surely hoped would be your last. Your teary eyes flicker around the cell that you’d been thrown into; the cell that lacked even so much as a window. You were completely disconnected from the outside world, and for a singular moment, you thought that maybe you had died. 

And maybe you were okay with that now … with dying. 

Even though for so long you had tried your hardest to protect everyone – practically throwing your life down on the line for the lives of your companions – being captured was making you realize something. 

Maybe they didn’t care about you nearly as much as you cared about them.

If they cared, they would be searching for you. If they cared, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in some dank old cell with no way to know what time of day it was. If they cared … they would prove it, wouldn’t they?

A choked sob claws its way up your throat, legs curling inward. You wrap your arms around them, hugging them against your chest as your body curls inward into a fetal position. 

They didn’t care. Not Gale, not Karlach, not Lae’zel, not Shadowheart. 

Not even Astarion.

Astarion …

After everything that you had done for him. You had spared him that morning while walking with Shadowheart. You had let him stay in your camp even though he spat venomous insults each time you interacted politely with him. Hells, you had even let the damn man feed on you. 

In exchange for your blood, he was letting you rot alone in a cell. 

So much for helping others, you think quietly to yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks as your lashes flutter shut. A gentle numbness spreads over you as if someone had draped a blanket over you. It felt nice. It felt safe. 

Your shoulders relax, your lips part. 

One gentle breath falls from your lips before all goes silent.

< … >

“Come on now, I’ve led you right to where she is! The least you can do is entertain a conversation,” Orin complains loudly, huffing childishly as Astarion continues shoving her forward. 

There was no lie to her words, she had led Astarion and the others to where she had thrown you – a dimly lit dungeon hallway that was only filled with the sounds of low groans and dripping water, but even those had become scarce the longer that they walked. 

“The only thing I’ll entertain is your demise,” Astarion bites out, though he desperately wishes that he had kept his mouth shut. Orin doesn’t fail to catch the tremble in his voice – the vulnerability that seeps from his words. 

Her lips curl, another delighted chuckle rumbling somewhere deep inside of her chest. Her eyes flicker to catch a glimpse of Astarion’s profile, her chuckle deepening as she notices the emotional turmoil sketched into his features. 

“I wonder what you will do to me when you realize that she’s–”

“Hush,” Astarion hisses, reaching down and yanking the bonds around Orin’s wrist. The rub of the rope against her skin is enough to silence her. “Not another word out of you, wench.”

Orin stifles the small whimper of pain that had threatened to fall from her lips, instead turning to the cell that they were nearing; your cell. 

At the sight of the metal bars and uneven stones, she giggles. Astarion passes her off to Shadowheart, ignoring the cleric’s protests as he approaches the cell. 

“Oh shit.”

The world seems to go completely silent at the sight that lies before Astarion’s eyes, a sight that he immediately wishes that he could forget. 

You lay on your side with your back facing the cell’s door, blood – your blood – surrounding you in a crimson puddle. The bits of skin that Astarion can see are littered with cuts and bruises, your legs covered in gashes that continue to drip with fresh blood. 

In any other situation, Astarion would have marveled at both the sight and smell of your blood … perhaps even allowed himself to indulge in it. 

But now?

Gods, he had never been more disgusted by any one sight or smell. 

“Astarion? What’s – oh my Gods,” Karlach raises a hand to her mouth, palm covering her lips as she gazes upon the same sight as Astarion. The others join her, and each of them falls silent. “You take … her … and get out of here.”

Shadowheart nods, shooting Orin a sharpened glare before tugging the shapeshifter back down the way that they had come, ignoring her yells of protests and the way that she struggles against the ropes that bind her wrists together. 

With one tug at the already worn-down metal, Karlach disconnects the bars of the cell. She steps inside, carefully approaching you before copying her previous actions and removing the shackles from around your ankles. 

“(Y/N)?” she murmurs down to you, lightly shaking your shoulder while simultaneously trying to be sure that she does not burn you – the last she wants is to add to your injuries. 

She’s pushed aside by Astarion, who kneels beside you and feels his breath hitch at the sight of your paled face. Your cheeks have lost their usual rosy color, replaced instead by a white that looked as though it could rival the color of his hair. 

“Shit,” is the only thing that he’s able to say properly before he scoops you into his arms. He shakes on his feet for a moment, the sudden weight in his arms debilitating his balance. He says nothing as he strides past the others, making a beeline for the exit.

< … >

The first thing that you feel is a dull ache, then followed by a wave of pain that has you shooting upright and promptly vomiting onto whatever surface happens to be beside you. The moment you’ve finished emptying your stomach, a piece of cloth is offered to you by a pale hand – a familiar one this time. 

Hesitantly, you take it, dabbing the cloth against your mouth before looking up to who had handed it to you. 

“Astarion?”

“That would be my name, yes darling,” Astarion responds, though his tone doesn’t hold his usual flirtatious lilt that you had grown so used to. No, he sounds exhausted … it made you wonder just how long he had sat at your bedside. 

Your eyes roam over him, taking note of the tiny, barely-there bags that rest beneath his eyes. For a man who cared so deeply about appearance, he surely looked as though he had let himself go … likely because of you.

As much as you wish to take him into your arms and comfort you, a fleeting thought passes through your mind — he had taken his sweet time in finding you. 

If the roles had been reversed, and it had been Astarion who was taken from you, you already knew that you would have searched Heaven and Earth trying to find him. No stone would have been left unturned, no witness left unspoken to … you would have stopped at nothing. 

But it felt as though Astarion hadn’t cared enough, if he had, you wouldn’t have been as badly wounded as you were. You wouldn’t have laid in that cell for as long as you have, not that you knew the length of time in which you had been missing anyway. 

Astarion’s head lifts at the sound of you rustling, body scooting back from him until your spine rests against the headboard of your bed. You lift your knees to your chest, hugging around them. 

“Darling?”

You remain silent, but you allow your eyes to raise to meet his awaiting gaze. He waits patiently, though you can’t help but feel as though he’s analyzing you.

“How long have I been gone?” you ask. Astarion pauses, scarlet eyes flickering away from you. He swallows, you can see the emotional turmoil that swims in his eyes. Answer me, you usher in your mind. 

“Orin wouldn’t tell us,” Astarion answers honestly, voice wavering as he recounts his angered questioning of the shapeshifter. She had only giggled in his presence and “answered” his question with another question of her own. 

You remain silent, nodding to yourself as you glance down at the bandages that adorn your arms and legs. It makes you wonder if Astarion had patched you himself … or perhaps he had made one of your other companions do it. 

You lift your head, noticing now that Astarion’s attention was focused elsewhere. His expression looks identical to your own — caught in his own mind. Guilt. 

Did he feel guilty?

“Does anything—“ he pauses to clear his throat, “—anything hurt you?”

”Just my arms and legs,” you answer. Astarion nods, inhaling deeply and shifting in his chair. For some twisted reason, you want him to stand up and leave. Maybe it was to further prove your point, or maybe you just wanted to be alone. 

You’d never really know the true answer. 

He hums, nodding to himself before he shifts again. For a fleeting moment, he debates on whether or not he should stand and exit — it was clear that you wanted your space anyway. 

Astarion knew you … and he knew that right now, you certainly didn’t want him around. Never were you short with him, but your tone insinuated that you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Not that he could honestly blame you. 

And so, he stands from his chair. You don’t lift your head to look at him again … telling. 

“Why did you take so long to come for me?”

He freezes, feeling as though someone had doused him in freezing water. His back stands rigid; you could see the way that his spine visibly tenses the moment that his mind processes what it was that you had asked him. 

You snap your jaw shut the moment that the words fall from your lips, regret filling your senses. Sheepishly, you look down, staring at your lap and screwing your eyes shut. 

You freeze at the feeling of arms wrapping over your shoulders, tugging you against a chest that you had spent many nights resting against. His skin felt cold against yours, a welcome contrast to the heat that was currently making you very uncomfortable. 

Astarion’s cheek rests against the side of your head, his hands squeezing at your waist while also being mindful of the injuries that you had sustained. He sighs shakily into your hair, feeling himself relax as he feels you reciprocate his embrace. 

“The moment that I realized that I was not interacting with you, I went out to find you,” Astarion confesses, holding you tighter as he recounts the fear in the moment when he realized that you were not you. 

You remain silent, simply soaking up the comfort that Astarion’s arms provides you with. Your head rests comfortably in the junction that connects his neck and his shoulder, nose buried into his neck. 

“You have … absolutely no idea how frightened I was,” he whispers, his voice so low that it even the rustle of the blankets overpowered his words. His arms shake where they rest around your waist, his fingernails just barely digging into the exposed skin of your waist. “The prospect of losing you–”

“Astarion.”

He pauses, feeling you shift in his arms. Without any word of protest, he releases you, settling onto his knees on the bed in front of you. You adjust yourself, then reach out to take his hands into your own. 

Astarion flinches. You pause, waiting for him to say something to you. He doesn’t, and so you take it as an okay to continue. Your fingers squeeze his own, the action directing his eyes to your own. 

You stay silent for a second or two, simply taking in the way that Astarion’s eyes soften at you. His usually sharp scarlet eyes are glazed over now with a new emotion – guilt. Guilt over not being there for you, guilt over not saving you sooner …

… guilt that you had gotten hurt. 

“Darling, if I had the chance to save you sooner, know that I would have taken it without a second of hesitation,” Astarion admits, shifting an inch closer to you. You feel the tears building along your waterline, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you attempt to suppress the sobs that begin to bubble up somewhere in your chest. 

One of his hands releases yours, hesitantly laying against your face. He thumbs away the tears in your eyes, sighing as you crumple and reach for him again. Astarion doesn’t waste a single second, wrapping you in his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

“I thought that,” you hiccup, “you and the others had forgotten about me.”

His arms tighten around you at that declaration, chest promptly collapsing it on itself as he realizes just how scared you had been. He doesn’t want to imagine what you must have been thinking in that cell, likely thinking about if you would ever be saved.

If he would ever come for you.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair, fingers stroking comforting circles into the small of your back. “I would never forget you, ever.”

“You are the first thing in my entire life that makes me feel … feel something. Something other than burning hatred. You make this wretched world worth living in.”

You squeeze at him, hands bunching up his shirt from behind. He doesn’t bring attention to it, letting you cling to him with as much force as you need. 

“And I’m not going to let you go. Not now, not ever,” he promises you. You close your eyes, sighing shakily through your nose. He can feel your nod against his chest, his cheek leaning further into your hair. 

And that night, when the glistening moon hung over your tent and signaled to your companions that it was time to rest, Astarion remained at your side – fulfilling his promise.

He wasn’t going to let you feel that scared again. Not now, not ever.