His colleagues glance at him and smile — like they already know everything. Even the things he doesn’t. Cyno is surprised that bits and pieces of the situation reach him through work chatter, the noise of the Grand Bazaar, and even from patrols deep in the forest — but never from you. It’s as if you don’t trust him enough to share your troubles. And even if that thought cuts deeper than he lets on, Cyno respects your choice and doesn’t bring it up himself. Instead, to keep from overthinking and spiraling, he throws himself into tracking the perpetrator — a real hunt. After all, no one escapes justice when it comes from the General Mahamatra.
Still, he can’t avoid the subject entirely. When he sees you again, he mentions that the criminal has been caught, hoping it’ll bring you some relief. But what he sees instead is pain flickering across your face — and that stuns him.
“Did I do something wrong? Should I not have gotten involved?”
He doesn’t understand your reaction. Maybe he should’ve stayed close, offered comfort instead? But it seemed like you were keeping the issue from him on purpose — to process it in your own space and time.
“I thought… it would hurt your reputation. You care about it so much…”
When Cyno hears the anxious thoughts you’ve been wrestling with all this time, something shifts. He cups your cheeks, catches your gaze, and says with quiet certainty:
“No, of course not… I wouldn’t turn my back on you just to protect my reputation. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Though not someone used to touch, Cyno opens his arms for you — and doesn’t let go until you’re the one to pull away.
RAZOR
Raised by the laws of the wild, Razor doesn’t quite understand why what happened has shaken you so deeply. But he tries to comfort you. Slowly, step by step, he moves closer and tilts his head, gently nudging your shoulder like a she-wolf nuzzling her pup. The silence that follows — your total lack of response — unsettles him more than anything else in the world. A low whine, full of frustration at his own helplessness, escapes from his chest. Razor curls up at your feet, keeping just enough distance to not intrude, but refusing to leave your side. Whatever caused this pain doesn’t matter to him right now. What matters is that you’re hurting. And he’s made it his duty to bring back your sunshine smile and that voice that rings like a bell.
Later, Razor goes to Lisa with questions. After a patient and thorough explanation, after the truth settles in, his fists clench until his knuckles turn white, and his teeth grind together. He grabs his claymore, ready to tear the whole city apart if that’s what it takes to find the monster responsible. He doesn’t fully understand why, but the image of someone’s hands touching you without your permission drives him insane. There’s nothing he can do about it — not directly — but Lisa promises to look into it and talk to Jean to make sure no one else gets hurt.
He returns to your home. The curtains are drawn, everything’s untouched, and you’re buried under heavy blankets. It’s clear you haven’t left your room or eaten all day. Razor sits on the edge of the bed to let you know he’s there, and in a voice cracked with emotion, he says the only thing that feels right:
“I only have Lupical. I protect my Lupical. No one hurt. I fight for Lupical. Keep safe. I want make you feel good. Food gives strength. Makes happy. I make meat. Tasty smell.”
SCARAMOUCHE
Scaramouche doesn’t deal well with tears. During arguments, the moment he notices them, he either sends you away or walks off himself. It doesn’t make him a terrible person — some emotions just hit too hard and leave him feeling powerless.
“Calm down and explain it properly, I can’t make sense of your whining.”
That line comes up a lot. Not because he wants to hurt you — but because that’s how he tries to get to the point and help. Fix the problem. Give you money. Beat someone up. But not offer soft words. And definitely not hugs.
But today is different. Your cheeks are soaked in tears, and you don’t even seem to notice. You’re staring off, empty. Scaramouche forces himself to step closer. He asks what happened. And as he pieces together the broken parts of your story, something inside him snaps. Some pathetic insect thought they had the right to touch you — the parts of you that belong to him, wholly and without question.
Between shaky breaths, you confess that you can still feel it — those touches clinging to your skin like filth that won’t wash off.
“Show me where.”
His cool, familiar fingers follow wherever you point. He presses, massages, grounding you with each motion. Then he leans in and kisses every inch of skin you marked, slow and deliberate — replacing the memory of someone else's hands with his own, painting over it, erasing it.
“Imagine it’s only me touching you. Nothing else. No one else.”
He’ll find the bastard later — drag them out from under the earth if he has to — but right now, helping you is all that matters.
Hi! it's me again! I'd like to request a few genshin men/boys and most of them are my favs like at least like 14 of them😂 fluff please
I wanted to request a Diluc, Razor (it's fine if you don't do him, but I'm pretty sure he's at least 16 or 17) Xiao, Wanderer, Cyno, Al Haitham, Neuvillete, Kinich, Ororon (there's lack of Ororon love) and Dainsleif. I wanted the headcannon to be like:
their friends asking fem!reader: What do you see in him?
reader: he makes me laugh
i wanted to see this kind of headcannon for so long (i hope it's okay if i can request this much character😅)
Headcanon: He Makes Me Laugh
Diluc
At a cozy café in Mondstadt, you and your friends sit around a small table, sharing stories over steaming cups of tea. One of your friends leans in, eyebrows raised. “Diluc? Really? What do you see in him?”
You take a moment to think, a smile creeping onto your face. “He makes me laugh,” you finally reply.
Your friends exchange skeptical glances. “Diluc? The serious, brooding one? How does that even work?”
You lean back in your chair, recalling a recent night at the tavern. Diluc had been tending bar when a customer made a ridiculous drink request. With a straight face, he had leaned over to you and said, “If I serve one more ‘secret drink’ request, I might just invent a potion to erase memories of it.”
You burst into laughter, and he shot you a quick, playful smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. The moment had felt electric, a fleeting glimpse of the softer side he rarely showed anyone else.
As you reminisce, you can’t help but grin, feeling warmth in your chest. “He’s got this dry wit that surprises me. You just have to know where to look.”
One friend rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see it. But how do you get him to show it?”
You shrug playfully. “Maybe he just needs someone to break through the brooding exterior.”
Diluc, standing nearby, overhears your laughter and smirks, catching your eye with a knowing look, as if he appreciates the affection behind your words.
Razor
Your friends are gathered in your room, sprawled on the floor as you all catch up. Suddenly, one of them narrows their eyes and asks, “You’re with Razor? What do you even talk about?”
You can’t help but giggle at the question. “Oh, you have no idea. He makes me laugh!”
Your friends exchange confused looks. “Razor? The one who spends all his time with wolves?”
You nod, recalling a beautiful morning walk you took with him through Wolvendom. “The other day, we were watching the sunrise. He looked at it, wide-eyed, and said, ‘Looks like egg yolk spilled.’ And then he asked, ‘Why do people say ‘crack of dawn’? Dawn don’t break…’”
Your friends burst into laughter, imagining Razor’s serious face juxtaposed with his innocent, childlike observations.
“He’s not trying to be funny, but he has this way of looking at the world that’s just… refreshing,” you explain, a soft smile on your lips as you think about him.
One friend grins, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I guess if you’re into that… unique perspective.”
Razor, who has been listening from the doorway, looks a bit confused but intrigued. “I like egg yolk. It is good food,” he adds earnestly, causing another round of laughter.
Xiao
In a quiet corner of Liyue Harbor, your friends sit across from you, disbelief painted on their faces. “Xiao?” one asks, incredulous. “But he’s so… intense and brooding! What do you see in him?”
You chuckle, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh,” you respond, shaking your head at their expressions.
Your friends exchange skeptical glances, clearly struggling to understand how someone as serious as Xiao could ever be funny. “Seriously?” one of them challenges. “How?”
You remember a day when you and Xiao were training together on the mountain. As you stumbled over a loose rock, he caught you just in time, and without missing a beat, he said, “Are mortals always this clumsy?”
You had burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He doesn’t mean to be funny, but his honesty is refreshing,” you explain, smiling at the memory.
Your friends nod, starting to see your point. “Okay, I can see how that would be amusing.”
Just then, Xiao approaches, overhearing the conversation. He raises an eyebrow. “You laugh a lot around me. Is that good?”
You grin, meeting his gaze. “Absolutely! It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
Xiao looks slightly flustered but turns away, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoicism.
Wanderer
Strolling through a quiet clearing with your friends, one of them shoots you a concerned glance. “So… Wanderer? The same guy who’s known for his prickly attitude? What exactly do you see in him?”
You smirk, already used to the question. “He makes me laugh,” you say simply.
They look skeptical, one raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
You nod, smiling at the memory of a recent encounter. Wanderer had once muttered something about the “absurdity” of people who thought they knew everything about him. He’d followed it up with, “Honestly, they know less about me than that rock does about erosion.” He’d pointed at a boulder, then turned to you, daring you to laugh. But you couldn’t help it—you cracked up, and he’d rolled his eyes, but with the faintest hint of a smile himself.
Your friends seem taken aback. “Wait, Wanderer said that?”
Just then, Wanderer appears, crossing his arms as he approaches. “Are you sharing my profound observations with these mortals?” he asks, feigning annoyance, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he glances at you.
You grin, meeting his gaze. “I can’t help it. You’re just so funny.”
He scoffs, muttering something about “annoying people,” but the faintest smile betrays him, earning a knowing look from your friends.
Cyno
After a long day, you and your friends gather at a cozy teahouse. One of them finally leans in with a curious look. “Cyno, though? Isn’t he a little… intense? What do you see in him?”
A grin spreads across your face as you think of Cyno’s well-meaning, if occasionally dreadful, sense of humor. “He makes me laugh.”
Your friends look surprised, clearly doubtful. “Cyno? Are you sure? He’s the General Mahamatra!”
You laugh at their disbelief. “Yes, that Cyno. Once, he tried to tell me a ‘joke’ about Teyvat’s elemental reactions. ‘Did you know Pyro and Hydro make steam…y results?’” You can’t help but laugh at the memory, and your friends blink at you, processing.
Then one snickers, and another gives in. “Okay, that’s actually—unintentionally funny.”
As if summoned, Cyno appears at the table. “Did I hear mention of… humor?” he asks with utmost seriousness, casting a proud look your way. “I have another one. What did the dendro traveler say to the withering zone?”
You grin knowingly, but your friends glance at each other nervously. “What?” they ask in unison.
“‘Leave it to me,’” Cyno deadpans, straight-faced. You burst out laughing, your friends struggling to hold back their smiles. Cyno raises an eyebrow, satisfied. “See? I told you humor is a valuable asset.”
Alhaitham
Gathered at the Sumeru Library, your friends can’t hide their disbelief. “Alhaitham? What do you even see in him?” one of them exclaims, shaking her head.
You grin, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh.”
“Really? The stoic scholar?” they ask, bewildered.
You reminisce about a quiet evening when you found him deeply engrossed in a book. You had asked, “What’s so interesting?” He glanced up and replied, “The existential dread of characters in fiction is quite entertaining. They can’t even do anything about it.”
His deadpan delivery made you laugh, and he’d raised an eyebrow, confused by your reaction. “You find that funny?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed, which only made you laugh harder.
Your friends start to nod, clearly amused. “Okay, maybe he has a point there.”
Alhaitham, overhearing your laughter, approaches with an amused glint in his eye. “I see you’re discussing literature. Should I be concerned?”
You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you’re worried about being funny.”
He smirks, unfazed. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”
Neuvillete
In the refined atmosphere of Fontaine’s opera house, your friends question your attachment to Neuvillette, the reserved Chief Justice. “So, what do you see in him?” one friend asks, an eyebrow raised. “Neuvillette’s so… solemn. He barely smiles.”
You chuckle, casting a glance at the grand stage. “But that’s the thing. He makes me laugh when I least expect it.”
Your friends exchange looks, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Neuvillette?”
You nod, remembering a moment from an evening much like this one. Neuvillette had been watching an opera, his typical composed expression in place, when he leaned over and whispered, “I find it curious that, despite its grandeur, this aria is about a fish lamenting her lost pond. Dramatic, isn’t it?” His understated humor and subtle wit had made you stifle a laugh, though he looked pleased with your reaction.
One friend’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, he actually jokes? In his own way?”
At that moment, Neuvillette arrives, having overheard the conversation. “I merely observe the world as it is,” he says with a faint, almost invisible smile. “I trust I’ve provided adequate amusement?”
You smile up at him warmly, while your friends look at each other, slowly starting to see his appeal. “Yes,” you reply, reaching for his hand. “You certainly have.”
Kinich
As you and your friends stroll through the bustling markets, one of them nudges you, raising an eyebrow. “So… Kinich? He’s got that cold, intense vibe. What do you see in him?”
You chuckle, picturing the man who, beneath his pragmatic exterior, occasionally revealed a dry, clever humor that caught you off guard. “He makes me laugh,” you reply, smiling.
Your friends blink, visibly unconvinced. “Kinich? The Kinich? The guy who talks like every word is a business contract?”
“Trust me, he’s funnier than you think.” You recall a time when you had teased him about always being so serious. He had given you a mock-stern look and said, “Seriousness is simply efficiency applied to communication. If I were to, say, laugh needlessly, it would be inefficient—unless, of course, you think I’m funny?” His tone had been deadpan, but you had caught the sparkle in his eyes, which only made you laugh harder.
One of your friends scoffs, half amused, half disbelieving. “He’s secretly funny? Now that I have to see.”
Just then, Kinich appears, drawn by the sound of laughter. He stands with his usual composed expression, his gaze steady as he glances at you. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, though his eyes linger on yours with a warmth your friends would never guess at.
“Not at all,” you reply, a mischievous smile on your lips. “We were just talking about how funny you are.”
A single brow arches, and he replies smoothly, “If efficiency in humor is what amuses you, then I suppose I’ve succeeded.”
Your friends stare, open-mouthed, as he gives a faint smile, the smallest show of his affection reserved just for you.
Ororon
Gathered in a quiet grove just outside the bustling village, your friends share stories, each of them glancing at you with barely concealed curiosity. Finally, one of them speaks up. “Ororon? Really? He’s so… unconventional. What do you see in him?”
You smile, looking down at the wildflowers in your hand. “He makes me laugh.”
They seem taken aback, sharing doubtful glances. “Ororon? But he’s so… odd. He even lives out in the woods by himself. Isn’t he a little too eccentric?”
You laugh softly, thinking of all the moments Ororon’s uniqueness had brightened your days. “Maybe. But he’s more observant than anyone I know.” You recount a day spent walking with him through the forest, where he had pointed out a bird with feathers the color of storm clouds and said, with absolute conviction, “Look at him, he’s judging us. Clearly, he’s unimpressed with our lack of feathers.” You’d laughed, and he had given you a small, playful smile.
One friend smirks, shaking their head. “You actually find him funny?”
Before you can answer, Ororon appears, emerging from the trees with his usual easygoing stride. “Are we discussing birds?” he asks, his expression calm as he settles beside you. “I could have sworn I saw a bird earlier that looked particularly snobbish. Perhaps it’s you it dislikes.”
You laugh, reaching for his hand as your friends chuckle, finally starting to understand his strange charm. “Exactly,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.
Ororon gives a satisfied hum, his eyes meeting yours. “See? Nature understands us well.” And in that moment, your friends see how the quiet humor of this eccentric man makes him so dear to you.
Sitting on a rooftop overlooking the stars, your friends are still trying to wrap their heads around your choice. “Dainsleif? Really? What do you see in him?” one asks skeptically.
Dainsleif
You smile softly, reflecting on your experiences. “He makes me laugh.”
Your friends look puzzled. “But he’s so serious and mysterious!”
You recall a late night when you were stargazing together. He had shared tales of his travels and then abruptly said, “In the end, I find that stars are just like people. Some are bright, some are dim, and some are just… lost.” Then, after a pause, he added with a straight face, “But at least they all shine, even if it’s just for a moment.”
You had burst into laughter at his unexpected metaphor, and he’d turned to you, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he asked, “Is that amusing?”
You nod, a warm smile on your face. “Yes! It’s all about perspective with you.”
Your friends nod, starting to see the appeal. “Okay, that’s a bit poetic.”
Dainsleif, overhearing the conversation, walks over with an amused look. “If my musings provide amusement, then perhaps I should share more.”
You grin. “Please do! We could all use a little more humor.”
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?”
Dancing With Visions - Not Like Running With Lupical - The Shag - Razor
Author Notes: I have now learned that it is incredibly difficult to write for Razor. I listened to "Running with the Wolves" by AURORA while writing this which did help some, though. Just like the rest of this series, reader is female. I hope you enjoy!
If you would like to read more of this series, the fics can be found here: Dancing with Visions Masterlist.
Type: Female reader/ dance/ fluff/ platonic
Word Count: 1075
I walked alongside Lisa, listening to the woman carefully as she explained her situation, “...Yes, Cutie. I thought learning how to dance might be good for Razor, but it seems like everyone is too busy to be his partner.”
She looked towards me with a knowing expression, shaking her head slightly as I smiled and nodded, finishing her sentiment, “So you came and got me. I understand and I don’t mind at all. But what dance did you pick for him to learn?”
Her green eyes met mine, and she made a slight face before sighing, “The shag. It’s such an easy-going dance that I thought it might be a good fit, but he seems to be getting confused by the motions.”
I frowned slightly as we drew closer to the room Razor was waiting for us in, “So he hasn’t finished learning or…?”
“I think he just needs practice with someone that he’ll be comfortable with,” She smiled at me gratefully as I bobbed my head understandingly. Touched that she’d thought of me as someone he would be comfortable with, but also wondering exactly how this was going to go over.
Because, while she was right, the shag was an easygoing dance, it also wasn’t what one would call an easy dance.
Its motions were simple enough, and when described, it sounded like it would be no big deal. But when everything was put into practice, it was very easy to get tangled up as you slid along the floor to the rhythm of whatever song you were dancing to.
I wasn’t surprised that Razor was getting confused by the motions; most everyone did when they were first learning the dancing, myself included.
I could still hear Venti laughing at me as he’d been teaching me. He’d gained boundless amusement from my frustration.
A part of me wanted to ask if Lisa had considered Venti as a good instructor, but it was quite likely that she couldn’t find him. That bard was, after all, a free being who seemed to come and go with Mondstadt’s ever-changing breeze.
So I remained silent as I entered the library and saw Razor sitting on the floor in a cleared-out section of the room.
Lisa smiled, patting me on the back as Razor looked up at me with an almost hesitant expression as his teacher left once more. Leaving the two of us alone so that I could help Razor practice dancing.
In many ways, I could understand why Lisa thought teaching Razor a dance might be a good idea, but I also felt like it was unnecessary.
While it was true that Lisa was helping him integrate back into human life, dancing felt like a little bit of a leap for him. Especially when plenty of people made it along just fine without ever actually knowing the steps to any dance.
Nonetheless, I smiled at the young man and walked over, holding out my hands to help him up from his seated position on the polished floor, “Hi Razor.”
He nodded, blinking up at me in quiet surprise, “Hello. Looking… for me?”
I smiled and nodded, “Yes, Lisa asked me to help you practice dancing.” I almost laughed aloud as the young man wrinkled up his face in distaste.
“You don’t like dancing?” I tilted my head as I questioned him softly, and he glanced at me almost hesitantly before nodding in agreement.
“Dancing is… hard. But I need to do it. Like talking.” His speech was, as always, stilted and faltering, but I could tell he was improving. And I was proud of him. Razor had come far from when I’d first met him, and he was becoming more and more comfortable around people as he got steadily better at talking.
It made sense why Lisa wanted to take the next step, but I still felt hesitant. Because, in truth, I didn’t want Razor to feel like dancing was a chore.
Dancing was something that, to me, always seemed like it ought to be joyful, not hard or unpleasant, even if it might not come naturally at first.
I swung our conjoined hands between us, and Razor tilted his head almost questioningly at me as I smiled, “Do you know why people dance, Razor?”
Razor frowned almost immediately at my words, like he was thinking hard before he answered, “Teacher said… people dance at parties.”
I nodded, agreeing with Lisa’s words, “We do, yes. But dancing happens on other occasions too. People dance when they’re happy.”
Razor blinked at me, his warm red eyes bright as he gazed at me, “Like how you… You hum?”
I laughed slightly, nodding my head, “Yes, like how I hum when I’m happy. When people are happy or excited, when we’re celebrating something, we’ll sometimes dance.”
I sighed slightly, tilting my head at the young man, “Lisa told me you know all the steps, but dancing is something to be enjoyed just as much as it is something to be learned.”
Razor was silent, glancing down at our hands before he nodded, meeting my gaze with a resolute stare, “Razor understands. Dancing is like running.”
I grinned outright at him, nodding my head once more, “Yes, so are you ready?”
He bobbed his head in a quick, short motion before a smile appeared on his face, “Yes. Razor is ready. Razor is happy.”
His motions were awkward, those of a brand new student, but it hardly mattered as he smiled. Relaxing as he held my hand and we slid along the floor in the slippery-looking steps of the shag.
In no way was any of our dancing perfect in the technical sense, but it was perfect in the sense that as we danced, Razor enjoyed himself.
He looked just as happy as he did when he would be running freely through the woods, as I’d seen him in the past.
After a while, we stopped dancing. Both of us sitting down on the shiny floor to rest, and though I was slightly out of breath, Razor seemed perfectly fine.
“Dancing is… It is fun. Not like running with Lupical… but fun. With you.” I nodded at his words, smiling brightly at him.
“We’ll have to show Lisa when she comes back in. She’ll be proud of you,” I nudged him lightly with my shoulder, and he nodded. Brightening slightly at my praise.
