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starmapz · 3 months ago

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what you know - ch13: tribulations || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 16.2k.

❦ a/n ; it's heeeere!! so before everyone reads i just wanna give a small update. chapter 13 and 14 were written all at once and ch14 should be ready in about a week. they were originally intended to be one chapter, but 36k words felt unreasonable for a single chapter LOL, so i've split them in two. they do read somewhat as a part 1 and part 2, so the second part of the legal battle will be out next week. as well, please note that the legal details are heavily based off of a mix of canadian and australian laws and processes, so it may not match up with your local laws. with that out of the way, enjoy!

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The sound of your text chime has you cracking your eyes open before dawn even breaks. You hardly even recognize the sound, so accustomed to having your phone on vibrate. With a weak groan, you flip onto your side, peering at your phone.

It’s not even six in the morning yet, and you barely got home by midnight.

Your eyes slip down to the message previews, and you frown. Taking a moment to let your body adjust to being awake, you plop down on your mattress, draping your arm over your eyes. In hindsight, probably not the greatest idea as you jolt back awake when another text arrives.

Pulling your phone off the charger, you squint at the bright screen.

5:39 AM Kuna || yujis awake

5:39 AM Kuna || he keeps banging on their door but cho wont answer

5:52 AM Kuna || sorry

Dragging your hand over your face in an effort to wake up, you stare at the messages once more before typing your response.

5:54 AM You || Why are you sorry?

5:55 AM You || I’ll be there soon

His response comes fairly quickly in spite of the chaos you’re sure is taking place in his apartment.

5:59 AM Kuna || its early and shit

Pushing yourself out of bed to get ready, you find a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

6:01 AM You || I told you to text me, didn’t I?

6:02 AM Kuna || yeah

6:02 AM Kuna || thanks

That’s the last message you receive from him as you shower, put on a hardly noticeable amount of makeup, and throw on a comfy pink hoodie and leggings. If you could drive in a cocoon of blankets, you’d probably do that too, but you digress.

You’re standing in front of his door barely a half hour later, having gotten ready faster than ever in an effort to help. You’d definitely figured Yuji would sleep in longer, but Sukuna isn’t a particularly lucky man, so here you are before the sun has risen.

The look on his face as you open the door speaks to his luck as well. Defeat is emboldened across his features, etched into the dark circles under his eyes. A white V-neck that’s so thin you can make out his chest and shoulder tattoos beneath it hangs over his shoulders, while a pair of black sweatpants adorns his lower half. They hang so low on his hips that you can make out the band of his boxers, and lord knows you don’t need your mind going any further than that.

He may be attractive, but at the end of the day, you can’t let yourself get hurt again. Not like that.

“Hey,” he grunts tiredly, swinging the door open as the sound of Yuji sobbing fills your ears.

Shooting him a sympathetic look, you follow him inside without a word, where he leads you to Yuji. The boy is slumped against the door to his and Choso’s room, tears and snot trailing down his face as he sobs and hiccups, calling out his brother’s name between wails. Sukuna clearly tried to calm him down, based on the blanket tucked around the little boy and the plush clutched in his hands, as well as a pile of tissues that surrounds him.

Your heart drops at the sight of the little boy who holds such a dear place in your heart so devastated as he cries out for Choso. You want nothing more than to hold both kids close and let them know everything will be alright.

With his eyes shut tight, the little boy hasn’t spotted you yet.

“How long has he been crying?” You whisper to Sukuna, trying to figure out the best way to work through the situation.

Sukuna casts a glance at his phone in his pocket. “Since five.” Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he sighs. “Don’t wanna pick the lock n’ force Cho out if I don’t gotta,” he shrugs.

In all honesty, you’re a bit shocked at how strangely calm he is handling the situation, as well as how reasonable he’s being. You can’t be sure what exactly it is that’s dulling his sharper edges, between the dejection in his tone, how long this has been going on, or the weariness plaguing every movement he makes. On the other hand, it’s those same reasons that have you worried for him as signs of life seem to drain from his eyes more and more each time you see him as of late.

You spend one more moment examining Sukuna before turning your attention to Yuji.

Leaning down in front of him, you finally gain his attention. His sobs turn to sniffles for a moment as he peers at you with a lidded expression, having completely exhausted himself already. He whispers your name questioningly between gasps as though he doesn’t quite believe it’s you, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Hey sweetheart,” you greet him with a soft smile. Before you can even begin comforting him, in a flurry of blankets and arms, he’s clinging to your leg, gripping you with as much force as he can manage. With a sad smile, you hug him as best as you can with him stuck to your leg like glue.

“I- m-missed-” he sobs, gasping to catch his breath, “you.”

“I missed you too, Yu.” Your voice is tight as you rub his back gently, blinking in your best effort to keep yourself from crying at the sight of the sweet boy hugging you with all his might.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on, honey?”

He backs up an inch, wiping his face again with his hands. With a hiccup, he barely manages to get out a very broken explanation of what’s going on. “Cho-” a sniffle, “won’t-” a broken sob, “let me innnnnnn,” he bawls, his words devolving into full sobs once more.

Settling on the floor in front of him cross-legged, you extend your arms, offering him a hug that you’re sure he needs. He clambers into your lap in a flurry of tears, burying his face into your shoulder.

Maybe a pale pink hoodie wasn’t your brightest choice of clothes all things considered, but that’s the least of your concerns.

Quietly hushing the little boy, you hug him tightly and rub his back. His entire body shakes violently in your arms as he’s wracked with sobs, gasping for air between each one.

“Shh, it’s okay, honey.” Your voice is quiet and gentle, gradually soothing his sobs into quiet cries and gasps. Even as he begins to calm down in your arms, he doesn’t move, clinging to you like a lifeline.

Sukuna hasn’t moved either, frozen in place as he watches the way you effortlessly calm his brother down. He can only blink as he watches you, his mind moving too groggily, too slowly, to properly process just how well you understand Yuji. But really, it’s not just Yuji, is it? It’s Choso too, and even Sukuna himself.

Deep in thought, the tattooed man scowls to himself, as yet again he finds himself considering Uraume’s words. At least before the fight, you liked him, right? Do you still, now? Does this prove that? Does last night prove that?

His heart beats in his throat at the thought and he has to swallow to choke down the feeling, because it reminds him of a much bigger question he’s been avoiding.

Why is he chasing the answer like a damn bloodhound? Does he want you to like him?

His eyes trail the length of your back as he watches the way Yuji clings to you, his fingers buried in the fabric of your pink hoodie. Your shoulder is already stained in snot and tears, but he knows you don’t mind. You’re so painfully accommodating of his family that self-reproach constricts Sukuna’s chest and he finds himself unable to move. Unable to do anything but watch.

Time and time again, you’ve told him to reach out, that he should ask for help, even as recently as a few hours ago, and yet seeing you sitting on the floor before him doing something that he should be able to do himself sends guilt straight through his heart. With the full force of a fist, it hits his chest and knocks the breath straight from his lungs.

He knows he’s only one person, that they aren’t his kids and this whole situation has just been a case of winging it from the beginning, but this is the one thing he should be able to do as a brother.

Basking in his shame and frustration, he fixes you with a scowl that isn’t made for you.

Why are you so selfless?

Why is he so selfish?

Why is he taking up all of your time when he has no right to ask for it?

Gritting his teeth, he scratches at his stubble-dotted jaw, finding the wherewithal to sit at your side on the floor.

You cast him a glance, surprise flickering in your eyes as he takes a seat beside you. His expression is more familiar, sitting somewhere on the spectrum of grumpiness, though you’re not sure where his sudden attitude came from. In this particular moment, that’s the least of your concerns.

Yuji shuffles back slowly to look at you with glossy eyes and puffy cheeks. “I- I-” He stammers between sniffles, wiping his tears on his sleeve. “I wanna see-” he hiccups, “- my brother,” though between all the tears and his sniffles, it comes out more like ‘bwother’. “Is he-” he sniffles, “is he mad at me?”

“No, sweetie,” you soothe, “I don’t think he’s mad.” You rub his back, leaning back to get a better look at him. His chest is heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his eyes flickering every which way across your face as he tries to make sense of everything. Unfortunately he’s far too young and naive to figure out the bigger picture, which only makes everything more difficult. “I think your brother’s sad, Yu, just like you.”

He wipes his face again, a string of… saliva (?) sticking to his sleeve as he pulls back. “Sad? Why?”

You take a deep breath as you search for an answer that a five-year-old could understand. “Do you remember the person who came by to talk with Kuna yesterday?”

Yuji nods, hiccupping.

“Well, Choso didn’t like something they said.”

“Why not?”

You suppose you should have seen that coming. Children are always looking for answers where there are none.

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart. I’m gonna see if we can talk to him, okay?”

“Okayyy,” Yuji whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Why don’t you go sit with Kuna?”

Yuji stares at you for a moment as he contemplates your words before nodding, crawling off your lap in a bundle of the blanket he’s wrapped in. He grabs his plush tiger before slowly approaching his older brother.

Sukuna may not be able to provide the words his brother needs to hear, but he does still open his arms and let his brother cuddle into his chest. You shoot Sukuna a reassuring smile before pushing to your feet to knock on the door to the kids’ room. There’s no way Choso isn’t awake given Yuji’s wailing, and you’d wager a bet that he even heard everything you said just now.

Still, there’s no reply to your knock.

Turning back to Sukuna, you can see that Yuji is on the verge of tears once more and shoot him a reassuring smile before tilting your head to Sukuna. “Did Choso eat last night?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Dunno. I shoved some shit under the door but I didn’t hear him move.”

“Why don’t we make some breakfast and see if we can get him to come out for food and a talk? He’s gotta be hungry.”

Sukuna mulls over the option before nodding. “Y’want pancakes, Yu?”

“Yeah,” the boy sniffles, wiping his tears. “With lots ‘nd lots of syrup.”

Sukuna lets out something between a hum and a scoff, effortlessly setting his little brother on his feet and pushing up to his full height. “C’mon,” he urges, leading the way into the kitchen. You cast one last glance at Choso’s locked door before following Sukuna.

The brutish man begins gathering ingredients, setting them on the counter beside a large mixing bowl while Yuji grips the counter, just barely tall enough to see what Sukuna’s doing.

“Let’s get your hands washed,” you encourage Yuji, turning on the tap and lifting the little boy up so that he can reach the kitchen sink. Making sure he uses soap, you place him back down on the floor. He wipes his hands on his very messy hoodie, effectively negating anything the handwashing had done in the first place, but it’s not like you can get into his room to get him changed into something clean.

Sighing, you lead him to the table and lift him onto a chair. A bead lizard sits on the table in front of him, and he entertains himself with it for the time being.

Returning to Sukuna as he washes his hands, you follow suit, turning towards him to take the hand cloth from him.

“You’ve got a little-” you point at his shoulder, covered in stains from Yuji’s sobs.

Glancing down at his shirt, Sukuna grunts with a frown before evaluating your outfit. “We match,” he comments dryly, rolling his shoulder to emphasize the drying patches on your shoulders. “You need a new shirt?”

“Um-” you glance over at Yuji, before shaking your head. “No, I have a feeling these aren’t the last tears that’ll be on my hoodie,” you surmise with a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep light of a situation that clearly has the whole family worn to the bone, with nothing left to give.

Sukuna hums again, about to ask you to cut some bananas for the pancakes when Yuji turns towards you, weakly calling your name.

Turning your gaze to the little boy, you scoot a chair up next to him and give him your full attention. “What’s up, Yu?”

He sniffles, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Um- I made-” he pauses, holding the lizard he’d been playing with earlier up to you. “Made this for-” he stammers again, hiccupping, “-for you.”

Holding your hand out, you delicately take the bead lizard from him. One of its legs has four toes rather than three, and its tail is slightly lopsided, but it’s positively too cute.

“Um-” Yuji continues, his eyes dropping to his lap. “-but then you were-” as if the memory alone shakes him to his very core, his lower lip wobbles, parting with a sob. “-you were goooone,” he cries again, clinging to your side. It takes all of five seconds before he crawls off of his chair into your lap.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, smoothing his hair back off his forehead and rubbing his back. “I know honey, I’m sorry,” your throat is tight as he wails in your arms. “I’ve been busy with work and school, but I never stopped thinking about you, Cho, and Sukuna, you know that?” You tell him, leaning back in an effort to see his face. With puffy cheeks, he swallows a sob as he looks up at you. Holding your wrist out, you show him your bracelets, letting him fiddle with them. “See? I always had you with me.”

Sukuna’s spoon comes to a halt in the mixing bowl as he watches your interactions with Yuji. He damn-near drops the utensil too, fumbling with it until he can set it down. His heart doesn’t just flip or flutter as usual, no, it hammers in his chest when you utter something so sweet that it’s sure to cause him a cavity.

He lifts a hand up to his chest, the feeling of his heart beating erratically resounding through the tips of his fingers. His lips part as he stares down at the bowl in front of him, blinking at the half-mixed batter.

“‘M always with you,” Yuji repeats the sentiment in agreement with you between broken gasps and sobs, reaching up to fiddle with your friendship bracelets.

Sukuna can only watch the interaction from the corner of his eye as he struggles to run from something that he fears has been creeping up on him for a long time. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind sits a realization that he’s never once bothered with because it simply couldn’t be true. Now, though… His crimson eyes flicker towards you. Your features are soft as you smile for his little brother, giggling as the child gently tugs at the twine around your wrist.

A month. A full goddamn month you kept those on. You were resigned to never seeing Sukuna again and still, you kept them on. You never deleted his number. You kept him in your thoughts when your company had an open position. He knows you needed the help for your own gain, but he’s not foolish enough to think there’s no coincidence in the fact that you called him, let alone even thought about him.

He’d spent so long running that he’d never stopped to consider how he felt about all that.

His brow furrows as he turns his attention back to the batter, glowering as if it’s personally offended his whole bloodline. He doesn’t have the fucking time for this.

In an attempt to keep up his pace and continue running from his thoughts, he unsteadily grabs the spoon again and mixes the batter with a fervor that catches your attention as you cast him a questioning glance. He’s too busy scowling at the batter to notice, but you figure he’s simply stressed.

“Your big brother knows how to reach me if you kids ever need me, okay?”

You jolt at the sound of metal clattering behind you. Twisting in your seat, you catch a glance of Sukuna muttering curses to himself as he picks the spoon back up, his brow bunching up more intensely by the moment.

You make a mental note to ask him what’s up later, turning your attention back to the little boy on your lap as he slowly turns the twine tied around your wrist. His breathing begins to settle again, satisfied with your explanation as he explains the reasoning behind his color choices with the bead lizard. You listen intently, because if you don’t, his words sound more like hoarse mumbles, difficult to make out.

Yuji explains in great detail that he designed the lizard for you out of pink and purple beads, because those are the prettiest colors, just like you. You’re grateful in that moment that Yuji is too busy looking down at his creation and Sukuna is behind you, because tears finally do prick at the corners of your eyes. Yuji is positively precious and you can’t deny the fact that you adore him as though he’s your own family.

Maybe that makes things messy given your shaky connection to Sukuna, but you can be there if the kids need you, at the very least.

“Ready in two,” Sukuna mumbles behind you, barely audible.

“I’m gonna go talk to Choso, okay sweetie?” You gently let Yuji know as you set him back in his own chair. He nods, sniffling as he watches you head back towards his room.

Knocking on the door again, you wait to see if you get an answer, but there’s nothing. As far as you can tell, Choso isn’t even in the room.

“Cho?” You call gently, letting him know it’s you. “Please come have some breakfast. Kuna made you some pancakes.”

It’s deathly silent behind the door and you’re beginning to wonder if he’s somehow managed to run away, but that doesn’t seem feasible in an apartment. Not to mention that given what Choso’s upset about, you can’t imagine him leaving.

Trying again, you keep your tone gentle, but loud enough that you’re sure he can hear. “I’ve missed you, Choso. I’d love to see you,” you offer, but there’s not a sound to be heard. Frowning, you begin to wonder if picking the lock might be the only option. “Cho sweetheart, I’m worried about you. Remember when we talked about using words when you’re upset?”

From beneath the door, you just barely catch a hint of a shadow. Relief floods through you as you realize he’s there and listening to you.

Knowing that he can, in fact, hear you, you lower your voice to try to have a conversation more with him than the whole apartment. “It’s okay to need space, Cho, but it’s important to ask for it,” you explain. It’s moments like this that you can tell he’s learned a couple of bad habits from Sukuna. “Pushing everyone away when you’re upset isn’t good for you.”

The shadow beneath the door moves again.

“Do you want a hug, sweetheart?”

Click.

The door creaks open just enough to make out Choso’s face peeking through the gap. The room behind him is dark, the curtains drawn. He must have been laying in bed all night and morning.

You smile softly, pushing gently on the door to see if he’ll let you in. He hesitates for a moment before relenting, but the moment the gap is wide enough for Choso to slip through, he gingerly pads across the floor and hugs you.

Behind you, Sukuna and Yuji exchange a few words in the kitchen, followed by the sound of Sukuna’s footsteps behind you, but they stop a short distance away.

“I’m sorry,” Choso murmurs, silent tears trailing down his face as he hides his face in your hoodie.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” you soothe, holding him tightly. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t dare pull back first as he quietly shakes in your arms. He clearly needed this, but didn’t know how to seek comfort from Sukuna, and Yuji simply doesn’t understand.

Satisfied that Choso’s at least okay, Sukuna backs away to serve pancakes to Yuji, giving Choso whatever space he needs. Even if he’s guilty for entrusting this to you, he doesn’t have the luxury of being picky when it comes to his brothers’ well-being.

You can hear the clinking of forks and knives and occasional muttered conversation in the kitchen as the other two brothers eat breakfast. It takes a couple of minutes, but Choso’s breathing gradually evens out. With a final deep breath, he takes a small step back, his vision trained on the ground.

Smiling gently, you move his long hair from his face to see him better. He coughs into his elbow quietly, his voice hoarse as he speaks for the first time since last night, or perhaps even longer knowing the withdrawn child. “I thought you and Kuna weren’t friends anymore,” he murmurs, his voice cracking midway through his sentence as he wipes his tears.

“Why not?” You query, curious what Sukuna told him. Choso is far too smart for his own good if Sukuna didn’t say anything. Lying to the little boy about what happened isn’t your first choice, but you will if it helps his mental health.

He shrugs, though there’s clearly something on his mind.

“Everything’s okay,” you assure him, smiling. “What would make you feel better? Do you want breakfast, or do you wanna talk?”

“Can we-” he pauses, clearing his throat, “- can we talk?”

“Of course,” you assure him, turning to lead the way to the kitchen to talk with his brothers, but he stops you with a tug on your sleeve.

“Just you?”

Tilting your head sympathetically to his situation with his little brother and his horribly emotionally constipated older brother, you nod. He leads you back into his room, leaving the door open just a crack. You can hardly make out the floor with how dark the room is, hissing as you step on a toy dinosaur. It would be a triceratops you stepped on, wouldn’t it?

Shaking the horned dinosaur from your poor foot, you make your way to the window and crack it open. It’s still fairly early but dawn offers enough light that at least you aren’t stepping on the stegosaurus next, or the squished fruit snacks that Sukuna must have slid under the door.

Choso squints slightly as he sits on the edge of his bed. Taking a seat beside him, you’re able to finally get a good look at him. He’s still in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, so you can only assume he laid in bed all night and couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas. His hair is unkempt and oily, and his face speaks nothing more than utter defeat.

Though it doesn’t show much in Yuji’s personality (yet), it’s clear that Choso’s picked up a lot of Sukuna’s traits over the years. Unfortunately it seems that includes his tendency to shut others out and attempt to deal with everything on his own, which is just about the worst lesson he could have picked up from the eldest brother.

Choso kicks his foot out, his brow furrowed as he organizes his thoughts before speaking.

“Do you think Kuna can win?” He whispers hoarsely.

You can’t afford to hesitate as you reply. “Of course. He’s putting a lot of work into getting a good lawyer and putting together evidence.”

Choso nods, blinking down at his mismatched socks as he wiggles his toes in front of him. “I don’t get it,” he murmurs.

“Don’t get what?”

“Why she wants us.”

That’s a question you’re vastly unprepared for, and horribly devastated by. A child should never need to question their parent’s love. Is the right answer to comfort him and offer a reason she might want him, or to vilify her further when that’s clearly what Choso’s already thinking? Is there a right answer at all?

“I don’t have an answer for that, Choso,” you reply with painful honesty.

Choso’s brow furrows, scowling at the triceratops that nearly took you out. No wonder the poor kid locked himself away if his thoughts are plagued with wondering whether his mother even loves him.

And if she does love him, you’re sure he hopes she’ll let him go. No child deserves to handle this sort of pressure, or these sorts of thoughts. In the short time you’ve known Sukuna and subsequently his brothers, they’ve all been through a lifetime of hardship, and you can only imagine the things that would do to a twelve-year-old. He’s been forced to mature too quickly, and it’s apparent in the way that he struggles with the weight of that maturity that he doesn’t really know how to handle it.

Sukuna’s a good parental figure, at least where it matters, but he can’t teach either of his brothers how to handle something of this caliber when he can’t even handle it himself. He may have had a few extra years to grow accustomed to life, but he was still just a kid when he lost his dad. How was he meant to learn this lesson himself when no one was there to teach him either?

Choso’s eyes flit around the room in thought, but he doesn’t seem to know where to go with his thoughts or how to organize them.

“Do you want to talk about her?” You set the cards on the table, offering him the opportunity. You don’t want to push him into anything, but you hope he’ll heed your words about talking through his issues regardless. It seems to comfort him more than a hug, from what you’ve gathered.

The little boy is silent for a moment, rubbing one of his eyes with his knuckles. “Um- I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Anything,” you offer him a smile. “This is about you, Cho. I just want to help get your mind off of things.”

In the bleak darkness of the room as light very slowly begins to peek through the blinds, it becomes glaringly obvious just how much of a weight this little boy carries. It’s as though he thinks he has his own duty to uphold, one that he silently and without protest holds tight to his chest.

“I don’t remember her very much,” he croaks, clearing his throat. He kicks his feet a couple of times as he contemplates his words. “I remember playing board games with her and Dad.”

“What board games?” You query, keeping the conversation going.

Choso hums in thought. “Monopoly and Life,” he murmurs.

“Life is fun.” No comment on Monopoly.

Shrugging absently, Choso falls back into a steady silence. It’s hard to tell if he wants to stay on this subject at all given his curt replies, but between the raspy timbre of his voice and the fact that he seems to have repressed the memory of her, you can’t blame him.

“I- I really don’t remember her,” he whispers, shaking his head. He wasn’t that young when she left as far as you’d gathered that he shouldn’t be able to remember her at all, but the thought of him locking the memory away tightly feels painfully realistic. Maybe he’d even thrown away the key, given how distraught he is over the lawsuit. “She went on a business trip before Dad got sick, and- um- she never came back. Dad said she was making lots of money so we could be happy.”

Sukuna had never told you exactly what happened, just that she was gone the moment things got tough. She may have never been fond of Sukuna, but from what you can piece together, you can’t see why she wouldn’t like her own children. Still, you find yourself asking the same question as Choso previously had.

It can’t possibly be money that she wants the kids for. Sukuna’s made it pretty clear that the government aid doesn’t help enough to offset the cost of caring for kids, so it has to be out of love, right? Pettiness towards Sukuna maybe, but real love to be willing to take the kids back.

She sure has a funny way of showing her love, but you can’t possibly begin to imagine what else could bring this on.

Maybe she only ran overseas out of fear of losing her husband? It’s cowardly, but it’s the only explanation you can find in a situation where there’s no sense to be found.

Yet… didn’t Choso say she left before Jin got sick?

It doesn’t alleviate any of your doubts surrounding her motives.

“Did you talk to her on the phone?”

“Um- usually every week. When Dad did.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Really, what more can you say? There’s nothing easy about this situation, especially in the eyes of a child that’s been able to do nothing but sit back and watch as his life is decided for him.

When was the last time Choso really got to be a kid? Christmas?

Your heart drops at the mere thought.

“I miss Dad,” Choso mousily whispers, his shoulders dropping as a silent tear falls from his cheek, down the tip of his nose. He wipes another tear on his sleeve and yawns. You wonder if he slept at all last night in spite of being locked in his room. “Dad always knew what to do.”

That’s twice now that you’ve heard that same phrase from the trio of brothers. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach at the hole his departure left in their family.

“Dads are like that. They’re good with advice,” you agree, doing your best to keep yourself neutral, letting Choso come to you with the details he wants to share. The more he can get his thoughts in order on his own, the better off you think he’ll be.

“He always made soup whenever we felt bad.”

With a lopsided smile, you tilt your head to look at the little boy. “Is that where you got your cooking skills from?”

To your surprise, something glimmers in Choso’s eyes. A hint of life. A hint of more than the dull fog he’s been cocooned in. He shakes his head with a hummed ‘mh mh’. “It was just in a can.”

“There’s nothing better than a plain can of soup when you’re sick.”

Choso nods. “Yeah. Or when you just feel sad.”

“Huh, I guess soup is a cure-all,” you hum in an attempt at keeping the air lighthearted. Choso’s opening up bit by bit and the last thing you want is to bog down the flow of conversation.

Choso begins kicking his feet consistently, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed. “Kuna makes good soup, too.”

“From a can?” You query.

Choso shakes his head.

“From scratch?” Your brows raise. It’s not that Sukuna’s a bad chef by any means, he’s actually got the craft down. In fact, your reaction doesn’t come from surprise at all. Sukuna’s a great chef, and if he had the money for the ingredients and the time to cook, you don’t doubt that he would go the extra mile to take care of his brothers. He already does if he can.

Your reaction is purely from the realization that Choso’s love of cooking likely doesn’t come from Jin. It comes from Sukuna.

“Um- I think so. I mostly just put things in the pot.”

You find yourself smiling at the thought. Choso loves cooking because it’s how he bonds with his older brother. Just like he loves Pokemon because it’s how he bonds with his younger brother.

“Kuna’s a good chef, isn’t he?” You encourage him, willing a reaction. To your delight, he blinks a few times and nods.

“The best,” he whispers.

Your eyes flicker up at the sight of a shadow under the door. Wood creaks beneath heavy footsteps that slowly retreat, the shadow dissipating.

“Well you know, your chef brother made you some pancakes,” you tell him softly, moving a hand to rub his back encouragingly. “They’ll be cold if you don’t eat soon.”

Choso looks up at you now, a series of emotions flooding his worn out eyes. Sadness, uncertainty, confusion, and fear all swirl within deep brown irises. It’s clear he’s still braving the mess that is his mind, but he’s wading within the emotions rather than pushing them down until there’s nothing left to feel but emptiness. You’d much prefer this to the blank stares you’ve been getting so often.

He finally nods, finding it in himself to hop off of his bed to his feet as he heads for the kitchen.

“Can you hit the light?” You ask before daring to move a muscle. There may be more light than before, but that stray stegosaurus that you know is in here somewhere is too daunting to ignore. With the light on, you avoid stepping on any horned beasts or stray lego and follow after him to the kitchen.

Yuji and Sukuna still look like the better part of a disaster, obvious tear trails covering Yuji’s face, while Sukuna leans against the kitchen counter cutting a banana so slowly you’d almost think he forgot what he was doing. Because he has, in fact, forgotten.

The sound of footsteps pulls the man from his trance as he turns to see Choso. Relief flickers through his eyes as he shoots you a look that says thank you.

As Sukuna finishes up what he’s doing, Yuji cries out for Choso, hopping down from his chair to barrel into Choso at full force. Nearly toppling over, the middle brother embraces Yuji with a hint of a smile. It’s heartwarming, despite the tense air that continues to hang over the family.

Yuji’s words tumble out of his mouth in a flurry as he hugs the brunette, tears trailing down his face again. Choso may be the one who hasn’t used his voice for the better part of two months, but Yuji’s words are somehow more hoarse. “I missed- y-you, Cho, please-” he sobs, catching his breath in a flurry of gasps. “- Don’t leave me,” he gasps.

Your own expression falters as you feel uncertainty tug at your own heart strings. There’s a lot to unpack within Yuji’s words as well, and while you know most of the situation they’re in goes over his head, he’s a smart kid, too. You can’t help but wonder if he’s handling everything worse than he lets on.

“‘M sorry, Yu,” Choso mumbles between Yuji’s pleads, toppling down onto the floor as his little brother squeezes him tighter.

Sukuna remains silent as he sets down three more plates at the small dining table, cutting through the quiet only to inform the three of you, though mostly you and Choso, of breakfast. “Come eat,” he mumbles just loud enough to be heard over Yuji’s cries.

Neither of the boys are paying Sukuna any mind as Yuji hugs his older brother.

You take a step towards Sukuna as he opens his mouth, likely to tell them again that breakfast is ready. “Give them a moment,” you whisper softly. You lean in close enough to keep those words between the adults, but your close presence is gone before he has the chance to appreciate it.

And Sukuna, he’s just not sure what he’s even meant to make of that thought. When has he ever needed to stop to appreciate you being close to him?

He supposes since he tore into you over something that seems so trivial now.

He swallows hard as he turns his attention to his little brothers. You kneel beside them, gently rubbing Yuji’s back as you talk to him with so much care that Sukuna’s chest tightens.

“Your brother just needed some time to be alone, right Choso?”

The little boy nods.

“In the future if you need space, you’ll talk to your brothers, right?”

“Right,” Choso hoarsely agrees.

Sukuna scratches at the back of his neck. His brother’s voice sounds foreign to him in a way that he can’t quite identify. The twelve-year-old’s never been all that chatty, and he’s been quieter than normal since Sukuna had explained the lawsuit to them, but this is likely the longest single period of time he’s gone without so much as moving. He almost sounds sick. He almost looks sick.

Is Sukuna that bad of a guardian?

He averts his gaze to the large window by the table, pushing his worries down into the plague of other doubts he harbors. He doesn’t have the luxury of worrying about that, not when his opposition is a mother who didn’t even answer a call coming from her deceased husband’s phone.

The kids deserved better, but Sukuna has to remind himself that you’re right. You’ve told him time and time again and he has to start listening to you. His brothers want to stay with him. They love him.

And he loves them, too.

His gaze flickers to you as you smile at the boys. Sympathy, care, and something akin to sadness all swirl within your eyes as you take a seat at the table. Sukuna takes a seat beside you, leaning on his elbow.

As the boys both make their way to their respective seats and begin cutting into their pancakes (or in Yuji’s case, picking up a whole pancake on his fork and taking a bite), Sukuna can only watch in relief. He can’t remember the last time Choso and Yuji both seemed okay, despite the lines of dried tears running down their faces. Letting out a breath, he shuts his eyes as the air around him seems to lighten and he feels like he can breathe again.

You watch from your peripherals as Sukuna relaxes and finds it in himself to eat. His pancakes are more dense than yours and likely filled with protein, probably to make up for the fact that you rarely see him eating lunch.

Breakfast is silent, but words don’t need to fill the space for the meal to surround you all with an unspoken warmth.

Yuji finishes first between the boys, kicking his feet (im)patiently as he waits for Choso to finish.

“Will you play with me, Cho?” He asks, the moment the middle brother’s fork hits the plate.

Gingerly nodding, the two boys begin to hop down from their seats.

“Go change your shirt first, Yu.”

He turns to face Sukuna. “Why? This one’s clean.”

Sukuna’s lip curls in disgust. “No, it’s not. Go change.” He casts a glance at Choso, who’s still in yesterday’s clothes as well. “You too, Cho.”

Choso glances down at his clothes and nods, following slowly after Yuji to their room.

With an exasperated huff, Sukuna runs a hand over his face, shoving his plate forward on the table. There’s too many things on his mind and you’re at the center of them all. Hell, even the familial shit that you shouldn’t be a part of, he somehow ties back to you.

About to offer you a shirt again, he opens his mouth, but you voice your thoughts first.

“I should head out. Shoko and I are studying today and I need to get a couple of things together and printed,” you explain, picking up your plate and getting to your feet. “And change my hoodie,” you mumble as an afterthought, one step ahead of Sukuna.

As you set the plate in the sink with a gentle clank, Sukuna taps his fingers on the table with a grimace. A part of him wonders if you’re lying, though he has no right to think you might be. The only reason he even finds himself doubting your words is because he wants you to stay, which he realizes isn’t fair given your tense relationship.

Casting aside his doubts, he slides his chair out and gets to his feet. He trails after you, standing a short distance away as you throw your coat on and stand at the door.

If ever there was a time that the scar in your friendship was visible, this is it. There’s an ugly rift that stands between you, and for all the clawing and biting that Sukuna’s tried to tear through it, you patch it back up each and every time.

It’s not fair.

He wants to believe that, anyway. Every fiber of his being wants to believe that sentiment.

But it is. And he needs to live with that. If this is all you ever are to him, a distant kindness that exists in a vacuum of space that lives between you, then he supposes he can deal with that. He sucks in a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Silence stretches between you after pulling on your boots. Sukuna’s scowl is aimed at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

“The court date is next week, right?” You finally break the silence.

“Yeah. Thursday.”

“Do you have any more meetings before that? Will the kids be okay?”

Sukuna inhales. Long, and drawn out. “Yeah. Uh- the lawyers exchanged documents n’ shit last week n’ ordered a house study. It’s Tuesday.” He pauses, mulling over the process. “Then the court date.” Pulling a hand from his pocket, he scratches the back of his head, unable to meet your gaze. Choso won’t be fine, he knows that much, but he can’t bear the thought of taking up your time anymore. “Yeah, they’ll be fine,” he lies.

His response seems off given his lacking confidence and frustrated scowl, but he’s always been tough to read, so you give him the benefit of the doubt, but there’s still one thing you made a mental note of earlier. “What about you?”

Something unrecognizable flickers within those cherry irises before he nods. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

You smile, and for a moment he swears the world falls away under his feet, leaving just you and him. “Good. I’ll catch you later, then. Text me if that changes, okay?” With a pointed look, you wait for his nod before you turn to head out.

Before you can shut the door fully, Sukuna grabs it, barely stopping you in time. “Hey, uh-” he second-guesses himself before finding his resolve. “Will you come to the court? I can have someone there… for support.”

Your expression softens from surprise to sympathy as you nod. The idea of Sukuna being alone, without even the support of his brothers, doesn’t sit well with you. “Of course.”

Relief clouds his senses. “I’ll send you the details,” he gruffs out. You nod, attempting to shut the door again, but his hold on it is steady. “Thanks.”

You can’t help but smile. You’d have to be a fool not to see the effort he’s putting into fixing his mistakes. There’s obvious changes in the way he’s thinking through his words and reactions before he says or does anything, and he’s making an effort to let you in.

It warms your heart, and it makes it every bit more difficult to pull away each time as you feel your resolve beginning to wear away. Though you do need to study.

“You’re welcome, Kuna.”

His lip quirks into the barest hint of a smile the moment the nickname slips effortlessly past your lips. He nods, relenting and finally letting you shut the door. The sound of the lock flipping behind you is the last noise you hear from the apartment as you make your way to the library to get some printing done for your study session.

–

“Wait up!” Shoko calls out as she falls into step with you on campus the following Tuesday, catching you off-guard. “You headed to work?”

“Yep! Don’t you have class right now?” You query as she follows you to your car.

“Prof’s sick,” she shrugs. “My next lecture’s in, like, four hours.”

“That’s brutal,” you grimace. “Are you gonna study more?”

She nods. “Toji asked for help in his Physical Sciences class, so I’m meeting up with him in a few.” Glancing at her phone, she shoves it back in her pocket after noting the time. “Anyway, did you hear from Sukuna after all that shit over the weekend?”

You nod. “Yeah, a little bit. He’s been updating me on his brothers.”

Shoko hums along, waiting for you to continue as she senses you’re withholding something.

“He asks a lot about my day and how I’m doing.”

Her brow raises. “You know, when you mentioned he seemed like he was actually trying to fix things a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t think it’d last.”

“Me either,” you admit, kicking at gravel as you approach your car. “I honestly thought I was just being stupid by letting him back in even a little bit,” you chuckle in embarrassment, mostly to yourself. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“I just can’t believe he’s proving me wrong,” she shrugs. “Didn’t I tell you people like him don’t change?”

You nod. “You and Kento both did at girls’ night.”

“Okay, you gotta admit it was good advice at the time.”

Reaching your car, you open the door and toss your bag in before turning back to her. “At the time, it made me feel a lot better,” you agree with a chuckle.

“Not so much anymore, huh?” She laughs along with you.

“Not so much,” you click your tongue, fiddling with your keys.

“Some fucking guy, that Sukuna.”

Your brows raise and tilt your head in some form of agreement, your thoughts preoccupied with the pending lawsuit. After a brief silence, Shoko pipes up again.

“You still like him?”

You find her gaze, your brow furrowing in thought. “I do, it’s just…” You trail off, searching for words to describe the strange limbo you’ve found yourself in. “I guess it just feels like I’m kinda getting to know him again?” You try to explain with a small tilt of your head. “Does that make sense?”

“Like, because you didn’t see him for a month, or because he’s acting differently?” She queries.

Poking your tongue into the side of your mouth, you narrow your eyes in thought. “Both? I guess I’m still getting used to him making the effort to be a good friend.” Your keys jingle between your fingers. “Okay, wait. Do you remember when I told you that Sukuna’s kind of a different person when he’s actually being himself?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes I see that side of him for a moment here and there, but… sometimes I’m not quite sure who I’m talking to.” You pause, contemplating exactly what you mean by that. “He’s definitely putting in effort and being nice, but sometimes I don’t recognize him at all.”

“Isn’t that mostly a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, dragging your boot through the gravel and kicking up dust as a small remainder of the last snowfall flicks onto Shoko’s shin. She shoots you an unimpressed look as you lean down to brush her pants off while you continue. “It’s just weird. I guess it’s just that, like-” you pause as you stand back up and brush your hands off. “- Sometimes things are back to normal and everything is great, but sometimes…” you shake your head, shrugging. “I’m not even sure if he knows who he is.”

“Do you think the stress is getting to him?” Shoko clarifies.

“That could be it,” you agree as she makes sense of your rambles.

“Is he that much different?”

“I mean, the Sukuna I know is still there,” you chuckle. “He’s still quiet and kind of a dick sometimes,” you explain, recalling how quiet and standoffish he’s been in the lunchroom to your co-workers since starting at the publishing house. “I think he’s actually thinking about what he’s saying more, though. Like he’s trying to be better.”

The thought brings you back to Saturday night when he’d snapped at you, only to reel himself back in. He’s still the same man, he’s still sharp and hardened, and he’s definitely still got walls up that he’s not letting down anytime soon, but it’s like he’s more aware of that fact now.

You chew on your bottom lip briefly, recalling the way he’d been unusually calm upon your arrival on Sunday morning when you went to help the kids. “But sometimes it seems like he’s just a different person. He’s not angry or anything either. He’s just not there at all.”

“Well, shit.” It’s the best Shoko can offer. It does sound like stress. Like he’s being beaten down and flattened into something he’s not.

You nod, casting a glance at your phone. “I gotta go, but text me? I’ve got some time at work today.”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you when I meet up with Toji.”

“Catch you later,” you grin cheerily as you turn towards your car.

After your conversation with Shoko, you barely have enough time to rush home, change, and make the bus in time to get to the office.

You’re at your desk seconds before your shift starts, panting after rushing up the stairs.

Amused, Yuki’s brow raises from where she sits at her desk opposite you. “Running a bit late?”

“Yeah, I lost track of time.” Taking a moment to catch your breath, you lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

“You know no one cares if you’re a bit late, right?” She chuckles.

“I know,” you sigh, “but I want to make a good impression, maybe keep my position.”

Yuki’s eyes shine as she smiles at the thought, but she’s quickly distracted by movement behind you. Smirking, she motions past you with her pen when you finally lift your head.

Staring at the back of your head is a familiar pair of crimson irises, his expression unreadable and aloof. The muscular man’s hair is disheveled, hardly pushed back with strands falling over his forehead and into his line of sight as though he hadn’t had time to use hair gel. His shirt is also particularly wrinkled today, overall looking like he’s had a morning.

He extends his arm towards you, a familiar cup held within his hand. His hand lingers for a moment as your fingers brush when you pull the cup from him, holding its warmth between your hands.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you grin.

He hums, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of his lips although it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you, Sukuna.” You take a sip, smiling as warmth floods you, seeping into your very bones. “It’s perfect.”

“Good. You got a moment?” He asks, eyes flickering to Yuki in a silent question of whether he can borrow you. Yuki just shrugs, careless as ever.

“Yeah, let me just log in.” You move quickly to get settled before grabbing your drink and following after Sukuna. He leads the way to his office, shutting the door behind him and leaning against his desk.

Somehow the fact that he’s not as put-together as usual with hair askew and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you find your thoughts spiraling more than they usually do.

Or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve come to the realization that Sukuna’s not just trying to be better for you, or for his brothers, but he’s trying to be a better version of himself in general, and that only endears you to him more.

He takes a sip of his own drink, grabbing it from his desk, only to hold it out and stare at the label with a wrinkled nose.

“Did they get your order wrong?” You tilt your head questioningly.

Sukuna squints at the label, holding it a bit further back. “It has a caramel shot in it,” he mutters in reply, clearly bothered.

“Do you… need to get your eyes checked?” You raise a brow questioningly.

“Probably,” he grumbles.

“You should do that. Our benefits cover it.”

“We have benefits?”

You purse your lips. “Yeah…? Sukuna, did you read the contract at all? Even I get them and I’m an intern.”

Shrugging, he smirks. “I skimmed it.”

That’s the Sukuna you recognize. Stubborn, a little sly, but full of life in spite of his quiet demeanor.

Rolling your eyes, you giggle to yourself. “Go get your eyes checked.”

His smirk remains in place as he hums, quietly watching you laugh as though he’s trying to commit the scene to memory.

You quiet down, leaning back against the door to his office. “Anyways, what did you wanna talk about?”

“Mm,” he hums in acknowledgement, his smirk dissipating as he grows more serious. “Can you be at the courthouse on twelfth street at ten on Thursday?”

“Oh,” a lump forms in your throat at the realization that the court date is growing painfully real now. “Yeah, of course.”

Sukuna lets out a breath, nodding. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, the material of his shirt pulled taut.

And this is the shirt that actually fits him correctly.

Not fair.

“Thanks, princess.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, the sharp edges of his features seeming somewhat dulled and almost sweet as he gazes down at you.

You can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you nod.

The silence that follows allows you to get a good look at Sukuna. Although he seems to be more at ease at the publishing house and the hours he’s working between this and the occasional shift at the auto shop aren’t nearly as grueling as they used to be, life continues to take its toll on him. His eyes lack their sharp and cunning glimmer, and every movement he makes borders on languid.

“How are you holding up?”

He knows what you’re really asking. You may as well say ‘what’s wrong?’. It’s a fair question, but it’s one he hates to answer because even now his shoulders are tense and his chest aches. He’s had a headache since dawn rolled around on Monday morning.

“I’m fine,” he lies, brushing the question off as he turns back to his desk.

Sukuna’s not easy to read by any means, and anyone else probably would have believed him, but you see right through him. He doesn’t give you the chance to question him as he leans over his desk. “My lawyer doesn’t think we’ll be there long on Thursday.”

“Why not?” Your brow furrows. “Shouldn’t it be long?”

He grinds his teeth in frustration as he replies. “I don’t really get it, shit’s fucked. I guess this isn’t even the real trial, this is some sort of conference bullshit,” he explains. “It's supposed be for us to come to an agreement, but Kaori’s lawyer laid out the shit they’re asking for and it’s not fucking happening.”

“What does she want?”

“Sole custody with no visitation.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback. “You wouldn’t even be able to see them?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his knuckles going white as he drags his fingers across his desk until they’re directly under him, crinkling a blank piece of paper beneath him. “She’s never liked me and she made sure I knew, even as a kid.”

“I’m so sorry,” you offer sympathetically. Much like your talk with Choso the other day, you’re not sure what more to offer.

He flashes you a glance of acknowledgement, grunting. “It’s whatever. Point is, it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her in years and her lawyer’s gonna push for a full trial.” He can only shake his head in exasperation. “Her evidence is just bullshit from my school records n’ whatever.”

She’s clearly using whatever force is necessary to take the kids out from under Sukuna’s nose, leaving a slimy feeling in the pit of your stomach. What could she possibly have against her own step-son to pull this kind of move against him? She’s purposefully backing him into a corner, and you see now why his lawyer had their work cut out for them despite the case seeming like an obvious decision to anyone who’s met Sukuna and his brothers.

Picking up his iPad and shoving the papers on his desk aside, he turns on the screen and taps around the device. “You won’t believe how much this bullshit costs, too,” he grumbles. “I swear she’s doing it on purpose.” He taps on the screen a couple of times, his mounting frustration becoming obvious as he taps harder each time. “She’s fuckin’ dragging everything out, too. This all just leads to another fucking court date and more fucking money for my fucking lawyer, and she’s putting Choso n’ Yuji through so much shit, and-”

As Sukuna’s rambling grows in intensity, you push off from where you were leaning against the door, running your hand over his rigid back as he faces away from you. He stiffens, his speech cutting off the moment your fingers run along the muscles. “It’ll be okay. You’ll win,” you smile reassuringly, dropping your hand and stepping off to the side to see his face as he fiddles uselessly with his iPad.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

His temple twitches as he grits his teeth, his gaze fixed on the device in his hands. “And if I don’t?” He growls. His brow is pulled together in a tight furrow, and although his eyes blaze with frustration, it’s not directed at you.

“If you don’t…” you chew on your lip, gingerly reaching out to soothe your thumb over his hand that’s fidgeting with the volume buttons on the side of the iPad, clicking them with enough force to damn-near break them. His fingers steady as you run your thumb over his knuckles like second nature. “Then you’ll figure things out.”

His eyes flicker wildly around your face, as though he’s searching for something. He swallows hard, his gaze returning to his desk.

“Don’t worry about that, okay? You can face that if it comes to it.”

He inhales sharply and nods, twitching his fingers into yours, only for you to pull away. He knows you mean well and he still appreciates your support, but it serves as another reminder of what he’s lost.

“Right,” he agrees, turning his attention to the iPad as he opens his latest project.

Peeking over the screen, you catch a glimpse of a character that you recognize instantly despite having never seen it before. “Is that Baby Whale?”

“You can just ask to see it, brat,” he grumbles, pulling the device out from under your nose as though you’re Yuji obnoxiously trying to get a peek at whatever Sukuna’s working on.

“Sorry,” you grin innocently.

Rolling his eyes, Sukuna tilts the screen towards you. A sweet little purple whale beams at you with pink rosy cheeks. You’re forced to bite your lip in an effort to stop yourself from giggling at the sight of the brute before you who’s drawn the most cutesy character you can possibly imagine. There’s nothing wrong with it by any means, but it’s definitely not his first choice of character, you’re sure of that.

“Yeah, it’s Baby Whale. Do you guys ever get original shit or should I be worried about gettin’ a fast porcupine or some shit next?”

“Mm, I’d worry. We get them here and there, but…” you shrug.

“Great,” he sighs, reaching down to his desk to hold up a few of the pages he’d just printed to get Maya to sign off on. “Here.”

Your eyes light up as you sift through the pages. They’re for a horror-type series of some sort, as far as you can tell, of two children on an adventure, though you aren’t quite sure what it’s a knock-off of, if it is one. Each cover has a vastly different environment, from a jungle beneath a volcano to an abandoned cityscape. Though it’s not in Sukuna’s traditional sketchy charcoal style that you’ve grown to love, they’re still gorgeous. The painterly effect he’s given them is stunning, reminiscent of a watercolor painting.

“These look amazing,” you breathe, sifting through the pages. You come to land on one cover of the two kids in a crystalline cavern with a lizard crawling towards the reader of the novel.

He hums. “I don’t mind the job when I’m not drawin’ knock-off shit.”

So it is original. “I mean, even when you are, it’s gotta be better than stocking shelves, right?” You ask, gaze trained on his artwork.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Still owe you for this.”

“I thought we talked about this,” you smirk, raising a brow as you come to meet his gaze.

He lets out a breath through his nose in somewhat of a laugh. “Thanks, princess.” He pokes gently at your arm as you smile at him and for a moment a familiar air of comfort settles over you. It’s gone before Sukuna can really relish in it, though, as you pull away with a sigh.

“I should get to work. Let me know if you need anything?”

Sukuna frowns as you retreat. “Yeah. See ya at lunch.”

–

You’ve passed the courthouse a number of times on your way to get-togethers with friends across the city, but it’s never seemed to loom over you quite like this. From what Sukuna mentioned, this conference thing seems to be little more than a formality and a requirement and you’re pretty sure no decisions will be made today, unless his step-mother has some sort of miracle change of heart.

From the way Sukuna’s described her, you don’t get the feeling that’s likely.

Having never been to the courthouse yourself, you arrive decently early in case you need to fill out forms, or something of the sort.

It never really occurred to you just how little you know about the world of legal proceedings until you’d found yourself online researching proper attire. You’d landed on something you would usually wear to work anyway, a pale white blouse and a pair of fitted slacks that hug your hips in all the right areas.

A pair of simple black heels adorn your feet as they click across the ground. A stark flash of pink catches your eye, the man himself leaning against the smooth faux brick of the courthouse, smoke spiraling into the air. His head leans back against the outer building wall as he watches the smoke billow and rise.

A suit jacket hangs over his shoulders, a tie done up to his neck, though he seems to have tugged it a bit loose. His hair is pushed back out of his face with gel, though it’s so long it’s somewhat unruly anyway as a few strands still tickle his forehead.

You can’t deny that your heart palpitated once, maybe even twice at the thought of how handsome he looks with his broad shoulders pulling the suit jacket taut. It gets harder to deny your own feelings when every time you see him, he continues to prove that he has changed, and you find yourself forced to listen to the blood roaring in your ears as your heart rate skyrockets.

“Hey,” you greet him, catching him off-guard. His head whips down, his eyes trailing your outfit and lingering a moment too long on your hips. Any other day, he’d mentally scold himself for staring, but his mind is such a mess that he hardly realizes he’s doing it until you jut your hips out expectantly with a hand on one side when he doesn’t reply.

His eyes shoot up to meet your gaze, flitting down to the shy smile you wear, having blatantly noticed the way he checked you out. Clearing his throat, he grunts in reply.

Your cheeks are warm, even as you consider the emotions drawn across his face. You can’t say for sure what’s going through his mind, although you can make an educated guess when the muscles in his forehead twitch. He isn’t quite scowling, nor does he wear the familiar pride on his sleeve that you’ve grown accustomed to.

It’s exactly what you mentioned to Shoko.

This isn’t Sukuna. It’s not the frustrated man who masks his unease and fear with anger, lashing out needlessly. But it’s also not the sly and cocky asshole who’s surprisingly thoughtful and conscious of others.

It’s like he’s someone else, someone you can’t identify and don’t know how to help. His fear isn’t getting the best of him, his anger isn’t overflowing and misdirected with nowhere to go. Those, you know how to handle. But now, he’s simply lost.

“How are you feeling?”

Grateful for the nicotine calming him enough to give you a competent answer, he tilts his head in a semblance of a shrug. “Fine, I guess. Not like there’s any point in this bullshit.”

With a grimace, you take a step towards him. “Do you really think this is for nothing?”

Sukuna inhales deeply as he takes a drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke within his lungs as he considers your question. “She’s tryin’ to bleed me dry of cash. That’s all this is. If she really cared, we’d settle shit here.”

“Shit,” you breathe. Sukuna casts a glance at you, but ultimately chooses not to comment on your choice of word. “I really thought this was meant to be the actual trial,” you admit.

Blowing smoke over his head to keep it out of your face, he nods. “I did too. My lawyer explained it last week and I meant to tell ya, but then shit happened and Choso,” he motions his hand lazily through the air before dropping it at his side. “I dunno. I don’t get the point of all this shit.”

“Your lawyer just told you last week that this isn’t the full trial?” You gape. Had Hiromi steered Sukuna in the wrong direction? Shouldn’t he know this?

He shrugs again. “Nah, I just didn’t get it.”

“Oh.” Fiddling with your thumbs, you nod. “So what’s after this?”

Dropping his cigarette on the pavement at his feet, he stomps it out, grinding his foot on it. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shakes his head, frustrated with the system. “We wait a couple of months until the actual trial.”

“A couple of months?” You’re not sure if their family can make it through waiting a couple more months with Sukuna and Choso acting so distant that even Yuji’s been affected. It’s strange to think that a system meant to take every precaution and is bleeding them dry. Of money, of time, and of life.

Sukuna seems to share your dismay as he adds, “at least we get more time to prepare, I guess.”

Whispering an ‘I guess’ in agreement, you let Sukuna usher you inside with a hand on your lower back. Though he drops his hand as you head through security and check-in with a clerk at a grand wooden desk in the center of the large lobby.

It’s not long before you’re sitting in a couple of uncomfortable wooden chairs in a room full of strangers. Sukuna deliberately sits near a woman with a short brown bob, leafing through paperwork as she reviews the case she’s working on, although he doesn’t say a word to her.

“Is that your lawyer?” You ask, tilting your chin towards the woman beside Sukuna in a pristine-looking suit. She’s the definition of confidence as she flips through what you assume are notes, which helps settle your nerves a bit.

Sukuna nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, Ms. Harte,” he addresses her before introducing you both.

She smiles warmly at you, extending a professional hand. “Mr. Sukuna mentioned you would be here to support him. I’m glad you could make it,” she shakes your hand firmly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you greet her in return. Though you have no part in the proceedings, it’s at least nice to know that Sukuna and the boys are in good hands. Sukuna definitely owes Hiromi a favor, though he doesn’t need that reminder now.

“Case number 2493, Sukuna versus Itadori.” A clerk with a clipboard in his hands waits for both parties to join him, and it’s then that you see a face so painfully familiar, yet completely foreign. You’ve never met her, but you recognize her instantly. Choso is a spitting image of Kaori Itadori, with deep umber eyes and dark brown hair. Yuji, on the other hand, clearly got Jin’s genes.

Beside her is a tall man in a full beige suit, sporting a well-kept graying beard. He walks with the same confident gait as Ms. Harte on Sukuna’s opposite side, but he carries himself with an air of superiority that you assume only money can buy. Money that Kaori clearly has, if the massive diamonds adorning her collar are anything to go off of.

Sukuna’s step-mother eyes him with disgust before her gaze trails the length of your form. A chill runs up your spine, sending ice straight through your veins that matches the look in her eyes. She regards you with so much disdain, yet it’s the mild interest that gleams in her eyes that makes your skin crawl.

The clerk leads the way down a hall to a small room labelled ‘Private Meeting Room 2’. Within the room is one long table with a number of chairs on either side. Both parties take their seats on the same side of the table, keeping a small distance between one another. Sukuna’s lawyer advises you to take a seat and keep to the back of the room, as you can’t participate in the discussion.

From your seat, you can see the way Kaori folds her hands in her lap, grinning at her lawyer as she laughs at something he says. The stark contrast to Sukuna’s silence as he leans over the table is immense, but in contrast to the nerves you expected him to have, he keeps a straight face.

In the informal meeting room setting, there’s no need to rise as an older gentleman in judges’ attire enters the room. His pale blond hair thins at the sides of his face, gentle wrinkles accentuating his features. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table, the soft edges of his eyes crinkling as he evaluates both parties and yourself.

You’re grateful for the intimate setting of the meeting, as it eases your own nerves. While the courthouse itself does no favors to settle the growing discomfort in your stomach, the small room has an almost cozy feel to it. There’s an air to the man before you that he wants to help and understand the case that sits well with you, as well.

“Judge Marcos will be overseeing this case conference this morning in the matter of Sukuna versus Itadori,” the clerk begins the session.

The judge settles back in his chair, clasping his hands over the documents laying in front of him. “The purpose of this conference is to come to a resolution before the matter goes to a trial.” He proceeds to explain that a case conference aims to narrow down issues prior to a trial and that this will be a more open conversation with more wiggle room than a traditional trial. He then confirms that disclosure of all evidence has taken place. With all expectations set on the table, the judge sits back as Kaori’s lawyer begins.

“Your Honor, my name is Richard Cahn and I represent the applicant, Kaori Itadori.”

Ms. Harte follows suit at Sukuna’s side, sitting upright to introduce herself as the counsel for Sukuna, the respondent.

“Counsel for the applicant, please begin.”

With the court, if you can even call the small meeting room that, now in session, mounting tension fills the air. It’s overbearing, the way the gravity in the room seems to drag down on every person in the room, yourself included.

“Your Honor, my client is seeking sole guardianship with no visitation rights of her children Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori. We have reason to believe that Mr. Sukuna is a negative influence on the children for a number of reasons and it is Ms. Itadori’s maternal right as their mother to raise her children,” Mr. Cahn begins without faltering, introducing their points succinctly.

Clearing her throat, Ms. Harte responds with equal clarity. “Your Honor, my client is more than fit to be their guardian, as he has demonstrated over the past three years. The children’s needs are met, they are in school, and Mr. Sukuna has a clear record with no need to raise any concern regarding his abilities. My client would like to remain in sole custody of the children, however he is open to Ms. Itadori having visitation rights as their mother.”

Of course, she left out the part where that portion is much to his dismay and he’d only grant that right at the request of the kids. That’s not for the opening statements, though.

Much like Sukuna anticipated, Kaori is unwilling to cooperate. Every single option is shut down before the conversation can begin. Although he remains as an unbiased third party, even the judge seems somewhat perturbed at the obvious disdain shared between Sukuna and Kaori. Their dislike of one another runs far deeper than even that of most ex spouses that end up in this room.

What starts as a polite and orderly conversation primarily between the lawyers quickly devolves into some sort of familial tension that clearly extends beyond the courtroom. You can’t see either of their faces from your position at the back of the room, but you can feel the heat radiating from Sukuna as he seethes through each deceitfully polite performance from Kaori, but even she begins to crack when Sukuna pushes back.

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I won’t tolerate any settlements. I don’t feel comfortable leaving my children in the hands of my step-son,” Kaori repeats herself for what feels like the fifth time as the judge attempts to find a middle-ground, but she’s completely unwilling to budge. Even visitation rights for Sukuna seem to be so far off the table they may as well be six feet in the ground, along with any love she may have had for her step-son.

“You didn’t have a problem with it when I couldn’t reach you three years ago,” Sukuna quips, his anger clear through his tone although he remains even. He may be anxious as hell and equally furious, but knowing that this is all for naught and his lawyer may as well be a bill whose total increases by the second, his frustrations grow fiery.

“Ryomen, we’ve provided all the medical documents that were requested as proof of my illness and I would appreciate if you didn’t dismiss them.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Sukuna finally bursts, slamming his hand flat on the table.

“Mr. Sukuna,” the judge warns sternly, leaning over the table. “I expect proper courtroom etiquette, even here. We’re here to discuss the matters at hand, not your opinions of the applicant.”

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls as he physically bites his tongue to keep from saying something he’ll regret. Leaning back in his chair, he casts a glance at the door, desperate to escape from this room. Unlike the rest of the legal proceedings, this whole conference just serves to piss him off.

“Apologies, Your Honor, my client is simply stressed as he cares very deeply for his brothers,” Ms. Harte steps in, clearing her throat to put Sukuna’s thoughts into a court-approved statement. “While my client was unaware that Ms. Itadori was ill, he did use multiple methods of contact to reach out, and Ms. Itadori didn’t respond.” Turning to address Kaori, she clasps her hands together. “Should it not be your responsibility to inform your step-son and husband of your new contact?”

Kaori’s lawyer pipes in. “As we stated earlier, she was required to change all contact information and moved closer to her office upon starting with her new company. She shared her contact information with her husband, however it seems he didn’t share this information with Mr. Sukuna, or save her updated number before passing.”

The tattooed brute has to physically mask his scoff. He coughs into his elbow, shaking his head. He’d called from both his cell and his dad’s cell, he’d sent letters both from him and Choso, he’d emailed, and even searched social media. How convenient that she somehow had everything accounted for. That’s not even mentioning the additional money Sukuna spent to have land titles for her name pulled just to see if she had purchased new property, only to come up blank.

She had completely and utterly dropped off the face of the earth. As far as Sukuna was concerned back then, she made her position on her family clear.

As far as Sukuna is concerned now, he’ll do everything in his power to show her not to fuck with him. He doesn’t care how much his chest tightens, he doesn’t care if it feels as though he’s watching everything around him as nothing more than an observer outside of his own body. He doesn’t care if his mental health suffers for all the shit she’s putting him through.

He’ll move heaven and earth to save his brothers from her.

The judge frowns, having heard this argument already. The meeting room is running in circles like a dog chasing its own tail, they were never going to get anywhere at this rate.

“Mr. Sukuna did his due diligence and has taken care of the children for three years, they are healthy and cared for and there is no evidence against-”

“I’ll believe that when I see the house study,” Kaori interrupts, the first phrase to come from her that feels genuine as she diverts her attention to a small window at the edge of the room. Sukuna’s hand balls into a fist on the table.

“Ms. Itadori. Let the respondent finish.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. There is no evidence to disprove my client’s ability to care for the children. No one has ever expressed any concern to him. The children attend school with good attendance and have remained healthy over the years. Mr. Sukuna earns more than enough to keep a roof over their heads and put food on the table,” Ms. Harte continues.

“Your Honor,” Mr. Cahn addresses the judge. “I would like to see the house study before coming to any conclusions.”

Sukuna sighs, leaning back further in his chair. Kaori’s lawyer had pushed for a rush assessment, but even with the rush, it isn’t meant to be ready anytime soon.

“My son Choso has always been easily influenced, and I worry while he’s under Sukuna’s care.”

Sukuna’s fist hits the table. “Please-” he gripes.

“Mr. Sukun-” The judge tries to interject, but it’s no use.

“You never cared, you’re just feeding them the bullshit they want to hear!” He snarls, flipping in his chair to face her. “You care about them about as much as you care about me!”

“Mr. Sukuna. I understand being emotional in this situation, but I will not allow this behavior to continue. We will proceed without you if you feel the need to act without respect.”

Sukuna shoots Kaori one last glare before sitting back in his chair. He’s not doing himself any favors by lashing out, but he can’t help but feel as though this entire system is playing a game against him and he isn’t even aware of it. It’s as though everyone is a puppet in Kaori’s little game and the kids are prizes to be won.

Rubbing his eyes, the tattooed man sighs. “Sorry… Your Honor.”

“Ryomen, I’ve always cared about you,” Kaori sends him a disingenuous look of sympathy. Her lips curl into a false smile, but to any outsider, Sukuna knows it would appear genuine.

Even to you, it’s hard to tell.

Gritting his teeth, Sukuna keeps his gaze set dead ahead. If he doesn’t keep his cool, he knows he’ll be thrown out of the room. “Do you know when I realized you didn’t give a shit about me?”

“Watch your language,” Ms. Harte warns quietly at his side in an attempt to keep the judge at bay.

The conversation doesn’t exactly pertain to the case, but the judge remains silent. Sukuna’s question is met with no opposition.

Kaori swallows, watching with a furrowed brow as Sukuna’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Dad told me to go find you at my grandfather’s funeral. He was cryin’, needed some time alone. Do you remember where you were?”

Kaori’s eyes flicker down to the table. Her tongue swipes across her lower lip before she bites it momentarily.

“Do you remember where you were?” Sukuna pushes in a growl now, leaning over the table.

“Objection, Your Honor, this is not pertinent to the case,” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up, setting his foot down as he realizes that this doesn’t bode well in their favor.

“Where were you, Kaori?” He snarls, his voice gravelly as he grips the arm of his chair with white knuckles.

“Objection sustained. Mr. Sukuna, stay focused please.”

Sitting back harshly in his chair, Sukuna’s practically shaking. You may not be able to speak, but certainly as his support person, you can support him, right? Gingerly, you slide your chair forward quietly, wincing as it scrapes lightly against the floor. It catches Kaori’s attention as she shoots you a glare. You have half a mind to shoot that same glare back but that’s not important right now.

Close enough to reach Sukuna, you slip your hand over his much larger one that still grips the arm of his chair. Your fingers slide between his, slotting so easily into place as though they belong there. Your heart does a flip at the thought, but you keep your attention fixed on Sukuna and his needs.

From the corner of his eye, he glances down at your hands. His chest continues to heave in frustration, but as the conversation rolls back around to the subject of the kids and points begin getting reiterated and repeated until Sukuna’s hardly even paying attention anymore, he finds himself beginning to calm down. His shoulders gradually slouch, his fingers folding over yours as he gives your hand a grateful squeeze.

Kaori should be grateful to you, because Sukuna’s sure he would have torn into her if you weren’t here. He would have been thrown out, sure, but at least for once he might get answers to his own mistreatment by his step-mother.

How can the judge not see that the information is relevant? He huffs to himself, earning a couple of looks, but no one mentions it.

After hearing about Sukuna’s supposed inability to care for the kids for the fourth time, the judge finally raises a white flag.

“Coming up on the end of our time, I see we aren’t getting anywhere. A trial date will be scheduled for after the house study is received. Any further evidence must be submitted via the official disclosure process both to the court and each party.”

Your friend sighs at your side. Another two hours of his lawyer’s time. Another bill. More money down the drain. He knew how this would play out from the beginning.

“I would suggest you continue mediation between now and then to see if you can come to an agreement. I encourage you to attempt to understand one another outside of the court,” the judge adds, but Sukuna can’t even bear to look at Kaori. It’s of no use, and everyone within the room is well aware.

“I will issue my endorsement for a trial in writing. This matter is now adjourned.”

Breathing out a disdainful sigh, Sukuna squeezes your hand once, before untangling his fingers from yours as he pushes up out of the chair. It’s hard to get a read on him as you follow him out of the meeting room into the lobby. Standing off to the side, you allow him a few minutes to speak with his lawyer, watching the way he seems painfully frustrated as he lazily shrugs his shoulders. Even from this angle you can tell every time he rolls his eyes.

As Kaori and her lawyer approach Sukuna, his shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t be better, but it’s good to see you aga-”

“Don’t pretend like you give a fuck!” Sukuna barks, turning heads. Your eyes widen as all attention is suddenly on your group. Even standing off to the side, you find yourself shrinking away from the prying eyes.

“Ryomen, you know this isn’t what I wanted,” Kaori replies evenly, easily keeping her cool under Sukuna’s searing gaze.

He scoffs, waving his hand through the air in exasperation. Always the picture of a calm and perfect wife, of course she had Sukuna’s father wrapped around her finger while she went off and did her own thing. Jin could never be that upset with her so long as she batted her lashes and doubled down on her innocence.

“I don’t fuckin’ know what you want,” he mutters, laughing dryly as he casts his gaze to the side of the courthouse. His voice returns to a reasonable level, though it drips with venom. “So, what the fuck is it, then? You want money, you want to tear me down because I know what you fuckin’ did?”

His step-mother’s eyes darken in such a subtle way that an outsider might not even realize her smile is a facade. Nothing more than painted lines on a meaningless canvas. You can’t help the way a shiver runs up your spine as you slowly make your way back to Sukuna’s side when you notice security is keeping a watchful eye on him for any more disruptions. He should consider himself lucky he’s even still in the building at this rate.

Settling beside your friend, you can feel just how red hot his fury is. Kaori casts a curious once-over of your form as you stand alongside her step-son with a curious smile that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna as he steps between you. He knows he asked you to be here, but he’s not about to let Kaori say a single damn word to you. You may be his support, but you won’t be involved in whatever lies she’s brewing.

You can only blink in surprise as Sukuna’s hand finds your forearm without glancing back, keeping you safely behind him where she can’t even so much as glimpse at you. Blinking up at him, you can only make out the edges of his tattoos and a glint of the uneasiness that sidles his anger.

“That was a long time ago, Ryomen. I want us to be able to move past that.”

“Yeah? Is that why we’re here? To move past everything?” He hisses in a mocking tone, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“You wouldn’t have cooperated if I tried to work with you on this, sweetheart.”

Even from your spot behind him, you don’t miss the way your friend visibly recoils at the term of endearment. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he hisses.

“Mr. Sukuna, I think it’s in our best interest-” Ms. Harte makes an attempt to de-escalate the situation, to no avail.

“You don’t give a shit, do you?” Sukuna blows past his lawyer’s warning, his voice rising in decibels. “Cho and Yu don’t want this!”

Kaori remains eerily calm as she shoots Sukuna the most fake sympathetic stare you’ve possibly ever witnessed. “They’re kids. They’re too young to know what they want.”

“They’re smart!” Sukuna barks.

Stern voices sound behind you and you cast a glance at the quickly incoming security guards, where Sukuna will surely be ushered out.

Not that he cares at this particular moment. “They don’t care about you! They don’t even know you!” He continues, his jaw tightening. “You never even fucking visited! Don’t you know how many Christmases Cho spent asking if you called or mailed something?” Sukuna waves his hand through the air, his eyes wild with rage. If Kaori’s affected by his words at all, it’s carefully masked. “You fucked your own family!”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” a large man in a black security vest is followed closely by two other equally large men as they approach the brutish man in front of you.

In such a blind rage, their words don’t even register to Sukuna.

“If you gave a single shit about Jin, about any of us, you would have been there for the funeral,” he snarls, his chest heaving.

The security guards slowly advance towards Sukuna as Kaori replies. “I wanted to be there. I wish I could have been.”

The lawyers continue to try to defuse the situation, all the while the security guards’ intensity increases as they get infinitely closer to grabbing him and physically throwing him out. The guards may be big, but you can only imagine a man like Sukuna is still daunting.

Setting your hand on his back, Sukuna straightens, casting a glance at the guards that he’s now overly aware of, only to realize it’s not their hand. His head whips towards you as he gains clarity on the situation, his crimson eyes blazing with rage. Subtly leaning into your touch, he raises his hands in surrender, addressing the guards.

“I’m leavin’,” he mutters, his hands falling down to his side with a plop as they collide with his slacks on either side. “Thanks, Ms. Harte,” he mutters as he turns to make his way out.

The security guards follow him closely, tensing as he turns back to Kaori for one moment, his tongue poking into the side of his cheek as he contemplates something. “I didn’t tell him, by the way.” He examines her face, some sick form of satisfaction pooling in his chest as her mask breaks for a moment. Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but Sukuna doesn’t want to hear whatever she has to say.

You cast a glance between the two, not daring to ask any questions with Sukuna ready to blow a fuse.

Stalking through the security checkpoint at the front of the building, he pushes the large wooden doors with enough force to cause them to slam on their hinges as you follow him out into the cool outdoor air.

“Fuck!” He barks straight up at the clouds above, dragging his hands through his hair as he stares up at the overcast sky. His fingers tangle in the pink locks, tousling the strands as more hair falls out of place. “She’s such a fucking-” He cuts himself off, only because you’re still at his side. Huffing loudly, he leans over the masonry fence at the edge of the stairs out front of the courthouse, his hands covering his face.

You’re silent as he remains there for a moment, coming up slowly beside him. Leaning on your hip against the smooth brick beside him, you peer over at him.

Sensing your presence, Sukuna’s hands drop, crossing over one another out in front of him. Letting out a breath, he absently cracks his knuckles, staring at the bare winter trees that extend in front of you. His chest heaves with every breath he lets out, his muscles tensing with each time he barely holds back the choice words he wants to say about his step-mother.

You stay silent at his side, offering quiet comfort in your presence, but it’s your hand on his bicep that truly calms him. His entire demeanor shifts as your hand gently rubs up and down his arm in a soothing motion. With one long inhalation, he tilts his head to look up at you.

He’s not sure why he expects to see a look of disappointment. Deep down, some part of him expects you to retreat back into your shell after he caused a scene, but you only peer down at him with understanding and what might even be grief. He’s not sure why he would even suspect you to regard him with disappointment when that’s not who you are. You get him.

His brow furrows further the longer he stares at you, growing frustrated with himself for projecting his own negative thoughts onto you.

“What’s on your mind?” You query at the sight of his glower.

Averting his gaze, he shakes his head. “Nothing.” He shifts slightly into your touch, reaching up to rub your hand with his opposite one. With one last pat on your skin, he stands upright, rolling his shoulders back as he turns away from you to face the courthouse with a huff. “I should let you head back,” he mutters, barely audible.

“Actually, um-” you pause, shamelessly watching the way he raises a large, veiny hand to his shoulder to attempt to rub at a knot in his muscles. Tearing your gaze away, you push down the uneasy flip that your stomach does at the realization that the grumpy man standing in front of you has changed and even if things are never the same as they once were, you’re happy to stand by and support him and his family. After all, you don’t need to let him carve the same place in your heart that he once had, right? He can be important to you without holding such a big piece of your love.

If anything, maybe the distance between you will help you overcome your feelings and be what he clearly needs.

A friend.

It may hurt to know your feelings aren’t reciprocated, but you’re happy to hold him dear as a friend if it’s all you ever are to one another. Once you overcome your infatuation, you’re sure you can find a comfortable place within his life that makes sense for you both, rather than hoping for something that will never work.

As you hesitate with the mess in your mind, Sukuna turns to face you, raising a brow expectantly.

“Sorry, um- did you want to grab lunch? I’m hungry.”

His eyes widen briefly at your offer. Not an offer for help, or support for his siblings or what he’s going through. Just an offer to hang out. To be friendly.

He’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“I, uh- I can’t really afford lunch. I’ll just-”

“I’ll pay,” you offer without thinking twice.

His brow furrows as frustration crosses his features.

But he’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?” He gruffs in spite of his standoffish expression.

“A new ramen place opened up near me that I’ve been wanting to try but their hours are awful so I can never go after class or work, but I bet they’re actually open right now.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees. “Lead the way, princess.”

As you shyly avert your eyes at the nickname with a sweet smile crossing your lips, two things occur to Sukuna as he follows behind you to your car.

The first; he’s never considered himself a particularly lucky man, but when it comes to your place in his life, he may have won the lottery. He can still see your walls, he knows he hasn’t patched the bridge that stands between you, but at least if he treads carefully you’re still there and for that he’s beyond grateful.

And the second; no matter how tense his muscles are, no matter how empty his bank account is, no matter how badly he wants to tear into Kaori in a courtroom and have the judge take his word for how shitty she is, you still manage to make him smile.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; i put together some husband!wyk!sukuna headcanons if you wanted to check those out here and i put together a playlist here <33

helloooo!! thanks for all the patience with the delay between chapters, i appreciate it <33 it gave me the time to not only write out both ch13 and 14, but also ensure they fit well with one another and all the details make sense.

a lot of research went into this and i want to thank my two absolutely lovely followers @/aagathokakologicall and @/notcharliw for all their help with the legal details as well! information on proceedings isn't super readily available and they were a huge help! i also took a few liberties to try to make sure the processes are easy to follow and interesting for the audience, so hopefully i've pulled that off here! i was hoping to land somewhere between tv drama and realism.

if you notice any errors in the legal processes... no you didn't :) LMAO

i say it every time and will continue to say it: thank you so much as always for all the love for wyk <33 it makes my day and it's a big driving factor in my motivation to write, so thank you. i appreciate you all and i hope you enjoyed 🫶

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

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saisaixchan · 3 months ago

Text

Yamato

There’s a lot of discussion on Yamato’s gender. And the one take I see particularly often when it’s brought up, is about how Kaido 'forced' Yamato to be a man.

So, I wanted to explore this train of thought. And explain why this just isn't true.

First, let's explore every time Yamato has been referred to by feminine pronouns/gender.

Within the canon of the text, these are the only times Yamato has been called female, daughter, or princess.

(Chapter 984, pg. 17)

The first time is right after Yamato is properly introduced to the audience, and is following a panel where Luffy questions his gender.

(Chapter 984, pg. 17)

Here, Yamato explicitly says that he chose to be a man, like Oden was.

So it appears that the introduction Oda box was more to indicate Yamato’s birth sex, to confirm to the audience that yes, he was born a woman. But Yamato himself is confirming that while he was born female, he is choosing to identify himself as a man, due to how Oden inspired him.

After this moment, Luffy affirms Yamato’s gender by calling him by the nickname “Yama-o”, which is what he calls Law and Kid by as well.

(the rest under the cut. this is an EXTREMELY long post)

(Ch. 988, pg. 11)

(Ch. 1027, pg. 4)

(Ch. 1027, pg. 6)

(Ch. 1052, pg. 13)

[link to original post by @/kaizokuou-ni-naru] (Ch.986, pg. 13)

The next few times, he’s called “Ogre Princess” as a child, by Kaido’s men. This confirms that at this point in time, Yamato was still known as a girl by Kaido and his underlings.

(Ch. 1024, pg. 8)

(Ch. 1025, pg. 6-7)

From this, we can assume that Kaido acknowledged that at this point, he had a daughter. No one was forcing Yamato to be male.

(Ch. 999, pg. 4)

The final moment he’s referred to by “daughter” is by Ace’s crewmate, who doesn’t know who Yamato is just yet. They’re enemies, and are in the middle of battle.

Here, Yamato looks mad at being called “daughter.” He’s growling by the suffix, and he doesn’t respond verbally to being called “Kaido’s daughter,” all he does is give an angry glare and an ellipses.

Second, lets explore the first time in Yamato’s timeline he’s referred to as a male.

(Ch. 1024, pg. 11)

As far as the timeline goes, this is the first time Yamato is referred to by male pronouns by anyone in the story. And it’s by himself, in his own head, after Kaido has punished him.

“I am Oden, but also... the Son of Kaido.”

This is the first clue we have that Yamato views “Oden” and “Son of Kaido” as two separate identities. Oden is not the Son of Kaido. Yamato is.

(Ch. 1025, pg. 6)

It’s hard to tell the timeline here, but it appears that this is after Yamato escapes the cave, due to how dirty and scraped he is, and how he’s being snuck food by people.

So this would indicate that Yamato has already decided that he’s male, a son to Kaido. But this person helping is calling Yamato “Ogre Princess,” so it appears that this is not common knowledge yet.

But from what we can gather here, no one forced Yamato to be male. He saw Oden’s last stand, admired him, and decided that he would be a man just like Oden, as well as emulate him.

Yamato is still male regardless of his admiration of Oden, and by the time we enter the story currently, everyone acknowledges Yamato as Kaido’s son.

(Ch. 979, pg. 14)

(Ch. 983, pg. 17)

(Ch. 985, pg. 19)

(Ch. 1025, pg. 5)

(Ch. 1051, pg. 5)

(Ch. 1054, pg. 7)

No one acknowledges Yamato as “Oden” except for the samurai in the cave, and Kaido, when he’s mocking Yamato.

(Ch. 124, pg. 13)

(Ch. 124, pg. 9)

(Ch. 1024, pg. 10)

(Ch. 1014, pg. 4)

(Ch. 124, pg. 7)

Yamato is only referred to by feminine pronouns in the past.

In the story, Kaido, his men, Luffy, and every other character calls Yamato by he/him. Not because they’re feeding his desire to be Oden, or believe him to be Oden- but because that’s what Yamato wants to be called by- male pronouns.

Kaido hates Yamato for wanting to be like Oden. He despises it, to the point that he’s going to kill his own child over this. He never truly acknowledges Yamato as Oden.

And while Yamato’s desire to be a man was inspired by Oden’s manliness, Kaido still acknowledges Yamato as male, and specifically, his son. Both Yamato and Kaido acknowledge this, and no one once corrects them on it.

(Ch. 979, pg. 15)

(Ch. 980, pg. 10)

(Ch. 982, pg. 12)

(Ch. 983, pg. 16)

In the present, he’s never called by “Ogre Princess.” He’s called “Young Master” (specifically a male gendered term in Japanese) and “he/him” by everyone around him, and Yamato never corrects them.

Which leads me to my third point.

Third, Yamato longs for freedom to express who he is. He has never done anything Kaido has tried to make him do.

(Ch. 985, pg. 9)

(Ch. 1016, pg. 15)

(Ch. 985, pg. 6)

(Ch. 1019, pg. 18)

(Ch. 1024, pg. 16)

(Ch. 1025, pg. 5)

(Ch. 1025, pg. 7)

Yamato’s greatest desire is to live free.

Over and over, he has refused to follow Kaido’s orders. He refuses to live his life by Kaido’s word, and grew up in hiding, scraping by, starving and cold and running for his life constantly, watching anyone who helped him die for that crime.

Yamato has spent his entire life in chains thanks to Kaido, and wants nothing to do with his father’s influence.

Kaido has tried to force his decisions onto Yamato (literally with those shackles), but Yamato refused and refused and refused. He won’t do anything Kaido wants him to do, because he’s going to live the way HE wants to live.

(Chapter 984, pg. 17)

Yamato is a man because he chose to be a man. No one forced him to be one, and no one could force him to be something he doesn’t want to be.

The whole point of Yamato’s character is that he wants to live freely, and wants people to respect his decisions and choices.

He chose to be a man.

It’s probably the only decision in his life that Kaido has ever honored and respected.

Foruth, Kaido grew up knowing Big Mom.

He saw how powerful Big Mom was at a young age. She’s insanely strong, and he absolutely respects that. It’s because of her that he has his devil fruit, and it’s implied she was something of a big sister figure or mentor to him on Rock’s ship. And we know there were other powerful women on Rock’s ship as well.

When Big Mom shows up at Wano, Kaido never treats her as anything less than his equal.

His crew has women in high positions of power on it, from Black Maria, Ulti, to the SMILE users and others.

Kaido doesn’t view women as inherently weaker. His crew is a mix of genders, because he doesn’t care about gender. He only cares about strength and power.

Yamato is not a man because Kaido thought having a son would be better or something along those lines. Kaido has never shown an interest in anything regarding gender separation or distinguishing them. Because that’s not what’s important to him.

He only cares about power.

His daughter decided to become his son? Fine, alright. It doesn’t matter to him. Yamato is still worthless to him either way.

Finally, the bath scene.

(Ch. 1052, pg. 13)

(Ch. 1052, pg. 14)

We have Okiku in the women’s bath.

And Yamato in the men’s.

Okiku is explicitly a trans woman. She was born a man, and chose to become a woman instead- a female samurai. She seemed anxious asking to join the other women in the baths. And when she’s in there, she shows nothing but happiness and joy, finally in the bathroom that fits her gender identity. And the other women have no problem with her being in there, because they accept her as a woman.

Because she is a woman.

She doesn’t have to bathe with the men anymore, and she’s just so happy about that.

And Hiyori knows she’s a trans woman, having grown up with Okiku. And Hiyori shows nothing but acceptance and happiness to have her friend back and with her again.There is no disgust, no disagreements on what Okiku’s gender is here.

Everyone accepts Okiku as the woman she is and that is that.

And in contrast, we have Yamato in the men’s baths.

Yamato says earlier that there is no mixed bathing in the castle. He is enforcing that himself, refusing to bathe with Nami when she asks, and he chooses to bathe with the men. This is not something Kaido is forcing Yamato to do. He’s completely free to choose things for himself now. And he chooses to bathe witht he men, because that is Yamato’s preferred gender.

The only characters who react to this are Momonosuke, Sanji, and Brook, all characters who react to big bouncing tiddies, which Yamato undeniably has.

No one else reacts. Cat Viper, Jinbei, Chopper, Zoro, and Luffy all treat him like any other man.

These two panels are intentionally parallels of each other. Okiku, a trans woman that the story acknowledges as a trans woman, in the women’s baths. And Yamato, a trans man who’s gender identity was accepted by everyone in the cast, from Luffy to Kaido, in the men’s baths.

Concept Art

We have concept sketches by Oda, showing his thought process in creating Yamato.

Now, I want to be clear that none of these concept sketches are canon, but I want to explore a few of them, because some of their ideas bleed into canon Yamato in interesting ways.

It’s clear that Oda wanted to play with gender regarding Yamato’s character, which, as we can see, made it into the final character concept (re: this entire post).

Some of these sketches show Yamato resenting the idea of being considered a man when she’s a woman, some seem to imply that she’s ashamed or disappointed to be a woman (”But I’m a girl, not a guy like him...” “Doesn’t want anyone to know she’s a girl”), and others show Yamato disregarding their birth gender (“Who cares if I’m a girl?!”).

What I find most interesting is that, regardless of which view concept Yamato has on their gender, they’re very specific about which gender they HAVE.

Almost all of the concept Yamato’s identify or view themselves as women, even the ones that seem to lament their gender. One of them corrects a guard who calls her Young Master, an explicitly male gendered term as discussed above.

Canon Yamato is called Young Master by all of Kaido’s crew, and does not correct them on his gender.

This is the biggest difference between the concept and final version of Yamato. Concept Yamato all view themselves as female, while the final version views himself as male. This view on his own identity was a very specific choice Oda made for the character.

What I’m saying is, the takeaway I get from these sketches is that, if Canon Yamato viewed himself as a woman, given his force of character and stern opinion on his identity, he would IMMEDIATELY correct those around him who call him by male pronouns or identifying terms.

But he doesn’t. He calls himself the Son of Kaido, and the one time someone questions his gender identity (Luffy, “You said son, right?!”), Yamato reaffirms that yes, he’s a man.

In conclusion:

Yamato is a trans man.

No one ever forced him to do anything. He ran, hid, and scraped by, longing for the chance to be free and express himself in the way he chooses. And he chose to be a man. Of every decision Yamato has ever made, this was the only one that Kaido respected, since Yamato’s gender has nothing to do with his usefulness (or lack thereof) to Kaido, and it doesn’t directly oppose the things Kaido has tried to force onto Yamato.

And his gender identity as a man is separate from being Oden. While Yamato calls himself Kozuki Oden, several times he says he doesn’t feel like he’s truly earned the title/role of Kozuki Oden.

But he calls himself a man. And so does Luffy, Kaido, Kaido’s men, and everyone else. Yamato doesn’t correct them, and only reaffirms his chosen gender. He is Kaido’s son by choice. A choice inspired by Oden’s manliness, but a choice separate from that identity.

#one piece #yamato #yamato one piece #long post #meta #txt. post #this is super old and i just wanted to get it out of my drafts

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felassan · 1 month ago

Text

[This recent video] by Mark Darrah on YouTube titled 'How 2017 Changed BioWare 1000 Ways' is worth a watch.

Vid description:

"For me, there have been 4 major moments in BioWare history: BioWare's sale to Elevation Partners, BioWare's sale to EA, Ray and Greg's departure, and 2017."

"Chapters: 0:00 12 Critical Months 0:22 Mass Effect: Andromeda 3:04 BioWare Reports To Someone New 4:35 Dragon Age Support 6:00 Casey Returns 7:10 A Prediction 8:20 A Message To Montreal 11:06 Anthem 12:01 Multiplayer Dragon Age 13:42 The Fallout 15:01 Is This a ME Problem?"

[watchlink]

transcript under cut.

Mark Darrah: "Okay, let’s talk about 2017, which I consider the most impactful twelve months in BioWare’s history. Or at least in recent memory. Actually, I’m lying, I’m gonna back up a little bit and I’m gonna start in late 2016, but I’m gonna stick to twelve months. We’ll just go to the later part of 2017, we won’t go all the way to December. In late 2016 we are reaching the point when Mass Effect: Andromeda is trying to ship. It has been grabbing resources from around BioWare for a while, but in this last push, we reach a decision that is different than anything we have done in BioWare’s history, at least in recent memory. And that is, I actually led this final team that came onto ME:A. If you look in the ME:A credits you’ll see the Dragon Age Finalling Team, DAFT, and I’m on that team. My feeling at the time was, the Dragon Age team was feeling jerked around, they were feeling like we were getting no support from BioWare or from EA, which was basically true, and that by me leading the group onto the project, I could then, when ME:A finished, lead that group as well as the other resources that were supposed to come back to Dragon Age back. That’s not ultimately what ended up happening, and we’ll get into that in a second. But what it was, how it was different, this was the first time where we had this leadership discontinuity where the person in charge of a project left that project to help someone else, some other project, while the project continued to run. In the case of ME:A, I don’t think the impact to Dragon Age was huge, it wasn’t very long. But it did set this precedent as this being a thing that we could do. And it’s not a good thing to do. It is incredibly dangerous to have a project run while it’s missing some of its core leadership. So we move forward, and now ME:A ships, and it doesn’t go well. BioWare had had a pretty good run of games that were pretty well-reviewed, pretty well-received, or if they, like Dragon Age 2, had some challenges, those challenges were easily rationalized away. With ME:A that got shaken. ME:A was shipped in a state that had quality bugs because of relatively small things that subsequently got fixed but really damaged the project at launch."

"In 2016 the part of EA that BioWare reported into changed. We went from, strangely, reporting in through part of the Sports organization, to reporting into someone new, and the result of that was that now, our EA leadership went from being benignly disinterested in us, I would say, not really understanding what we did, and being willing to let us do our best on our own, to someone that was hyper-interested in us, and really wanted to be involved in the day-to-day, in the decision-making, on the project. You can decide for yourself if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It definitely was a dramatic change in BioWare’s interaction with the rest of the EA organization. One project they weren’t particularly interested in was ME:A, because they had little to gain from the success of ME:A and little to lose from its failure, so I do think one of the reasons why BioWare moved on from ME:A as quickly as it did is because the group that we reported into had very little stake in either the success or the failure of the project, and they had a lot more incentive for BioWare to move onto the next thing, that they could tie themselves to, and show themselves as having influence on the development of. Coming out of ME:A, I was feeling like Dragon Age was still not getting adequate support. We hadn’t gotten the people from Montreal that were supposed to come onto Dragon Age yet. They were still doing stuff with ME:A. And I went to Patrick Söderlund at the time, and said, I don’t feel like I’m getting the support from the organization that Dragon Age deserves. I don’t feel that I’m getting the support from the organization that Dragon Age needs. And from Patrick, as well as from Andrew Wilson, I got lots of assurances that Dragon Age was incredibly important, that we were going to get what we needed, what we wanted. In addition to that, I also got a large amount of stock to try to say, please stay, here are some financial handcuffs, to try to tie you to the organization. Around the same time that I’m getting these assurances from the greater EA org, that Dragon Age is really important, I have a conversation with the person that ran the organization that BioWare used to be a part of. And that interaction basically went like this: ‘I can’t believe you’re still at EA. Dragon Age still isn’t getting people. How can you deal with this?’ And, I guess in retrospect, yeah, that is a really good question."

"In the middle of 2017 Casey Hudson suddenly returns. I say suddenly because I found out that Casey was returning at the same meeting that everyone else at BioWare found out. Because there was worry about leaks, there was a meeting held where both Aaryn Flynn was announced to be leaving and Casey Hudson was announced to come back. And then the press release went out during that meeting. So there was literally zero time between when the people at BioWare knew and when the general public knew. You have to remember, I am the second-most senior person at BioWare. Casey was interviewed, and hired, and prepared to be brought back entirely without me being consulted in any way. Would me having been involved in the process changed the decision? No, I don’t think it would have. But there is an immense amount of disrespect involved in making a hire of this impact, in making a decision of this import, without involving the second-most senior person at your studio in any way. So I actually went from the meeting where it was announced that Casey Hudson was coming back to lead the studio to my desk and sent a couple of emails. And those emails said, essentially, I believe what is going to happen in very short order is that Casey is gonna convince the organization that Anthem needs all-hands on deck. It’s gonna starve Dragon Age out even further, and this goes against what we literally just talked about a few months ago. And the email responses that I got back were, no no no no, Dragon Age is super important, that is not what’s going to happen, we are committed to Dragon Age, we are committed to you leading Dragon Age. And, as we all know, that’s not what happened at all. In very short order, in basically exactly the way that I predicted, Anthem was seen as needing greater support, needing greater leadership support, and myself and some other very senior people, as well as a large percentage of the Dragon Age team, was moved onto Anthem."

"Between Casey returning and the everyone on Anthem, we lose everyone in Montreal. This happens really shortly after Casey returns. Casey’s return was announced on July 18th and the loss of the Montreal staff was August 1st. So it’s only two weeks between the two different events. The people in Montreal had been told some stories. They’d basically been lied to, and told that Dragon Age didn’t want them, and that they were going onto other parts of the EA organization because BioWare couldn’t keep them anymore. And, from my perspective, that is a complete fabrication. When this started to happen, I spent 100% of my time trying to force Dragon Age through one of its gates. And the reason for this is that going through that gate theoretically would have allowed Dragon Age to get much larger, would have allowed Dragon Age to keep those people. Politically I don’t think there was any way that that was going to happen. I, there were very senior people on the ground in Montreal who wanted those people, and proximity is a powerful tool, and I don’t think there was any way I could make the argument to keep those people. But I tried. So if you are someone who’s been mad at me since 2017 because you feel like I abandoned you in Montreal, know that that’s not what happened. Know that I fought with every tool that I knew how to wield to try to keep you. But the organization had no interest in that occurring. Were there backroom deals happening between BioWare and the rest of EA at that time? If there were, I was not involved in them. I was definitely fighting tooth and nail to keep everyone in Montreal on Dragon Age. Because we were ready to start getting bigger. I certainly hope there were no backroom deals. Given the timing, given how early Casey was in his role, it seems unlikely that he was brokering such a deal, and it seems unlikely that Aaryn would have brokered such a deal in his last days. I suppose it’s possible for either of them to have done so, but I think what’s more likely is that leaders on the ground in Montreal were taking advantage of the relative leadership vacuum at BioWare to take those people away. But, like I predicted, that’s not what EA was interested in. What they wanted to see, is they wanted to see Anthem. That perfectly-crafted story that was told back in 2012, 2013, continued to hold immense sway within the organization. And now that Casey was back, it was stronger than ever."

"You can see in this time, my trust in the EA organization is being constantly hammered, constantly challenged. Additionally, in this time period, Mike Laidlaw leaves, because he sees the same things that I see. And while I end up going on Anthem, he sees a lot of frustration in the future for Dragon Age, and he decides that it is better for him to look for opportunities elsewhere. Which is certainly understandable. So part of the excuse for moving people off of Dragon Age was this pivot from a singleplayer game into a multiplayer live service. I believe that a large part of that pivot was done entirely as rationalization, as a reason to make it make sense that we were taking everyone away from Dragon Age. There’s no reason to have all of these people on the project because they are going back to the drawing board, because we are making a live service game now, right? So we can start over again. I wish that had never happened, I wish that pivot had never occurred. But that’s what happened. EA said, make this a live service. We said, we don’t know how to do that, we should basically start the project over. And thus, Joplin became Morrison, and myself as well as other very senior members of the team, moved on to Anthem. And we enter into a second, much longer leadership discontinuity on Dragon Age. Project runs until Anthem ships without its EP, without its senior development director. This ends up causing massive amounts of changes to the project, to the team structure, to the culture. In this time, Dragon Age is pursuing a goal that ultimately it doesn’t want to be pursuing. But it does its best, and in doing its best, it changes the nature of the project in fundamental ways. So as we come to the end of 2017, we are in a state where almost everyone is on Anthem, but Dragon Age, now Dragon Age Morrison, is running without most of its core leadership. And in the process of this change, EA and BioWare have dramatically damaged their relationship with myself, but also with a lot of other more senior members of BioWare, because they’ve said things are going to happen, that didn’t happen, they’ve made assurances that did not come true. As we come out of 2017, BioWare is a different thing. It is focused on making a live service in Anthem, it has lost one of its studios in Montreal being taken away, and now it moves into the future in this new state."

"I talked a fairly long time ago about how EA buys studios and then consumes them and they start to lose their culture into the overall EA culture. To me it feels like 2017 is when EA finished digesting BioWare, which they had bought nine years earlier in 2008. You may be looking to this and saying, I don’t know if I buy your story, I don’t know if I believe that this twelve months is as impactful as you are making it out to be, it sounds more like these things are things that affected you personally. And I think there is truth to that, I think that a lot of these things are things that hurt me, are things that damaged my trust with the organization. I guess the argument I would make against that is simply that, given my position within the organization, damaging the trust, damaging the relationship between the second-most senior person at a studio and that studio is going to have consequences. Special thanks to my members. They provide the resources that this channel needs to keep running. If you’re interested in becoming a member, there’s a link to that down in the description. We also have a Patreon if you are more comfortable supporting the channel in that way. Both Patrons and channel members get access to our Discord, so if you are looking for a way to interact with me and the community to a deeper level, that’s a great way to do it. This may end up being a little more personal than I meant it to be, but I do think that when you step back from BioWare’s history, really far back, there are some major pivot points in BioWare’s history. There’s when BioWare got sold to Elevation Partners. Then there’s when BioWare got sold to EA. There’s when Ray and Greg left, and then there’s this period in 2017. Do you buy that? Let me know down in the comments. I will see you again soon, thank you."

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #mass effect 5 #mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #bioware #anthem #video games #long post #longpost #pls do watch the vid. transcript is just in case anything happens to the vid..

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antinousletmehit · 5 months ago

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 13 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning: suggestive stuff

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the banquet hall, casting a golden glow over the rows of tables laden with bread, fruit, and roasted meats. Y/N sat beside her brother Antinous, picking at her food lazily as the boisterous laughter of the suitors echoed around her.

Antinous tore into a piece of bread, occasionally nudging her with his elbow whenever one of the other suitors made a particularly unfunny joke. She barely reacted, still preoccupied with her own thoughts, namely, the events of the night before. Her fork toyed with a piece of fruit on her plate as she tried to shake off the memory of Telemachus’s warmth beside her and the way his voice had sounded so earnest in the quiet of her room.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when movement caught her eye. Telemachus was passing by the hall’s entrance, dressed neatly but clearly in no rush as he walked past. For a moment, she felt relief that he didn’t stop. But then he glanced in her direction, his eyes locking with hers.

She froze, her fork stilling mid air.

He winked.

And then, as casually as if he were adjusting his tunic, he made a quick, hand motion he drifted his hands down to his crotch, then made a jerking hand motion. It was subtle enough to go unnoticed by the others but deliberate enough for her to understand the implication. Her face turned crimson in an instant. Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked back down at her plate, her heart pounding furiously.

Antinous, who had been in the middle of a conversation with Eurymachus, suddenly paused and turned to her, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“W-What?” she stammered, struggling to compose herself. “You’re red as a beet,” he said, leaning closer to inspect her. “Is your food laced or something? Did someone mess with it?” He glanced suspiciously around the hall, his protective instincts kicking in. She waved a hand dismissively, her voice high pitched. “I’m fine. I just…I bit into something spicy, that’s all.”

“Spicy?” Antinous looked at her plate, unimpressed. “It’s fruit.”

“Maybe it’s bad fruit!” she snapped, shoving a piece into her mouth to demonstrate. “See? Perfectly fine now. Nothing’s wrong.” Antinous gave her a long, skeptical look, but eventually shrugged and turned back to his conversation. She exhaled quietly, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her goblet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Telemachus disappear down the corridor, the ghost of his infuriating smirk still burning in her mind.

As she took a sip of her drink, she couldn’t help muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill him.”

——

The midday sun beat down on the palace courtyard, where Antinous stood with his arms crossed, his piercing gaze fixed on his sister. She stood in the center of the training ring, her sword raised as she faced the training dummy he had set up.

“Again,” Antinous barked. “Your footing is sloppy, and your swings lack precision. You’ll be dead before you land a hit at this rate.” She rolled her eyes but adjusted her stance, gripping her sword tighter. “You don’t have to be so dramatic, Antinous. It’s just training.”

“Training for your life,” he retorted. “Now stop talking and focus.” She exhaled sharply and swung her sword, landing a satisfying strike against the dummy’s torso. But before she could gloat, Antinous stepped forward and used the flat of his blade to knock her weapon out of her hands. “Too slow,” he said, smirking. “You left yourself wide open. Do you want me to spell out every mistake, or can you start fixing them on your own?”

She bent to pick up her sword, gritting her teeth. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re lazy,” Antinous shot back, turning slightly to adjust his own sword belt.

It was at that moment that her eyes caught a flicker of movement from above. She glanced up discreetly and spotted Telemachus standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His face was full of mischief as he placed a finger to his lips, silently asking for her cooperation.

Her lips twitched, barely suppressing a grin.

While Antinous continued lecturing her about discipline and precision, Telemachus crouched dramatically, holding an imaginary sword. He mimicked Antinous’s stern expression and stiff posture, mockingly imitating his training stance. She snorted, barely able to contain her laughter. Antinous immediately turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “What’s so funny? Did I say something amusing?”

“No,” she said quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Just…remembering something.” Antinous grumbled and turned back to reposition the dummy, muttering something about her lack of focus. As soon as his back was turned, Telemachus straightened and struck an exaggerated heroic pose, puffing out his chest like a pompous general. He pointed an invisible sword at her, shaking it like a lecture stick. She burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold it back.

Antinous spun around, glaring. “Y/N, if you’re not going to take this seriously, then maybe I should—” But when he glanced around, he didn’t see anything unusual. His gaze flicked up to the balcony for a moment, but Telemachus was already out of sight, ducked low behind the stone railing. “Should what?” She asked innocently, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Antinous huffed, shaking his head. “Never mind. Pick up your sword.” She obeyed, barely able to keep a straight face as Telemachus reappeared, this time pantomiming an elaborate duel. He twirled his imaginary weapon dramatically, pretending to stumble and fall in the most ridiculous way possible. She had to clutch her stomach to stop herself from doubling over with laughter.

Antinous’s face darkened. “That’s it. What is wrong with you today?” He turned sharply, scanning the area behind him, but again, there was no sign of Telemachus. “I’m just in a good mood,” she said, managing to suppress her laughter enough to appear halfway serious.

Antinous narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing, returning to the training session with a resigned shake of his head. Above them, Telemachus gave her a cheeky salute. The training session dragged on, with Antinous pacing around his sister like a hawk circling its prey. She was supposed to be focusing on her strikes, but her attention kept slipping, particularly because Telemachus had reappeared on the balcony.

At first, he resumed his silly antics, pretending to fumble with an invisible weapon and nearly tripping over his feet. She did her best to ignore him, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Antinous noticed and scowled. “Stop smiling. There’s nothing funny about your form.”

“Right, sorry,” she muttered, biting her lip. But as Antinous turned away, Telemachus’s antics escalated. He leaned lazily against the railing, his hand tracing slow, exaggerated motions in the air. At first, Pandora wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but then his gestures became clearer, deliberately suggestive, playful, and entirely improper. Her face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away, her grip on her sword faltering.

“Y/N,” Antinous snapped. “Your stance! Focus!”

“I—I am!” she stammered, forcing herself to raise the sword again. Telemachus smirked at her reaction and decided to push further. His hand drifted down in an obvious motion, trailing slowly as he licked his lips with deliberate exaggeration. His expression was a mix of mischief and challenge, daring her to keep her composure.

Her grip tightened, her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword. Her entire face burned, and she felt her focus slipping completely. Antinous frowned. “Are you even listening to me? Strike the damn dummy already!”

“I’m trying!” she snapped, her voice higher-pitched than she intended. “Trying to what? Embarrass yourself?” Before she could answer, Antinous moved forward to demonstrate proper form. But Y/N, still utterly distracted and flustered, misjudged her positioning.

“Y/N, watch your—”

Antinous’s arm swung wide as he corrected her grip, and his elbow accidentally connected with the side of her face. The impact wasn’t hard enough to seriously hurt her, but it startled her, sending her stumbling back with a sharp gasp.

“Y/N!” Antinous barked, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d done. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why weren’t you paying attention?” She clutched her cheek, her face now a furious mix of embarrassment and pain. “I—nothing! I just—”

Antinous stepped closer, inspecting her with a mix of irritation and concern. “You’re flushed, distracted, and now you’re not even blocking properly. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. From the balcony, Telemachus stifled a laugh, though his expression softened slightly when he saw her rubbing her cheek. Still, he couldn’t help giving her one last teasing gesture, a quick, mock sympathetic kiss blown in her direction before disappearing out of sight again.

She bit her lip, her face burning hotter than ever. She glared at the spot where Telemachus had been, silently cursing him while trying to keep her brother from noticing anything else. “Go get some water,” Antinous grumbled, stepping back. “You’re obviously not in the right headspace for this. We’ll pick up again later.”

She nodded mutely, grateful for the excuse to retreat, though her mind was already racing with a mix of mortification and anger. If she didn’t deal with Telemachus soon, she was certain she’d lose her mind entirely.

——

The sun filtered through the grand hall where Y/N leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the suitors gamble and boast. Antinous stood nearby, speaking with Eurymachus about some idiotic bet, his sharp laugh cutting through the air. It was a typical scene of chaos and indulgence, one Pandora had grown bored of quickly.

She sighed and shifted her weight, casting her gaze toward the ornate carvings on the walls. Her mind wandered until a sudden, fleeting sensation snapped her back to reality.

Smack!

Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what had just happened. Before she could fully process it, a familiar figure darted past her, Telemachus, moving with surprising speed for someone usually so composed. His hand was already at his side, but there was no mistaking the smirk on his face as he disappeared down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

It took a moment for the delayed reaction to kick in.

“AH!” She yelped, straightening as her face flushed with a mixture of shock and fury.

Antinous spun around at the sound of her outburst, his expression immediately shifting to one of concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I—nothing!” She stammered, her face still hot as she clutched at her chiton, trying to compose herself. Antinous narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “Nothing doesn’t make you yell like that. Did someone do something?” His voice dropped into a dangerous tone, his hand instinctively moving toward the dagger at his side.

“No, no!” She waved him off frantically, forcing a nervous laugh. “I just…tripped, that’s all!” Antinous raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re acting weird. Who were you looking at just now?”

“Uh—no one!” she said quickly, her eyes darting down the hallway where Telemachus had vanished. “It’s nothing, really!” Antinous crossed his arms, still suspicious but unwilling to press further in the crowded hall. “If anyone messes with you, you tell me. Got it?”

“Of course!” She said, her voice a pitch too high.

As Antinous finally turned his attention back to Eurymachus, she exhaled sharply, her hand twitching with the urge to storm after Telemachus and give him a piece of her mind. But she hesitated, knowing she couldn’t act without drawing her brother’s attention. Eurymachus gave her a knowing smirk, and raised his eyebrow, oh how badly she wanted to rip that ugly smirk off, but Instead, she gritted her teeth, glaring down the hallway.

He’s going to regret that, she vowed silently, her cheeks still burning as she plotted her revenge.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The next morning, Y/N strolled through the palace corridors with extra confidence in her step. The sunlight filtering through the arches warmed the marble floors beneath her feet, but her mind was entirely focused on the payback she’d planned for Telemachus.

It wasn’t long before she passed by the dining hall and spotted him. There he sat at a modest table with his mother, Penelope, delicately sipping from a goblet while nibbling on bread and olives. He looked…calm, far too calm for someone who’d pulled the stunt he had yesterday. Let’s fix that, she thought, her lips curling into a devilish grin.

She slowed her pace as she entered the hall, deliberately letting her footsteps echo. Telemachus glanced up, meeting her gaze, and his expression instantly stiffened, his body going rigid.

“Y/N,” Penelope greeted warmly, unaware of the tension.

“Lady Penelope,” she replied sweetly, dipping her head in respect. She moved to pass by the table, but instead of continuing on, she stopped just far enough in Telemachus’s line of sight to execute her plan.

With a casual stretch, she raised her arms above her head, letting her tunic cling to her figure for a brief moment before bringing her hands down in a slow, deliberate motion. Her fingers traced along her sides as she leaned slightly against the doorway, her hips shifting in an exaggerated sway. Telemachus’s face turned a deep shade of red as his jaw clenched. He darted a glance at his mother, who was entirely focused on her plate, thankfully oblivious.

But she wasn’t done.

She bit her lip playfully, her eyes locking onto Telemachus’s as her hand made an exaggerated sweeping motion across her abdomen. Then, in a bold move, she placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head, mouthing a silent kiss in his direction before trailing her fingers along the edge of the doorway and stepping forward in a slow strut.

Telemachus choked on his drink, coughing violently into his goblet. Penelope frowned, glancing at her son with concern. “Telemachus? Are you all right?”

“Yes!” he squeaked, hastily wiping his mouth. “Fine! Perfectly fine!” Y/n smirked, savoring the sight of his flustered state. She swayed her hips just a little more as she made her way out of the room, glancing back over her shoulder for good measure.

Telemachus caught the glance and glared at her, though the blush on his face betrayed his frustration. She winked at him before disappearing down the hall, her laughter echoing faintly behind her. Back in the dining hall, Penelope studied her son with a raised brow. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Are you sure nothing is bothering you?”

“No, Mother,” Telemachus muttered, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing at all.” But as he stared down at his plate, his appetite completely gone, he knew Y/N wouldn’t let him live this down anytime soon.

——

It was a crisp, sunny morning, and Telemachus found himself in the garden, crouched beside his mother as she carefully pruned a bed of roses. Penelope had insisted he take some time to help her, claiming it would clear his mind and teach him patience. He agreed, though he couldn’t help but think about how uncharacteristically peaceful the palace felt today. He brushed his hands against the soil, pulling out a stubborn weed, when a shadow flickered in the corner of his vision.

Y/N.

She stood near the garden path, her arms clasped behind her back as she hummed a soft tune. Telemachus stiffened immediately, shooting her a warning glare. She met his eyes and gave him the sweetest, most innocent smile, too sweet, in fact.

What is she up to now? he thought, already bracing himself. As Penelope moved to trim another section of bushes, y/n stepped closer to the herb garden, pretending to inspect the lavender. She bent down slowly, arching her back just enough to draw attention, her hands trailing dramatically over the plants.

Telemachus froze, his jaw tightening as his gaze snapped back to the soil. “Focus,” he muttered to himself, tugging at another weed.

But Pandora wasn’t done. She shifted her position, swaying her hips as she leaned forward even further, plucking a sprig of lavender and raising it to her nose with an exaggerated flourish. She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed as if she were experiencing the most divine scent in the world. Telemachus felt heat creeping up his neck. He refused to look up, but her movements were impossible to ignore.

Penelope, still oblivious, glanced at her son. “Telemachus, could you hand me the shears?”

“Y-yes, Mother,” he stammered, fumbling with the gardening tools. As he stood to hand them over, his eyes involuntarily flicked back to Pandora, who was now on her knees, reaching deep into the bushes. Her chiton shifted slightly, exposing just enough of her thigh to make him gulp audibly.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, catching his stare, and smirked. She tilted her head innocently, feigning confusion as she said, “Oh, Telemachus, is something wrong? You look…distracted.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. Penelope raised an eyebrow at her son’s sudden outburst. “Are you sure? You seem a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Telemachus said quickly, thrusting the shears into her hands before crouching back down to attack the weeds with unnecessary harshness. Y/n chuckled softly, brushing her hands over the lavender as she stood. She gave him one last lingering look, tilting her hips slightly before walking away with deliberate slowness, her laughter trailing behind her like a playful melody.

Telemachus clenched his fists, glaring down at the dirt as if it had personally wronged him.

“Patience,” Penelope said gently, misinterpreting his frustration. “Gardening is all about patience.”

“Right,” he muttered through gritted teeth, though in his mind, he was already plotting how to get her for this.

—

The stone hallway echoed with the soft shuffle of footsteps as Telemachus walked alongside his mother. Penelope was explaining something about palace affairs, her tone calm and measured, while Telemachus nodded politely, half listening and half lost in his own thoughts. Behind them, Y/N crept along the wall like a shadow, her eyes locked on Telemachus. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she tiptoed closer. Her fingers twitched with anticipation, her smirk growing wider by the second.

Just as they reached a quiet stretch of the hall, she struck. Her hand shot out with precision, landing a sharp smack on Telemachus’s ass. The sound reverberated through the hallway like a clap of thunderbringer.

“AH!” Telemachus yelped, jumping nearly a foot in the air and clutching at ass. He whipped around, his face a mix of outrage and confusion, only to see Y/N standing there, frozen mid step like a child caught stealing sweets. “Y/N?” Penelope’s voice was sharp but measured, her eyes narrowing as she looked between her son and her.

Telemachus’s face burned red as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “What is wrong with you?!” She quickly straightened, smoothing out her chiton as if nothing had happened. She raised her chin and, with a dramatic flourish, said, “There was a fly on his ass!”

Penelope blinked, her expression utterly unreadable.

“A… fly?” she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” Y/N said, nodding with all the false sincerity she could muster. “A very persistent one. I merely did what any good citizen of Ithaca would do, protected the royal family from such a vile creature.” Telemachus looked like he might die on the spot. “Are you serious right now?”

Y/N shot him a look, silently pleading for him to go along with it, but it was too late. Penelope crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. “Y/N,” the queen began, her tone sharp but restrained. “I would expect this sort of behavior from a child, not from someone in your position.” She winced, her mischievous bravado faltering. “I swear it won’t happen again, Lady Penelope.”

“It had better not,” Penelope replied, her eyes narrowing. “If you cannot behave yourself, I will have a word with your brother.”

The mention of Antinous made Y/N’s stomach sink. She nodded quickly, her usual confidence replaced with uncharacteristic meekness. Penelope sighed and turned back to her son, who was still glaring at Pandora. “Come along, Telemachus. We have work to finish.”

As they walked away, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. But as soon as Penelope’s back was turned, she couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at Telemachus.

He groaned, rubbing his temples as he muttered under his breath, “Why me?” She stayed behind, biting her lip to stifle her laughter until she was sure they were out of earshot.

“Totally worth it,” she muttered to herself.

——

Y/N spotted Telemachus and Penelope walking side by side again through another hallway again. Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk as she silently trailed behind them. The temptation to mess with Telemachus one more time was too strong to resist. This time, she planned to be quicker, smoother. She would land her strike and dart away before Penelope even noticed she was there. Steeling herself, she crept closer. Her hand hovered just behind Telemachus’s back, ready to make its move. But at the last second, Penelope stepped ever so slightly into Pandora’s path, completely oblivious to the chaos about to ensue.

SMACK!

Y/N’s hand collided with Penelope’s ass instead of Telemachus’s.

The queen froze mid step, her back straightening like a string had been pulled taut. Telemachus whipped around, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. Y/N, meanwhile, had turned pale as ghost. Her hand hovered awkwardly in the air where Penelope’s back had just been, and she looked like she might faint on the spot.

Penelope turned slowly, her expression a mix of shock and simmering fury. “Y/N,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “What in the name of the gods was that?” Pandora stammered, her usual quick wit utterly failing her. “I—uh—it was—” She glanced desperately at Telemachus, who was too busy trying not to burst into laughter to be of any help. “I-It was an accident!” She finally blurted out.

“An accident?” Penelope repeated, her eyebrow arching in disbelief.

“Yes!” Y/N nodded furiously. “I was aiming for—” She stopped herself just in time, realizing that admitting the truth would only make things worse. “I—I thought I saw…another fly?”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Another fly.”

Y/N nodded again, sweating profusely. “Yes, exactly! A huge, menacing one! It’s been buzzing around all day, really. You didn’t see it?” Penelope crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same imaginary fly you claimed to see earlier, would it?”

Telemachus, unable to hold it in any longer, let out a snort of laughter, which he quickly tried to disguise as a cough. Penelope’s gaze shifted to her son, then back to Y/N. “Did Antinous put you up to this?” she asked sharply. “Because this reeks of one of his idiotic schemes.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “No! No, Antinous has nothing to do with this, I swear!” Penelope studied her for a long, tense moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Y/N, I am this close to losing my patience with you. Whatever this nonsense is, it ends now. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lady,” she mumbled, looking thoroughly chastised. Penelope shook her head and turned to Telemachus. “Come along, Telemachus. Let’s leave before she causes any more trouble.”

As they walked away, Y/N slumped against the wall, her face burning with embarrassment. She could feel Telemachus’s smug grin without even looking at him. Just before they disappeared around the corner, Telemachus glanced back, his expression somewhere between amusement and triumph. “Nice aim,” he mouthed, before turning back to his mother.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #antinous #epic telemachus #telemachus #telemachus x reader #antinous x reader #aphrodites gamble

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curiouspupsicle · 5 months ago

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Good Omens Fan Fiction Recommendations - Pinned Post

Thought it might be helpful to save links to my weekly fan fic recommendations. Organized by theme, each post gives you the rating and enough information to give you an idea of whether it's a good choice for you to read. And you'll find more great suggestions in the comments and reblogs. Just one more option for a fan fic reference desk. Scroll down for links--oldest first. Recommended WIPs at the bottom.

2024

11/8/24 - Fics that Made Me LOL - These are the funniest fics; the ones that actually had me laughing out loud. I'll definitely need to revisit this theme. So many to add to the list.

11/15/24 - Current Best of the Best - Snapshot of my absolute favorite fics at this moment in time. Fics I loved and can't imagine ever forgetting.

11/22/24 - Human AUs - These are the fics that finally convinced me to read our ineffable pair depicted as humans. And I've never looked back.

11/28/24 - Banter - Who doesn't love saucy banter? Here are my fave stories with witty dialogue.

12/6/24 - Illustrated Stories - It's in the name. These include comics and traditional fics with illustrations.

12/13/24 - Smooth Criminals - Fics that involve criminal undertakings.

12/20/24 - Christmas - I limit myself to one, very special Christmas fic. Hard to imagine any story better than this one.

12/27/24 - Through the Ages - Do you really need an explanation? My fave fics that show our ineffable pair in different time periods.

2025

1/3/25 - The Bentley - Fics in which our favorite sentient car gets her due.

1/10/25 - "Mixed" AUs - Stories in which one of the ineffable pair is mortal and the other is supernatural.

1/17/25 - Animal Shenanigans, pt 1 - Fics in which animals play an important role.

1/24/25 - Animal Shenanigans, pt 2 - One week was not enough to contain so many charming, animal-centric fics.

1/31/25 - Resistance - My favorite fics centered around resistance against powerful forces and nasty people.

2/7/25 - Read the Footnotes, pt 1 - I highlight two writers who write particularly clever and fascinating footnotes for their fics, in the style of Terry Pratchett. More to come in a future post.

2/14/25 - Be My Valentine - Recommending 3 Valentine's Day fics and 3 more that are about wooing, but not necessarily in February.

2/21/25 - Read the Footnotes, pt 2 - I share more favorite fics with clever footnotes.

2/28/25 - Alt Season 3 Speculations - These are my favorite post-season 2 fics that aren't what you might expect.

3/7/25 - Timey-Wimey - Some of the best fics that deal with time being weird. The first on the list is a unique treat.

3/14/2025 - Magic in the Air - My favorite fics featuring Fell the Marvelous (and yes, Crowley too) as magicians.

3/21/2025 - Ineffable Reality TV - Our ineffable pair end up on reality tv. Amazingly, three of them are not human AUs. Does not include any dating/marriage shows.

3/28/2025 - Spies in Disguise - Fics in which spying is a major part of the story. Lots of fun.

4/4/25 - Epistolary - Stories in which hand written letters are the centerpiece. Does not include texts, diaries, or emails.

4/11/25 - Top-Rated One-Shots - These are the single chapter works that get my highest ratings. Some will make you laugh. Some will make you cry. But they're all terrific.

4/18/25 - Texting - These fics center on texts. They range from the silly to the spicy with a sweet, tender love story in between.

4/25/25 - Sexy (but not explicit) - Focusing on moments in fics that are sexy but not explicit. Note: some of the fics themselves are explicit, even if the moment I highlight is not.

5/2/25 - Demon Summoning - These fics, both sweet and funny, center on Crowley being summoned by humans. See reblogs for even more recs.

5/9/25 - Muriel - Fics that feature everyone's 2nd favorite cinnamon roll.

5/16/25 - Heaven & Hell - In which we enjoy the shenanigans of The Bad Place and The Other Bad Place.

5/23/25 - Sea Creatures (Mixed AU 2) - Check out a great selection of fics where at least one of the ineffable pair is a creature of the sea. Check out reblogs for even more great suggestions.

5/30/25 - Characters with Disabilities - My recs for fics featuring characters dealing with disabilities. A little bit of sweet, a little bit of spice, and a bunch of great reads.

6/6/25 - Aspec Omens - A small selection of Good Omens fics with aspec characters showing the diversity along this spectrum.

❖❖❖

And finally, I've started recommending WIPs. Listing them here and marking them complete as they finish.

2/2/25 - Cayuga Blush (M) by asparkofgoodness/@thetunewillcome - Human AU with amazing link to canon in which Crowley and Aziraphale operate competing vineyards. COMPLETE

2/5/25 - Pages About You; Pages About Me (T) by D_Cocca/@dcocca - Aziraphale the bookstore owner and Crowley the comic shop owner become close while recommending reading material for each other. COMPLETE

2/19/25 - You Can Have It (E) by @voluptatiscausa - Aziraphale gets unwanted flowers from an ex. An empathetic delivery person helps him realize he's worth more than he's settled for in the past. COMPLETE

2/26/25 - Moonstruck (E) by @foolishlovers - Crowley is a single dad struggling with his responsibilities when the angelic bartender at his monthly stop shows him he deserves to take care of himself as well. COMPLETE

3/5/25 - Bonded (E) by AppleSeeds - Aziraphale travels to his grandfather's quarry to suggest how things can improve. He's entranced by the worker, Crowley, who has a mysterious secret. COMPLETE

3/12/25 - Chef's Kiss (E) by @joyandotherstories - Aziraphale is a positive, YouTube chef who appears on Crowley's food network show famous for nasty treatment of the guests. Human AU but well integrated into Good Omens canon.

3/19/25 - where the nodding violet grows (M) by @omens-for-ophelia- Crowley suspects there's a fairy living in his garden. But the fae creature only appears once Crowley offers a gift suitable for his standards. Lovely story and art.

3/26/25 - Dead Right (E) by @anatomic-girl. A cut above even the best fake marriage trope with loads of characters as charming as our ineffable pair (including two adorable cats).

4/2/25 - A shoutout to @raxacoricofallapatoriusrulez, a prolific writer with several fics in progress.

4/9/25 - In Night Blooms by @gaiaseyes451, Aziraphale is drawn to a familiar but neglected garden where he picks some blooms to brew into a tea. Soon he starts having mysterious dreams.

4/16/25 - Wavelengths & Frequencies by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome/@maaikeatthefullmoon is a hilarious romp through the friends to enemies to friends to (?) journeys of DJs Crowley and Aziraphale. LOL funny!

4/23/25 - Parliamentary Procedure. A rare, themed WIP rec of Honourable Members (E) COMPLETE by @groovynightstrawberry and Crossing the Floor (M) by AlwaysTuesday.

4/30/25 - A Smell Can't Be Ineffable (M) by @thinkinginscripts, in which Aziraphale tries to help Crowley recover his sense of smell and taste after Covid. But Crowley responds differently to the therapy than expected. COMPLETE

5/7/25 - Of Lions and Leviathans (E) by @drconstellation, the continuation of a series that has Aziraphale and Crowley watching their backs for criminal elements in Australia.

5/14/15 - Panic at Eastgate Abbey (E) by @ezomind-the-other-one is a charming take on Wodehouse's Jeeves and Wooster story with the addition of our ineffable pair.

5/21/25 - On a Storyteller's Night (E) by harlot of god has our ineffable pair renting the same cottage by accident. By the third chapter, we have a thrilling twist making this not your typical one-bed, forced proximity story.

5/28/25 - The Trouble with HELL (E) by @beerok23 is a tantalizing mystery wrapped in the rivals to (well, guessing from the E rating, I'm going to guess lovers)... story of podcaster and mystery writer Crowley and mystery book reviewer turned investigator Fell.

6/4/25 - No Rest for the Wicked (M) by ReinaDragon139 has Aziraphale seeking justice his wife's murder with help from bounty hunter Crowley in the Old West. It's a taut read and the English version of a Spanish story being published concurrently.

If you're seeing this as a reblog, you can find the original (most-up-to-date) version here.

And if my tastes match yours, check out my AO3 bookmarks highlighting the top 10% of all fics I've read.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanart #fan fiction #fan fiction recommendations #go fan fic rec #go fan fic recs #go fan fiction recommendations #good omens fan fiction rec #to read #read later #to read later #reading list #rec list #reblog to keep track of

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outcast-shadow · 2 months ago

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Oh man, Doey looked legitimately scary in that last post. (Not that I blame him for being angry, based on the implications there, but damn. 😨) Good job with drawing that face! 👍

Jumping on the angst bandwagon, I have wondered how Doey would have reacted if the Player was terrified of him when they first met? Considering that the majority of the Toys that the Players met has tried to kill and/or eat them, with one of the few friendly Toys they met being used as a meat puppet. The encounter with the last chapter having been particularly rough on the Player due to the red smoke and the hallucinations involved. (You could also factor in Poppy's role in forcing the player to stay, which probably has impacted their ability to trust the Toys.) With all those events factoring in, the Player seeing Doey just beat and eat Pianosaurus so easily could be just the final straw.

Like, Doey runs up to greet the Player afterwards and Player either trying to run away but can't for some reason, or just curling up in a ball and shivering in fear? Alternatively you skip this if it's too angsty or something.

Ahhh!! Thank you! I'm happy to hear that you liked the angst doodles with Doey! ^^ Don't mind me as I info dump with this ask.

Doey would probably be forgetful with how fragile humans can be, especially when it comes to receiving injuries or suffering from hunger. After all, it's been 10 years since he's encountered one and he would likely have suppressed memories of himself inflicting pain to humans (such as his parents or employees when escaping the Hour of Joy). Besides, he'd have the toys in mind, more often than the Player. After all, they are an employee of Playtime Co. (Kevin and Matthew would likely be uncertain of them and their intentions, Kevin being harder to convince than Matthew or Jack). I do have a WIP comic series that I'm working on that plays with the idea of Doey accidently hurting the Player, if you'd like to see more of my angsty style and how their interactions would go if something extreme were to happen! ;)

With the Player, I like to think they have the "Things possibly couldn't get worse for me, right?" mentality. Each level down the factory has only resulted in more chaos or an enemy far worse than the last. So seeing Doey demolish a literal bigger body in mere seconds would indefinitely set fear and doubt that Doey can be trusted at all, despite the fact that he helped them escape Yarnaby.

I feel that Doey grows onto them, after entering Safe Haven, as it's not only a warm environment, it's also refreshing for them to finally have another ally, aside from Poppy and Kissy. While it was scrapped in the game, I want to incorporate that doing tasks for both Doey and the toys there would break tensions the Player has with everyone there.

As I mentioned earlier with my WIP comic, here's the post I'm referencing to! Feel free to check it out! The prequel to this post can be found under this comic page, which for context, is about Doey accidently breaking Player's arm, after they nearly put Safe Haven in danger.

#doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey #ppt doey #doey poppy playtime #doey ppt #doey fanart #doey #poppy playtime player #poppy playtime fanart #poppy playtime ch 4 #sorry for info dumping lmfaoo #this concept will definitely be revised when i get around to making a proper Ask Doey blog!

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cakesunflower · 6 months ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 16

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: I might start being silly and include fake instagram posts for this fic, one of them included in this one. I just hope it shows up LOL. Of course, I can't find exact pics for the situations I need them for, so the pictures in the posts are just there for you to see the poses/style of the pics I have in mind, and you picture the cast + Isla for them.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about,” Cleo coos, the satisfied smile evident in her voice as she stretches on the chair, dark skin glowing under the sun.

Isla grins from her own chair, laying on her stomach with the sun on her back, mostly exposed thanks to her bikini, while she reads the latest Emily Henry book laying before her. Music plays from a speaker somewhere, burgers and hot dogs being cooked on the grill manned by John B, as the rest of them lay and laze around on the deck of The Druthers, Sarah’s dad’s yacht.

It’s not often they hang out at Sarah’s house, and even less so on Ward’s yacht. Most of their time is spent on The Cut, at the beach, the Chateau. It’s where they’re most comfortable together, as a group. But when it’s just them, with no one else disrupting them, moments like these where they can use the yacht and it just be their group, they take advantage of being on Figure Eight. The Cut is their side of the island, no doubt, but between Sarah’s, Isla and Kie’s homes being on Figure Eight, Cleo coming over all of the time for girls’ days, JJ and Pope making deliveries on Figure Eight for Heyward, and John B, of course, spending time at Sarah’s place, they all end up spending time on this side of the island, too.

Isla knows, though, some of her friends aren’t always totally comfortable being here, since The Cut is what they truly know. Sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly stubborn—especially JJ—it’s like pulling teeth trying to get them to hang out somewhere on Figure Eight, or even just Sarah’s house. And Isla gets it; Kooks are assholes and when they see outsiders—or Pogues—they get all righteous and pick fights. Isla knows that Pogues can sometimes be just as bad over on The Cut, but at the same time, no one really kicks out the Kooks when they crash Pogue parties. So Isla can’t really blame her friends for not coming to Figure Eight if they don’t have to. It feels too Kook-like, according to JJ, and Isla agrees sometimes.

But today is an exception. It’s a beautiful day and Sarah had asked Ward if they could use the Druthers; not to take it out or anything, but leave it sitting at the Camerons’ dock while the Pogues hung out on it, grilling food and drinking, ahem, responsibly.

They wanted to just have a chill hang out following JJ quitting his job, even though he didn’t want to be in Kooklandia. But Sarah had given him puppy dog eyes and Kie had smiled flirtatiously, and so he had joined them on the yacht, too. Plus, with enough beers and a few hits of the joint Kie had rolled, JJ has mellowed out.

Kie hasn’t said if anything happened between her and JJ when she left the yacht club with him, despite Isla questioning her. Isla hopes that her sister would tell her if something did happen, but that hope itself seems a little hypocritical, coming from her. So, Isla doesn’t push.

“How much longer on the food, John B?” Kie asks where she sits on the cushioned bench stretching along one side of the deck. She plucks the strings of her ukelele, playing the tune of the Arctic Monkeys song playing through the speakers.

“Two minutes,” John B calls back, waving at the smoke rising from the grill. Next to him, Pope had sliced tomatoes and pulled lettuce leaves, and is now slathering mayonnaise on the burger buns. They both stand shirtless in just swimming trunks, though John B wears a Kiss the Cook apron that Sarah gave him to shield his bare chest from potential oil splatters.

Before lunch is served, Isla places a bookmark in her book before getting up, heading inside the lodge to go to the bathroom. She sees Wheezie on the couch, laying comfortably and seemingly playing a game on her phone. She had asked to hang out on the yacht with them today, and since they all like Wheezie, there was no reason not to invite her.

After Isla quickly uses the bathroom, she walks back out and smiles at the youngest Cameron. “How’s it going, Wheezie? Why’re you sitting in here?” Isla asks, sitting at the end of the L-shaped couch to face Wheezie laying on the other end.

“I get burnt too easily, no matter what kind of sunblock I use,” Wheezie says as she sits up, back resting against the arm rest.

“Well, the food is about to be done,” Isla says, glancing over her shoulder out the sliding glass doors. Looking back at Wheezie, she grins teasingly. “Want me to bring your food in here for you?”

Wheezie rolls her eyes, but she grins. “I think I’ll survive.”

Isla laughs as her gaze shifts, catching sight of the few beaded bracelets Wheezie wears on her wrist. Isla’s smile turns softer, Rafe’s face flashing through her mind. She drags her teeth across her bottom lip before commenting, “I like your bracelets. They’re pretty.”

“Oh, thanks,” Wheezie smiles, raising her wrist to give it a little shake of her bracelets.

“You make them yourself?” Isla asks, despite knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Wheezie answers, pushing up her glasses. “I have a huge bead collection. I even sell them online sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Isla grins, eyebrows rising. “Can you make me one? I’ll pay,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

“First one’s free for friends,” Wheezie replies, which only widens Isla’s grin.

Just then, John B’s voice calls out, “Food’s ready! Come and get it!”

As she and Wheezie get up, the younger girl asks, “I have, like, a crap-ton of colored beads and different shaped beads, like stars and hearts, stuff like that. Is there anything you want specifically?”

Isla considers for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. Rafe’s eyes flicker through her mind. “Baby blue beads, if you have them? And heart beads.”

Wheezie nods a couple of times. “I can do that!”

“Thanks, Wheezie,” Isla smiles as they step back out onto the deck, catching sight of her friends gathering towards the food.

Isla helps herself to a burger, piling on some lettuce and slices of tomatoes before stepping over to the cooler to grab a drink. Except when she opens it, her eyebrows furrow together. “Hey,” she calls over her shoulder. “Where are the sodas?”

“No sodas!” JJ shouts where he sits towards the front, raising his can of beer. She doesn’t need to see his eyes, which are shielded by sunglasses, to know he’s drunk as she catches sight of that lazy grin on his face. “Beer day only! You think Kooks drink Coke or water when they’re chilling on their yacht?” he snorts, patting the ledge of the boat.

“Seriously?” Isla groans. She’s already one beer in and isn’t particularly in the mood for another. “There was supposed to be water in here, too.”

“Come on, man,” Pope sighs in exasperation towards JJ, hand resting on the top of his cap.

Isla puts her plate down, taking another paper plate to cover her food from potential flies or bugs. “I’m gonna get the drinks,” she says, huffing out a breath as she reaches for her denim shorts and pulls them on. She knows the soda cans and water bottles are in the fridge at the house.

“I can go,” Pope says. “It’ll be heavy.”

Isla scoffs, throwing him a look. “I’ve lifted heavier shit at the restaurant,” she reminds him in a deadpan tone, pocketing her phone. She squints at the length of the dock leading to the Cameron estate, cracking a smile. “I’ll be back in ten.”

She walks off the Druthers and begins the trek down the dock. The music from the yacht grows more and more distant as she walks further down the dock, pulling out her phone and going to her texts.

To: Rafe

you back home yet?

Four steps later, his response comes in.

From: Rafe

Yeah, just got back in. You guys still on the Druthers?

To: Rafe

yeah but i’m coming into the house to get some drinks

From: Rafe

Thought you guys would be stacked up on alcohol

To: Rafe

alcohol, yes. but we need water and sodas too lol

She pockets her phone, getting off the dock and approaching the back glass doors of the house and walking inside. Isla hears someone moving around in the kitchen and when she walks in, she grins at the sight of Rafe. He’s in the process of making a protein shake, it looks like, dressed in gray pants with a light blue button down tucked in, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Isla bites her smiling bottom lip, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall on her side as she watches him. She knows he’s just coming back from some meetings that he sits in on with his dad, already having a place in Ward’s company for him to one day take over. Rafe’s watch shines on his wrist and her smile widens when she sees one of the beaded bracelets on his other wrist, the beads dark in color.

“Hi there,” she greets, catching his attention right when he puts the lid on the blender.

Rafe looks up, gaze finding hers and a smile instantly finding his face. It makes her heart flutter, how quickly the smile appears when he looks at her. It lights up his entire handsome face, his feelings so evident, and a comforting fire spreads through Isla—to know she’s the reason for that smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, blue eyes dipping down the length of her, her skin electrifying with delicious awareness everywhere his gaze touches. He rolls his bottom lip into his mouth as she walks over, and Rafe nods towards the box of Coca-Cola and some water bottles sitting on the counter. “Got your drinks out for you.”

“Why, thank you.” The corners of her lips dip downwards in a teasing grin, cheek turning into the shoulder she lifts. “You—” Her hand reaches forward to hook a finger through his belt loop, closing the gap between them while tilting her head back to smile at him as he looks down at her, eyebrows raised. “Look ridiculously handsome.”

It’s unfair how nicely the button down stretches across his broad chest and shoulders, strong forearms shown off with how the sleeves are rolled up. “Oh, yeah?” Rafe murmurs, his one hand leaning against the counter while the other slides up her long dark hair, threading through the strands before his hand cups the back of her head. He applies just the slightest bit of pressure to pull her head back while dipping his head, Isla’s eyes fluttering shut when his lips press to her smiling ones.

She hums into the kiss, chest against his torso and lips parting against his. “Mm, I can’t stay for long,” she murmurs, laughing breathlessly as Rafe trails kisses along her jaw, down her neck. Her head tilts back, eyelashes fluttering in response to his lips working along her neck, a breath shuddering out of her. “Rafe, your parents—”

“Dad and Rose are at work,” he tells her. Isla’s thighs clench when his teeth graze against her skin.

“Okay, but don’t—” Isla laughs when he teasingly, lightly, nips at her and her hands press to his chest. “Do not leave any marks.”

Rafe groans. “Boring,” he says, but when he pulls back he’s grinning. His hands shift so he’s cupping her cheeks, thumbs lightly digging into the dents of her dimples when she grins up at him. “Your cheeks are flushed,” he comments with a chuckle.

Isla hums. “Hot day. Are you going back to work?”

Rafe nods. “Yeah, got an hour and a half to kill though,” he tells her with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh-ho, don’t look at me,” Isla laughs, shaking her head. “I gotta get back to the others.”

But Rafe wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her to him with a burgeoning grin. “I’m sure you have some time to kill,” he muses, and Isla yelps in surprise, hands gripping Rafe’s shoulders, as he lifts her and sits her on the counter, the cool marble chilling the bare skin of her thighs. He kisses her again, hands sliding down her sides, teasing the band of her shorts. “We can be quick,” he says, each word emphasized by a kiss as his fingers brush over the button and zipper of her shorts, but he doesn’t go any further. “Hmm?”

He pulls back to look at her questioningly, but Isla chases his kisses, making him grin knowingly, and she groans because of course she can’t say no to him. “We really will have to be quick,” she says breathlessly, heart thumping at the thrill of anticipation.

Rafe’s smirk is wicked and eager, fingers working to undo her short’s button and zipper. And it’s risky—oh, it’s so risky, but cautious is thrown out the window the second Rafe tugs her shorts off, taking them off all the way and dropping them to the floor. Isla kisses him again, eager to feel the softness of his lips and taste him, as she feels his fingers work at the bows on one side at her hip of her bikini bottom, undoing it to pull it off.

His kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, and Isla’s head tilts back as his lips travel down her sternum, her stomach as he pulls her closer to the edge of the counter before he drops down. Isla’s heart is thunderously in her chest, lips parted as she watches Rafe part her legs further, an eager gleam in his eyes that meet hers as his tongue licks a stripe up her center.

“Oh—God,” Isla shudders, one hand finding the back of his head and the other gripping the edge of the counter, watching and feeling as he licks at her. Electricity shoots through her veins, watching her boyfriend who is dressed up the way he is, as he eats her like she’s his last damn meal, holding back nothing.

Isla’s breaths come out sharply, a moan escaping when Rafe’s teeth graze her clit, the moan becoming a cry when he sucks her clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs before his tongue does something—alternating from fluttering and fucking her, making Isla throw her head back as stars begin to dot her closed lids. Her fingers tighten in his hair, no doubt messing it up, but neither of them seem to care as her hips start moving at their own accord, her breaths coming out like whimpers as she looks down at Rafe, watching him lick and kiss and suck at her.

He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, which only makes her skin fire up more, desire and exhilaration and the slight alarm of potentially getting caught mix together to make her head spin even more. Over the thundering of her heart, Isla can hear the crude sounds of him eating her out, sucking at her lips and tongue licking into her. Rafe knows exactly what to do, showing just as much attention to her clit, and it’s enough for Isla to feel that familiar tensing, electrifying sensation low in her abdomen.

“Oh, God, Rafe—I can’t—I’m gonna—Please.”

Rafe hums against her, giving her clit a slow, wicked suck, and Isla is falling apart with a sharp cry of his name. White flashes across her closed eyes as her climax wracks through her, shaking as Rafe lets her ride through it on his tongue, taking in whatever she can give him.

She’s seconds away from collapsing on her back on the counter—oh, she can’t believe they just did that on the Camerons’ kitchen counter—but Rafe’s arm is around her waist, holding her up as he rises to his feet. When Isla looks at him, trying to catch her breath, a smirk dances on his lips, sinfully shining, as his hand presses to the small of her back, his skin hot against hers.

“Look at that,” Rafe muses cockily as Isla’s slightly widened eyes meet his. “Knew you’d be a good girl.”

Isla exhales sharply, her racing heart only just beginning to settle. “You’re crazy,” she remarks. “And a menace.”

He grins shamelessly. “You like it, though.”

She shakes her head, but smiles nonetheless with heat in her cheeks as Rafe gets some paper towels and helps her clean up. When he helps her off the counter, Isla’s knees shake only a little bit, but she’s able to stand as Rafe ties the strings of her bikini bottoms against her hip. “I can’t believe we just did that,” Isla whispers, hands on her warm cheeks as she watches Rafe tie a cute little bow before he bends to grab her shorts. “On your kitchen counter.”

“It’s no big deal, Isla,” he tells her with a light chuckle, holding her shorts up by the band for her to step into.

“Your family cooks and eats here!” Isla hisses, one hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she puts her right foot into the shorts and then the left. “I mean, that’s—”

“Baby, baby, stop worrying,” Rafe cuts in with a gentle laugh, buttoning and zipping her shorts before cupping her cheeks. Despite her mild freak out, she’s more than a little endeared that he practically dressed her after making her see stars. Chivalry isn’t dead, afterall. “I’ll clean up, if that helps.”

Isla’s eyes widen. “You better,” she says before reaching for the long box of Coke cans. “I gotta get back before they start asking questions.”

He nods to the water bottles. “Let me get you a bag for those.” He opens one of the lower cabinets and pulls out a plastic bag, putting the water bottles in there before handing her the bag. “You sure you don’t need help?”

Isla smiles, stepping over to him. “I’ll be fine, babe,” she says, rising on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “I’ll call you later?”

Rafe grins. “Looking forward to it.”

*****

The yard of the Chateau, with the view of the water, looks gorgeous.

Under Sarah’s leadership, the girls had transformed the outdoor space into a pretty, Pinterest-inspired dinner area. Isla and Kie had borrowed their dad’s pick up truck and used it to bring the bigger supplies, like folding tables and extra chairs. The sunset makes the sky bleed orange into red, reflecting off the water, and the fairy lights that are stretched along above them and tied around the trees and back porch pillars add a fantasy-like glow.

The tables, just two and big enough to fit all seven of them, are covered with a rustic linen tablecloth that will probably get stained by the time dinner is over. There are two cute centerpieces of vases stocked with wildflowers that Isla had picked. The girls all each cooked multiple things—especially given there will be three teenage guys with them who can each eat two people’s worth of food. There’s lasagna, chicken pot pie, Cleo’s famous sandwiches, stuffed peppers, garlic bread. Not to mention the other bits of dessert to go with the birthday cake. Over the screened in porch, facing their set up, a custom made Happy Birthday John B! banner hung, along with balloons tied to the tops of their chairs.

“Okay, Pope just texted,” Cleo announces, her phone screen lighting up her face. “They’re ten minutes out!”

“Okay, okay,” Sarah rushes and Isla smiles in amusement because her friend almost resembles a headless chicken. But she looks pretty, unsurprisingly, in a pale yellow summer dress and sandals, hair in loose waves with the front braided back. “We’ve got everything, right?” she asks, her eyes critically looking over the table set up.

Kie nods, brushing away a fallen leaf from the table. “Good to go, dude,” she confirms, grinning excitedly.

They go inside the house and begin bringing the food out, which they made sure is warm and set it out on the table, though they don’t take off the lids or Seran wrap off the top of the dishes so flies or bugs don’t get into the food. Soda and beer bottles are also brought out and Isla bites back a smile as she watches Sarah needlessly—and nervously—straighten out the utensils placed by the plates.

“We’re good, right? This is good?” Sarah asks, looking around.

“Would you calm down?” Isla laughs, walking over and gripping Sarah’s shoulders from behind before hugging her. “John B’s gonna love it.”

Sarah’s nervousness is only a sign of how much she loves John B, and this is totally not the right time or circumstance to suddenly feel the dull ache of yearning deep in Isla’s chest as she thinks of Rafe. It’s accompanied by the sharp sting of jealousy that comes with witnessing her friends be so openly in love and together, while Isla feels as though she can’t share the beginning bloom of her new relationship with Rafe.

Maybe cowardice is holding her back. No matter when or how Isla tells her friends, she knows that their reactions are not going to be good. The guys and Rafe, with his friends, have gotten into plenty of fights and spats over the years, and Isla isn’t sure her friends are willing to move past that. Part of her worries that Rafe could spend the next few years being civil and, hell, even nice to them without their relationship being revealed, and it would still take a while for her friends not to hate him. Sarah would be the easiest to win over, Isla figures, because her relationship with Rafe has gotten better over the last couple of years.

But the Pogue versus Kook mentality that smothers their island is the root of the resentment between them. Perhaps it’s a bit delusional, but Isla hopes that if she can see Rafe has changed, that he’s a better person than the asshole who used to get into fights with JJ, John B, and Pope, then her friends can see it, too. They would just have to get past, well, the past. And that, she fears, isn’t going to be easy.

“What’s with all the lights?” Isla hears John B’s voice, and she pulls out of her thoughts quickly enough to join the others in exclaiming, “Surprise!”

She sees John B’s eyes widen, hands up in front of him as he says, “Oh, shit,” while a grin grows on his face as he looks at them all with shock lighting up his eyes. “What?” He laughs as JJ grabs his shoulders and gives him a shake, grinning, while Pope steals a page out of JJ’s books and gives John B a noogie.

“Happy birthday, John B,” Sarah smiles, walking over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. His arms instantly wind around her waist, and Kie whistles when the two of them share a kiss. When they pull back, Sarah’s smile widens. “Hope you’re ready to eat,” she says, fingers interlacing with his as she pulls him towards the tables.

She lets go of his hand long enough for the rest of them to step in, and Isla grins at her friend as she wraps her arms around him. “Happy birthday, buddy,” she murmurs, giving him a squeeze that he returns. “Feeling old yet?” she laughs as they pull away, patting his shoulder.

John B’s grin is wide and smug. “Nineteen and never felt younger,” he chuckles, hooking his arm around her neck before they all make their way to the tables. John B lets out a laugh, rubbing his hands together as he says, “Guys, this looks amazing.” To JJ and Pope, he smirks. “No wonder you boys kept me out all day.”

JJ grins, tipping an imaginary hat to Sarah. “We were under strict orders,” he says with a wink as they all sit down.

John B sits at the head, Sarah to his right with Isla next to her and Kie on the other side of Isla. JJ sits to John B’s left, and Pope and Cleo are opposite of Isla and Kie. Among the dishes, there are two three-wick candles adding to the ambiance provided by the fairy lights. “Wow,” John B says again when he sits, smiling in awe as he observes the spread in front of him. “You guys went all out, huh?”

Pope shoots him a grin. “Anything for you, Grandpa,” he says, everyone’s laughter ringing when John B throws him a feigned glare at the knock at his age. Comes with the territory when he’s the oldest of their group.

“Let’s eat!” Sarah says, gesturing for everyone to begin helping themselves.

Their chatter fills the air, along with the clinking of utensils against plates as they serve themselves, piling up their plates with the home cooked dishes. Cleo, having hooked up her phone to the Bluetooth speaker sitting at the base of the tree nearby, plays music in the background, not too loud to overpower their conversation but enough to add to the atmosphere. Dishes are passed back and forth, drinks are poured, and smiles are ever present as the seven of them get lost in this small world they’ve built for themselves.

The guys regale their adventures from today, which was really just an average day in OBX for them. Out on the boat, fishing, surfing, their usual activities that they never get tired of. It’s why John B didn’t suspect the surprise dinner because nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Isla knows that Sarah also has a romantic dinner planned with him tomorrow, but she wanted all of them to spend his actual birthday together, as a family.

And that’s exactly what they do, constant laughter ringing out in between eating and drinking and taking pictures for their memories. “Yo, we should do these more,” John B comments at one point, reaching for his glass. “Like, these family dinners,” he clarifies, gesturing to the table with the glass and a smile.

Cleo points a fork at him, arching an eyebrow. “You say that now because you and the boys did none of the cooking,” she points out.

Isla snaps her fingers, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Next time, y’all are cooking,” Kie says, raising her eyebrow at all three of the guys.

“You trust us in the kitchen?” JJ grins at her, leaning back in his chair with an arm thrown over the back of Pope’s chair. Isla doesn’t miss the way JJ is looking at Kie, a dimple in his cheek and his blue eyes glinting with something far more than something that can be clocked under the guise of a platonic relationship.

Isla rolls her smiling lips into her mouth, hiding it behind the rim of her glass as she sips the Coke. Her gaze flicks to her left, catching Sarah’s own knowing, smiling gaze. On the other side of Isla, Kie snorts out a laugh. “I’m sure you boys are capable,” she muses and oh, man, those two are definitely flirting, whether they realize it or not.

Now Isla is really wondering if something did happen between Kie and JJ, and her sister just hasn’t told her about it.

When they finish eating dinner, they all take the time to take some pictures before Sarah heads inside. She’s only gone for a few minutes, but Isla sees John B’s gaze constantly going to the house, like he’s looking out for her. It makes Isla smile, even as her phone vibrates and she checks to see a text from Sarah.

From: Sarah👸🏼🩵

coming!!!!

Isla thumbs up the message and goes on her phone’s camera, getting to her feet and wiggling her eyebrows at John B’s questioning look right as the backdoor opens and Sarah walks out. “Happy birthday to you. . .” She starts singing with a laugh, and with Isla recording, the rest of them join in on the singing as Sarah walks towards John B, holding the cake with two candles, reading 19, are lit on top and make Sarah’s smiling face glow.

The group of them sing happy birthday to John B as he laughs, delight lighting up his face as Sarah puts the cake in front of him on the table, her smile wide as JJ hands him a knife to cut the cake. “Cut it, old man!” JJ says over the rest of their cheering.

Isla records John B blowing out the candles before he cuts the cake, Sarah standing next to him with her hands pressed together after clapping, pressed against her smiling lips as she watches John B cut the cake. He takes a slice, then, and offers it to Sarah, and Isla and Kie whistle as he feeds it to her. And Isla is so glad she has that video to play it at their inevitable wedding, where they recreate that very moment with their wedding cake. Isla can already, so easily, picture it as she posts one of the photos they took tonight on Instagram.

“Alright, alright, step aside,” Pope says once they’ve finished, taking the knife from John B. “I’ll cut.”

Cleo slides up next to him. “I’ll give it out,” she says, grabbing the pile of small plates.

They get to work, with Pope cutting slices and placing them on plates, which Cleo hands to the rest of them. When Isla notes that JJ is occupied with Sarah and John B, she quickly but casually makes her way to where Kie is cleaning up more of the table and bringing dishes inside. Isla grabs the lasagna dish and hurries after her sister into the house, and Kie glances at her over her shoulder.

“What’s up?” she asks as they enter the kitchen, as though she knows Isla is after something.

“Come on, be honest,” Isla starts, placing the dish on the counter. “Did something happen between you and JJ the other day?”

Kie presses her lips together as she places the pile of dirty plates in the sink. With her back to Isla, her shoulders seem tense, bracing her hands against the counter before she slowly turns to face Isla. Isla, on the other hand, is watching her with eyes slightly widened with anticipation, biting back the urge to yell I knew it! before Kie even has had the chance to say anything.

“We’re going on a date,” Kie slowly says, lips twitching as though she is struggling not to smile.

But Isla’s jaw has dropped, eyes even wider as she stares at her sister in disbelief. So many thoughts run through her head in response to Kie’s words, her pulse racing in excitement, but the first thing she blurts out is, “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down,” Kie hisses, widening her eyes as she walks towards Isla. “We didn’t wanna say anything to anyone until, you know, after. We don’t wanna bring any attention to it because we kind of just wanna see for ourselves, you know, if anything is there.”

Isla scoffs, forehead creasing as she shoots Kie a really? look. “There’s something definitely there,” she states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world—because it is.

Kie rolls her eyes before letting out a breath, her shoulders sinking. Her expression shifts, then, and Isla recognizes the guilt that softens her dark eyes, the downwards tilt of her lips. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t.” Isla’s lips part, but Kie’s hands suddenly find Isla’s, cutting Isla off. “You’re my sister and, y’know, we tell each other all the shit. You’ve been trying to get me to open up to JJ about my feelings and I finally took your advice, and you’re the first person I should’ve told instead of keeping you in the dark.”

Isla can’t lie—the second Kie had told her about going on a date with JJ, Isla had felt a pang of hurt that Kie hadn’t said a word. That she had purposefully kept it a secret even when Isla questioned her about it earlier. Except. . . That’s hypocritical of her, isn’t it? Isla can’t truly, genuinely, be angry with Kie about this when she is keeping an even bigger secret about her own love life.

So whatever guilt Kie is feeling right now, Isla suddenly gets wracked with it tenfold, her throat drying and stomach bottoming out at the expression Kie wears. At this moment, Isla so badly wants to come clean. She wants to tell her sister about her own love life—her boyfriend. And yet, Isla doesn’t feel ready, and she doesn’t think Kie and their friends are ready to hear it, either. Never mind that it’s John B’s birthday and Isla doesn’t want to take the attention away from her friend and his day.

That doesn’t stop her stomach from twisting, though, or feeling her skin prickle with guilt as Kie holds her hands. Kie’s secret with JJ is nothing in comparison to what Isla is hiding from everyone.

“Hey, no, stop,” Isla says with a shake of her head, forcing out a laugh through her bone dry throat. She squeezes Kie’s hands reassuringly. “I’m not upset, alright? I get it. You didn’t have to tell me anything until you were ready to.”

Kie blinks a few times, still looking worried. “Are you sure? Because, like, I know we don’t keep that many secrets from each other, if we even do, you know? I just—”

“Kiara,” Isla says, and the use of her full name has Kie pausing. Resisting the urge to swallow the guilt-laden lump in her throat, Isla smiles again. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you and JJ finally got your heads out of your asses,” she adds playfully, trying to lighten the burden on her chest. It only works a little when Kie laughs.

“Yeah, me too,” she smiles, nodding. To Isla’s surprise, Kie pulls her in for a hug, her arms tight. “Thanks for talking some sense into me about JJ.”

With her chin resting on Kie’s shoulder, Isla’s expression falls and her eyes squeeze shut, feeling like an absolute ass for the hypocrisy that tightens her stomach. Especially with Kie mentioning the lack of secrets between them, which has always been true—except this time. Isla tries reassuring herself that it’s for good reason, that Kie and everyone else aren’t ready to hear the truth that they don’t know even exists.

Still, with her eyes squeezing shut, Isla pushes back the burning sensation. “Anytime,” she responds to Kie.

Thankfully, her sister doesn’t notice the way Isla’s voice has become hoarse with guilt in just that one word answer.

-----

taglist: @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielapereze11 @katieeeeb @diary-of-jj @cenzie811148 @hangmanscoming

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n30nwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Fetch (Shifter! Tf141 x Male! Reader)

Chapter 4 of Good Doggy

Masterlist

Tw - Drunk Assholes (inspired by real stories from me :)), Slight blood warning, Language (its a COD fanfic??), OKAY SO LIKE I GUESS SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE STUFF?? I WANTED TO MAKE IT LONGER. A SMALL SCENE OF NSFW BUT NOTHING TOO DEEP BUT STILL PUTTING A WARNING, ITS IN BETWEEN THE NSFW GRAPHICS. Gaz has a praise kink.

Beta Reader/Editor - @letmelickyoureyeballs

Updated: 3/5/2024

The bar is filled. It’s a Friday night, of course it is but you hate it. You don’t like dealing with assholes. Not after the conversation with Maya.

“I cannot serve you anymore. If you don’t decide to leave I will call the cops.” The man in front of you shouts profanity after profanity, angered by the law. Humans were stupid that way. “Here’s a water.” You slam it down, annoyed.

Idiots. Drunken idiots.

Yeah by Usher starts playing. The club you worked at was loud, you have ear plugs in just so you wouldn’t be overstimulated by everything, but you could still hear enough.

“Why do you have a mask on?” He's irritated already which means that this conversation will not end well. You usually strive to give your coworkers the assholes, not caring that he'll have to deal with it.

"It's to stay safe, I don't want to get sick-"

The man cuts you off and you debate on spitting in his drink, "That's not gonna keep you safe, the only way to stay safe is to build your immune system." He keeps yelling, and some spit leaves his mouth. You place down the menu in front of him as he keeps yelling, "That's the only way to stay safe, not a stupid mask!"

You walk away, going to your coworker and telling him to get his order cause if you do you'll be fired. You instead went over to the list of music that was going to play and put on a favorite song of yours, not caring for some disgruntled noise from other patrons as you bobbed your head to the beat, distracting yourself from the day you had.

"Ye lik' this song mo gaol?" It's the familiar accent and the way the hairs on your arms stand makes you more irritated. It was roughly 1 a.m. and most people would be tired. You'd reckon it would start slowly down in 20 minutes, which meant you could get some work done.

You turned to face Soap.

"I'd hope so, I chose it." You tell him as you get closer to him. "You still stalking me?"

"Ah'ahmnot a stalker, juist wanted a drink." He smiles boyishly, as if he wasn't Sergeant John ``Soap" MacTavish with more confirmed kills than unconfirmed.

"At the bar I work at?"

"Juist a coincidence"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me." You told him while you mixed a drink. "You obviously have something for me."

"A'm in loue wi' ye"

"Not possible." You tell him, interrupting his "confession". You set the drink down in front of him. "$13" You tell him the price.

"I didnae orda a drink?" He looked cheeky, and you wished some part of you didn't find him attractive. But he looks up at you and you can't help but imagine other scenarios, particularly some where you're both naked.

"Well you can either pay for the drink and drink it, or pay for the drink and I'll drink it and talk with you some more." Soap immediately puts down two 20s.

"Th' rest can go to mah bartender." You slip the extra cash into your pocket, going to your POS system and breaking out for your thirty minute break that was required. You grabbed the drink on the counter and left your work area, Soap following behind like a puppy. You found a booth in the corner most people avoided. Sitting down at what could fit five others at most. Your mind goes back to Maya, who’s probably taking care of Icarus, your dog, and Marigold, her familiar. Maya worked as well, but it was an in-house job where she dealt with customers in need of assistance.

"You hurt our feelin`s earlier," He says first as you take a sip of the drink you made. "Hae we dane something tae offend ye?"

"Don't want to get your hopes up." You tell him, "I'm not one for soulmates."

"So ye know?"

"Of course I do. You reek of wolf." He starts to sniff himself and you want to laugh at how ridiculous it looks. "You wouldn't be able to smell it. And it's not a bad smell, just obnoxious cause there's four of you."

"So ye aren't human."

"Nope, never was."

"What are ye?" You never felt shame in what you were. Didn't feel shame in general, it took Maya for you to start walking around in clothes.

But you didn't want to tell him.

"None of your business."

Gaz knows that Price is going to talk about the bloodshed in the morning. He knows that Price already knows but doesn't care to stop it tonight. Price is just too drunk, Ghost doesn’t care, and Soap is who knows where. It wasn’t like he killed humans tonight, just some animals that were definitely going to get the town's attention (He might’ve killed a bear) but not the hunters.

He's decorated in blood and he loves it. It soothes some messed-up part of him. His teeth still have specks of flesh in it, that he licks clean

He smells you. Heavenly you. You who smells like some plant burning. He didn't understand it, but he loved it.

You're next to Soap, and Soap has the biggest grin as you walk together.

Though you probably don't see it as together. You probably see it as him stalking you, but you don't seem to have your usual air of distaste. You have sunglasses on, something he hates cause he can't stare at them. Your mask is black, and you also have a hood on. You look perfect, he just wishes you were in his bedroom.

Preferably naked and-

Nope.

He kind of hates it at the same time though. Soap getting so close to you, still determined to find a way to be with you. Soap didn't lose hope, not like Gaz did. But he'd be damned if he didn't do something. He lets out a growl, standing menacingly as he runs forward, towards both of you, knocking Soap down as he growls at him, his teeth snapping. If Gaz doesn't get to be happy, Soap shouldn't either.

He just wasn't expecting your reaction.

"Get off him." He followed your command, staring up at you and following your eyes when you bent down to be eye level with him. "God you are so..."

"Cute." Your voice gets higher as you gently rub behind his ears, the blood not bothering you at all. Gaz almost forgets how you looked at him earlier, your words that cut him melted away and he just thinks he has a chance.

You loved dogs, who wouldn't? Even if that dog was actually a grown (hot) man.

"Look who's such a pretty boy." You kept rubbing his head as Soap just stared in shock. "Such a handsome boy, who did you eat?" You coo at Gaz, who leans into your touch and praise, enjoying everything about this moment. Gaz has to take a moment to remember himself, that the praise you give him is nothing.

But he can't help but imagine scenarios in a different setting.

NSFW Start

It's such a simple setting. In his room, the lights are low. He's flushed, shirtless and on the floor, while you sit above him.

"Can't you be a good boy for me?" You lick your lip before biting it, you stare at him, your eyes actually showing, looking at him with lust and love. A perfect combination, and your lips, god, you were perfect for him. "Come on, you know you want to." You lower your shorts and Gaz gulps, he stares at your cock, mesmerized.

"You're hungry for it, aren't you whore?"

NSFW End

"Arr ye fecken' kidding me?" Soap says, breaking the peaceful moment, and Gaz's daydream. "A' it took wis a wolf fur ye to lik' us?"

"I still don't like you all, but dogs are always a great company." You keep petting him, Gaz's eyes closing slightly, and Soap sits up.

"Ah can do that toh." His accent gets thicker as he rushes to grab your hand, forcing it away from Gaz and instead putting it in his hair. Which was mostly shaved on the sides.

"You aren't a cute puppy right now." You yank your hand away.

"He's fooken' bloody!"

Gaz licks your face, and you slightly smile.

----

Listen, hating people is one thing but I could never hate a dog, let alone a wolf. Reader still doesn't feel comfortable around the boys, but he does like the dogs.

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 3 months ago

Text

Headcanons! - Kim Seo-Wan

Character: Kim Seo-Wan X fem!reader

Summary: Headcanons!

Warnings: none!

1. Seo-Won often leaves little notes for you when you’re feeling down, scribbling sweet, encouraging messages that remind you how strong you are, even when you’re not feeling your best.

2. He always knows when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed, and will gently reach out to hold your hand or place his hand on your shoulder, silently offering comfort without needing to say anything.

3. When you have a tough day and need someone to lean on, Seo-Won will sit beside you in silence, offering quiet companionship. Sometimes the best thing is just being together, without words.

4. He loves drawing little doodles or writing random thoughts in a notebook, often sharing them with you. He’s shy about his art but wants you to see it as a way of expressing himself.

5. Seo-Won has a habit of softly humming his favorite songs when he feels anxious or upset. It’s his little way of calming down, and sometimes he’ll hum just a little louder when you’re in the room, hoping it’ll help you too.

6. On quiet days, he’ll try to distract you from the hospital routine by telling you funny stories or quoting movies you both enjoy. His lightheartedness can sometimes lift your spirits in ways he doesn’t realize.

7. If you’re ever feeling particularly down, he’ll offer to read to you from a book, even if it's just a chapter or two. It’s his way of trying to share something positive with you and help you escape for a little while.

8. Seo-Won is incredibly sensitive to your feelings and will make sure to ask how you’re doing throughout the day, even if it’s just to check in with a soft “Are you okay?”

9. He’s not great at opening up, but when you share your own struggles, he listens carefully, nodding along with an empathetic expression. Then, when you need reassurance, he’ll quietly remind you that you’re not alone in this.

10. Sometimes, Seo-Won gets nervous when you’re not feeling well, and he might pace a little in the room or fiddle with something in his hands, but he always makes sure to ask if you need anything, no matter how small.

11. He’ll try his best to make sure you’re comfortable, adjusting your pillow or bringing you extra blankets when you need them. His attentiveness is his way of showing he cares, even in small, quiet gestures.

12. Seo-Won loves telling you about the dreams he has, even though they don’t always make sense. He finds comfort in sharing his strange visions with you, and he secretly enjoys hearing your thoughts on them.

13. When the two of you are together in the hospital, he’s always finding little ways to make the atmosphere a little more bearable—whether it’s setting up a cozy corner with pillows or bringing in snacks that he thinks you’ll like.

14. Seo-Won tends to get a bit self-conscious when his mood dips, but whenever you remind him that you’re there for him no matter what, he’ll give you a shy smile, appreciating the reassurance more than he lets on.

15. On days when his anxiety is high, Seo-Won might get quiet, retreating into his own thoughts. He’ll let you know if he needs some space, but he’ll always make sure to reassure you that it’s nothing personal.

16. When you’re both in the hospital and it’s time to rest, Seo-Won will quietly ask if you’re comfortable before settling down, making sure you’re all tucked in before he gets comfortable himself.

17. Seo-Won gets a little shy when you compliment him, especially when you praise his creativity or his thoughtful gestures. He’ll blush and try to brush it off, but deep down, he really appreciates it.

18. Sometimes, he’ll get up in the middle of the night to grab water or check on something, but he’ll always check on you too, making sure you’re okay, especially if he knows you’re having a hard time sleeping.

19. Seo-Won enjoys giving you little gifts, like flowers he picks from the garden or a small trinket he finds in the hospital gift shop, just to remind you that he’s thinking of you.

20. When things feel overwhelming, Seo-Won will try to comfort you by offering small distractions—maybe a puzzle to work on together, a simple card game, or something else that helps take your mind off everything.

🍊🍋🫒

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novaursa · 9 months ago

Note

Hey again! 😃 Ok, so I've got 4 requests for you (since now it's 1K words per person).

I was thinking of some "lost" scenes from that Alicent fic I requested, but this time it's about the Reader's bond with each of his children.

With Aegon - A scene in which R catches Aegon drunk after a night out, and pulls him aside to listen to his concerns about fulfilling his duties and being responsible in general. Reader remains understanding and tells Aegon that no matter how old he gets, he can always count on his help, but that he has to find his way on his own (Aegon looks more closely at his father and sets him as an example of how a prince/king should behave.

With Helaena - A scene in which Reader takes her to Essos for a trip to a jungle (idk if there exists jungles in Essos, but let's pretend they do) on a quest to find more exotic bugs. Should be fun and playful! Maybe R trips over a root and lands on his bum, and that's what makes his darling daughter laugh so much.

With Aemond - That one scene after he gets gifted with "The Pink Dread". The Reader comforts him and even dares to tell him that should he have had a pink(ish) dragon, that's the nickname that he would bestow upon it (think of how people would expect TPD to be some small creature - yes, like a pig - but no, it's a FRIGGIN' DRAGON! 😂😂😂). Also, R mentions how he sees a lot of himself in Aemond (particularly related to his own youth).

With Daeron - The scene where he visits him in Oldtown and where R goes all buddy-buddy with Gwayne (one of the only sane guys in HoTD, I swear). Daeron impresses R with his musical skills and takes him to see Tessarion (who is happy to play the part of a big puppy - like rolling around on its back and bearing its belly to get free scratches 😉).

Where Dragons Dare (Lost Chapters)

- Summary: Unrecorded moments with each of your children, that no Maester will ever write about.

- Pairing: father!reader/targ!children (platonic)

- Note: Since this was regarding your previous request that was turned into three part series, I've made an exception for you. Enjoy. ❤️

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 3/3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

You stride through the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep, the evening air heavy with the scent of incense and wine from the feast held in your honor. A king’s life is one of constant vigilance, not only for the realm but also for your own blood. The weight of your crown and responsibilities settles upon your shoulders, the unspoken burdens of the Iron Throne. It is a life you have come to accept.

But not everyone does.

The clink of armor catches your attention, and you hear a hushed voice speaking to one of the guards near the side entrance. You already know what you will find before you round the corner. Aegon—your eldest son, your heir—is once again trying to sneak into the keep after a night in the lower city. His form, slightly slouched, leaning against the doorway, makes it clear that his night's indulgences have taken their toll.

You sigh softly, but there is no malice in it. This is not the first time. It won’t be the last.

"Aegon," your voice, even and steady, cuts through the stillness of the night, causing your son to stiffen. He turns slowly, his eyes glassy, yet there is a flicker of recognition. His silver hair, unkempt, falls into his face as he gives you a sheepish smile, one that reminds you so much of his mother when she tries to conceal her worries.

"Father," he mumbles, straightening himself as much as his state will allow. He’s a prince of the blood, but in this moment, he looks like nothing more than a wayward boy caught in the act.

"Walk with me," you say simply, motioning for him to follow. There's no need for a reprimand, not yet. You both know where this conversation is headed. You step into the open air, out onto one of the quieter terraces that overlook the city below.

Aegon follows, his steps slightly uneven, but he doesn't protest. The two of you stand there for a moment, the distant sounds of King's Landing below humming in the background. The city never truly sleeps, much like a king’s responsibilities.

After a while, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You’ve been out drinking again."

Aegon leans on the stone balustrade, staring at the lights flickering in the darkness. "It’s not like anyone missed me," he mutters, his voice heavy with bitterness. "I’m no good at all this. What does it matter?"

"It matters because you’re the future king," you reply, your tone calm but firm. "Your actions don’t only reflect on yourself; they reflect on the crown, on our family."

At this, Aegon snorts softly, his lip curling into a sardonic smile. "Aegon the Unready, that’s what they’ll call me," he mutters, almost to himself. "They all expect me to be like you. I’ll never be that. I can barely stand the weight of their stares, let alone a crown."

There is silence for a moment, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below. The firelight dances across the sharp planes of your son’s face, making him seem older than he is, and yet still so young. You can see the weight of expectation, the fear of failure, all of it etched into his features.

You step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, the familiar comfort of a father’s touch. "I wasn’t always certain either," you admit, the words carrying the weight of your own journey to the throne. "When I was young, I doubted myself just as you do now."

Aegon looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. It’s rare for you to speak of your own vulnerabilities. You are the king—stoic, dutiful, unwavering. But tonight, you let that mask slip, if only for your son.

"You don’t need to be me," you say quietly. "You need to find your own way. Being king isn’t about perfection. It’s about responsibility, about understanding that you carry the hopes and fears of an entire realm on your shoulders. And yes, sometimes it’s heavy. But that’s why we’re here—to bear it, so others don’t have to."

Aegon’s gaze falls to the ground, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone railing. "I’m not sure I can," he admits after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to fail you."

Your heart clenches at the vulnerability in his words, the rawness of his fear. You step closer, turning to face him fully. "You won’t," you say firmly. "Not as long as you’re willing to try. You will make mistakes, we all do, but that’s part of the journey. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, Aegon, always."

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you see not just the rebellion, not just the stubbornness, but the uncertainty and the longing for approval. He is so much like you were at his age, fighting against the very things that would one day define him.

"You’ve always been there for me," he says, his voice softer now, more introspective. "I just…I don’t want to be a disappointment."

"You’re not," you reply, without hesitation. "And you never will be. You will grow into this role, just as I did, just as many before us have. But it takes time. You will find your way, but you must be willing to take the first steps. Recklessness won’t serve you well when you sit on the throne."

Aegon nods, swallowing hard. He’s listening now, really listening. You can feel the shift in him, the internal battle as he begins to process your words. His posture relaxes just slightly, and he looks at you with a newfound respect.

"I look at you," he says quietly, "and I see what a king should be. You always know what to do. How did you learn?"

You smile faintly, the memories of your own trials and lessons flickering in your mind. "By making mistakes. By learning from them. And by trusting in those who love me. You’ll learn too, Aegon. But you have to start by taking responsibility for your actions. If you want to be a good king, you have to be a good man first."

He nods again, more resolutely this time. There’s still doubt in his eyes, but also something else—a spark of determination, a glimmer of hope.

"I’ll try," he says, the words holding more weight than any drunken apology ever could.

"I know you will," you reply, squeezing his shoulder one last time before stepping back. "But for now, let’s get you to bed. You can begin to prove yourself tomorrow."

As you guide your son back into the castle, you feel the familiar pull of duty and love intertwine within you. The road ahead will not be easy for Aegon, just as it wasn’t easy for you. But tonight, at least, a small part of that path has been cleared, and your son—your heir—is beginning to take his first steps toward the man he will one day become.

The warm, humid air of the jungle clings to your skin as you lead Helaena through the dense foliage, her excitement as palpable as the buzz of insects that fills the air around you. She’s always been different from her siblings—quiet, introspective, but with a mind that sees wonders where others see only the mundane. Today, her joy is infectious, and as you glance over your shoulder, you see her eyes wide with fascination, darting from tree to tree in search of her beloved bugs.

"Father, look!" she exclaims, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She crouches down, her slender fingers delicately picking up a beetle with iridescent wings, the colors shifting from emerald to sapphire in the dappled sunlight that pierces through the canopy above.

You smile at her, marveling at how her joy lights up the whole forest, making even the most alien surroundings feel like home. "That’s a beautiful one," you say, stepping closer to inspect her latest find. "What do you suppose it eats?"

Helaena tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she watches the beetle crawl over her hand. "I think it feeds on nectar from the flowers," she muses, "or maybe the sap from the trees. Look at the way its legs move—so delicate, but strong."

You crouch beside her, nodding as you study the small creature. "You could be right. You always know more about these things than I do." Your tone is light, teasing, but there’s truth in your words. Helaena’s understanding of the natural world has always been beyond her years, her connection to it deep and mysterious.

The two of you continue your journey deeper into the jungle, the air growing thicker with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Vines drape lazily from towering trees, and the occasional call of a bird echoes in the distance. Helaena moves with purpose, her gaze constantly scanning the ground, the trees, the air above for any new creatures she hasn’t yet discovered.

"Do you think there are bugs in Essos that no one in Westeros has ever seen?" she asks suddenly, her voice filled with a childlike wonder that makes you smile.

"I’m sure of it," you reply, pushing aside a low-hanging branch to let her pass. "That’s why we came here, isn’t it? To find something new, something no one’s ever written about in their tomes or sung about in their songs. Maybe you’ll discover the most magnificent bug the world’s ever seen."

Helaena beams up at you, her lavender eyes shimmering with excitement. "And I’ll name it after you," she says with a giggle, skipping ahead a few paces. "A beetle, maybe, or a butterfly—something regal."

You chuckle at the thought, shaking your head. "I can’t think of anything less regal than a bug named after me. But if anyone could make it sound important, it’s you."

The laughter between the two of you echoes through the trees, light and easy, as you continue on your way. You’re not following any particular path—there are no roads here, no guides to lead you. Just the two of you, father and daughter, on an adventure through the wilds of Essos.

As you step over a moss-covered log, you glance back at Helaena to see her crouching low again, examining a cluster of bright red flowers. Her fascination with the natural world has always been a source of pride for you, something that sets her apart in a family so often consumed by politics and power. Out here, in the quiet of the jungle, she’s in her element.

You’re so focused on her that you don’t notice the thick root winding through the underbrush until it’s too late. Your foot catches, and before you can catch yourself, you’re tumbling forward, arms flailing as you lose your balance. You hit the ground with a soft thud, landing squarely on your backside.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then—

Helaena bursts into laughter, the sound bright and musical, like the ringing of silver bells. She clutches her sides, doubling over as the laughter shakes her small frame, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Father!" she manages to gasp between fits of giggles. "You—you tripped on a root!"

You sit there for a moment, stunned, before letting out a laugh of your own. "Apparently, your father is no match for a jungle root," you say, shaking your head as you sit up, brushing leaves from your clothes. "I was so busy watching you, I forgot to watch where I was going."

Helaena, still laughing, steps over to you and offers a hand, her grin wide and infectious. "Here, let me help you up, Father. You’ve fallen in the dirt like one of your regal bugs."

You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet, though it’s more symbolic than anything—she’s small and slender, and you mostly stand up on your own. Still, the gesture warms your heart, and you smile down at her.

"I suppose even kings can fall every now and then," you say, brushing off the last of the dirt from your breeches. "Especially when they’re distracted by a daughter who’s far too clever for her own good."

Helaena’s laughter finally subsides, though her smile remains, bright and full of affection. "I’m just glad I was here to see it," she says, her voice teasing but sweet. "I’ll have to remember this next time Aegon or Aemond try to act all serious."

You raise an eyebrow at her, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. "Oh? Are you planning on using this against me?"

She shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe. It depends on how much I need to bargain with them next time."

The two of you share another laugh, and the moment feels light, easy—like the weight of the crown and the responsibilities you both bear have been left far behind in Westeros, forgotten in the simplicity of a jungle trek and shared laughter.

As you continue walking, you let Helaena lead, her steps more confident now as she moves through the underbrush. The jungle is alive with sound—chirping insects, rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen animals—and you find yourself marveling at how small and vast the world can feel all at once.

"Father," Helaena says after a while, her tone more thoughtful now, "thank you for bringing me here. I know there are more important things you could be doing back home, but…this means a lot to me."

You smile at her, feeling a swell of pride and affection. "There’s nothing more important than spending time with you, Helaena. The realm can wait a few days. Besides, I think we’ve both learned something valuable today—like how to avoid tree roots."

She giggles again, but there’s warmth in her eyes, the kind of warmth that makes you realize just how precious these moments are. The crown may be heavy, the throne demanding, but here, in the jungles of Essos, it’s just you and your daughter, sharing an adventure neither of you will ever forget.

"Now," you say, clapping your hands together as you glance around at the trees towering above, "shall we see what other exotic bugs we can find? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me falling on my backside this time?"

Helaena grins, her face lighting up with renewed excitement. "Let’s!" she says, darting ahead into the greenery, her laughter trailing behind her as you follow, ready for whatever adventure lies ahead.

The halls of the Red Keep seemed quieter than usual today. It was a rare stillness, the kind that hung heavy with unspoken tension. You could sense something had happened, though no one had yet brought it to your attention. You had spent much of the afternoon in the library, pouring over old maps of the Narrow Sea, but something in the air felt wrong.

As you rounded the corner toward the private wing where your children’s chambers lay, you heard faint sniffling. The sound was quiet, but unmistakable. You quickened your pace and followed the sound until you found Aemond, sitting alone on the cold stone floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His face was buried, but even from this distance, you could tell he had been crying.

"Aemond?" you called softly, kneeling beside him. "What’s happened?"

Aemond looked up at you, and your heart sank at the sight of his tear-streaked face. His usual stern, stoic expression was gone, replaced by vulnerability, the kind only a young boy trying so hard to be a man could wear.

"It’s nothing, Father," he muttered, wiping furiously at his eyes, though the gesture did little to hide the redness.

You sit beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Something has upset you, and I would like to know what it is."

For a moment, Aemond says nothing, as if weighing whether or not to burden you with whatever weighs on him. But eventually, his resolve crumbles, and he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s them. Jace, Luke...and Aegon. They—they played a trick on me."

You feel a tightening in your chest. You had heard rumblings before of the teasing that occasionally happened between your sons and your sister Rhaenyra’s sons, but this felt different. There was something more painful in Aemond’s voice.

"What kind of trick?" you ask gently, though you already have a sinking suspicion about what might have occurred.

Aemond’s cheeks flush with shame as he looks away. "They—they told me they had a dragon for me," he begins slowly, each word weighed with embarrassment. "I’ve always wanted one, and I thought… maybe this time…"

His voice trails off, and you feel your heart break for him. You know how much Aemond has longed for a dragon of his own, how he watches his siblings and cousins with their dragons, envy and longing etched into his every glance.

"They said it was waiting for me," he continues, his voice shaking. "So I went to the dragon pit. I was so excited, Father. I thought—maybe, finally—" His breath hitches as fresh tears well in his eyes, but he quickly wipes them away, trying to be strong.

"And then I saw it," he says bitterly. "A pig. They dressed up a pig and called it the 'Pink Dread.' They were all laughing, all of them, even Aegon."

A cold anger flares in your chest at the cruelty of the prank. You can picture it all too easily: Aegon and the boys snickering behind Aemond’s back as he approached the animal, thinking, for one precious moment, that his dream had finally come true. You know how deeply this would have cut Aemond, how much it hurt him to be humiliated in front of his family. But for now, you push that anger aside. This moment is about Aemond, not them.

"Come here," you say softly, pulling Aemond into your arms. He resists at first, too proud to cry in front of you, but after a moment, he lets himself lean into you, his small frame trembling as he clutches at your tunic.

You stroke his hair, the familiar silver strands soft beneath your fingers. "I’m sorry that happened to you, Aemond," you whisper, your voice full of warmth and understanding. "That was cruel, and you didn’t deserve it."

He pulls back slightly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "They all have dragons," he says, his voice thick with frustration. "Why not me? Why am I the only one without one?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. "Sometimes, life doesn’t seem fair," you say honestly. "It can feel like the things we want most are the things we’re denied, no matter how hard we wish for them."

Aemond looks up at you, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "But one day, Aemond," you continue, your voice full of quiet conviction, "you will have a dragon of your own. I know it. And when you do, you’ll be a better rider than any of them, because you’ve waited. You’ve longed for it. That’s something they’ll never understand."

He listens intently, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words settle in. "And you know," you add with a smile, "if you ever did have a dragon that was pink, you could give it a name far more fitting than they ever imagined."

Aemond blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

You lean in conspiratorially, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Think about it. A pink dragon, breathing fire, soaring over the battlefield. No one would laugh then. And you could call it the 'Pink Dread'—a name that would strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. They would hear it and tremble, knowing what it meant."

For the first time, a small smile pulls at Aemond’s lips. The idea takes root in his mind, and you can see his imagination sparking to life. "The Pink Dread," he murmurs, as if testing the words. "That… that would be funny. No one would laugh at a pink dragon breathing fire."

You nod, your heart warming at the sight of his growing confidence. "Exactly. They may laugh now, but one day, you’ll be the one laughing."

Aemond looks up at you, his blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you see a younger version of yourself reflected in him. The same yearning, the same fierce determination to prove oneself, the same frustration at being left behind while others surged ahead. You had been that boy once, trying to find your place, trying to prove you were worthy.

"I see a lot of myself in you, Aemond," you say softly, your voice filled with quiet pride. "When I was your age, I often felt the same way. I watched others get what I longed for, and it made me feel… less. But it didn’t stay that way forever. And it won’t for you either."

Aemond frowns slightly, looking down at the ground. "You were like me?"

You chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. "More than you might think. I wasn’t always so sure of myself. It takes time, but you’ll find your way, Aemond. You’ll grow into your own, just like I did. And when you do, there will be no one more capable than you."

Aemond’s small smile widens slightly, the last traces of tears fading from his eyes. "I’ll remember that, Father," he says, a quiet strength returning to his voice.

You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You are strong, Aemond. Stronger than you know. And one day, the world will see that too."

As you sit there with him, the warmth of the Red Keep surrounding you both, you know that the sting of today’s prank will fade, but the lessons Aemond is learning now—about resilience, about strength, about finding his place in the world—will shape him into the man he will one day become. And you will be there, guiding him, as he grows into the prince, and the dragonrider, you know he is destined to be.

It had been far too long since you’d visited Oldtown, and the excitement of seeing Daeron again filled you with anticipation. His letters had spoken highly of his time here, his training, and how much he had grown, but there was nothing quite like seeing it for yourself.

The familiar scent of saltwater from the Whispering Sound mixed with the spices and perfumes of the bustling city as you made your way through its cobbled streets. Your memories of Oldtown were filled with childhood games, racing through the alleyways, and the company of old friends. One of those friends, you knew, was waiting for you just inside the Hightower.

As you passed through the gates, you saw him: Gwayne Hightower, your childhood companion and steadfast friend. He stood tall, wearing the colors of House Hightower, a broad smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you.

"Your Grace!" Gwayne called out, his arms open in welcome as he walked toward you with the easy confidence that only an old friend could have. "I was wondering when we’d see you again."

You smiled broadly, clasping his forearm in a firm handshake before pulling him into a warm embrace. "Gwayne, it’s been far too long," you said, clapping him on the back before stepping back to look at him. "You haven’t changed a bit."

Gwayne chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I could say the same of you, but we both know a crown has its way of changing a man."

You smirked, shaking your head. "Perhaps, but Oldtown doesn’t. It feels like I’m stepping back into my youth."

"And that’s just what Daeron’s been waiting for," Gwayne said, his voice filled with pride. "He’s been practicing something special for your arrival."

The two of you made your way into the Hightower, exchanging stories of the years gone by. Gwayne filled you in on Daeron’s progress, not only in his studies but in his musical pursuits, something that had come as a surprise to you when you’d first heard of it. Daeron had always been a quiet boy, thoughtful and dutiful, but you hadn’t expected him to take to music with such dedication.

As you entered one of the private chambers, there he was—Daeron, your youngest son, sitting with a lute in his hands. His bright eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly set the instrument aside to rise and bow.

"Father," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I’m so glad you’re here."

You smiled, stepping forward to pull him into a quick embrace. "It’s good to see you, Daeron. I’ve been looking forward to this visit."

Daeron stepped back, a hint of shyness in his expression, but there was also pride. "I’ve been practicing," he said, gesturing to the harp behind him. "Would you like to hear?"

"Of course," you said, sitting down as Gwayne settled in beside you, both of you eager to see how much Daeron had improved.

Daeron returned to his seat, his fingers brushing the strings of the lute with ease. The melody that filled the room was soft at first, delicate and sweet, but soon it grew into something more complex, full of emotion and depth. His fingers moved skillfully, the notes flowing effortlessly across from the lute, creating a sound that was both soothing and captivating.

You watched him closely, impressed by the concentration and passion in his playing. He had grown so much, not just in skill, but in confidence. When he finished, the last note lingering in the air, you clapped your hands together, beaming with pride.

"That was beautiful, Daeron," you said earnestly. "You’ve improved so much. I never knew you had such a talent."

Daeron blushed slightly but smiled, pleased with your approval. "Thank you, Father. I’ve been practicing every day. It helps me focus."

Gwayne leaned over, grinning. "He’s the pride of Oldtown, your Grace. Everyone speaks of his music as much as his dragon."

At the mention of Tessarion, Daeron’s eyes brightened even more. "Speaking of which, would you like to see her?"

"I wouldn’t miss it," you said, standing and motioning for him to lead the way.

The three of you made your way through the halls of the Hightower and out toward the dragon stable where Tessarion was kept. As you walked, Daeron talked animatedly about his time in Oldtown, how much he had learned, and how attached he had become to his dragon. You could hear the excitement in his voice, and it warmed your heart to see him so full of life and purpose.

When you reached the stable, you were greeted by the sight of Tessarion, her blue and silver scales gleaming in the soft light of dusk. She was still small by dragon standards, no larger than a large horse, but she had a regal air about her. However, that air of regalness disappeared the moment she saw Daeron.

With an excited rumble, Tessarion bounded toward him, her wings fluttering slightly as she lowered her head and rolled onto her back, exposing her soft underbelly in a clear plea for scratches. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—this mighty dragon, one day destined to be a force to be reckoned with, now behaving more like a playful pup than a creature of legend.

Daeron laughed too, kneeling beside her and rubbing her belly with both hands, her tail thumping happily against the ground.

"She’s just like a dog!" you exclaimed, amusement bubbling in your chest.

"She likes to be scratched here," Daeron said, his voice full of affection as he rubbed Tessarion’s side. "She’s still young, but she’ll grow big and strong. One day, she’ll be the fiercest dragon in all the realm."

"That, I have no doubt," you replied, watching as Tessarion nuzzled into Daeron’s hand, her eyes half-closed in contentment.

You knelt beside Daeron, reaching out to touch Tessarion’s shimmering scales. Her hide was warm under your palm, her breathing slow and steady as she basked in the affection. "She’s a beauty, Daeron. You should be proud."

"I am," Daeron said quietly, glancing at you. "She’s my closest friend."

There was something in his voice, a depth of connection between boy and dragon that was rare and powerful. You had seen it with your other children and their dragons, but with Daeron and Tessarion, it felt different. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that ran deep.

You smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "She’ll be a great dragon, Daeron, and you’ll be a great rider. Tessarion’s lucky to have you."

"And I’m lucky to have her," Daeron replied, his hand never leaving her side.

For a while, the three of you sat there in the dragonpit, Tessarion’s soft rumbles the only sound in the still evening air. The world seemed far away, the troubles of the realm forgotten in the warmth of family and the comfort of an old friend.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Oldtown in shades of gold and pink, you looked at Daeron, filled with pride at the man he was becoming. He had found his place here, among his studies, his music, and his dragon. He had grown into himself, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held for him.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you said quietly, your voice filled with affection. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."

Daeron smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "I’ve missed you too, Father. I’m glad you’re here."

And as Tessarion rolled over onto her side, thumping her tail against the ground with contentment, you realized that moments like this—simple, peaceful moments with your children—were worth more than any crown or throne.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #alicent hightower #hotd x male reader #hotd alicent #hotd aemond #hotd aegon #hotd daeron #hotd helaena #alicent x male reader #alicent x you #alicent x reader

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hamburgerndsprite · 4 months ago

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Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 7

(Also, all the moodboards are edited by me therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs)

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{SERIES}

➺ Office CEO AU by jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

Pairing: CEO! BTS x worker! Reader Genre: fluff + angst + smut Summary: you work for seven CEOs who have called you into their office due to a complaint Chapters in chronological order: 10.5 -> 12.5 -> 4-6, 8.5 -> 13.5 -> 1-3 -> 7 -> 7.5 -> 8 -> 9 -> 10 -> 11 -> 12 -> 13 -> 14.5 -> 14 -> 15 -> 16…

➺ Whirlwind by secret-kpoplibrary

Pairing: Hybrid! BTS x Reader Chapters: 16/16 Genre: Fluff Summary: You wouldn’t say your life is perfect, far from it in fact, but you make the best of it anyway. But a rapidly occurring series of events in your life results in a lot of changes. Some good, some bad. It’s hard to tell when it’ll end, but you find yourself meeting new people along the way that make you feel like you can tackle just about anything that comes your guys’ way.

➺ Shadows and Wolfsbane by daydream-hobii

Pairing: BTS x Female!Reader; Alpha!Reader, Beta!Seokjin, Alpha!Yoongi, Alpha!Hoseok, Alpha!Namjoon, Omega!Jimin, Beta!Taehyung, Beta!Jungkook Genre: Poly!AU; Werewolf!AU; Shapeshifter!AU; Fluff; Angst Chapters: 20/20 Summary: Y/N is the youngest Alpha in her compound, owning a whole village. She was born by two Omegas, and originally wanted to be killed, but things were changing in her universe. At the end of the year, each Alpha can pick up to 30 new warriors, wolves that have been training, and the youngest always starts. Y/N never really chooses, asks for the ones who were unwanted such as the old or disabled. This time, she picks the strongest seven players among the warriors, and the other Alphas aren’t too happy, but she chose them for other reasons…. Hopefully, they’ll help her with the predicament she’s found herself in….

➺ Shelter Of Hope by daydream-hobii

Pairing: Hybrid BTS x Female!Reader; Human!Reader, Human!Namjoon, White Persian Cat!Seokjin, Siamese Cat!Yoongi, Border Collie!Hoseok, Calico Cat!Jimin, Australian Shepherd!Taehyung, Siberian Husky!Jungkook Genre: Poly!AU; Hybrid!AU; Fluff; Angst Chapters: 25/25 Summary: Y/N and her husband Namjoon are the proud owners of a hybrid shelter, protecting and saving as many hybrids as they can. They have a couple of their own, a cat and dog hybrid, whom they love with all their hearts. In the shelter, they gain some hybrids with trauma filled pasts, and one particular one who no one seems to want. What will happen when their little family of four turns to eight?

➺ To Build A Home by euphoricfilter

Pairing: Fox Hybrid! Jin, Human! Namjoon, Human! Yoongi, Wolf Hybrid! Hoseok, Cat Hybrid! Jimin, Wolf Hybrid! Taehyung, Fox Hybrid! Jungkook x 9-tailed fox! reader Genre: Hybrid AU || Fluff || Angst || Smut/ implied smut || Strangers to lovers AU || Best friends to lovers AU Chapters: 10/10 + Drabbles Story summary: With the government's hybrid sector hot on your tails (no pun intended), you have less than a year to solve the problem before they're legally allowed to take you in as a lab rat. What you didn't anticipate was the addition of 6 new members of your and Jin's happy duo. Luckily you both had enough love for 6 others.

[KIM NAMJOON]

{ONESHOT}

➺ God Of Destruction by jimlingss

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Words: 7434 Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut, Fantasy Au Summary: Everything he touches breaks; except for you.

➺ Red by sailoryooons

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader ☾ Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you. ☾ Word Count: 21,148 ☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

➺ A Very Personal Assistant by mintjoonlep

Pairing: CEO! Namjoon/ Personal assistant! Reader Length: 7K Summary: Initially, you’d been somewhat uncertain about taking a job as the personal assistant to one Kim Namjoon, particularly when part of the job description entailed potentially having a discreet sexual relationship with your boss. Without a significant other to speak of and no better paying job prospects available, you’d accepted the position. Now, nearly a year later, you’d grown adept at your job, both as an assistant and as the secret lover your boss simply can’t seem to get enough of, a feeling that was definitely mutual.

{SERIES}

➺ Accidentally in Love by happy-meo

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Fluff, clumsy namjoon Parts: 2/2 Summary: We’ve all had our clumsy moments but what if those embarrassing moments, where we hoped no one was looking, actually led us to the right person?

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Getting Bigger by sweetwritertanya

Pairing: husband! Jin x pregnant wife! reader Genre: SMUT. With a bit of angst and fluff in the mix Word Count: 2841 Summary: You are eating less than you probably should during your pregnancy because you’re afraid of gaining even more weight. Your husband, Jin, discovers this and is incredibly angry at you.

➺ Happy Kitty by jincherie

↼pairing: Seokjin x reader ↼genre: fluff, romance, drabble, hybrid!au ↼words: 2.4k+ ↼summary: After trying to confess your feelings for two weeks after Seokjin’s birthday, you finally trap him under some mistletoe.

➺ The Leather Loafers by jimlingss

Pairing: Prince! Seokjin x reader Words: 11.2k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Cinderella!Au Summary: Yes. You went to the ball. Yes. You ran into the prince. Yes. The shoe fits. BUT-! You aren't that Cinderella bitch. THEY'VE GOT THE WRONG PERSON!

{SERIES}

➺ Expect the Unexpected by bts-reveries

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader genre: family, fluff, crack, angst parts: 29/29 summary: Jin and his wife have been together since their third year of high school, married after eight years of dating, and now with three kids, Minseok, Soojin, and Haneul. You can say that his life was perfect. Everything was according to plan and everything fell into place. It was all he ever wanted. Now when he’s left to take care of his three kids alone while his wife is out to visit family, what happens when something falls out of place?

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONESHOT}

➺ The Missing Track by aelinad

Pairing:!Idol Yoongi x ! producer f. reader Genre: explicit romance (smut) !! MINORS DNI !! 🔞 Word count: ~ 30k Summary: Suga of BTS is on the edge, racing against the clock to finish his solo album. With just three songs left to complete and a looming deadline, he's struggling to find inspiration. In a last-minute move, his company pairs him with the highly secretive Producer K, a renowned but elusive figure in the music industry. Everyone assumes Producer K is a male, but when Suga meets the mysterious producer, he's shocked to discover that K is actually a talented and confident woman. As they collaborate, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. Their chemistry is undeniable, but with a ticking clock and the pressure to deliver, can they finish the album on time? Or will their growing connection derail everything they've worked for? Secrets, passion, and music. Can Suga keep his focus, or will Producer K. change everything?

➺ Ex-things by namfinessed

pairing: Yoong x reader genre: angst (after breakup!) wordcount: (4.8k) summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

{SERIES}

➺ Perpetual datejust by jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 19k glimpse: when the general public hears the name min yoongi, they know him as the world-famous model who’s beyond talented in his craft. when the modeling industry hears the name min yoongi, they remember you: his resolute, firm, and sometimes rude manager who always puts yoongi’s best interests at heart — no matter what. alternatively, you’re yoongi’s manager and for the first time ever, you take a break away from him.

➺ So What? by bts-ot-7

Pairing: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse WC: 31,473 Chapters: 15/15 Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive.

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Blue by delightfulserendipity

↔Pairing: fiancé!hoseok x female!reader. ↔Genre: angst; romance; fluff; colorblind soulmate au; ↔Warnings: themes of pain; fear; sadness; loveless relationships. ↔Synopsis: "When you fall in love, you gain the ability to see colors. What about when you fall out of love, Hobi?"

➺ Things Change by yoonpobs

pairing: Jung Hoseok x oc genre: FLUFF, established relationship words: 3, 377 summary: when you're an unlikely pair but it works

{SERIES}

➺ The Apprentice by borathae

Pairing: Magic Student!Hoseok x Magic Student!Reader Genre: Fantasy!AU, Magic School!AU, s2f2potential lovers!AU, Romance Parts: 2/2 Summary: “Being a sorcerer has always been Hoseok’s dream. So when a well-known and powerful sorceress sends out letters informing the young minds of the city of an upcoming position as her apprentice, Hoseok takes fate into his own hands and applies. The only problem is that learning the arts of magic is reserved for women. He is convinced however that hard work and effort can charm the sorceress’ heart and get him the position.”

➺ Golden Heart by daydream-hobii

Pairing: Hybrid!Hoseok x Female!Reader Genre: Hybrid!AU, fluff Chapters: 15/15 Summary: Y/N’s best friends all have hybrids, and she loves them with all her heart, but she doesn’t want to be the same as everyone. She loves hybrids, and knows her friends are kind to them, but hybrids are part human, thus they should have their own choices. Many people, unfortunately, abuse their hybrids and use them, so she tries to fight for their freedom of choice. Her closest friend, Namjoon, convinces her to rescue a hybrid so that it can be safe from harm, and her perspectives changes entirely.

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ The Evolution Of You And I by readyplayerhobi

; Pairing: Hybrid!Jimin x Reader ; Genre: Fluff, light angst, mentions of smut ; Word Count: 10.2k ; Warnings: Mentions of loss of virginity, discussion of sex ; Synopsis: For 15 years, Park Jimin has been in your life in some form. From childhood pen pal to the closest of friends now, you can’t imagine your life without him even if you’ve never actually met him in person. It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen for him, even across the distance that separates you. But what happens when you finally meet up and you discover he’s been keeping something secret?

➺ Only You by personasintro

→𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: jimin x reader →𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: single dad Jimin, best friends to lovers au, smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst →𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: slight nipple play, oral (female receiving), protected sex, strong language, penetrative sex →𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 11.4k →𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; you’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad

➺ Star Light, Star Bright by readyplayerhobi

; Pairing: Single Dad!Jimin x Tattoo Artist!Reader ; Genre: Fluff, smut, a tiny bit of angst ; Word Count: 17.5k ; Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, light biting ; Synopsis: Life has not gone exactly how Park Jimin imagined, and yet he can’t possibly imagine his life any different to what it is now. After six hard and stressful years, he’s now the happy owner of a degree along with being the proud dad of his little girl. But what happens when he meets you and his life is tipped upside down once more?

{SERIES}

➺ Sunny Day by baepsaets

pairing: hybrid! Jimin x reader rating: sfw parts: 6/6 summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

➺ The Wrong Girl by smoljimjim

>Pairing: mafia/gangmemberPJM x OC named Siri >Genre: Mafia au, exes to lovers, angst, fluff, crack/funny, happy ending >Parts: 37/37 + drabbles >Description: Bangtan mafia group were meant to kidnap someone. Unfortunately for them, they made a mistake. They got the wrong girl. But that girl counts herself lucky for being kidnapped by them because she was finally reunited with her ex-boyfriend. Park Jimin. And she can’t wait to get back at him for what he did to her. There’s a fine line between love and hate. Which line will Jimin and Siri cross after meeting again?

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Not What It Looks Like by hobibliophile

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: fluff, college au Word Count: 4.4k Summary: You run into the campus clown Taehyung when he’s in a weird situation but it’s reallynot what it looks like. Turns out, Taehyung is not what he looks like either.

➺ The T-shirt Thief by jungblue

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: fluff, smut word count: 9,812 description: In the midst of your loneliness due to Taehyung’s absence, you decide that you need a distraction, which somehow manifests itself as going over to his apartment and stealing a t-shirt or two... or three...

➺ Waterloo [M] by kinktae

pairing: art prodigy!taehyung x art student!reader word count: 13k genre: FLUFF, angst, light tasteful smut summary: Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn't believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story. Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love."

➺ Fish are friends by httpjeon

pairing. seahorse hybrid! taehyung x reader genre. angst, smut, fluff, hybrid!au wordcount. 10,605 summary. after moving to the seaside, there is a dreadful storm. when all is clear, a man washes up on shore...only he isn’t quite human.

[JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ My Best Friend by smoljimjim

>Pairing: BestfriendJK x OC named Siri >Genre: light angst, fluff, happy ending >Word count: ~8000 >Description: Siri has loved Jungkook her whole life. Ever since she first saw him when she was young, she's been in love with him. He loves her too. They're best friends, after all. Siri just wishes Jungkook could see her. Wishes he could love her the way she loves him. There was just one problem though... or maybe two...NOT your typical 'best friend' story - there is a twist!

{SERIES}

➺ Baby, my baby by pjimims

◇ pairing: single dad! jungkook x reader ◇ genre: angst, fluff. parents au ◇ parts: 10/10 ◇ synopsis: “Raise my child, just for twelve months”

➺ Fan Identity by tteokggukk

✳ pairing: social media influencer! jungkook x social media influencer! female reader ✳ genre: enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight angst, social media au ✳ parts: 37/37 ✳ synopsis: in which you and jungkook are both famous internet celebrities that have never interacted, but share a common secret. you both have fan accounts for each other where you actively show support and express your opinions. one day, you were both nominated for the same award, social media influencer of the year. lowkey rooting for the other, you both express your opinions on your secret fan accounts as certain interactions begin to arise from a famous fan account dedicated to your “opponent” nominee.

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bosbas · 1 year ago

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Chapter 13: it's never too late to come back to my side

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining, some swearing

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: ahhhh we're getting close to the end i'm so emotional i love them so dearly

August 15, 1814 - It has come to this author's attention that Mr Benedict Bridgerton will be in attendance at Aubrey Hall this year in time for his family's country house party. This comes after almost two months away in the countryside. Will Mr Bridgerton be shocked to find out that his best friend and his older brother have been courting while he was away? Or has he been kept up to date on the ton's happenings, perhaps by this very column? The lucky guests at Aubrey Hall will find out for themselves in a few days, and the remaining members of the ton in London will surely find out through Lady Whistledown's society papers in the coming week.

"Benedict it's been three days. You have to come downstairs at some point," groaned Hyacinth. She was tired of watching her older brother mope around aimlessly, refusing to participate in any Bridgerton-Beaumont activities.

Knowing bits and pieces of what had happened between you and Benedict, Hyacinth was inclined to leave him to rot in his room forever, completely unsympathetic to his low mood. However, she couldn't help but notice your eyes searching every room you entered, looking for your best friend, only to visibly slump your shoulders when you realized that Benedict had once again failed to show up. So, after three days of watching your disappointment grow exponentially, Hyacinth had taken matters into her own hands. Except for the fact that Benedict was not particularly enthusiastic about Hyacinth's efforts, lying on his bed with a half-open book on his abdomen as he rolled his eyes at his sister.

"Go away. I'm not going to play Pall Mall, just leave me alone," he responded, laying an arm over his eyes.

Hyacinth scoffed in response. "I'm not here to ask if you want to play Pall Mall, brother. If I were, you wouldn't have a choice. Not that you have much choice now, anyway."

Then, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him as hard as her eleven-year-old strength allowed, she tried to make him see sense. "Y/N is even more miserable than you are because you won't even come down for dinner. I don't care that you're the one who upset her in the first place, she wants to see you!"

Seeing Benedict move his arm away from his eyes and give her a questioning look, Hyacinth sighed, exasperated. "Yes, I know about that. Which is how I know you're making it worse by staying cooped up in your room while she's downstairs with no one to talk to."

"She can just talk to Anthony," shot back Benedict, knowing it was a weak argument even before the words came out of his mouth.

Hyacinth did all she could to hold back from screaming at her brother, who was being exceedingly petulant. "You are such an idiot that it's hard to imagine how you lead a semi-normal life," she settled for saying, knowing she would get a lecture if she used any stronger language.

Benedict rolled his eyes, but his gaze shot over to his bedroom door when he heard hushed voices just outside whispering fiercely.

"Yes?" he snapped, loud enough that the voices ceased talking. The door creaked open and a very sheepish-looking Theo and Bastian popped their heads in, stumbling into the room unceremoniously.

After slapping Bastian on the shoulder, only a tad aggressively, Theo cleared his throat. "Ah, excuse our entrance."

"We're here to talk to you about Y/N, obviously, but it seems Hyacinth has beat us to it," finished Bastian, scratching the back of his head.

Benedict grumbled some expletives that were most definitely not appropriate for Hyacinth's ears at the prospect of two of your brothers, and the most athletic ones at that, giving him grief for the way things had played out between the two of you. He was already nursing a piercing heartache and the insurmountable guilt of having ruined his chances at being with you by an ill-timed attempt at a kiss, and he most certainly did not need half of your siblings making him feel worse about it. Having Hyacinth in your corner, and therefore against him, was difficult enough.

"Well, go on then," Ben relented, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible so he could go back to wallowing in his sorrows. Perhaps his intense heartbreak would lead to some magnificent inspiration for his next piece, and he could find comfort in the fact that his art would be massively successful, even if he couldn't have you. A poor consolation prize, but a consolation prize nonetheless.

Bastian looked at Hyacinth pensively, assessing how crude he was going to be with such a young girl present to hear what he was saying. He knew she had probably heard it all before, given that she grew up with four older brothers nearby, but Bastian was hesitant to be the direct cause of any colorful language the youngest Bridgerton might employ. Deciding the benefits of being as direct as possible outweighed the possible lecture he would receive, Bastian spoke quickly, "We just think you're being a fucking idiot."

"Sebastian!" exclaimed Theo, hitting him on the shoulder again and ignoring that Hyacinth was currently dissolving into a fit of giggles. "What he means to say is that we think you're being rather foolish. Though the strength of Bastian's words do communicate how we feel about this, foul as they were."

"Why, thank you. I was sick with worry wondering what your opinion on my relationship with my best friend was," retorted Benedict, not able to help his sarcastic tone even though he knew your brothers were not the best people to provoke right at this minute.

"Don't forget your best friend is our younger sister, so I do imagine we're allowed an opinion," replied Bastian, wanting to keep Benedict in place.

Theo, the more level-headed of the twins, looked at Ben with what could have been construed as a look of sympathy if it weren't also laced with unimaginable anger. "We're quite serious, Benedict. We know what happened a few days ago in your studio. Why can't you just talk to her?"

Benedict sat up and put his head in his hands, rather sick of having everyone know his business. "How on earth does everyone know what happened?"

Theo and Bastian exchanged a glance, unsure whether they should reveal their source. But Hyacinth saved them from an explanation. Quite matter-of-factly, she explained, "Eloise overheard your argument pretty much in its entirety. And, of course, she told everyone. Though I'm sure the twins have heard some bits and pieces from Y/N herself, and perhaps Anthony, too."

Seeing Benedict look from Hyacinth to Bastian to Theo in disbelief, loathing that it was nearly impossible to keep a secret from his family, Bastian commented, "Perhaps if Francesca had been the one to overhear we wouldn't have known so much. But all the better for us that Eloise, quite inexplicably, knows absolutely everything about everyone."

Shaking his head, Benedict accepted the current predicament he was in. "Right, then. I'll have to remember to thank Eloise for allowing me to have this wonderful conversation the next time I see her. Regardless, this makes it easier to tell you that I can't 'just talk to her,' Theo. I can't act like nothing happened."

Bastian immediately rolled his eyes upon hearing Benedict's excuse. "It's truly a wonder your friendship with her has lasted so long. Of course she wants to hear from you! She always wants to hear from you. Even when she's upset with you."

"It's all she ever talks about, usually. How long until she can see you and talk to you about whatever trivial matter she wishes to spend hours talking about," added Theo, hoping to remind Benedict that you needed him. Twenty years of being best friends meant that you needed Ben even when the two of you were fighting. Especially when you were fighting, actually, since Benedict was the only person who knew how to properly console you when you were upset.

"They're not trivial matters," said Benedict defensively. He loved hearing you talk on and on about whatever plot hole was plaguing you, and he found it rather interesting, too, but now was not the time to get into that particular point. "Anyway, that doesn't resolve the issue. It doesn't matter if I talk to her or not, she still doesn't love me back. And I have been doing a splendid job so far of trying to get over her before she marries my brother, so if you could very kindly allow me to continue to do so, I would greatly appreciate it," he finished curtly.

Hyacinth scoffed, in disbelief at her brother's blindness. "She doesn't 'not love you back,' you big baby! I'm eleven years old, I shouldn't be the one telling you to grow up!"

"Hyacinth, stop it. That's unusually cruel, even for you," protested Benedict, feeling an almost physical pain at the impossible possibility that you might love him back after what happened in his studio. He had considered the possibility incessantly in his mind the past few days, of course. But to hear someone else say it, to hear the words spoken so clearly by someone else rather than hearing it in his internal monologue or seeing it written down in his sloppy handwriting in letters he had never sent, was enough to make him feel nauseous.

Up until fairly recently, his love for you had been quite manageable. Even unnoticeable, at least to him, for the first few years. However, now he was quite pointedly aware that every time his heartbeat faltered it was undoubtedly due to you, whether you had laughed in a particularly adorable way or worn a gown that made your figure look quite irresistible. And he had lost any chance he had with you because he was too overcome by his desire to be by your side in a more-than-friendly way and had had awful timing in attempting to kiss you. So, yes, Hyacinth was being quite cruel in his eyes. Even if the cruelty was warranted, seeing how you looked as distraught as he felt.

"I do believe Hyacinth is right," Theo spoke, causing the youngest Bridgerton to beam, radiant, beside him, contrasting Ben's positively ghastly expression. "Y/N has loved you for years. It's been painfully obvious to the rest of us, but apparently, you're too thick to notice."

Bastian piped in to agree with his brother. "Precisely. So we're spelling it out for you. She does love you back, you just decided to confess your love for her at an inopportune moment. If Eloise's memory serves her correctly," which earned him a snicker from Hyacinth, "Y/N never said she didn't love you back."

Theo nodded, "She just said nothing had been resolved. Which it hadn't. So resolve it."

As if trying to romance the woman Ben had been helplessly and irrevocably in love with for the better part of a decade was as easy as taking a stroll, Bastian shrugged and added, "It's simple, really."

Benedict swallowed thickly, hearing a loud ringing in his ears. He found he couldn't focus his eyesight on anything, vision growing blurry as his eyes aimlessly scanned the room. He had taken your abrupt exit from his studio as a complete rejection, a sign that he had ruined any chance of moving beyond the boundaries of the friendship you two had built so lovingly. But apparently, the rejection had not been because you did not love him back, but rather because Benedict had behaved quite like an ass.

The absolute bliss he should have felt was overshadowed by a tightness in his chest that he could easily attribute to fear. There was so much more to lose now. He was scared out of his wits that he'd mess up again and lose you in any way that mattered, friendship and all.

"But what if it's too far gone? What if I don't fix it?" asked Ben, voicing his fears shakily.

Bastian laughed dryly and Benedict felt it more than he would a physical blow. "That's not really an option, is it? That's our sister you're talking about."

Theo growled lowly, not opposed to resorting to violence when the matter concerned the possible heartbreak of his younger sister. "Fix it or we fix you."

And the two walked out, Hyacinth skipping happily in front of them, without acknowledging the garbled groan that came from Ben's throat. He would have to make it count, then. One last chance to make you his. To make a reality the only way he could truly be happy. But it wasn't an impossible task. He knew you better than you knew yourself, after all.

---

You were making your way upstairs to your bedroom after another torturous dinner without Ben when Anthony touched your arm and asked if he could walk you back. It took less than five seconds for you to burst into tears and nod sorrowfully as he led you out of the sitting room where the rest of your families had migrated and were now settling into cozy conversation. Thankfully, no one else noticed, or at least didn't think to call you out on your sudden burst of emotion.

"It's going to be alright, one way or another," Anthony whispered as he led you down the hallway. And though he felt it was appropriate given the circumstance, he refrained from calling you darling or really any other pet name, knowing Benedict was usually the only one to refer to you as such, and thus it might cause you more undue stress.

"I know," you responded tearfully. "I just miss him."

You hiccuped and leaned your head onto Anthony's shoulder. As much as you enjoyed Anthony's company, you secretly wished that it was Benedict's strong shoulder you were feeling. But it didn't do to dwell on such matters now.

"Well, he did tell you he loved you," offered Anthony as the two of you climbed the stairs. "I think you're crazy to not immediately go after him." Perhaps he had been too worried about the fact that Benedict was an idiot to realize that you, too, were an idiot when it came to matters pertaining to your best friend and your very obvious love for him.

You shook your head decidedly. "He did tell me that, yes, but look at what's happened now," you said, flailing your arms in frustration. "He's ignored me for three days. You can't just say you're in love with someone and then not speak with them for three days!"

Anthony laughed softly when you sniffed sulkily, but you kept speaking. "It's too easy for Ben to swoop in after I've done so much work to get over him and found someone I want to marry," you gave the man beside you a pointed stare. "I don't just want to be with him when it's convenient for him. I need Benedict to actually want me and to prove that he wants me. Which he is doing a very poor job of at the minute because I haven't seen him since he confessed he was in love with me," you finished with a huff.

But Anthony was saved from having to respond, as Alex was waiting for you by your bedroom door, hands behind his back.

"Ah, Y/N. Just the person I wanted to see. Do you fancy a chat?"

Seeing that you didn't have much of a choice, you nodded and thanked Anthony, sending him on his way as you turned to face your older brother. "Very well," you relented.

The two of you went inside your bedroom and Alex, ever the unwavering presence in your life, closed the door firmly and crossed his arms as he stared at you. You were a tad nervous, not quite sure of what he was going to say. Ever since you had started courting Anthony, he had steered clear of the two of you, not exactly disapproving of the courtship, but not particularly supportive of it either. Needless to say, you were fairly surprised that he was being so direct with you now, asking to talk to you and staring you down in your room.

"Y/N," he started. "I mean this will all the love that I have in my heart for you, which is quite a lot, but you are being so, so stupid. It's almost painful to watch."

You were completely taken aback. "Excuse me?" you sputtered, not quite believing that your brother would speak to you like this. Although it was nice to hear him speak to you in any way at all, since you knew he had probably been holding back from saying this every time you spoke with him for the duration of your courtship with Anthony.

With a determined look on his face, a slightly furrowed brow, and downturned lips, Alexander pressed on. "You are so obviously in love with Benedict," and before you could protest, he continued speaking. "And he is so obviously in love with you, that I just don't understand the problem. He told you he was in love with you, from what Eloise has said, so I don't particularly see an issue now."

A flicker of confusion passed over your face. "He– What? What are you getting at?" you asked, knowing there was something else that Alex wanted to say.

It was imperative to him that you grasped what he was saying instead of focusing on how he said it. So he sighed a tad impatiently but spoke steadily enough that you wouldn't be put off by his tone of voice. "At the beginning of the season, I wasn't absolutely bricking it over my little sister debuting in society because I didn't think I would have to worry about you actually courting anyone. I just assumed that you and Ben would end up married, much like the rest of our families. In fact, I assumed you would be married already. It's mid-August now, and I thought you would have at the very latest married in June. Again, I mean this with a lot of love, but you're being a massive idiot. Every single person in our family can see that you're in love. So go be with the man you love!"

You were stunned. Alex had never made any indication that he thought that you and Ben would marry. But then again, perhaps you and Benedict loving each other came so naturally that he didn't need to.

Nevertheless, you shook your head adamantly. "I don't care what you thought, or what the rest of the family thought, or even what I thought! Benedict left me when I needed him, and Anthony was there for me–"

"So, you're marrying Anthony, then? You've decided you still want to be with him after all this?" asked Alex, on the brink of losing his seemingly endless temper.

"I don't know! Maybe? I haven't entirely decided, yet," you argued. "But it's either that or no marriage since Benedict hasn't exactly provided an alternative solution, and I would rather die than marry a man of the ton."

"But do you love Anthony?" asked your brother, voice clear as it cut through your rambling.

"Does it matter?"

"To you, it does," he responded firmly, but not unkindly.

And he was right. To you, it did matter. Perhaps not to Anthony, and perhaps not to Alexander, either. But to you, it did. Or it had, at least. And shouldn't it still matter? Even if you hadn't had the most linear season, and you hadn't found exactly what you were looking for. Shouldn't you still hope for love? And shouldn't you still fight for it, despite your best friend's terrible timing?

—

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defectivevillain · 4 months ago

Text

this winding labyrinth, chapter 14

chapter fourteen: veneration

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 14, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-13, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

“What?” you hear yourself exclaim.

Jack Crawford is looking up to the ceiling, as if waiting for the sky to swallow him whole and free him from his discomfort. He takes a deep breath. “I know.” He sighs, staring at you from across his needlessly large wooden desk. “Frankly, it’s ridiculous. It’s completely inappropriate—not to mention, unspeakably dangerous.”

It takes you a moment to get yourself to speak. “Hannibal wants to make a meal for me,” you then repeat, as if saying it aloud will somehow help you comprehend it. But the thought only sounds more absurd. “In his prison cell.” Uttering those words ushers in a whole new, unpleasant reality.

“That’s what I gathered, yes,” Jack responds. He takes a slow breath, seeming to be moments away from getting to his feet and pacing about his office. You know your boss well enough to recognize the telltale signs of his restlessness: he’s fidgeting ever so slightly in his chair; and routinely fixing the arrangement of pens on his desk. There’s a furrow to his brows too.

“How is he able to do that?” you frown. “Cook in his cell, I mean,” you clarify. When Jack first summoned you to his office, you assumed it would be for something related to the Red Dragon. And while Hannibal isn’t entirely disconnected from the whole affair, you know he is particularly adept at distracting you. This ‘dinner’ he’s offering is likely a trap. Will you spring it?

“Lecter has been afforded several special privileges throughout his time at the institution,” Jack eventually answers, looking displeased and frustrated by the idea. You can’t help but agree. Alongside his undeniably incomprehensible psyche, you suspect Hannibal’s status as a rich, white cisgender male grants him luxuries that he does not deserve, while many falsely imprisoned individuals across the country fight for scraps. It’s discomfiting. Jack seems to think the same, and he gives you a slight nod before continuing to speak. “My best guess is that Chilton hoped to gain some sort of insight on him, in exchange for treating him nicely. Whoever took over as the head administrator hasn’t removed any of his cell’s many accessories.” And ‘accessories’ is putting it lightly. If he has the necessary equipment to cook … You sigh. And you thought those giant bookcases at the back of his cell were extravagant.

“As for why he wants to make a meal for you…” Jack continues, looking particularly troubled. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Really?” You blink. It’s no exaggeration to say Jack knows virtually everything—there’s a reason why he’s the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Next to you, he knows Hannibal better than anyone.

Jack takes a long breath, before getting to his feet and inexplicably stepping closer to you. He almost seems to hesitate before placing a hand on your shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. There’s a sympathetic expression on his face for a fraction of a moment, until it’s smoothed over by his characteristic professionalism. “I can’t pretend to understand why Hannibal is so fascinated with you,” Jack confesses, his jaw tightening momentarily. His hand falls back to his side. “But I have to admit, it disturbs me.”

“I’m surprised you even told me he was asking for me,” you admit, squinting at him. Jack has hidden that kind of thing from you before, in an attempt to preserve your wellbeing. You had appreciated the gesture, but it ended up being futile. Hannibal is a very demanding presence, regardless of how much you may wish to pretend otherwise.

Jack doesn’t bother hiding his discomfort. That unapologetic honesty is just one of the many qualities you admire in your boss. He knows when dishonesty is futile. He doesn’t beat around the bush or sugarcoat facts, when things are down to the wire. Jack knows lives are on the line and he never fails to keep you informed when applicable.

“He offered something in exchange,” Jack reveals, still looking a bit uncomfortable. “He claims he has information on the Red Dragon.” You’re both quiet, because you understand the implications of that statement. If there’s even a slight chance he has a clue on the Red Dragon, this meal may be worth pursuing. That’s what you think, at least. And your thoughts must show on your face, because Jack shakes his head.

“There’s no guarantee he will have anything of consequence,” he reminds you. “It’s too risky.”

“I can do this,” you assert confidently. Maybe that confidence is misplaced, but there’s no time for you to waver in your decisions. You’ve let the Dragon roam free for far too long; and now, it’s time to clip his wings. Hannibal may not have the exact answers you’re looking for, but you know he’ll have something. And for now, that’s enough.

“I know you can,” Jack says with a sigh. “I trust you; I don’t trust him.”

You appreciate that distinction. “I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. You can do this.

“You’re my best agent,” Jack says fiercely. A warm feeling briefly blossoms in your chest at the high praise. “I’m not losing you to a dinner party with a cannibal.” That remark is a warning, rather than an argument. He’s allowing you to go through with this because he trusts you.

Indeed, when Jack continues speaking, it’s to caution you. “Don’t get confident,” Jack says. “Hannibal has shown unfathomable patience through the years. There’s no telling what he has planned.” Unfathomable patience is an apt description, you think.

You nod gravely. “I understand,” you confirm.

“Keep some distance between the two of you at all times,” Jack instructs you. “He will try to poke and prod at you. Do not let him.” You search your boss’s face before nodding. You’re dismissed moments later, with instructions to visit Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane later that evening for dinner with Hannibal.

The day passes in the blink of an eye, as the sun retreats behind the horizon and the stars begin to peek out of the night sky. You’re nearly lost in your thoughts as you drive to Baltimore, your eyes locked on the road but your mind… elsewhere. These past few months have been a complete whirlwind. And, unfortunately, the Dragon is far from the only killer who poses a threat to the public. Juggling your responsibilities has been increasingly difficult recently, when you find yourself moving from crime scene to crime scene with very few breaks. If this dinner were with anyone else, you’d consider it a break—an opportunity to breathe. But since you’ll be in Hannibal’s company, you’re more inclined to think of it as another assignment.

It’s a bit hard to convince yourself to step inside the building—and even harder to move through the hall, passing inmate after inmate. Hannibal’s cell remains at the very end of the hall, which is a minor inconvenience you remember each time you visit. Then again, if you were looking for convenience, you wouldn’t be at BSHCI.

After successfully passing through the security door, you let it click shut behind you. It doesn’t take long for Hannibal to notice your presence—since his cell is the only occupied one in the nearby area. The sound of your footsteps likely informs him of your arrival.

“Welcome,” Hannibal remarks, his gaze fixated on the book he’s reading. You’re mildly curious about what he’s reading, but his hands are strategically positioned to hide the cover and title.

“Hello,” you respond. Your remark tears Hannibal’s attention away, and you watch as several emotions flit across his face when he looks at you: rage, revulsion, remorse. Despite your efforts, you suspect your voice still sounds strained from the Dragon’s brutality. Not to mention, there are bruises and scratches scattered across your skin—poking out of your sleeves despite your best efforts at concealment.

“You are dressed somewhat casually,” Hannibal observes.

You look down at your sweater and jeans. “I didn’t want to make things too awkward,” you settle for saying. In reality, you dressed comfortably to maintain the appearance of being friendly and sociable. You’re sure Hannibal can recognize that—hell, that’s why he’s always dressed so nicely. He likes intimidating people. “Considering your state of dress.” You glance pointedly at his prison jumpsuit.

Hannibal only smiles. (He’s been doing that rather frequently around you, hasn’t he?) “Courteous of you,” he notes. Then he takes a sharp breath and pauses. “You smell of the fragrance Dr. Bloom wears. Are you seeing her again?”

“No,” you respond. Like that’s any of your business, you finish internally. Your thoughts must show on your face, because Hannibal raises his eyebrows. You try to steel your sudden onslaught of nerves. “We’re just friends. And she's dating someone.” You recall your conversation with Alana a few hours ago—the excitement glimmering in her eyes as she revealed she’s dating someone. She pulled you into a hug and disclosed that she’d like the two of you to meet sometime. You agreed easily, happy that she found someone.

“I see,” Hannibal hums, although the suspicion in his eyes indicates that he clearly doesn’t see. You inhale slowly, pretending not to notice that the effort is stuttered and more laborious than usual. “Good for her.”

That particular topic of conversation is quickly abandoned, as the prison guard sidles up to the door of Hannibal’s cell and opens it for you. You step in, despite your best judgment. There’s a chance you won’t leave this glass cage alive. You swallow hard.

Hannibal isn’t even handcuffed. This was such a bad idea. Such a horrible, terrible idea. Why are you here again? There’s no guarantee Hannibal will be forthcoming—really, he never is. And even if he does have information, he won’t just give it to you—it will be buried between the words he doesn’t utter.

He’s approaching you now. Every nerve in your body is screaming, telling you to run and never back. But you’re frozen as Hannibal approaches, taking leisurely step after leisurely step. He’s enjoying this, damn it. “You look tense,” Hannibal remarks.

You grit your teeth. “I’m not tense,” you respond instinctively.

You both know it’s a lie. “Very well,” Hannibal says, clearly indulging you. He clasps his hands behind his back. The gesture does nothing to diminish your nerves. “Are you hungry, then?”

You clear your throat. “I could eat,” you admit, your voice a little raspy. It feels dangerous to deny him. Besides, you lost the illusion of choice a long time ago. You need to play along if you want to get what you came here for. You find an impressive collection of ingredients strewn across the small table he’s been given to prepare food. Fortunately, it looks like all of the prep work that requires slicing, dicing—anything with a knife, you think—has been done already.

The smile on Hannibal’s face widens at your easygoing response. “Very well,” he hums. He guides you through an explanation of what he’s making, although many of the technical terms elude you. The main takeaway you get from his description is that the meal is easy to prepare, allowing time for Hannibal to take his eyes off of it and engage you in conversation. A tactical choice, you suspect.

For a while, it’s silent as he cooks on what appears to be a portable stove. “What was the point of this meal?” you decide to ask as he’s cooking. You doubt Hannibal will be so generous as to give you the answer right away, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of your company in quite some time,” he admits.

“That’s not it,” you object quickly.

Hannibal looks up from his food preparation at that, a smile dancing on his lips. “You seem to have the answer to that question already.”

Jack did tell you that Hannibal wanted to apologize. You don’t believe that, though. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard or seen you apologize before,” you say after a few moments of deliberation. Your honesty, however inappropriate, always seems to go over better than lying to him. “Forgive me for being suspicious.”

“Why is that so suspicious?” he hums, turning to place his ingredients in the pot. Honestly, you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re going to be eating—despite Hannibal’s elaborate description earlier. You had far more important things to focus on, like the number of everyday objects in the room he could use to end your life. (At least eight, you reckon.)

“You don’t see yourself as a person who makes mistakes,” you remember to reply.

“Yet I did make a mistake,” Hannibal murmurs. You’re shocked to silence. Completely speechless. Stuck in place, watching his turned back and compelling him to turn around, if only to explain himself. Eventually, Hannibal does turn back around to face you. “I allowed you to get hurt, and for that, I am truly sorry.” The expression on his face is disgustingly sincere.

Your fists clench at your sides. You suddenly feel so horribly angry. “You’re not my protector,” you practically hiss. “You’re not my keeper or my bodyguard.” And you can sure as hell protect yourself. Hannibal doesn’t allow you to do anything. You glare at him fiercely, hoping you can convey that sentiment without words. You’re tired of people trying to protect you. You’re not fragile or breakable, and you’re certainly not made of glass.

“Who am I, to you?” Hannibal’s question breaks through your thoughts. He has since abandoned the food on the stove, and is now standing closer to you than you remember him being.

…Who is Hannibal to you? Is there even a way to describe the fucked-up amalgamation of feelings he incites in you? The man is a friend one moment and an enemy the next. He is only as helpful as he wants to be. He only speaks when he wants to get a reaction from you. He spent years lying in wait, anticipating the moment you would approach him with a request for assistance. Who the hell is Hannibal Lecter? You still don’t think you have a good grasp on him.

“An enigma,” you whisper.

In your mind’s eye, Hannibal’s teeth rip through his lips and his jaw unhinges, snapping over you in one clean bite and encasing you in darkness. In reality, Hannibal just smirks almost imperceptibly. He takes a step forward, and then another. He regards you for a second, before reaching a hand towards you. It takes every ounce of control you have not to flinch or shove him away. His hand hovers before your throat for what feels like an eternity, before it settles as a firm grasp on your shoulder.

Your breaths sound particularly loud. Your heart is jackhammering against your chest. Hannibal must notice that you’re practically trembling, because his hand slides up, up, up to the side of your neck. Two fingers settle against your pulse point. “Your heart is racing, dear,” he says.

“I don’t usually let killers get this close to me,” you answer. Jack’s warning rings through your ears: “Keep some distance between you. He will poke and prod at you; don’t let him.” It’s so easy, in theory. In reality, when faced with Hannibal’s unwavering attention, you can’t help but freeze like prey.

“Usually,” Hannibal hums. His hand rests dangerously close to your throat. You’re sure you’re shaking now, fighting off every instinct that tells you to run.

“You are frightened,” he observes next, something like amusement in his voice. “Yet you do not push me away.” Hannibal’s dragging his thumb across your jaw and you want to scream. Your next breaths are labored and insufficient. Your chest burns. The air hums in uncomfortable silence.

“I suppose your wariness is only rational,” Hannibal acquiesces, his thumb finding the scar he gave you all those years ago, the scar he reopened to provide you a new reckoning with each glance at a mirror. “But we do have a history.” He traces it up your face and you blink instinctively at how close he gets to your eye.

“Should I know better?” you posit. Somehow his hand is on your throat as you swallow. “That history is very complex and tangled.” You can’t give him a reaction. He wants a reaction. You will not give him the fear he so desperately craves.

It’s quiet for several minutes. He’s testing you. Eventually, you must pass his impromptu examination, because he breaks through the silence. “Correct as always,” Hannibal sighs, finally stepping away from you. The room feels warm now. “And a fitting segue into our meal.”

You move somewhat robotically to sit at the plastic table you’ve been provided; Hannibal follows your lead. The table looks as if it could break from the gentlest of touches. The thought amuses you, for some reason. And then the orderly enters, providing you both with silverware. You thank them as they give you proper silverware; and resist a laugh as they give Hannibal plastic utensils. You’ve never seen such dull cutlery before—the knife is duller than a butter knife.

“Shall we?” Hannibal asks, as if he doesn’t appear to be eating at the kids’ table of a family gathering. You nod and take the seat across from him. The irony of the situation is only growing more amusing the more you take in the table settings: the plastic silverware and paper plate for Hannibal; the sharp utensils and ceramic plate your dish is served on. But the man is unperturbed, as he gives you both equal servings before settling back at his seat.

“I propose a toast,” Hannibal then says with a hint of a smile. That quirk to his lips almost seems to twitch. You’re fighting off the urge to laugh, despite it all. Hannibal is unaware. “To friends, old and new.”

You go along with the toast and clink your water glass against his. Then you take another look at the plastic table and plastic cutlery… and you laugh. You don’t think you’ve laughed like this in several years, and you have to bend your head down to catch your breath.

“I can’t say anyone has ever possessed the courage to laugh at me within such close quarters,” Hannibal states some time later, once you’ve mostly recovered. You deduce he must be feeling a bit impatient, but mostly unbothered.

“Please,” you huff before you can stop yourself. He’s trying to threaten you, which just makes you laugh again. Then you take the knife you were provided, watching as it catches the light. “They gave me a sharp knife for a reason.” This entire situation is so ludicrous.

“Would you kill me?” Hannibal questions, his eyes locked on the knife in your hand. His wariness—even if it is born out of pretense—satisfies you.

You consider the question: would you kill Hannibal, if given the chance? Well, you have a chance right now, you suppose. You doubt he’d go down without a fight, but you think you could do it. Take him by surprise, sink the knife into his jugular. You can feel the blood splattering across your face, hear the shrill sound of your ears ringing. “Yes, I would kill you,” you state. Your voice sounds almost inhumanly calm. “Does that excite you? It would, wouldn’t it?” There’s a smirk growing on your face, despite your best efforts.

“You’re enjoying this.” Hannibal analyzes.

“Of course,” you respond, not bothering to lie. Hannibal seems taken aback by your honesty, because he raises a brow ever so slightly. “Even if it is an illusion, it still makes me feel secure. Although I’m sure you’ve beaten far worse odds before.” You tap the knife against the table once, twice.

“There are other weapons in this room,” Hannibal says.

“I suppose there are, yes,” you agree. You study the space for a long moment, cataloguing anything and everything you see that could be used against you. “The portable stove, the metal rods of the bed frame. You could even crumble up the paper from your beloved books and choke me to death.” You really need to stop talking, or you’ll give him ideas.

“That would be poetic,” Hannibal says softly, something of a peaceful smile on his face.

“Depending on the book,” you argue before you can stop yourself. His eyes find yours and you feel the words getting dragged out of you. “You don’t have much to choose from. Unless you think choking on DSM-5 is a particularly… symbolic end.”

Hannibal hums in amusement, before turning his attention to his food. You do the same, easily cutting your food. You’re about to eat when you realize he’s still attempting to portion his meal. It’s abundantly clear his plastic knife isn’t nearly sharp enough to do the job. An annoyed sound escapes your lips and you reach out to slide his plate closer to you, cutting his food into bite-size pieces and returning it back to him. “You did that on purpose,” you remark, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Pardon?” he asks far too innocently.

“You could’ve just asked me for the knife,” you respond. Yes, Hannibal was waiting to see if you’d take pity on him. If you’d look at him, his weakness, his strategic vulnerability… and give him an out. And you fell for it, if only because the sight was so pathetic and off-putting.

“Would you have given it to me?” Hannibal asks, despite clearly already knowing the answer.

“Probably not,” you acquiesce. You may slip up at times, but you’re not that stupid.

There’s a breath of laughter—Hannibal’s shoulders twitch ever so slightly. Feeling unreasonably proud of yourself, you begin to eat. Despite the tension that lingered in the air prior, the meal itself is a relatively ordinary affair. At least, as ordinary as a meal with a cannibal in a prison can be. You shake your head in disbelief. You always think you’ve seen everything in your job, and then something comes along to disprove the notion. (And then Hannibal himself comes along, and swiftly breaks through everything you thought you knew.)

Speaking of everything you thought you knew… “I don’t suppose you have that information for me,” you say. Hannibal is silent. Truthfully, you expected that kind of reaction. Hannibal never likes doing things the easy way, however. You suspect getting him into a conversation will still yield some results, though. Sometimes he will only surrender information covertly, between the spaces of his words and the calm breaths that leave his lips. “Fine.”

You begin to engage him in conversation, running through everything you’ve gathered so far. The Dragon has killed several white, middle-class nuclear families. He enacts his kills on the full moon of the month. He pays special attention to the matriarch of the family, seeing her as some sort of observer and audience to his misdeeds. Then, when the family’s breaths have fallen still, the Dragon heads to the bathroom mirror and shatters it. He digs his hands into the glass, welcoming the familiar stinging warmth of blood trickling down his skin. Then he makes his escape… and does not appear again until the full moon. It almost seems like some sort of folktale—a legend told to children to scare them. The killer’s routine has been maintained since his first murder. He is a man of routine and method.

“The Jacobis were his first; they lived in Birmingham, Alabama,” you recite aloud. Talking your way through it can help sometimes. Plus, this way, you can analyze Hannibal’s reactions and attempt to draw conclusions from there. “Next was the Leeds family; Atlanta, Georgia. The Turners, in Omaha, Nebraska; the Russells in Des Moines, Iowa; and the Martins in St. Louis, Missouri.”

Hannibal is still watching. (Then again, he always is.) The accountability of his gaze somehow pushes the cogs in your mind to keep spinning. There’s something significant about the locations, you think. There’s something you’ve overlooked, something you’re missing. You frown before taking your phone from your pocket. “Apologies for my lack of manners,” you say wryly, squinting down at the screen as you look at the locations on a map. They appear far too random, and that seamless spontaneity isn’t organic.

You know that part of it comes down to the characteristics of the families. The killer almost seems to select them from a roster, choosing the ones with mothers with bleach-blonde hair and sparkling eyes. His sexual fascination never fails to disturb you, and it takes a moment of concerted effort to reorganize your thoughts. A roster of families. The Dragon must have access to something like that. And all of these families have those seemingly innocuous home videos-

“The films,” you say aloud, the realization hitting you as quickly as a lightning strike. Hannibal’s certainly staring now. “Fuck, it was so obvious—” you practically growl in frustration, ignoring the growing urge to throw your glass against the wall. You instead tilt your head down to give yourself a break from Hannibal’s insistent eye contact, beginning to put the pieces together. Your hands almost shake as you zoom in on the St. Louis area, before typing in the word “film” and searching through the results. Gateway Film Laboratory is the first result; you click on the address and zoom in on it, finding it to be in the heart of St. Louis. It’s merely a twenty minute drive from the Leeds’ residence.

Jack and you had inspected the home films, but you were far too focused on the content of the films themselves. You had done an initial sweep of the film laboratories located in Georgia and Alabama, but nothing came of it. You never would’ve considered St. Louis, until the most recent murder. Still… you feel foolish. It seems like such a simple solution, something you should’ve realized months ago.

There’s no use dwelling on the past, though. Right now, you need to speak with Jack and work on finding information on the employees of Gateway Film Laboratory. There will be someone there who fits the description of the killer you’re looking for.

You emerge from your illusory solitude to find Hannibal staring at you—with such intensity that you fear your skin might melt off. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, Dr. Lecter,” you remark, quickly getting up from the table. Your ears are ringing and your voice sounds as if you’re underwater. “Please excuse me.” You try to take a step back, but you’re met with an unexpected resistance. You attempt to turn, only for a force to yank you back. Hannibal is standing right in front of you, gripping your wrist in a manner that is both insistently forceful and infinitely gentle. It’s hard to breathe. You’re forced to face him.

You hiss, trying to pull away from him. Hannibal eventually relinquishes his grip, but before you can attempt to retreat, his hands are tugging at your sweater collar and running along your skin. A shiver runs down your spine and you feel goosebumps collecting on your arms. There’s a disapproving expression on his face as he tilts your collar aside, revealing the remnants of the bite mark Dolarhyde left you. You had hidden them for a reason, you think, as he traces the marks with his fingers. The look on his face is nothing short of pure displeasure, but his movements are almost… reverent. It’s an unsettling juxtaposition.

Air slams back into your chest and you shove his hand away, quickly turning and exiting the cell. In the blink of an eye, the guard is there to close the door behind you, rendering Hannibal imprisoned once more. He doesn’t seem to even notice, instead drinking in the sight of you.

You take a step backwards, needing a moment before you can convince yourself to move. When you finally start to leave, Hannibal calls after you. “I forgive you,” he says. The remark almost makes you freeze, before your fear kicks in and you start to walk even faster. Hannibal’s voice still follows you down the hall. “Will you forgive me?”

You slam the security door behind you. Your breaths almost echo in your ears. You walk through the hall in a haze, as if you’re a mere specter. The taunts of the prisoners reflect off of you, falling on unwilling ears. You think one of the inmates throws something at you, but you don’t bother to acknowledge it.

The second you pass through the doorway of the building and meet the open air once more, you’re dialing Jack’s phone number. He answers quickly. “Jack,” you say breathlessly, surveying your immediate surroundings to make sure there’s no one nearby. The effort seems a little unnecessary, since you’re in your car, but better safe than sorry. Your interaction with Hannibal just now—his hold on your wrist, the attentive gleam to his eyes—is leaving you feeling rather restless. You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to regain your composure. It feels hard to breathe.

“Agent,” he greets you, sensing the unspoken urgency with which you called on him.

“The Red Dragon’s most recent victims lived in St. Louis, Missouri,” you say quickly, almost breathlessly.

Jack is quiet for a moment. “Yes, why?”

“There’s a Gateway Laboratory location there,” you say. “It’s within about twenty minutes of the Martins’ residence.

Jack’s still silent, so you continue. “We agreed there was no pattern between the locations of the families,” you elaborate. “And we were right. But they all had home videos, from Gateway Laboratories.” The two of you had cross-referenced a list of all the company’s employees, but since the organization is a national chain, you had too many names to work with. “St. Louis is in the middle of the other families—between Omaha, Atlanta, Birmingham, and Des Moines. Check if there was someone who matched the criteria at the St. Louis location.”

There’s a faint clicking sound as Jack pulls up the report. You hear his breath stutter. “Francis Dolarhyde. Age 42. Military background. Right-handed, type AB blood. It’s him… We’ll reconvene when you get back.” There’s a quiet tone as he hangs up. You stare at your phone, your stomach churning. You’re finally getting closer to the Red Dragon. So… why do you still feel so uneasy? It must be your conversation with Hannibal—it’s unnerving you, loath you are to admit it.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the steering wheel of your car for a moment before finally starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. Through the hum of music spilling from the radio and the ever-present sounds of passing cars, you can still hear, feel, Hannibal’s voice on your skin.

He forgives you. But for what? And Hannibal wants you to forgive him. What forgiveness is he seeking, though? Does he want absolution from what he has already done, or what he is about to do?

Unbeknownst to you, Hannibal is also digesting your conversation behind the glass walls of his enclosure—picking your words apart, attempting to find traces of sentiment in them. He is growing restless and bored. He is a patient man, but there is only so much patience a person in his situation can have. Hannibal has entertained this charade for long enough, hasn’t he?

He turns his back on the cameras, deftly concealing himself in the blind spot. In his hand, he twists an entirely ordinary ballpoint pen. The utensil—deftly taken from the pocket of your jeans moments ago—glints when it catches the fluorescent lighting above. From the skylight, he can see the stars winking at him. Hannibal pushes the pen under the fitted sheet of his mattress and smiles.

Finally, his time grows near.

endnotes: Maybe it’s just me but I would for real not be able to stop myself from laughing at the plastic silverware situation. I kept cackling to myself as I was writing it. There’s something about the whole picture of Hannibal Lecter just sitting at a rickety table, attempting to eat an expensive meal with plastic utensils that keep breaking. Funny as fuck. Like, just thinking about him being entirely sincere and grabbing a piece with his fork, only for a prong to break off. I would not be able to keep it together.

I felt as if I had to acknowledge Hannibal’s privilege as a prisoner, because it’s just absolutely wild. The carceral state is extremely discriminatory, and I highly suspect that, if Hannibal were a different ethnicity/race/gender, he would not have received the same amenities he was afforded. I know this is a work of fiction, but still. It’s just far too close to real life for me to ignore.

I also like to think that Hannibal has the swiftness of a common pickpocket. That, combined with just the danger of being in a room alone with him, is enough for the reader not to notice their pen being swiped. Besides, it’s a pen. Seems harmless, right? ;) Hannibal is really Mac Gyver’ing this shit. Sigh.

Notice how you didn’t thank Hannibal for the meal, either? He absolutely loathes discourtesy, but he tolerates that behavior when it’s coming from you. Mwhahahahha… Ahahahaha...

In the beginning stages of this draft, I took inspiration from Mindhunter. I only watched a few eps of this show... but still! Also, this YouTube video of Holden & Ed gives me Hannibal & Reader vibes.

Only a few chapters left. We're down to the final stretch...!

Also, not sure if I ever said this... but funnily enough, since first writing this series, my ethnicity results went up 17% for the Baltics (aka Lithuania, aka Hannibal. lmao.) Okiii bye!

next chapter

thanks for reading! <3

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onestepbackwards · 11 months ago

Text

Love that Bites Pt. 13

IT'S DONE AAAA Sorry this took so long, I have had a rough few months, it's made it hard to write and focus. BUT! This chapter is at least 8000 words to make up for it! I hope you enjoy!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Summary: Despite what he had hoped, Dracula has decided to spring a talk of 'business' with you earlier than he had intended. He anticipates it to end in disaster, destroying what little peace you both had. However, he finds things might not end like he presumes...

CW: Anxiety, talks of depression, allusions to abuse, mentions of murder, mentions of sexist behavior, brief mentions of injury

Word Count: 8039 Words!

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Tag List: @kittenlover614 @simpytheshrimpy69 @midgetdemon17 @just-nother-dreamer @adrakeshoard @tilldeathripsusapart @thedeadlynights @pumpkinvampie @bethleeham @mshope16 @sixsixtwenty @haleypearce @rvautomatic @tinystarfishgalaxy @marshmelloe @maorizon @ursamajor17 @sapphicsfordracula @dame-sunflowers @sleepyendymion @starrlo0ver @onewiththebeanbag

First: Here Last: Here Next: Here

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Dracula, if he were being honest with himself, had dread when this day would come.

Deep down, he knew eventually you two would have to talk. There was no getting around it, no avoiding it forever.

After all, you were still a Belmont, and he was King of the Night.

He had known this talk would come before he eventually had been freed. How you mentioned wishing to talk instead of immediately engaging in battle.

However, he would admit that a small part of him looked forward to this, especially before he had been freed from his stone prison.

Back then, he could not help but imagine different scenarios of himself and you discussing the future. This primarily was before he had got to know you a little bit more with each ‘visit’.

Before you broke the curse on him, he had planned on using this talk to gouge your own plans, and see just what kind of a Belmont you really were.

Would you be all bark and no bite? Or was the idea of wanting to talk really just a guise to make yourself more high and mighty than him? Another ‘holier than thou’ spiel he had heard countless times throughout history, and still managing to condemn him?

Perhaps it was even a trick to try and lower his guard? Just to attack like a snake on unsuspecting prey?

Not that he would have let his guard down that easy in the beginning, of course…

Other questions though still had run through his mind at the time as he slowly grew to know you in his imprisonment.

Were you really different? Did a small bit of Leon still persist despite the generations of Belmonts? Was it truly kindness that shone bright in those tired eyes of yours?

It certainly wasn’t naïveté, despite what some may think. Those eyes of yours had seen too much to be dull witted. Any kindness you had to give, it was because you chose to, despite knowing the risks.

That kindness, and your interest in asking questions for yourself. That still drew him in.

However, as time went on, it became almost alarmingly clear that you were in fact serious about this. How you didn’t particularly want to battle him, at least not without hearing him out personally.

No power play here, no desire to put yourself above him while seemingly giving the vampire a chance.

You were a rarity that Dracula didn’t want to let go. Especially when you were just within his grasp.

Humans like yourself were rare, he didn’t want to just let you slip through his fingers, even if you were a Belmont.

If anything, that made it all the more important to try and sway you to see his side of things.

Or to at least… come to an understanding.

However, Dracula was all too familiar with how finicky fate could be. Should he try and lock you away or strongarm you into staying, he’d simply be pushing you away.

It also didn’t help that the idea of simply holding you hostage didn’t sit well in his gut. The last thing he wanted, (even if he refused to admit it out loud), was for you to hate him for stealing you away.

…He would admit he did consider it, though. Dracula had already lost so much, was it hard to blame him for wanting to protect this Little Belmont who was clearly a hidden gem amongst the rotten trash that was humankind?

Still, he couldn’t afford to risk losing you to his own arrogance. Not like this.

Unfortunately though, you unintentionally threw a wrench into his plans.

Originally, he hoped to have you here for at least a week, if not two. During that time, he planned to gleam who had hurt you, and deal with them swiftly if need be.

All while healing you, and seeing if he could push past a few of your walls.

That way, hopefully when you eventually had to have a talk with him about where you both stood, he had hoped he would have enough information to form a way to convince you to stay.

Alas, things never went to plan for him. Fate seemed to enjoy taunting him that way, it seems.

Despite how receptive you had been to him, and how you accepted his care, you surprised him with what you had to say.

How you could not stay much longer. You had to leave soon.

Your words weighed heavy in his heart. However, it became clear this wasn’t exactly a choice you wanted.

It seemed you were oddly reluctant to even mention why, clearly unhappy and anxious about the idea of going back.

That had alarm bells ringing in his mind.

The Lord of the Night was no fool. When he wasn’t constantly being slain by your ilk, he was a ruler, a leader, and a tactician. Among many other things.

No one lived as long as he, and not pick up on different things about human behavior.

A part of him wanted to puff up in pride. You seemingly wanted to stay.

But that was unfortunately a double edged sword, so it seemed.

Sure, you were receptive to his care and being his guest, but that was far from being entirely trustworthy and comfortable around him.

…So just how bad was your home life for you to prefer staying at his castle, even after someone already tried to foolishly tamper with your life?

You seemed a bit dodgy when he delicately prodded about your home life. However, the less you said, the more of a picture it seemed to paint.

No words had to be said for him to assume the worst. The wounds you had must have been from wherever you resided outside his castle.

Yet you stubbornly refused to give him details. Even if you were different from your ancestors, you were still very much a stubborn Belmont.

It would be endearing, if not for the fact he worried about your safety the moment you left his property.

And the fact he had to have this conversation with you now, rather than when he would have liked. He had at least hoped you would be in a better physical and mental state before he sprung this talk on you.

After all, you both couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room forever. One of you would either have to give and declare war, or… Perhaps meet halfway.

Even though he hoped for the best, Dracula was well aware this may end in disaster. He at least hoped it wouldn’t be too explosive.

He’d like to at least fight you on even ground with respect, like you had wished to do for him.

The last thing he wanted was to fight you as you looked up at him, clearly still incredibly injured, despite what the potions have done for you so far. He wouldn’t underestimate you, but he knew that you would no doubt leave with permanent damage if you managed to win.

And if he were being honest, Dracula didn’t want to deal with the whirlpool of emotions he no doubt will have to suffer from if you choose to try and destroy him.

He may be a prideful man who didn’t like admitting his faults, but he was well aware how badly he handled losing someone last time. He didn’t want to kill you or try to hurt you with his own hand.

So he donned his King of the Night mask. Ready to face the music.

Your reaction to his change in demeanor was instant.

Those wide eyes of yours sharpened, and he could practically see the hair on your neck stand on end. Seems a hunter’s instinct never rests.

It was almost fascinating to watch in real time, if he were being honest with himself. Any Belmont he had faced, almost exclusively were ready to fight him from the get go.

So to see you so subtly shift, as if a snake preparing to strike, or a cat ready to react with a strike of its own…

Dracula would be lying if he didn’t find such a sight interesting, stirring a set of feelings in him he thought he had long since buried. A shame he had to see such a shift when he might become your enemy in mere moments.

The air around you both was tense, and was charged with enough energy Dracula idly wondered if it could charge a light at this rate.

“So,” Dracula began, his voice becoming a bit of a bored drawl, “what exactly do you intend to do now, Little Belmont?”

Your eyes nervously bore into his own, and you swallowed thickly as you sat up straighter.

“What I intend to do?”

Dracula kept his lips from curling up into a grin. He at least would try to hold off from antagonizing you like he would with annoying diplomats from other monster and vampire clans.

“Yes. Forgive me for being rather blunt,” he began, his eyes glowing idly as he watched you for any change in behavior, “-but you know as well as I do, that we can’t just pretend the other doesn’t exist after you leave.”

It was subtle, but he recognized the calculating look on your face after he finished speaking. He wondered what thoughts were flying through your head as you scoured your mind for an answer.

Dracula knew his words had to be thought on, though he also imagined you probably had thought about this long before he had even been freed. Although, imagining what one would say in such a situation, and being in the situation you had imagined didn’t mean things would go as one planned.

You were silent for a moment. Then another.

Dracula didn’t mind, nor did he rush you. Despite his shift in attitude, he didn’t intend to push you to make a choice at that exact moment, even if he did put you on the spot.

Though perhaps, that may just be his thin veiled excuse to keep the peace, just for a little while longer.

After a few more moments, you let out a sigh, and put a hand on top of your head. You averted your eyes from him, and closed them.

“I… I don’t wish to fight you.” you began, almost tentatively. Your hands gripped the blanket nearby, and began to fiddle with it.

“You have been very kind to me since uh… Since you were freed from being a statue. You didn’t have to do that, for me of all humans.”

For a moment, your eyes met his own, and Dracula felt some tension in his body lessen, just ever so slightly.

So you didn’t wish to fight him either. It was one thing to suspect as such, but to hear it from your own mouth relieved him in a way he couldn’t explain. No doubt it also took a lot for you to admit that, to your own destined adversary.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t fight him. No, it was clear you would if you had to. The words were unspoken, but still there.

Despite this, you were still clearly nervous, your heartbeat pounding hard enough for him to hear in the quiet room.

“I’ll be honest. I… may be a fool for admitting this, but…” you began, your eyes flickering between your whip, which sat next to you on the bed, and Dracula himself.

“...I probably wouldn’t even win. What’s the point, anyway?”

That was indeed surprising to hear from your lips. The way you practically sagged as you admitted such a thing, showing just how tired you really were.

Dracula could see it now. It wasn’t just exhaustion in your eyes from whatever happened to you at your home.

You were tired of life. You were tired of the burden you had on your shoulders. You didn’t have much to fight for, anymore.

Dracula felt those words of yours tear into his heart. They struck a chord with him in a way that was almost unsettling.

“If I fight you, then what? I ‘win’? There’s nothing in it for me. Sure, I save humanity, or whatever-” You say, making finger quotes as you shake your head, “-But then I just end up back home in my own hell hole, no doubt with injuries that can no longer be healed. Then I’d still be expected to keep hunting.”

It was strange, as if a dam had broken within you. Dracula had a feeling this was something that had been building for years. No doubt from when you were a child, thoughts like those had been swimming in your head. Especially after you had lost a parent.

“Plus, what then, you rise again in a century? If even that? I know for a fact sometimes you have risen in half that time. What’s the point then? Just holding off until the next battle until someone else in my family stands up to fight you?”

Blinking quickly, you rubbed one of your eyes with your wrist, clearly trying to hold your emotions in check. The conversation clearly weighed heavy on you when you were already dealing with enough as it is.

He’d admit though, it was surprising to hear this from you.

Some Belmonts seemingly had been eager to seal him away. Either for glory, or the sake of mankind, thinking it a triumphant thing to succeed.

Here, you simply showed the opposite. How cruel fate really was, how winning against him was nothing more than a temporary, hollow victory in the grand scheme of things.

And how those words of yours echoed deep within his own mind. How many times had he been forced to answer the call of humans and other forces since he was killed that first time after Lisa’s death?

Those first few times, he had been vengeful. But after he had fought with his own son one on one, it had become increasingly clear how hollow his life had become.

How far he had sunk since he even lost his own dear Elisabetha.

How he encouraged this lonely life as a vampire after losing his first wife, then grew to detest the cursed cycle he had been put in after his second wife was murdered.

Fated to be the monster talked about in folk tales to keep children from misbehaving, only to reappear due to the whims of Chaos and Order. Cursed to be revived, when after all these centuries, he had finally wanted to rest.

He was tired too.

At least he was living in the hole he had dug for himself. He had no one to blame other than his own self and actions.

But there was a strange pang of sympathy for you in his chest. His actions were his own doing, but you? Your family was doomed because of both him, and your ancestor who created his whole clan just to slay him and his kind.

You were born to slay him, for better or for worse. Raised to kill him, and if he didn’t appear, raise a child in your family to kill him in your stead.

Did you even get to live a life of your own? Dracula doubted you could, unless you completely cut all ties, probably having to go as far as to change your own name.

After all, any Belmont was free game, regardless if they hunted or not. If there was a chance someone was related to a hunter, let alone a Belmont, beasts and monsters would hunt them for sport.

He would say at least you had your own family to support you. In the past, that seemed to be the case.

However… If your own family treated you like the dirt they walked on…

No wonder you were tired.

The room was silent for a moment, the tension having morphed from something tense and anxious, to somber and dreary.

“May I ask you a question?”

Dracula was almost startled by your voice, and how soft it had gotten. You were now looking out the window, watching as rain had begun to fall. A rolling thunder was heard off in the distance.

He wondered if that was due to the castle, or from him from the dull ache in his chest.

“You may.”

Dracula was also surprised by how his own voice had softened. He prepared himself to act like The King of the Night, yet here he was, already unable to stay cold and curt with you.

How his icy demeanor had already cracked seeing you so… broken.

It was silent for another moment as you gathered your thoughts.

“Why bother at this point? Is not coming back again and again exhausting? Why keep planning to attack humanity?”

At first, the questions seemed piercing and aggravating, until you finally looked back over at him. Those tired eyes of yours meeting his own.

“No one ever really told me. I have an idea, but… Most of what I know I learned from old journals. I highly doubt things written by a victor are always 100% accurate.”

That familiar, proud warmth stirred in his chest amongst the painful feelings that swirled from old memories.

But this… this is what he had wanted. When was the last time he got to explain his side?

…Though to be fair, he knew he would be seen as wrong, regardless of what he told you. However, it was still nice to at least have a chance to explain, without immediately being called a heartless monster first.

You at least were curious. You wanted to know for yourself, rather than just believe the words of your ancestors without thought.

Truly a marvel for most humans, even now.

Dracula looked over you, and how your eyes still watched him with a wary, curious gleam.

He sighed.

“Several centuries ago, my wife, Lisa, was murdered by humans.” Dracula began, letting himself relax slightly as he began to speak. You, meanwhile, sat up a bit further, clearly interested in what he had to say for himself.

“She insisted I go travel, and that she would be fine in the small home we had built away from the castle. Lisa wished to stay, having pursued the career of a doctor. Taught her everything I know.”

A small smile flickered on his face as he recounted his time with his late wife, though that smile quickly fell back to a frown.

Your eyes seemed to sharpen slightly, and it was as if he could see you calculating in real time what must have happened. No doubt you were already making educated guesses.

“Unfortunately, many didn’t take kindly to her healing others. Even a few of those she treated reported her to the church.”

Eyes widening slightly, a look of sorrow and horror briefly passed over your face. Had he not been paying attention, it would have been easy to miss.

No doubt you had an idea before, but his words were painting a horrific story, even if he hadn’t even said what had happened specifically just yet.

“For a year, she was fine. We occasionally wrote letters to the other, and she would tell me about her different patients. Sometimes how fulfilling it was to be a doctor, something she had dedicated her life to. Other times… She’d mention how her patients weren’t as kind or cooperative.”

Dracula held back a sneer at the reminder. He really should have noticed the signs so much sooner. How he could have avoided her horrible fate if he had just relied on his gut…

“They would groan or complain that she was treating them. How it wasn’t normal for a woman to do man’s work. They would sometimes curse her out or grow aggressive even. Some accepting her treatment while saying vile things about her. Although… My son at the time usually was around to help if things were too violent.”

Recognition flashed in your eyes. Of course you would recognize his son, to some degree, if you didn’t already know him.

There was doubt in his mind however, that you knew his son. Dracula at least liked to think his and Lisa’s son would have stepped in by now to help you if he had an idea of whatever was happening behind closed doors.

Especially given how his son had been insistent on helping the Belmonts throughout the centuries, even if it wasn’t always by choice since it regarded slaying him.

Details.

Though that did make Dracula briefly wonder just where his son was. Had he gone back to resting? Or had he stirred now that he himself was awake and free?

Dracula was no fool. Alucard had a connection to this castle just like he did, even if it wasn’t on the same scale. His son’s powers being from his own would always have a connection to this place, so long as Dracula remained alive.

Those thoughts were pushed back into his mind. He could dwell on such thoughts and speculations later. If he was still alive and this went well, of course.

Clearing his throat, Dracula continued.

“It was nearly the time I was to return home, when it happened. The church and heads of the nearby town seemed to have had ‘enough’ of my wife ‘playing’ healer, despite the fact she had most likely treated someone they knew, if not themselves.”

Anger and irritation began to simmer a bit brighter in his chest as he thought of how his wife had been treated. How alone and scared she must have been that day.

“They came. They saw the instruments we both used for medicinal purposes. Something I believe you would find rather modern, or even old by today’s standards, but at the time…”

You looked up at him then, realization in your eyes.

“They accused her of witchcraft, didn’t they?”

It was more of a statement, then a question.

Dracula could only give you a small nod.

“She was.”

You had a pained look on your face, clearly upset.

“I’m… not surprised.” you began, a bit hesitant.

“Humans fear things they don’t understand. Or things they can’t control. I imagine being a woman, and a doctor who no doubt had a great success rate at that… Add the more modern medicine practices…” you mumbled, eyes looking down to the side as you thought out loud.

Dracula was at least somewhat pleased you were beginning to see the gravity the situation had been. He had no idea what your knowledge of his wife had been, but this no doubt was an eye opener. That is, if you were choosing to believe him.

Given how you were reacting though… he’d like to hope you were. At least you weren’t screaming obscenities at him and calling him a liar and a heathen like some of your ancestors might have.

“Indeed. It… was brutal.”

Your eyes were now back on him, and he mentally cursed as his voice nearly wavered. He wanted to grow angry once more, and yet, a part of him wanted to simply mourn.

When did he last ever get the chance?

“When I arrived at the small home we had shared, all that was left was cinders. She had been taken captive, and I had been informed… She was to be burned at the stake.”

The air was colder, and your body tensed as a growl slowly crept into his voice.

“By the time I had found where they were keeping her…” he began, his voice low, growing strained, “...They burned her, claiming she was a witch. That this was God’s will.”

He could feel his fangs grow just ever so slightly, as well as his claws. Dracula could practically remember the smell of those ashes of that home.

“It was a lie, of course. All of it. They simply wanted her dead, and used all of that as flimsy excuses to placate the town.” he snarled, leaning forward slightly.

Despite the anger clear on his face, you remained steady. You didn’t flinch away like he thought you might, though your eyes were still wide with horror all the same.

Though… he had the feeling it wasn’t horror from seeing him like this. You weren’t scared of the beast threatening to break free from his flesh.

“By the time I located her, she was already burning. Her soul was already beginning to fade. She was gone.”

Dracula leaned back into the chair, his heart heavy in his chest.

A moment passed, and then another once more. The only thing either of you could hear was the storm that had begun to persist around the castle. How the rain harshly hit the window against the wall, and the wind wailed.

“Not one human stood up. No one looked at what was happening, and said no. All they did was watch.”

Your eyes flickered to the arm of the chair Dracula was sitting in, how it splintered under the pressure of his claws.

Yet… you still didn’t look afraid.

“I then warned them. I gave them a year to apologize and admit they were wrong. A year to pack up and leave. No one did. Not one.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Dracula took a deep breath. In an instant, the air was no longer as heavy as it had been a moment before, though a deep chill still ran throughout the air.

A part of him wanted to feel a bit bad. The moment the air lessened, you slumped again. You were still wounded, and weren’t able to hold yourself together like you no doubt would have if you were healthy. He would have to be mindful how much of a powerful presence he had.

Thrumming his claws against the partially destroyed arm of the chair, Dracula looked over you briefly before continuing.

“In my grief and anger, I declared a year from that day, I would rain hell on those who killed her. I would raze humanity to the ground.”

Your eyes met his.

“And then you did. Or tried to.” you spoke, your voice surprisingly steady.

His eyes never left your own.

“Indeed. I did.”

You swallowed thickly, your hands gripping the sheets under you nervously.

Different ways over how you would respond flashed through his mind again, much like they had earlier these past few days. However, what you said next surprised him.

“I… I don’t blame you, if I am being honest.”

Sure, Dracula thought of the possibility of you saying something along those lines, but he didn’t think you’d actually say it.

Even if you were different from some of your ancestors, he still expected you to go along and claim he was still an evil bastard, that killing those people was still horrible.

Though, that thought isn’t wrong. He knew what he was doing all those centuries ago, and knew what he was doing each time he had been revived and set out to attack. How evil those actions were.

Yet here you were, so quietly admitting you didn’t blame him.

“I’ll be honest… If it were my partner, or someone close to me… I can’t say I wouldn’t have wanted revenge.” You began, head tilting slightly towards him.

“Though uh… I don’t think I would have tried to kill all of humanity, but… Well… I don’t know your situation in full, but I do know grief is a powerful motivator for a lot of things…”

Dracula wasn’t sure what overcame him, but he found himself standing up out of the chair and leaning forward. His arms caged you in as he rested his hands on either side of you on the bed, while he loomed over you.

“You, Little Belmont, would commit murder? To avenge someone close to you, despite what your ancestors have stood for?” he asked, curiosity truly burning in his chest.

You didn’t shrink back, instead met his gaze head on, even as he caged you in. Even as he heard your heart pick up, and your breath hitch, you didn’t back down from his question.

“I’m not saying I would have tried to destroy all of humanity… or even that entire town. But I would hunt down every single person involved. They would know I was coming, one by one.”

Your eyes spoke promise, as if this was something you had thought of plenty of times before. The certainty in them was surprising.

“I’m not my ancestors. I protect humanity, sure, but don’t assume I'm just like them.”

He stood over you for a moment, his face so incredibly close to your own as he stood above you as he took in your words. Your pulse was loud enough to ring in his own ears, and your body was stiff as stone, as if awaiting him to call you a liar.

Then, he laughed.

It was more of a chuckle really, though seeing your bewildered face as he pulled back away from you nearly had made him want to laugh harder.

Leaning back and sitting into the chair once again, Dracula ran a hand against his face and into his hair.

“Forgive me- Forgive me…” He began, his lips twitching into a smile. “I just never thought I’d see the day where a Belmont would admit something such as that. Though…”

Dracula adjusted his posture to a much more relaxed one, most of the tension that had been in the air washing away in an instant.

“You are correct. You are far from what some of your ancestors have been.”

You definitely had Leon’s fire. It was hard to say if Leon would have committed murder against humans if the past had been slightly different… But you had that gleam in your eye that his old friend once had. A fierce look that was different, yet just as vicious as Belmonts before you.

With such a revelation, Dracula could feel the heavy feeling in his heart lessen, but that didn’t mean you both were in the clear, even if you understood each other just a bit better.

Even if you were sympathetic to him, that didn’t change the fact he very much attempted to kill many people. Multiple times, sometimes against his will. He very much has caused harm again and again.

Still, you looked at him with such a complex look on your face. No doubt conflicted yourself with everything you had learned today, especially if you were going to go ahead and plan to fight him anyway.

“So, Little Belmont.”

His voice had you looking back up at him.

“Now that you’ve heard it from my lips, why I detested humanity for so long, what do you plan to do now?” he asked.

Dracula wouldn’t lie. He was genuinely curious what your response would be. Anxiety began to creep up his throat once again, however.

…Maybe you would say something that would once again surprise him.

It was silent for a few moments, as you looked deep in thought, before looking back up at him.

“Well… Do you intend to keep trying to kill every human? Seems kinda… counter productive to do so now. Especially when things have changed so much in the centuries that have passed.”

Though you gave a slight wince.

“Granted, I don’t expect you to like anyone. But at this point, what do you gain? Are you… Not tired of fighting and dying and being revived?”

Once again, he could sense a genuine curiosity in your questions.

What did he gain, at this point?

Killing every human would be suicide for vampires everywhere. It would do more than just destroy vampires, but ecosystems as well.

As much as Vlad hated to admit it, humans were a necessary factor when it came to the earth.

But why should he care?

The moment that thought crossed his mind, his eyes landed back on you. How you fidgeted a bit on the bed, though seemed far less anxious than before. Your instincts didn’t seem as on edge as they had been when he first initiated this conversation.

Granted, he hadn’t been as… enthusiastic about world domination in centuries, if he were being honest with himself. His last run in with his son definitely left a mark, how his son grimly told him what Lisa’s last words had been.

But even though he often wished to stay dead, many would find ways to bring him back, and it was as if a cord was attached to his back, tugging him like a string. A force urging him to kill once again.

He’d barely be awake even a few hours, before he was set to be killed again.

Dracula would admit, he was definitely tired.

This wasn’t exactly what he expected his life to become after he chose to forsake his own humanity to spite God. Though he supposes that’s what he gets for doing so in the first place.

Who knew immortality would be full of boredom, tragedy, and bone deep tiredness?

Still, without it, he wouldn’t have experienced the brief bouts of love and joy that he wouldn’t trade for the world.

His eyes stayed on you as those thoughts swirled in his mind.

Despite everything that has happened to him, he found it hard to regret meeting you, at least so far.

For a moment, his eyes gazed to the side, different thoughts conflicting in his mind, but…

He didn’t wish to fight you, either.

Fingers thrumming against the arm of the chair, Dracula leaned his face against his hand.

“I suppose that is a fair point. Nearly every human that has personally spite me is dead. It gets tiring being woken up, and then killed for attempting vengeance when those who personally wronged me are gone.”

Your lips twitched upwards slightly at his ‘admission’, before giving him a look.

“But tell me, Little Belmont…”

He leaned in close again from his spot in the chair, looking at you almost amused.

“What should I do instead, hm?”

You blinked, and your face briefly flushed from the proximity.

“Um… Well, what did you do before declaring humans as your enemy? Uh, I’m no historian, but didn’t you just kinda do your own thing, only killing people that came to bother you or hurt you? Like how the church likes to refer to you as Vlad the Impaler to hide that you are a real vampire that exists?”

Dracula stared at you for a moment.

“They what.”

Hands flew up, and you shook them a bit in front of you as Dracula leaned back.

“Uh- don’t worry, I can tell you that later, but in all seriousness-”

Arching a brow, Dracula briefly wondered just what the church and human historians have been saying about him all these centuries if they were attempting to hide his existence. Despite being freed for a few days, he still had much to catch up on.

Regardless, he gave what you said some thought.

“That is true. I… did mostly keep to myself. I had no desire to join or hide amongst humans. Though I had little pity for those who sought me out to destroy me and met a… bloody end.”

At his words you blinked, before nodding to yourself as if you agreed. However, your eyes widened ever so slightly, and you were looking at him with that familiar spark in your eye he had seen come and go.

“Um… Why not do that again? Actually, how about a compromise?”

Now he was interested. What kind of compromise would a Belmont come up with? You were different from many of the others, sure, but he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Well…” You began, clearing your throat, “Unless any innocent humans are harmed, I have no desire to or need to hunt you, or anyone in the castle, really. What would be the point? I know from personal experience not everyone of the paranormal nature are ‘evil’, after all.”

Your hands were fidgeting in your lap, and you were having a hard time sitting still.

“Uh… that is to say I won’t hunt anyone that hurts any innocent folk. But at that point, that was their own choice, right? Unless you ordered it, I can deal with them personally. No need to go to war if you aren’t attacking anyone. And…”

It was clear you were growing more and more flustered as you tried to explain yourself and your reasoning. It wasn’t for the fact he had to take this seriously, he would have found it cute.

“And I- um- I can try to keep people away? I own a part of the property nearby and can have the road closed off. Of course, I can’t stop trespassers if I am not here, but I have plenty of traps set around the property… close to my cabin, really. I can try and keep people away…”

You were mumbling more in thought now as you tried to come up with ideas.

“...And I know a few blood banks for vampires, and a few other paranormal people who require blood to live. I know a witch that owns one, too. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to bits to help.”

All were interesting ideas, if you felt you both could really pull it off. However, he still had one question.

While you were rambling, he gently reached forward, clawed fingers tenderly grabbing your chin to have you look at him. You stopped talking and froze, eyes wide.

“All very good ideas, Little Belmont, but please answer me this,” He began, watching as your eyes comically flickered between his hand and face, “What about your family legacy? It was founded on the very idea of killing me.”

You swallowed thickly as he spoke, eyes trained on him.

“You asked why it mattered. Are you really willing to throw away the one thing your clan was founded for? For peace? For both humans and monsters? Are you willing to toss aside the very reason your ancestors became hunters in the first place?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment, swallowing thickly once more. After a few moments, you moved your head out of his grip, a sudden annoyed look in your eyes.

“I said it once, and I’ll say it again. I’m not my ancestors.” you began, a sharp look on your face.

“I didn’t ask to be born a hunter. To be born a Belmont. I’ll protect humanity, sure, but why do I have to limit myself and people’s lives based on what my ancestors decided what- 500 years ago? Why should every rule my ancestors made define my life in its entirety?”

It was as if your nerves had dissipated, and you crossed your arms in annoyance. Dracula wondered if this also was something you have thought about for years.

It made sense, he supposed. If your personal life was as much of a mess as he suspected, then what did you have to show for being a Belmont besides pain and strife?

His lips twitched upwards slightly into a small grin. You just keep finding ways to surprise him.

“Fair enough. It’s admirable to forge your own path rather than be held down by your ancestors.”

Dracula then tilted his head, that smile never quite leaving his face.

“So, Little Belmont. Let’s say I do agree to your ideas. I won’t destroy humanity, and you won’t hunt myself, and the residents of my castle. You’ll help keep humans away, and help anyone here who needs a meal. What will you do then?”

The annoyed look on your face fell, and you thought for a moment.

“Um… I could show you a bunch of modern stuff? No offense, I know you are a genius and all, but uh… I doubt you know all the ways civilization has changed since you were last around for more than a day.” you said with a wince, though you perked up almost instantly.

“Oh! I could get you a cell phone! Oh, I bet you would like some of the online libraries as well-”

He would admit, he had no idea what a cellphone was, but he was intrigued by the idea of a library.

But he was more interested in the very idea of you not only not slaying him, but you coming back to visit.

Yes, the idea of you wanting to come back was very pleasing to him, indeed.

It was at the cost of playing nice, but was that such a hard thing to achieve?

If it had been several decades ago, he doubted he would have been so… willing. He has had plenty of time to cool off, being imprisoned in stone. That urge to kill never truly left…

But that urge to devour humanity whole… that was dwindling. He’d argue that it had been dwindling for a while now.

He may be King of the Night, but this song and dance was growing tiresome.

That, and your ideas had merit. He could work with them, within reason.

“Alright Little Belmont.” he began, and you paused in the middle of your muttering.

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

You sat up straight again, eyes at attention, and he could practically hear your heart pick up in anticipation.

“For starters, I won’t attack humanity, not as a whole. However, I won’t show mercy to anyone who personally slights me. That, and any human foolhardy enough to come to my castle in an attempt to destroy me shall be dealt with accordingly.”

After you gave him a brisk nod, he continued.

“You, on the other hand, shall not lay a hand on anyone in this castle, unless they attack first. Am I clear?” He spoke, his voice becoming firm. You tilted your head, and he decided to elaborate before you agreed.

“Everyone in my castle is under my protection. They are here either as a direct connection to me as my servants, are here for sanctuary, or are here for political endeavors. They are not to be harmed unless they attack you first, or attack humans on their own accord.”

He could only imagine the shit show that would follow if you killed one of the political guests for another coven. A part of him actually considered letting you loose on them, now that he thought about it, especially with those nasty guests that like to undermine him for dying to Belmonts…

That could be a thought for another day.

A look of understanding crossed your face, and you gave him another nod.

“That’s reasonable.”

It was more or less your idea, after all, but he was glad you were willing to agree to what he added on to it.

“Next, you said you own the property nearby, and could help keep other pesky humans away. I’ll hold you to that, because I may not attempt to kill humans for existing, but I do not wish to be bothered.”

Though he’d admit, he wondered if you would be willing to show him the land you own. Vlad was curious how a little cabin you owned.

What would it look like? Did you keep it clean? Messy? Was it large? Small?

Questions he could ask later, should he see you again and you agree to these terms.

You blinked, before nodding at him slowly.

“I mean… I’ll try and do what I can. Of course, If the government or church discovers you, they may try to override me, or send someone to attack from a different position. I can’t stop that, but… I will do what I can. If I can’t, and you haven’t done anything besides exist…”

Your eyes flickered to a nearby mirror, before looking back at him.

“Well, like you said, they’ll be dealt with. I can try to persuade but… well at that point, if they won’t hear me out… I can’t stop anything you do to someone trespassing.”

That was a fair compromise, he supposed. He had little idea how the human government worked in this day and age, let alone how entangled hunters were with them. Should anyone be foolish enough to challenge him, then he’ll make sure to deal with it.

But if you were at least willing to help him out, even a little, in regards to keeping humans away. Even if you most likely weren’t a fan of the idea of him exterminating any human that foolishly sauntered into his domain.

“Agreed. Now, another thing…”

Dracula tilted his head as he looked at you.

“I’d like to see you again after this, Little Belmont.”

Your eyes widened a degree, and your face grew slightly flushed from surprise.

“What-”

“What I mean is, you intrigue me. You fascinate me in ways I had long since forgotten, and I’d like to hope this simple compromise will simply be the beginning of a… commendable relationship.”

He felt his lips curl upward again at the look on your face. Clearly you weren’t expecting him to be so forward in asking to see you once more.

“Are… Are you sure? I uh, no offense, didn’t think you’d want a Belmont around after I leave… Or your castle’s inhabitants, since I know how some of them feel with me recovering here…”

Oh, how you had no idea how much he wanted to see you again. Vlad knew his time with you now was short, and his old heart was beginning to pound in his chest at the possibility of this little meeting actually working out.

He had to see you again. One way or another.

“I am sure. You will soon find that I don’t say things I don’t mean without reason, especially in company I like.”

He wished he had a camera, it was clear you weren’t quite used to subtle compliments. Or perhaps there was more to it?

Dracula could think more on that later.

Gently, he held out a hand to shake.

“What do you say, Little Belmont? Are these terms agreeable?”

Eyes flickering between him and his hand, you held out a hand, before hesitating.

“Okay… On one condition.” Dracula raised an eyebrow, but was curious nonetheless.

“Name it.”

After a reluctant pause, you spoke up.

“It can’t be this easy.” You began, though quickly continued when you saw his face fall.

“When I say that, I’m not referring to you. I mean our circumstances. I worry something might come up that would be… disruptive to this ‘peace’. I propose that we at least try to talk about something before acting rashly if one of us feels slighted, or if the other may have broken the agreement without realizing it.”

Dracula had to give you credit, even while injured and under what must be an absurd amount of stress, you were managing to think ahead. Something a hunter no doubt had to be good at while on a hunt, so why wouldn’t it show in other areas as well?

Plus… It pleased him you were still being careful, critically aware of your situation instead of blindingly agreeing. You were no fool.

No doubt your mind was whirring with possibilities, ways he, or someone in his castle could try and trap you by these agreements. Those thoughts weren’t unfounded, at least involving his subjects.

He had no doubts there would be chaos when you started coming around for visits.

Even if he himself wouldn’t dare try and trap you by your own rules to invoke a battle, it still impressed him that you were cautious. There were too many conniving fools when it came to such politics, even now as he settled back in as King.

Vlad smiled.

“Very well, that is agreeable. Anything else?”

You were still hesitant, but after a moment, you reached forward, your smaller hand meeting his own.

“No, that will be all for now.”

With your warm hand clasped with his own, Dracula felt his body finally relax, and his gaze on you softened.

For now, things might finally start going his way.

Even if that meant his desires had morphed into something different than pure destruction. All he wanted was to learn more of you.

#castlevania #dracula #vlad dracula tepes #castlevania x reader #dracula x reader #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #Belmont!reader #long post #cw death mention #cw depressive thoughts #zed.writes #love that bites #ltb #fanfic

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