#do I know who the penpal is?

[cecexwrites]

Plot Bunny: Gossip Girl (or Reboot), Dacre Montgomery or Cody Christian

Sorry, I think the connection is bad- you said And right? Right.

Ryder Volkov

The son of a famous actress and her Mafioso 2nd husband, Ryder was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. Dangerous and volatile, he moves to New York to keep an eye on some... problems in the area.

Niko Petrov

The son of right hand of the boss, Niko knows his best bet in life is to become the right hand of Ryder, the future boss. Generally valued more for his muscle than his brains, Niko is often underestimated, as he's just as sharp and capable as Ryder. But only Ryder seems to notice or care. When the opportunity comes to go live in New York, Niko jumps on it. Because he knows for a fact that his online pen pal lives in the City.

[neallo]

deathnote characters and hobbies i feel like they would eventually develop, except it's only the characters i already have thoughts about

NEAR

on a monthly basis he'll start reading into some random fucking hobby and be knee-deep in forum posts from 15 years ago. 90% of the time he never speaks of the fixation of the month aloud, but sometimes something will come up years after the fact, and he'll have on-hand some fully thought-out take that no one is expecting because like. near why do you have opinions about 15th century blacksmithing practices. what the fuck

gets into birding in his early 30s

he never really learns how to cook for real because there's literally nooooo reason he would need to. however he does learn how to use a zojirushi rice cooker, and also learns one (1) slow-cooker oatmeal recipe. he proceeds to bring that oatmeal to literally every SPK holiday gathering from ages 25 (<- year he learns and perfects The Oatmeal Recipe) to age 41 (<- year he learns a Soup Recipe)

can actually withstand a decent number of rich foods but has a fairly low tolerance for spicy food and often eats vegetable-heavy dishes just because he, like, really enjoys vegetables

wait this has strayed from the hobby criteria. and i also don't have the willpower to finish this. post cancelled but send tweet nonetheless

[wolves-in-the-world]

Goran Višnjić as Nikola Tesla in Doctor Who 12.4, Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror.

image descriptions below the cut

—

[1] A still from an episode of Doctor Who, showing Goran as Nikola Tesla in front of Niagara Falls with an audience of men in suits and top hats, only their backs shown to us. Nikola is gesturing towards the waterfall as he speaks. He's a tall, slim man of about fifty in an old-fashioned suit with a tailcoat, pinstriped trousers, a waistcoat and watch-chain. He has a moustache, and brown hair parted in the middle, a few inches long and styled neatly with a bit of a wave.

[2] Goran as Nikola Tesla gesturing towards a device I don't understand well enough to even describe except that it's two corrugated metal cylinders and electricity is arcing between them, blue and dramatic, while he gestures like a magician. His other hand is on a lever, his face obscured by a starburst of blue light.

[3] A close-up of Goran as Nikola Tesla with a lightbulb in the foreground gleaming with warm light. He's looking off-screen and smiling slightly, eyes large and grey-blue, eyebrows raised, creases in his forehead and around his mouth. He's wearing a butterscotch-yellow tie with a wing or tuxedo shirt collar.

[4] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola Tesla bent over a workbench doing something with a tool we only see as a faint gleam of metal. He's bent almost double, intent on his work, a curl of hair falling down above his forehead, his coat gone and his shirt sleeves rucked up to the elbow so that his arms are bare and evidently hairy. The scene's dark, lit only by a candle lamp.

[5] A view of Goran as Nikola Tesla looking at a figure mostly out of view, visible to us only as blonde hair at the side of the screen. Nikola's eyes are a little wide, his mouth slightly open, making him look bewildered, and perhaps wary - I thought of it as his "okay, either you or this situation is bonkers" face. His thumb is just visible at the bottom of the screen, suggesting he's gesturing or fidgeting with his hands.

[6] A view of Goran in a crowded street, no coat, standing almost a head taller than everyone else and gesturing with one hand in a way that signals frustration or defensiveness, his eyes closed, mouth open as he speaks. A few bowler hats are visible around him, and a few of Nikola's companions - Dorothy, a serious-faced woman of thirty or so with tightly curly hair and smart clothing; the Doctor, currently a woman with straight blonde hair looking curiously past Dorothy; and just a glimpse of Yasmin in the background in a flat blue hat.

[7] A side-on view of Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor and Goran as Nikola both paying rapt attention to a glowing green mechanical-looking ball in a dish, with the Doctor pointing her sonic screwdriver at it and Nikola bending down to watch at the opposite side of the desk, hands folded together as if he's fidgeting, intent on her work. The Doctor's in a long light grey coat with a hood, incongruous for the era, and it's clear she'd be a lot shorter than him if he weren't currently courting back pain.

[8] The same scene as before, minutes later - the Doctor only visible as blonde hair in the foreground, Nikola's face transformed like he's realised something wonderful, eyes on the Doctor and leaning forward slightly, or still leaning on the desk. His mouth is open as he talks, his eyes bright, skin creasing faintly at the corners with a real smile.

[9] The same scene as before, seconds later. Goran as Nikola is looking to the side, no longer smiling but serious and thoughtful.

[10] The same scene as before, seconds later. Nikola is looking back at the Doctor and raising his eyebrows in a question at something she said, his forehead creasing, his expression perhaps a little doubtful.

[11] A close-up of Goran as Nikola in a room with warmer and dimmer lighting, his hair coming loose a bit as short curls on his forehead, frowning as he talks to someone off-screen. The angle exaggerates his nose, emphasises the lines around his mouth.

[12] A different view of the scene, zoomed out. Nikola is bent over a worktable beside Yasmin, a young woman with curled hair and a smart navy-blue jacket, and they're looking at each other as though discussing a problem, Nikola folding or rubbing his hands together. The desk of a mess of wires and oddments, lit bulbs in metal cages and what might be the odd green ball from earlier.

[13] Nikola and Yasmin in a very different location, dimly lit, with strange red lights in the background and a green light over their faces. (They're on an alien spaceship.) Yasmin is looking down at the floor like she's stunned, mouth open, and Nikola is holding her arm like he's just pulled her back, but his eyes are on something or someone else we can't see. His eyes are wide, his expression startled and openly afraid.

[14] Nikola and Yasmin still on the spaceship, blurry machinery behind them, but Nikola is almost level with Yasmin now and they're standing close, both looking at a third party off-screen. Yasmin's expression is one of distaste and a little anger, and Nikola's eyebrows are drawn down, expression somewhere between bewildered and worried.

[15] A different scene, different lighting - deep blue in the background, warm light on Nikola's face. It's an odd angle, his head ducked as though looking at something, his expression serious.

[16] A different scene, perhaps daytime with electric lighting, Nikola in conversation with someone off-screen who's clearly shorter than him. His hair's a little disarrayed, eyebrows raised and forehead creased, but there's something of a smile to his eyes and his mouth that gentles it.

[17] The same scene, seconds later, slightly zoomed in. Nikola's eyebrows are lower, forehead still creased and eyes a little scrunched, like he doesn't understand yet what the other person means. There's something tender about it still.

[18] A different room, darker, Nikola grinning while the Doctor is mostly off-screen, just a little of her hair visible, except she's raising a hand for a high-five that he isn't reciprocating. Creases are splayed out from his eyes, deep ones around his mouth, his nose sharp from this angle.

[19] A different view of the high-five moment, focusing on the Doctor as she realises he doesn't know to reciprocate - the high-five wasn't invented yet - and starts to lower her hand. Her mouth is wide open, teeth showing, somewhere between a grin and talking, and her body language is open exuberance. The creases around Nikola's eyes are still very visible from this angle, though most of his face isn't.

[20] A view of Goran as Nikola with his eyes closed as if he's blocking something out, and a look of forbearance and faint frustration on his face.

[21] A side-on view of Goran as Nikola, a shorter man in the background and the TARDIS behind them both, its windows glowing white. Nikola's expression is determined and a little grim, more hair curling messily against his forehead.

[22] A view of Goran as Nikola outside, trees in the background, a blurry blue-white sky and what might be yellowish grass. He's wearing old-fashioned aviator goggles on his forehead, where they're pushing his hair up so it's even messier, and he's looking down at something with a troubled expression.

[23] A view of the Doctor and Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS, the scene awash in electric blue and peach-pink, and no other lighting. The Doctor's leant over the TARDIS controls doing something there and looking back at Nikola, who has picked up some sort of contraption and is looking down at it, expression either troubled or focused. The light on his face is blue, throwing his features into sharp and unflattering relief.

[24] A view of Goran as Nikola in the TARDIS still, the lighting blue, the angle of his shoulders suggesting his hands are on his hips, and his expression now one of open joy. His eyes are large, his mouth open and smiling slightly, soft creases on either side.

[25] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, looking with his head tilted at someone in the foreground - barely visible, except for the bowler hat. Nikola's expression is tolerant, a restrained smile with narrow eyes, and his hands are probably clasped behind his back.

[26] A view of Goran as Nikola on the street, now talking to the Doctor, only the back of her head visible. Nikola's in the same pose as before, hands behind his back, only leaning slightly towards her now, his expression warm as he talks to her. The creases around his eyes are back, and it's another angle that emphasises his nose.

[27] The same view as before, only now Nikola's ducked his head, almost like he's shy, or needs a moment to collect himself. The creases have gone from his eyes, but the smile's still there at his mouth.

—

[thegoodcultist]

This is your sign to go buy a postcard and send it as a surprise to a friend. Or a family member. Or a stranger online. There's no pressure to write a lot, but there's plenty of room for sentiment. Maybe doodle something in the corner. Maybe use some stickers. It'll make them smile :)

[alpinelogy]

so i have arrived at - as the youth may call it - stupid asf situation. you see my printer thought they were being cool (they were <3) and sent me dupes if the small 5 x 7 graphics. which is cool except now i have nine copies of the same graphic amongst other slightly silly things, so i might run in stock leftover sales in the next month or two

[darthsuki]

Me: midnight is not a good time to ponder about starting an etsy shop

Also me: but let me look at some cute stationary at Michaels

[stilettobitearch]

🥀 ✿ (for cass or @lieriel, your pick!) @lieriel / @delightfalse pre-established relationship.

for lydia.

friendship.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

romance.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

familial.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

antagonistic.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

for cassandra.

friendship.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

romance.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

familial.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

antagonistic.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

[fluxedbuds]

I would unironically love to have a network of Hermit Informants where we all ask each other for info on each other’s main watches but that’d probably require a discord server and I’m Not Running That !

[imflyingfish]

Feeling intimidated by french again

[bighitfics]

jeon jungkook fanfics that deserve to be turned into kdramas and selling books.

(a recommendation you badly need) ⭑.ᐟ

Sauvage ౨ৎ by @tljunglebook

— grumpy x sunshine, cold and detached jungkook (who turns into a whipped puppy later on) work romance, slow burn.

(starting off strong! this book’s got the most delicious slow burn to ever exist! screaming at how sexy, dirty minded, down bad & protective for oc jungkook’s in this fic ugh the wattpad girlies already know that they’re my adopted parents)

10 Seconds ᥫ᭡ by @deepdarkdelights

— yandere jungkook, abduction, stalking, stockholm syndrome.

(this series is my first love, i would do anything to read this for the first time again!)

Penpal 𓍯𓂃 by @laughing-with-god

— yandere prisoner jungkook, stalking, breaking in.

(gotta contact some directors and producers to turn this into a drama! it would slay so hard with its refreshing plot line! and tbh no words are enough to describe her writing abilities, she’s a pro✨)

Risqué ✧˖° by @mercurygguk

— age gap, forbidden romance, smut, angst.

(the time stamps and drabbles are the essence of this fic, the smut is so well written! ALSO THE SEGSUAL TENSION AND OVERALL YEARNING MA’AM!? can someone already turn this into a mini netflix series please!?)

About Time ִ࣪𖤐 by @yoonia

— time travel au, major angst, second chances, smut, fluff.

(if i had the chance to devour a book, i’d eat this one (obviously) it’s one of the best books of my life, i would die to see a live version of this)

I Want You To Stay ʚɞ ⁺˖ by @ahundredtimesover

— ceo jungkook, strangers to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut.

(no slow burn ever slow burned the way this story slow burned! lemme warn ya’ll this fic will keep getting better as you read it!)

Bride Of Devil ♰ 𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ by @jasminefanfics

— dark romance, gangster au, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, age gap, kinda yandere husband jungkook.

(my youtube fanfic girlies assemble! this is the best mafia jungkook fic i can recommend for ya’ll! the bgm is so addictive and perfect)

An Abundance Of Luck And A Sprinkle Of Fate 𐙚 by @borathae

— strangers to lovers, romance, found family, smut, angst, healing.

(I remember being unhealthily obsessed with this lord, aaol!kook & oc will forever be my babies TT this book tugs at your heart in a way that’s inexplainable)

ps — have a good read girlies <3

follow for more.

[neo-shitty]

spring day never latches on to a permanent face. it takes the form of the people i miss whom i have no way of reconnecting with. ever since i read that message in my inbox, it has taken the form of you, kesya.

[avayarising]

They are absolutely not stupid or dumbasses, either of them. Just ignorant of the concept of soulmates, through no fault of their own.

If either of them ever looks up the phenomenon of ‘writing appearing on arm’ they will gravitate towards and preferentially look at results from the scientific literature, where the word ‘soulmate’ is not used (because it’s a very loaded term).

So Danny or Tim, reading up on it, will see lots of speculation on the nature of the carriers, and elucidations of the mechanism of the temporary skin pigmentation change, and glean from their reading that it’s a rare phenomenon that links two (or more) people together, and perhaps if they are still interested after that they will look at psychology journals where they will see studies on personality differences and similarities between members of skin pigmentation linked groups, and differential performance of linked and unlinked individuals in various tests and simulated situations. All with very small sample sizes, of course, because rare.

They will not pay any attention to lurid romance novels, teenage magazine agony aunt columns, tabloid speculation about celebrities’ love lives, or the occasional chatter of their school friends hoping they will be one of the few to ‘get a soulmate’. They have things to do and physics questions to answer.

Most psychologists in particular would heavily dispute the idea that people linked via skin pigmentation are Destined To Be Together, whether romantically or not, and there’s a lot of speculation in the physics journals about quantum entanglement and what coincidences in charge and spin lead quarks in distant and separated people to become entangled thus producing a cascade effect resulting in marks being reflected on the other person…

In short, despite popular western culture, most serious scientists are working on the assumption that ‘soulmates’ are linked by utter coincidence or at least on criteria that have nothing to do with personality, and any greater personal compatibility than normal is caused by social expectation or by spending years writing to each other and getting to know each other, and is nothing to do with Destiny at all.

So Tim and Danny, not readers of romantic fiction in general and certainly not the sort where having a soulmate is like having purple eyes, simply do not connect the popular idea of soulmates with what’s going on on their skin at all.

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[unknownmads]

CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT INMATE TOJI AND CUTE LITTLE Y/N WHOS SO NAIVE TO BIG BAD TOJI

CW: Slight smut (mentions of his pp🤭)

☆☆☆

thinking about Prison toji who you met when your college has you do a little project in your criminal psychology class. The project was make a penpal get to know them ask why they are in prision, what their lives before was like, do they regret what they did etc. basic questions of course all you had to do was get the most information out of the penpal about their personal lives as you could.

Prison Toji who only signed up for the program because it was part of his latest court order saying he ‘needed more understanding’ so a penpal would give him a friend while they stay safe😭 he ofc hated the idea and thought it was the dumbest shit ever. until he got his first letter, from you (duh).

Prison toji who got mail for the first time and it was a little white envelope with a cute little sticker sealing it. He deadpanned *is my penpal an idiot these letters are for a prison not a daycare* he silently judges examining every detail as he opened the letter. i read the letter taking in every little personal detail you shared with him, your cute little name, how you loved your cat, how you’re new to the city only just moving for school, of course the boring questions for him as well. But at the very end of the letter he noticed an extra little note.

Ps. i left a few photos of myself along with some of my cat! i think it’s only fair since i got to see your photo on the website

Prison toji who grabs the envelope he previously had thrown to the side and pulls out 3 polaroids. One of you and probably your cat you’re dragging it into the photo with a big grin on your face. the second is a photo of your face a soft smile on your lips meant for whoever took the photo but Toji couldn’t help but wonder if that little smile was for him. Until he pulls out the third photo it’s a full view of you, you’re out in the city dressed all out, and Toji couldn’t help but know you chose that photo just for him.

Prison Toji who can’t wait to finally get some alone time so he can truly appreciate your pretty photos. And immediately goes to write you back answering all your cute little questions. Telling you where he lived before, how he ended up there, telling you what he did for work before (Surprise he sold drugs😍), telling you what he does to occupy his time here (he works out he just wanted an excuse to tell you how strong he is), and he asks you some questions.

Prison Toji who has been relentlessly flirting with since you started writing to him, asking if you had a boyfriend, how your school was going, why you moved to the city, how a cute lil thing like you is still single. You had been writing each other for a few weeks now which is a lot less than you think when you know how long mail takes. But your letters to each other are long. answering every little thing each other asks, learning about one another more and more. You had really connected so you finally ask him the big question he read the words as clear as day.

~Do you think i could come pay you a visit? ~

Prison Toji who had to immediately write back answering the most important question first.

~ And doll, you can come visit me anytime id love to finally meet you and see your pretty face in person~

he wanted to be nonchalant.

Prison Toji who was sitting in bed looking at your photos when he was called

“Zenin, you’ve got a visitor. away from the door.”

Prison Toji silently followed standing on the other side of the cell while the guard came in to handcuff him and bring him to the visiting area. Once he was in the room his cuffs connecting him to the table he waited. until he heard the door open again. He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he saw the guard guide you in. You were wide eyed taking in the new environment until they landed on him.

Prison Toji was large, you knew he was tall and muscular thanks to his letters and photo but nothing could have prepared you for the real deal. Eyes widening even more when you fully take him in. seated At the grey metal table his hands on the table as the guard had told him to. his hair poking at his eyes which were staring drinking you in. his lip in a smirk helping you notice the scar on it which you couldn’t really see from the grainy prison photos. His shirt stretched against his muscles showing off a few tattoos hidden along his skin. the view making you squeeze your thighs together to release some of the pressure building.

Prison Toji who took in as much of you as he could as he watched you shuffle into your seat across from him, enjoying how you squirmed slightly within his gaze, his smirk growing into an almost full smile.

“hey doll it’s good to finally meet you.”

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the black dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded, your voice low but unyielding. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking steady breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half you if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn���t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter One

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

“Do you really have to give him to that brute?” you ask Alicent, bouncing the toddler Daeron on your knee. He’s much too old to be amused by a game this simple, yet he plays along, giggling and grabbing at your sleeves. You scrunch your nose at him, prompting even more laughter

“Now I’ve heard my brother called many names, but a brute is not one of them,” The Queen quips, sipping her tea as she wiggles her fingers for Daeron to take, “besides, Oldtown is beautiful.”

“Well I may be selfish,” you admit, “I want another of your little blonde angels to spoil.”

Alicent has to laugh at that, covering her mouth with her teacup. Angel was not the word most would use for her children. Aegon, while beautiful, is already an outspoken handful, a child of eight and already flirting with grown women; Helaena, sweet Helaena, is shy and gentle, seldom seen; Aemond barely can read yet, but is more studious than half the kingdom, already strong willed and stoic for a child; and Daeron, well, mayhaps Daeron can be raised without the proverbial crown and sword dangled above his pretty head. Despite this, you love to take them on walks and read to them and give them sweets or breads that their parents do not allow them regularly. 

“The boy will be plenty spoiled in Oldtown, I assure you.”

Alicent lays a hand on your arm gently, and you stop bouncing the toddler. He looks up at you, mumbling in protest. She looks down at him, and then you, her face betraying a deep worry and sadness.

“I want to give him something other than what we have, and the other children are already in too deep,” she says, and you understand her perfectly. The Red Keep is beautiful, decadent and indulgent, yet at the same time dreary and often times suffocating. You’d been here for almost a decade now, chosen as one of Alicent’s ladies in waiting when Rhaenyra and the young queen fell out with one another. The Hand had told you that his daughter needed a friend as a young queen, and that it would be your duty to be that for her. Luckily, when Alicent is not praying, she is easy to love and converse with. You care not for the devout practices in the keep, but understand her efforts to cling to something to believe in. Your lord father had even sent your dowry here with you, knowing the crown would probably arrange a match for you instead of himself. There is every wine you could taste, every book you could read, every hue you could paint; and yet you are kept out of reach of anything beyond this place. Daeron is getting an opportunity not to be trapped here, like his siblings and his mother and you are. 

“Yes, My Queen.”

Alicent pushes a tea cup towards you, leaning down to the window. It overlooks the training yards, where young knights take up sword and young ladies of the court watch if they’ve nothing else to attend to. 

You lean over as well, bringing Daeron up to view the training yards too. You see most of the kingsgaurd and gold cloaks there, as well as the queen’s brother. He flips auburn hair arrogantly as he beckons another man over. Careless bravado, if one were to ask you. Women fawn over the sight, pointing and cheering for various men and their swords and skills. You don’t care to join them, not one for tourneys or sport or even the hunt that’s held for each of Alicent’s little ones. Travel, however, is something you’ve always cared for. The travel to and from a hunt, the travel that brought you here; cherished memories you’d yearn for more of. It’s something the men, even the tiny princes, take for granted. You suppose, one day, you’ll travel when you are finally betrothed, however you’re comfortable by Alicent’s side for now.

“How are you with written word?” She asks you suddenly, as if the thought just occurred to her.

“Had I been born a man, I could have been a writer,” you jest, looking down at Daeron thoughtfully. His hair already curls at the ends, like Aegon and their mother. He could be a writer, or a poet, or anything he wants. You cast a suspicious glance at the Queen, however, as she knows this. The Queen has been in your chambers, has seen the writing desk and extensive journals filled with poems and stories and notes.

“Pardon me for speaking out of turn, but what are you up to?” you ask. The Queen allows you frank words the King would probably have you sent away for, but there is always a chance that goodwill will run out. You aren’t exactly sure why Alicent allows you to speak so freely, but if you had to guess you’d think it would have something to do with her personal loss of the princess as her previous confidant.

Alicent sighs again, and looks away from you. You do not like the look of that.

“The King has requested I entertain the ladies of court in some way,” she reveals, and you have to wonder where her apprehension comes from.

“Like the ladies court Alysanne created?” you ask. She picks at her thumb, and it takes everything in you not to swat her nails away from her hand. It hurts, to think that she causes herself pain to relieve whatever concerns her.

“No,” she frowns, “Nothing serious, I was told. I think…”

She pauses, and looks down at the courtyard again before continuing.

“Have you noticed what’s taken place the last few feasts Viserys held?” she asks, her eyes no doubt following her brother’s sparring. A lot of nothing, if you were being honest. The same three dances, the same cliques talking in hushed voices. You would not consider the recent feasts to be an entertaining occasion.

“You mean nothing?” you snort as you lean back in your chair.

“Exactly.”

“Are you planning on playing children’s games to get people out of their seats? Or line dancing lessons so the lords stop stepping on my feet?” you are only half jesting when you say this, your poor pinky toe bruised and stiff for a week after the last feast.

“No, darling,” Alicent lets a rare laugh slip through her voice as she speaks.

You look between the side of her head, and towards the training yard below. Suddenly, you have an odd feeling about this.

“I have devised a letter writing system. I think it would be nice if people could speak freely without their pretenses, so the letters will all be anonymous,” she pauses thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip, “I hope that if the lords and ladies know there is someone else at court with something in common with them, they will be more willing to be open. Maybe… I don’t know.”

Alicent falters, unsure of herself. You can tell this is the first time she’s talked through this plan with another person, completely unsure of it. But, it’s not a bad idea.

“Maybe…” you pick up where she left off, “Maybe it will help us find entertainment within these walls.”

Alicent beams at your words, nodding. There is truth in her idea, you realize. That perhaps even you are part of the problem. So easily had you just now even dismissed the women watching the men spar in the courtyard. It is important to have a queen who thinks of these kinds of things.

“Exactly right,” she continues, “I fear that I will be seen as a bad queen if I do not try to bring some life to this place.”

You try to comfort her, to reach out and clasp her hand in yours in a silent reassurance, but sweet little Daeron beats you to it, giggling as he yanks on one of her auburn curls.

“Will you help me?” she asks, and it is a double sided question, both with her plan and with the immense strength of a toddlers fist when they have something they want.

“Yes, My Queen,” you huff out a laugh as you give Daeron your index finger to grab instead, “I’ll write my first letter tonight.”

News spreads quickly of Queen Alicent’s idea, and already the Red Keep seemed more lively than it had since before Aemond’s birth. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be searching, every other unmarried person of the court their potential penpal. Who was yours? Alicent was already working on having Larys Strong organize each match.  You could only hope it wasn’t someone like dull Jason Lannister or contemptible Gwayne Hightower; maybe it would be someone who likes travel and could show you maps and take you away from here at least periodically to see the rest of Westeros. Though truly, you know that you will make a puzzle out of this. To be surprised is not your favorite feeling. Maybe, you think with a small sigh of laughter, you will try to trick the men of court to show you a writing sample so you can compare it to the letters you will receive. 

Your eyes shift as you hear loud voices from around the corner, men’s laughter carrying and bouncing off the walls. Immediately, you know it’s the men from the training yard. Already cringing internally, you attempt to steel yourself and ignore the banter. 

The men boast of the women watching in on the training, pointing out how the lady of House Something would want to give favor to the Knight of So-and-So. They joke about the blush upon women’s cheeks, about the way they speak in hushed tones. What a joke, you think, that they can freely jape at the way that women express themselves. You’d read as a child how knights are supposed to be the most gentlemanly and gallant men in all the lands, about their deeds and generosity and kindness. Now as a woman you realize why those stories were considered a fantasy. You look down at your hands, twisting your rings as you attempt to pass the men without their attention or greeting, but then a voice cuts through the noise. Gwayne Hightower himself. 

“Is cream the color of a maiden’s underdress or her sheets?” He laughs, gloved had pushing his auburn hair back.

“Neither, if you are skilled, I say.”

You balk at his words, loud enough that the knights do not care that a passing lady can hear. Your shock turns to a scowl quickly, ready to burst the bubble of chauvinistic confidence the green knight displays. Surely, you’re not unaware of the way that the knights and lords speak of women, King Viserys himself has said wildly offensive things even about Alicent while she is in the room while she must grin and bear it. But the fact that it is him, so handsome and confident and seemingly flawless, him who paints himself as the picture of chivalry and the epitome of a gentleman knight; him that says it so flippantly as if women- maidens- are but another tourney game to him that has your blood boiling.

“Ser Gwayne!” you call, not hiding the anger that seems like ichor from your tone. For a quick moment, you realize that as one of Alicent’s ladies, you should not be shouting at men in public, but you must follow through with what you started, you cannot bring yourself to back down. Gwayne, surprised, break away from the other men and turns, taking a few curious steps towards you as the other knights continue down the hall. You know what they must think, and blood rushes beneath your skin. Though the sun has gone down, it is still too hot. 

“Does it not disgust you?” you exclaim as you cross the hallway towards him, unable to keep the thought to yourself, “The way you speak of women? And what if your sister were to hear?”

You stop as you land in front of him, not at all hiding the anger in your face. 

Gwayne smirks, face twisting arrogantly, and leans in close. Not too close that it’s improper, but close enough that the conversation does not walk. 

“Then it is good it is not my pious sister, yes? Just her pretty, aggravating little shadow with a free tongue.”

He leans back, as if to mark a victory against you. The sunlight wanes, its setting orange casting a glow that seems to make the sweat upon his brow shimmer. You do not scoff at his words, for in truth the jester has said far worse. To scoff or show anger would be to let him win. But he is wrong perhaps, as his sister 

“Aye, and I’m sure everyone would be the better if yours were sewn in place, Ser.”

He winks, and starts to walk back towards his fellow knights. 

“I am sure you would do it for me!” he calls over his shoulder, a far enough distance that you cannot respond. Effectively, gaining the last word. You cannot believe that Alicent would send her youngest son to live with… that. 

You curse under your breath, your smile not at all reaching your eyes as you keep walking. Anything to put space between you and over confident knights. The stone floors clack under your low heels, echoing in now silent halls as you reach your chamber. They are not far from the royal chambers, so in case that Alicent would like to call upon you easier. This was also the doing of her father The Hand. You look to the ornate doors down the hall from your own, and sigh deeply. Perhaps it is the young queen’s loneliness that makes your desire to leave all the more remarkable. You do not envy her, you think, despite her children you love dearly; And you push open your own door, to the lovely apartments you’ve been given. For a cage, you do like the way this one’s been gilded. Lush velvets and fresh flowers and bookshelves full of knick knacks and lots of natural light to ordain your space. 

You debate throwing yourself down upon your bed, collapsing into the plush down and drifting off to dreams that do not include Gwayne Hightower under the same roof as you. But, you had made a promise. Instead you kick your shoes off and change into something comfy before settling down to your writing desk. 

Dear Ser Lord

Dear Lord

Dear 

You crumple the paper under your fist, not even letting the ink fully dry. The paper gets tossed carelessly behind you, another piece of parchment ready to go. You think to yourself, how to start this without knowing it’s intended? You tap the quill against your chin, staring out the window at the city below.  You get an idea.

My Unfamiliar,

You begin, and yes, that feels right. You don’t know if he’s a Ser or a Lord, and you’d hate to miscategorize. You’d hate to sound too affectionate, or too cold. Him on the other end being your stranger feels a bit more… playful, a bit more unserious without insulting anyone. 

How does the summer treat you? I would ask how you are spending it, though I fear that maybe that would be too forward. I understand these letters to be anonymous, and I would hate to ask you for clues as to your identity too quickly. Though, if you offer, I will accept them gladly. 

I feel that this is an odd pretense to meet, or meet again, in this way. However, I cannot help but find the idea thrilling. I must introduce myself to you in a way that I have not before, in a way that does not immediately give away my identity. Perhaps, you may know me even better than

Your hand hovers for a moment, your hand having been ready to write ‘My Queen’ next. 

my closest companions. I am a maiden of noble birth, as you already know. Yet, that is hardly all I am. I love my studies, reading and charting courses on maps. My hearts truest desire is to see the world I read about, to see more than the Red Keep, my homeland, and the site of a hunt. I wish to ride horseback through mountain ranges and by ship to Pentos or Essos. I wish to experience the food I read about in historical journals, even see some of the more exotic and unseemly experiences there are to travel. Amongst all this beauty, it almost feels wrong to want to see the world warts and all, but I feel I need to. I hope that you are a man that understands this desire, or possibly has seen some of this world and can tell me about it. Have you traveled? Do you travel often? Is the world as vibrant as I imagine? 

I am a woman who enjoys the arts, tapestry weaving and writing of my own, though I will admit I find myself quite terrible at making music. I may dance to it, but I cannot create it. 

And what of you, My Stranger? What are the things within you that you are able to share with me?

I apologize for the haste of this letter, however this concept is new of me. I am certain that within more time, my letters will grow in length as we get to know one another. 

Sincerely, 

Your Unfamiliar

You look over the letter, once, twice, three times, four; Finally, you decide that it will not be better written than this. Just the right amount of information, interest in your receiver, and you seal it. 

You walk to your door, almost shaking, nervous as you peek your head out into the hallway. Luckily, Keely, one of Alicent’s dressers is in the hall. She accepts the letter easily, though you gift her an extra few silver anyway to ensure it gets to its destination safely. 

Now, you wait. 

[lovexjoe]

PENPALS Part 2

You and Armando talked every single day for 2 months straight until he asked you to visit. He didn’t want to make you feel rushed and always want to reassure you that he just genuinely enjoys your company. Falling for you along the way was a bonus. You were such a smart girl, graduating nursing school soon and going on to bigger and better things. He questioned sometimes if he was worthy enough for you. He also questioned if you had twisted parts to you as well cause who would really try to message a criminal like him.

You agreed to seeing him along with bringing him a special gift. He was in Central Florida aka Tampa. You headed inside the prison going through the check ins and pat downs. You didn’t have time to change your nurse scrubs so you sucked it up. The guard lets you know where he’s sitting at waiting for you. He was in a decent prison, one that actually lets you see and touch your loved ones under surveillance of course. You were nervous. You saw him from the doorway and it’s like you two were connected because he looked up from his hands to you.

“Hey handsome,” You give him your beautiful smile and he swore he could probably melt in his seat right there. He pulls you in for a hug. His arms were strong, you felt his muscles under the orange jumpsuit and it made your stomach do a flip.

“Thank you for coming mami. Tell me how was your day” he holds your hand and was completely absorbed with hearing about your life on the outside world. You were graduating soon and you’re most likely moving to Miami since most of your family is down there. He was happy for you, but sad that these visits will come to an end.

After chatting it up for an hour, it was time to say your goodbyes. You slipped him his gift and he gives you a smirk having a bit of a inkling of what it could be.

He pulls you in for another hug.

“Please take care of yourself ….” You worry about him. You noticed the busted knuckles he had probably from getting into fights.

“I’ll do my best.” You stood there looking into each others eyes and Armando couldn’t help himself any longer. He pulls you in for a kiss and you were in fact…. in love with a criminal. The guards lead you out and you couldn’t help the smile on your face. You got it bad and so did he.

The video chats didn’t do him justice he was beyond handsome….and a killer.

The visit was definitely the highlight of your day. His hands felt so good around your waist. You knew he’d enjoy those Polaroids during night hours. The feeling of his lips still linger on yours. When you got home you sent him a message that he could wake up to in the morning.

“I can’t even explain how happy I was to see you. Armando I’m falling for you”

You press send and immediately closed your laptop and placed it as far away from you as possible. You know when you send a risky text and you chuck your phone across the room? Yea try a risky email to a prisoner who won’t see it for another 10 hours.

Armando went back to his cell a happy man. He took the Polaroids out of his pocket and immediately he smiled. You truly were everything he could dream of. These pictures were simple pics of you that you took while out and then one…..one definitely caught his attention. You were in a black lingerie set, judging the way your scrubs fit you he knew you looked amazing underneath. This Polaroid confirmed it. It was hard to rub one out in prison when you’re surrounded by men, but tonight….you were the only thing on his mind. The only thing that brought him pleasure.

*2 weeks later*

Armando didn’t answer your messages at all. Every time you called to speak with him they said he wasn’t taking any calls or visits. You were worried something happened to him, but what if he simply just didn’t want to speak to you? You were already in Miami with your family, but you would make the drive just to see him again. You prayed for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The very next day after the visit Armando was attacked in prison due to him knowing who McGrath was. He wasn’t allowed access to anything. He yearned to hear your voice. He was losing his mind. He kept your polaroids on him because he looks at them when he needs some hope. After two weeks Mike and Marcus convinced Rita to get Armando transferred to Miami and that brings them to the current time.

“Alright let’s make this quick y’all my daughter just graduated nursing school and she’s back home” Marcus said cheerfully

“You excited to see Y/N or you excited to land and get some skittles?” Mike joked

Armando stood there trying to process what the fuck he just heard.

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

@armandosbabymama @dyttomori @bbyplutosblog @vergilnelosparda @believeinthefireflies95 @ebsmind @hopetookourvibe @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @poppetbaby02 @bitchyglittersuit @marley1773