#left a comment on a fic that had been orphaned

[ihni]

Chipping away at the @feedthefandomfest (Old fic edition) and have managed three rows at the moment ...

[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.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 15

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: None. Just angst and fluff.

Word Count: 3,343

A/N: So, here it is - Chapter 15, and the end of this series. I've been so grateful for all the wonderful reblogs and encouraging comments this fic has received as it's gone along week by week. Your support is the reason why it's finally completed.

It began life as just a few chapters from an orphaned fic of mine over on ff.net and now it's a fully completed Dean fic that I'm very proud of. 😊 So thanks again, and I hope you enjoy the end of this story, and feel it was worth the investment of your time. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Four weeks later. January 1901.

Dean sat down heavily behind his mahogany desk and picked up his morning mail before immediately throwing it back down in annoyance. 

It will just be invitations and invoices, Dean thought, who cares?

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and digging his fingers into them. He was hungover and had barely slept. He felt like he'd been hit with a brick building.

With a deep sigh, he opened the file in front of him and ran his hand over the top page. It was his copy of the deal that he’d finally signed a week ago.

Two weeks ago, George Taskett had called his secretary to arrange a meeting. When Dean showed up at the appointed time, George apologized profusely for what had happened at the theater.

“It’s taken me a little while to reach out to you because I wanted to be able to tell you that Byron Temple had been fired, and before I could do that, I needed to speak to the board about it first. But I can assure you now that he has been permanently removed from his position, and fired from our company. It seems that the board shared my concerns with his lack of moral character.”

George had told Dean that when they investigated a little bit, they’d discovered that the incident at The Manhattan hadn't been the first such incident for Temple. Dean was not surprised, and he was glad that the board of Northern Freight had been all too happy to show him the door.

So with Temple out of the picture, the deal had gone through as originally planned and all three companies were now set to make a lot of money. Winchester Shipping and Lumber was in the best shape it had ever been in.

But he still couldn't sleep at night.

As he tucked the file away, he heard a knock at the door and then Grant's voice when he opened it. Dean couldn't make out what he was saying to the visitor, but if it was anything other than, “come back another day”, Dean might have to fire him.

A minute later, however, Grant was in his doorway to announce his guest. But Dean didn't need the announcement, as he saw his baby brother's towering frame standing behind his butler.

Dean stood up with a frown, walking out from behind his desk as Grant left, and Sam entered his study. “What's wrong?” He asked without preamble.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing's wrong.”

Dean's scowl got deeper. “What do you mean ‘nothing’s wrong’? Then what are you doing here?”

Sam shrugged. “Just wanted to visit my brother.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against his desk and fixing Sam with a look as he took a seat on one of the leather chairs across from Dean.

“You just wanted to visit?” Dean asked, his voice incredulous. “You thought you'd take a six hour train ride to just…drop in and say hi?”

“Sure.”

“Sam.”

“I just wanted to see how you're doing. See if you're alright.” Sam said innocently.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Sam sighed. “Cause Y/N isn't.”

Dean's heart beat double time as he scowled again at his little brother. “Sam, honest to god…” He ran a hand through his hair. “This better not be the real reason you're here.”

“It is.” Sam said calmly.

“Well, then I'm sorry you wasted your money on a train ticket, along with six hours of your life.” He held up a finger. “No, twelve, actually, cause you're gonna leave now.”

Sam just continued to stare at him, annoying him profusely. Finally his little brother had the audacity to shake his head and scold him.

“Dean, why did you let her go? I saw you with her, saw you at Christmas. I know you love her.”

“Bullshit!” Dean barked at him, angrily. “You are imagining things, Sam, and I'm not interested in dredging up this same asinine conversation I already had with your wife.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she told me about it. Just made us even more sure that you were completely in love with Y/N. What we couldn't figure out is why you were so furious about the very idea of loving her.”

“Dammit Sam, drop this!” Dean shouted at him as he straightened up from the desk. 

Sam pointed at him. “Yeah, furious like that.” He shrugged. “But then…I think I figured it out “

"Oh, did you?" Dean asked with a death stare, feeling the panic start to rise up in him.

Sam's voice softened as he looked Dean in the eye. “You're afraid you'll end up like Dad.” 

Dean clenched his jaw and refused to respond.

But eventually Sam just shook his head. “You won't though.”

Fear and panic sat thick in Dean's throat, clogging his voice as he spoke. “You don't know that.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, I do.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Dean shuffled back and sat down behind his desk again. His head was pounding harder than ever.

He watched Sam for a while before he shook his head. “You don't remember him the way - I mean, obviously you couldn't remember him how he was. Before. But…” 

He scrubbed an exhausted hand down his face. “I remember. The way he was. I remember him laughing and smiling. The way he'd pick me up when he walked back in the door at the end of the day, ride me around on his shoulders…I remember all of it. And I remember when it was gone. He was like a completely different man. He might as well have died with her, cause he was gone and he never came back.”

Dean closed his eyes. “So, I swore to myself, I swore,” he emphasized, “that I would never do the same. I would NEVER love someone like that and then lose myself completely when they were gone.” 

He shook his head again and opened his eyes to pin Sam with another glare. “I just won't do it.”

Sam sat, quietly nodding for a moment before his brow wrinkled in thought. “Hmm…” He took a deep breath and spoke as he exhaled.

“Do you love me?”

Dean stared at him for a heartbeat before a red flush began climbing up his neck as he answered in a growl. “What are you talking about?”

But Sam just waved away his brother's words. “Nevermind, I already know you do. You love me a lot.”

Dean continued to glare at his annoying little brother, not sure what to even say to that.

“And I know you love Jess and Lucy too. Also a lot.”

“What is your point Sam?” He barked at him, although he thought he'd started to figure it out.

“I know this too, though.” Sam continued without answering him, “If anything ever happened to me or…Jess, or…” He didn't seem able to finish the horrible idea, and Dean felt his stomach churn and his chest ache at the mere thought. 

But Sam pushed on. “If something ever happened, you'd never abandon the ones left behind. You'd never leave us on our own.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, feeling his throat ache from his trapped feelings. 

“Oh yeah?” He asked doubtfully. “And how could you possibly be sure of that?” He smiled without humor. “I am my father's son, after all.”

Sam shrugged. “That may be, but you're also just Dean, my big brother. And he's the most selfless man I've ever known.”

Dean scoffed, but Sam continued over him. 

“You've never put yourself first. Not while you were raising me. Not when you went toe-to-toe with Dad for me, so I could go to law school. Not when you worked a second job outside the business, so that you could pay my whole tuition when Dad refused to pay for it with ‘company money’ as he called it.”

Dean couldn't look at Sam any longer, dipping his head to stare at the wood grain in his desk as his brother continued to heap undeserving praise on him.

“And ever since you took over the company, you've always put your employees first, you take care of them, you work twice as hard as you need to, and pay them a lot more than other companies do, to make sure they can live good, happy lives. I've seen your books, I know it's true.”

“So?” Dean cut into Sam's diatribe, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Even if all of this praise was true, which it isn't, none of it proves that loving and losing someone wouldn't change all of that. Dad was a good man too, until he loved a woman and lost a woman.”

Sam tightened his jaw. “Maybe he was, but he was also a selfish bastard for abandoning us, for just going off to live alone with his grief and anger. You weren't even five years old, and you'd just lost your mother!” Sam huffed angrily. “He should have cared about that too. He should have cared about you, about us...not just the wife he lost.”

Dean's instinct was to defend their father, but he didn't. He'd begun to see that Sam was right; it had been pretty selfish.

“And I'm telling you,” Sam said with conviction, “if you and Y/N were lucky enough to be blessed with children, you would NEVER abandon them for any reason. Not ever. Because you. are not. our father.” 

Dean heard his little brother's words, and the freedom he found in them, surprised him. It felt like he could breathe deeply for the first time in a very long time. He felt a tear escape and he dashed it away quickly, turning his chair away from Sam and staring at the wall. 

After a moment of quiet, Sam spoke solemnly. "But none of this speculating about how you'd act IF you fell in love with Y/N really matters anyway. Because the plain and simple fact is, you're already in love with her.”

The words still made Dean's stomach clench, and he turned back to Sam and shook his head. “No, I refused, I wouldn't let myself love her.”

Sam rolled his eyes and breathed out harshly. “Damn! You really are a monumental idiot.”

Dean scowled at him, unimpressed with his opinion.

“Dean, you can't stop yourself from loving someone. You can't just control something like that.”

Dean felt the old, familiar panic start to rise in his chest. If he couldn't control it...if he really did love her already…then he'd already lost, and he'd never be free of her hold on him.

I don't wanna be free.

The intrusive thought leaked into his mind and he closed his eyes, trying desperately to deny it but-

“She's leaving.”

Dean's eyes popped open to stare at Sam. 

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly.

“She gave us her notice. She's leaving. Catching a train in a couple of days. That's why I came to shake some sense into you before it's too late. She's going west, says she wants to seek some adventure, but I know it's really because we're all just a constant reminder of you. She's been miserable this whole last month - trying very hard to hide it - but miserable.”

Dean felt a different kind of panic rising as he contemplated Y/N being on the other side of the country, living her life a million miles from his.

She'd get married to someone else - someone who didn't become paralyzed with fear at the thought of needing her in his life. He'd win her over, he'd make her smile, make her happy. He'd give her children; he'd be the damn compatible husband she'd always wanted, and give her the little cottage and respectable life she deserved. 

The exact life he'd told her to go and live just before he made love to her and then snuck out of the room before she woke, like a coward.

He looked at his little brother, desperate now for his help. “Shit. I walked away from her Sam. I left her a goddamn note cause I was too much of a coward to say goodbye to her face. Cause I knew if I spent another minute with her, I'd be so tempted to do anything she wanted, say anything she wanted, just to get her to stay. And I couldn't risk it.”

Sam gave him a scolding look and just shook his head.

Dean's voice was slightly forlorn. “What are the chances she forgives me for that?”

Sam shrugged. “Won't know till you try, coward.”

***

Y/N clutched the handle of her leather bag tightly, gripping it over and over, wearing it smooth from sheer worry. She recognized that traveling alone, to some remote California town she'd never been to was ludicrous and dangerous. But she just couldn't take it another day; she needed to get as far away as she could. 

Living with Sam and Jessica everyday, watching them in their happy, loving marriage, was simply more than she could handle. The fact that occasionally, when Sam smiled or frowned or laughed a certain way, a tiny piece of his big brother would appear on his face, well, that was just the knife in her heart that made leaving quickly a necessity.

So, here she was, on a bench on the train platform, waiting for a train to roll in and carry her away from endless reminders of Dean. But even just sitting on the bench reminded her that she'd first met him while she was sitting on a bench - on that cool day last fall, when he'd burned his way into her life, into her heart and then into her bed. Unfortunately, he'd also burrowed his way into her soul, and she knew he'd never leave.

Even now she imagined that she heard him calling her name over the screaming whistle of the steam engine that was pulling up beside her; it was the train that would take her away from everything she wanted to leave behind. Though she knew she'd never manage it completely.

Y/N frowned slightly as she looked up; she thought she heard his voice again. Was she truly going mad?

But then she saw him, running through the steam on the platform, coming towards her. She jumped up, completely confused, but somehow feeling like she needed to be on her feet.

“Dean?” She asked as he reached her. “Why are you…? What-”

Dean interrupted her. “Don't get on that train. Don't go. I have a proposition for you instead.”

Y/N felt her heart plummet. “Dean-”

“Marry me.”

Her words died in her throat and she just stared at him, her eyes bulging as she tried to work out what was going on.

“Oh,” she said almost sadly, “I've actually gone completely mad now.”

But Dean was shaking his head. “No, sweetheart, I was the crazy one. I was the one who thought I could simply wish away, or will away loving you, but I should have known it was never gonna work.”

Y/N returned to being simply speechless, eyes wide and staring once again, as Dean continued, his voice sincere and ardent.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I didn't stick around to say goodbye. Hell, I'm sorry I even tried to say goodbye in the first place. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to let myself love you, or admit to it anyway. Seems like I didn't really have much say in the matter. Apparently trying desperately to not love someone, doesn't actually stop you from loving them. Who knew?" He said with a lopsided smile and a shrug.

Still smiling, he took another step towards her and his voice was strong and sure. "But I'm mostly sorry that I didn't wrap my arms around you the very first time I saw you, and absolutely refuse to let you go.”

“That's actually kidnapping!”

Y/N whipped around to see Sam and Jessica standing behind her on the platform with Lucy between them. Jessica slapped Sam's arm for his sarcastic comment. 

“Shush. He's trying.” She waved at Dean and called to him. “You're doing great, champ! Keep going!” 

“Give her the ring, Uncle Dean. Ladies like rings!” Lucy shouted.

Y/N started crying and laughing in the same breath, and nearly choked. But as Dean nodded at his niece and got down on one knee, tears won out and she started crying noisily.

He gazed up at her with a soft smile and slightly glassy eyes. “I wasn't planning to do this with an audience, and I have a lot to explain to you, I know, about why I was such an idiot and how stupid I was to be afraid of loving you.”

“Quit reminding her she'll be marrying a moron!” Sam called out again, and Y/N heard Jessica smack him again. But she couldn't take her eyes off of the massive ring that sat in the velvet box Dean opened and presented to her.

It was a Tiffany's box, she noticed, and inside was a beautiful diamond ring, with a small round emerald in the very center.

“I love you so much, Y/N, and I know I don't deserve you, but please say yes anyway.”

“Yes!” She shouted, taking the box from him and then throwing her arms around his neck, letting him stand up and twirl her around, laughing with him through her tears.

Everyone on the platform clapped happily, as Dean kissed her. 

Sam covered Lucy's eyes but she pushed his hand away, clapping loudly at the little fairytale that had played out for her.

As Dean pulled back, he slipped the ring onto her finger and ran his thumb over her knuckles, before raising her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it, just like he did the very first day they'd met. It still had the power to make her stomach flutter.

“Do you like it?” He asked, touching the emerald in the center of her ring.

Remembering her prediction that emeralds would always make her cry, brought on even more of those predictable tears. She was happy beyond measure that she'd been both right and wrong about that.

“Yes, I love it.” She said as she kissed him sweetly and then gazed into his bright green eyes. “And I love you, Dean. So much.”

“Thank God. Just...just don't stop. Please?”

Y/N nodded. "Promise." She whispered.

Dean sighed against her lips before claiming them once again.

***

The St. Louis World's Fair. Spring 1904. 

“Lucy Winchester! You've had more than enough of that spun sugar now, come back over here and hold your brother's hand.”

Jessica ran after her six year old with her two year old in tow, until Sam grabbed him up and settled him against his chest. With her hands now free, Jessica grabbed a protesting Lucy away from the cotton candy cart.

Y/N laughed at her former student's frustrated little face and decided to try and help her sister-in-law out. “Luce come here; your cousin needs your help.”

Jessica let go of Lucy's hand so she could run back to her aunt and uncle. Y/N and Dean walked behind them a little ways, with their one year old, Melody, toddling somewhat unsteadily between them.

Y/N let Lucy take Melody's hand. “She loves walking with you and you're so good at showing her just how a real lady walks.”

Lucy beamed proudly as she immediately slowed her pace to allow Melody to keep up, and then walked very sedately to help her little cousin learn how to be a lady.

Jessica smiled brightly over her shoulder and mouthed, thank you to Y/N who laughed lightly. Dean reached over and took her hand now that it was free, swinging it gently back and forth.

Suddenly Y/N remembered Christmas day three years ago and how she'd imagined going to the World's Fair, and walking hand in hand just like this.

There were no cherry trees beside them and the crowds were fairly thick on the pathways around the fair, which meant they were jostled around a bit more than she'd imagined in her idyllic fantasy.

But the feelings she'd imagined back then were exactly the same. Family. Love. Belonging. She stepped closer to Dean and rested her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand tighter.

He kissed the crown of her head and then whispered to her. “Happy, sweetheart?”

She looked up at him and gave him a mischievous smile. “Happier if you'd kiss me.” 

He pretended to be scandalized. “Mrs. Winchester? In public? In full view of the children?”

Y/N laughed happily, making her in laws look back at them and smile.

Dean leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “That's all my strict moral fiber will allow for.” He said in pretentious tones.

Y/N pouted at him playfully and he dipped his head to whisper against the shell of her ear, making her shiver.

“But Mel is sleeping in her cousins’ room with the nanny tonight. So later, in the privacy of our hotel room, I plan on kissing every writhing, shaking inch of your body until you -”

“Auntie!” Y/N was yanked back to reality as Lucy called to her, excitedly. “Melody said my name!”

Trying to ignore the raging fire her husband had kindled within her, Y/N smiled down at Lucy. 

“Well, I'm not surprised. She loves her big cousin.”

Lucy smiled widely before she dropped Melody's hand to run up and tell her parents her good news. Melody started to fuss over her cousin leaving, until Dean scooped her up to sit on his shoulders; then she squealed happily, thrilled to be up so high.

Y/N just watched Dean for a moment, her eyes watering slightly as she thought about how heartbroken she'd been on that Christmas day so long ago, when she'd believed this life was forever beyond her reach.

Dean looked down at her and she picked up his hand again, pressing close to him.

“I love you, you know.”

His beautiful green eyes were warm and overflowing with happiness as he bent his head slightly, holding Melody tightly so she didn't slip, and kissed Y/N senseless. Despite his earlier moral protestations, his kiss was slow and deep and it stole all the air from her lungs.

He pulled back from her and the look of love in his eyes stole her breath all over again as he answered.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead and spoke softly, for her ears only. "Thanks for teaching me how."

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[forever-once-gone]

Day 2: Seokjin - How he had once claimed you as his <3

Part of the Love, Amour, Aur Pyaar drabble series for February!

Word count: 6.3k (obviously, I am once again failing the task of keeping these short lol)

Content and Warnings: yandere au, supernatural au, love, murder, child neglect, fighting parents, child abandonment, reader has a disdain for her fellow humans, reader's father is a deadbeat, reader's mother disappears, Jin is a man (?) obsessed, possessiveness, illusions to future inter-clan wars, vows of commitment, death, starvation, kissing.

Author's Note: I have no self control. This is again much longer than it should be. At this point it would be considered a whole fic, not a drabble. Also, this is dedicated to @rosquilleta, @/teacakess on Ao3, and the anon who sent me a kind ask ONLY 😤. Thank you dears for commenting 🥰🥰🥰 You guys gave me motivation to write!

You pulled your clothes off, letting them pool at your feet. The day had been rough, foraging through the woods all day took quite a load out of you. You had to go into the forest that surrounded your small town to gather some herbs and other plants and fungi to sell in your little shop. It was hard to maintain the quickly depleting stocks in your shop since you were the only person left who dared to venture into the accursed forest.

You once had a mother who cared for you dearly. She had been warm and loving, and had done everything she could do to raise you after your father had refused to stand up and divulge the fact that he—despite being the village leader’s son—was the secret lover of your mother when she had gotten pregnant. He would often sneak into your house by the outskirts of town when you were a child to try and convince your mother that he had had no choice.

“I’m sorry, dear, you know my father would never accept our relationship. A child out of wedlock? With an orphaned woman, especially from your lineage? It would never work. We’d no doubt be thrown out into the accursed forest, and where would that leave us? Leave Y/n?”

Your mother would never meet his eyes, she never had since the day he’d refused to claim you and your mother at the town meeting. Instead, she’d just make it clear that he had no place in her or your life any more. “I don’t know why you’re here, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that,” he’d beg. “I’m not a prince, I’m not anything like that. We are one, my love. Stop mocking me with those words. We’re equal here.”

“You may not be a prince, nor have any royal blood, but your words make it clear that you think you’re high above me. My lineage? What do you mean by that? You know as well as anyone that there is nothing about me that is cursed. Just because my family was the only one brave enough to enter into the forest, doesn’t mean that we’re cursed! You surely didn’t think I was cursed before I became with child!”

“Do not twist my words, my love. You know I do not think of you like that, but you must admit it is strange how every member of your family had disappeared in those woods for centuries. You cannot ignore how implicating that is, my dear.” He had raised his hands in an almost pleading manner, trying to play to your mother’s emotions.

But your mother had little to no feelings left for the one who had been her biggest betrayer.  “My family may have all disappeared into the woods, but that is only because we’re the only ones who actually dare to enter it! And you cannot ignore the fact that anyone else who was not in my family line who had entered the forest, did not ever return, even though it was all of their first time entering the woods. The fact that my family has, for generations, been able to enter and leave the forest for years, before we finally disappear. Compared to everyone who disappears the first time they enter,I think we may be the blessed ones, not cursed. Besides, nobody seems to think we’re cursed when they want the herbs, vegetables, and fruits we bring back from the forest.” Your mother saw you peeking out from the bedroom.

“Y/n, go back inside, dear. You do not have to hear this.” She began to walk towards the door, shooing you further into the room. “Go to sleep.” She softly clicked the door closed after giving you a reassuring smile.

You walked back into bed, pulling the various knit blankets over you as you heard your mother telling your father that he had overstayed his welcome once again.

Spending nights hearing your parents arguing in the next room over, was not new to you. As far back as you can remember, your father would covertly enter your house to try and get your mother to forgive him, to let him be a father to you. He would bring you clothes, sometimes toys, other times blankets to try and win you over. You would politely take the objects before your mother would usher you back into your room. 

But you knew better than to think that he actually meant to make it up to your mother. He’d always ask for forgiveness, but never ask to accept her and reveal to the village that you were his child. Your mother had questioned him the night of your ninth birthday—the last birthday you had with her—of what his true intentions were of coming here, night after night. He’d been a bumbling mess, too embarrassed to say in front of your mother that he really had no intentions of revealing anything. He really just wanted to relieve himself of his guilt, or at least, that’s what it had seemed like to you.

If he really cared, he would stand by your mother and yourself.

But then again, he never married following his parting from your mother.

You would wait to hear the front door shut behind your father. You would hear silence as your mother sat at the dining table for, usually, ten to twenty minutes after he’d left before she’d slink back into the room with you. She’d get into bed, and pull you against her chest. Her hand would smooth over your head, and sometimes she’d whisper apologises to you, thinking you were asleep.

She had been the only one who took care of you in your life, the only true one to care for you.

When your mother had disappeared in the forest only a few weeks before your tenth birthday, you had been beyond distraught. 

You had cried in the town square all morning and afternoon, when you had woken up and realized that your mother had not returned in the night. You had begged for someone to help you, to look in the forest for you, to find her. Everyone had walked right past all of you, ignoring your little crying form, clothes soiled from the dirt that you had collapsed in when the village leader had turned you away. 

Your father had seemed like he wanted to say something, hesitating when he had found you in the square on his way back to his home. But, in the end, he had walked away from you, leaving you to cry until you lost consciousness.

When you had finally come to, it was the middle of the night. No one was around. The air was cold. And your fingertips had lost all feeling, stiff as you tried to wiggle them around. You had sat up, hoping that you’d see your mother emerging from the forest at the edge of your vision, but you saw no such thing. No such blessing.

You had to pick yourself up from that cold dirt floor, and trudge your way back to your house by the edge of the glade. You had, again, hoped that you’d open the door to find your mother, tending to the fire in the fireplace. Perhaps, stirring a pot that she had hung in it, as she smiled at you, letting you know dinner was almost ready.

But life was not that kind to you.

The few weeks had been tough. You had to learn how to care for yourself all by yourself. You used up all the stored food that your mother would have sold if she had not disappeared. People had not come to your house expecting to buy anything, like they used to when your mother was still around. You had used those supplies and what you had to feed yourself, but when they had come to an end (other than a few jars of preserves, your mother had jarred only a few days before she disappeared that you did not have the heart to open yet), you realized you had to do something to find food.

You had properly dressed up for the first time since your mother’s disappearance. You had ventured out to the river that passed through the glade and bathed. You had scrubbed every last ounce of built up oil from your hair. You had put on your best clothes. You had picked up your basket from the shelf where you used to keep all the items your mother used to sell. And threw on the cloak your mother had sewed for you.

And you did what your family had always done when there was nothing left for them in the village.

You entered the woods.

Your mother had brought you into the woods intermittently from when you were young. You supposed she once had to take you every time when she ventured into the woods when you were a newborn, as there was no one else to take care of you. But by the time you had become old enough not to die of starvation or neglect if left alone for a few hours (about 2 and a half years old), she had begun to cut your trips to the woods. She would leave you alone at home with a snack and some water, promising to return soon.

Following that, she had rarely brought you into the forest. Only a few times in the year. And that was only because she had told you: “One day, I’m sure the forest will take me just like it did my father. Before then, I need you to learn how to navigate the forest, because it will become your only source of trading power with the other villagers, you understand me? It will be tough to be on your own—it was for me too—but I want you to be better prepared for the woods than I was when my father disappeared. I just don’t want you to starve like I did when it happened to me.” Her eyes had darkened. “Not one of those villagers will come to help you, Y/n. Not one.”

You repeated those words to yourself the first time you had entered the forest alone, following the routes that your mom would go through. You foraged for the berries she had shown you, the root vegetables that she had taught you to identify from the stalks that were visible above the dirt, and you checked the traps that your mother had left for small game.

Fortunately, each of the traps had worked and caught a small prey. But unfortunately, all of the animals had started to rot from not being collected all these weeks later. Some had even been scavenged, leaving mangled messes of flesh. You just released the traps, and pushed the corpses away with a stick before re-preparing the traps.

You unconsciously looked around, fearing that you may end up stumbling across your mother’s corpse in a similar stage as the animals you had scraped off the traps. For better or for worse, you had not.

Before the sun could get even close to setting, you returned home. And when you entered the house, a sense of heaviness pushed down on you. A heaviness that came with the realization that this was your new life. You were alone, left to fend for yourself in the forest if you hoped to survive. Left alone to mourn your mother. Mourn her, until you also, just like all your ancestors before you, also disappeared out in the forest.

At least, then, the ghosts of your ancestors could sigh in relief that there would be no more orphaned descendents/children fighting to survive in the glade anymore after you.

You took off the cloak you were wearing and stepped out of your muddied shoes. Only when you sat down at the dining table did you realize something had changed from the way it had been before you had left that morning.

There was a package wrapped up in a sheet on your table. Your breath stopped for a second; could this be from your mother? Was she still alive?

You carefully pulled off the sheet from the contents within, only to find some clothes, a bag of flour, and some goat’s milk along with a note.

I’m so sorry, dear Y/n.

I cannot be the father you deserve, but I will try to provide for you when I can.

Happy birthday, sweet child.

Regrettably,

Your inadequate father.

P.S. I know you will not believe me, but I also miss your mother as much as you do.

Your disdain had grown for him tenfold that night.

Nobody bought from you the first few days after you ventured into the forest. You liked to think it was due to them feeling guilt for how they practically left you to die when your mother disappeared. But you knew the truth, it was much more likely they were worried that you were still unstable and could lash out on them. But after a week of you putting up the open sign by your front door, two mothers had come to you unabashedly, asking for the one of the types of root vegetables your mother used to get from the forest in exchange for a couple eggs.

When the two women had been able to leave your house unharmed, the others slowly made their way back to making their visits to your little house, offering trades and money for the goodies that only grew in the accursed forest. And with that, you had set a routine. A routine involving spending half your time in the woods and half your time in the glade.

And with this routine, you were able to brave your way through the days, then the weeks, the months, and even the years.

And before you knew it, you were twenty-five. Had spent much more time on your own than the time you had spent with your mother. Over fifteen years since she had disappeared without a trace. 

It had also been fifteen years since you had truly felt cared for.

Sure, your father still left you gifts here and there. But that didn’t make any warmth spread through your body. It didn’t help the fact that you hadn’t had anyone to laugh with in all these years. No one to talk to about anything beyond types of vegetables and game. The only time when you had a conversation longer than a couple of words was when one of the men from the village would try and haggle with you for a rabbit that you had brought back in from the forest that morning.

Your father was not much comfort either.

He still wrote you short messages when he would leave packages on your doorstep, but they were as worthless as all those visits he made to see your mother when she was still around. His reassurances were hollow, and you didn’t care to give him the time of day.

You’d become just like your mother, in that even when you saw him around, you’d always turn the other way. In a way, he brought you a bit closer to your mother, since your hatred for him made you understand her cold-shoulder towards him.

You never felt more alone than when you were in the glade with the other villagers, father be damned.

That is why, other than to sleep and to sell your goods, you tended to stay in the accursed forest as much as you could. Even though it made the villagers whisper how you must be more dangerous than your mother since she didn't spend nearly as much time in the forest as you did. To that, all you could think was that you didn’t have a child waiting at home for you to raise, unlike your mother. You were certain she would have done the same as you if she didn’t have to care for you back then.

Despite how there was not one other person in the first besides you, just being away from the village made you feel more at peace. You felt more connected with your mother, when you walked her routes, set her traps, and used all the tips and tricks she had taught you when you were young.

Your favorite spot, however, was the small lake in the forest. It was in the middle of a river—its offshoot didn’t cross into the glade, and the running water was always fresh. It was cold in the summer, and warm in the winter; how it exactly managed that, you had no idea. But you had fond memories of it. It was the place where your mother had taught you how to swim. This was the only place where you would see her just sit down and relax, unworried and free.

It had been her spot.

And now, it was yours.

You sat down in the cool water, feeling it wash off the sweat you had accumulated on the voyage through the woods. You were still near the shallow enough edge where you could sit on the floor and the water would only reach up to your armpits. It was nice to let go for a bit.

You sat in the water for a good ten minutes before you wadded deeper into the lake, figuring it was time for you to forage for the underwater plants that people liked to buy off of you to put into soups. You would swim down into the lake, and swim through the thick plant filled bottom of the lake that curled up into the water like bushes. You would push around the rock covered floor to loosen the roots of the plants to get them to release. The leaves would float up to the surface, where you’d collect them later on when you felt you had collected enough.

This time, as you pushed around the large rocks among the dense plants, you felt something warm. You pulled your arm back, expecting to see a fish shoot out of the thicket from your disturbance, but instead, nothing. You were taken aback. You reached out your hand again to see if you would find some freshly dead animal laying in the plants, but when you pushed the plants aside to see, you instead found a large, warm stone.

But it was strange, it was in the shape of a human head.

You felt your eyes bulge out of your head, as you broke through the carpet of plants you had released into the water, immediately kicking to the surface of the lake. You tried to gulp down as much air as you could before you dove straight back into the lake, kicking back to the stone head. You immediately started to check if it looked like your mother, but it did not. It instead looked like a man. 

Was this some sort of preserved human? 

No, it couldn’t be. It was very much stone.

You circled around the head, pulling away more plants to uncover more stones if you could. You didn’t find any more human head-shaped stones, but you did realize that the stone head was much more than just a head. It was attached to a rock body. It was an entire statue that had been shoved into the lake.

You continued to try and uncover more of the statue between taking breaks where you swam up to the surface for more oxygen. And after about ten minutes you had uncovered the whole statue from under the rocks and plants.

You were surprised that you had never come across this before. This large stone statue that just laid at the bottom of the lake. You just stared at it, honestly, unsure what to do now.

That is until the statue began to rise. You swam back from the statue as it seemed to float up through the water to the lake’s surface, bobbing around with the water plants. How could this statue be so light that it was able to float?

You swam up after it, coming up beside it. You pushed it, testing how light it was, and just from your one light push, it began to drift to the dirt beside the lake where your clothes were. The statue continued to bob around in the shallow water until you dragged it across the pebbles to the dry land.

The statue was of a man with one hand coming up to press the backs of his knuckles underneath his chin. The other curled around his stomach. His lips were full and slightly open. His hair was loose against his forehead. His eyes scrunched together with an expression of pleasure. The statue was also very naked, which made the pose very… suggestive.

Uh…

You really did not know what to make of the statue.

Maybe this is just something that happens in the cursed forest? You find random statues? Statues that seemed like they were in the throes of passion?

But you doubted it. In all your years of coming into the forest, there really was not anything glaringly wrong about it.

It was just a regular forest. 

This was the first weird statue you came across.

Other than the fact that when people would venture into it, they’d never return, there was nothing really demonic about the woods.

Hmm.

You stood beside the statue, before you decided, you didn’t really care about it.

Like, what were you really supposed to do? Tell the other villagers? They wouldn’t care. They probably wouldn't even believe you. Or even if they did, they wouldn’t really have any plans of what to do with it either.

So, it was beyond your abilities to care about.

You left it lying by the shore and jumped back into the lake, going out to gather the plants that were floating around, waiting to be collected. You made quick work of it, gathering them all and bringing them to shore. You wrapped them in a cloth to absorb as much water as possible on them before slipping them into the basket with your other goodies.

You then turned to pull on your clothes, humming a little tune to yourself. And when you were all ready, you pulled on your cloak, picked up your basket, and began your trek back home, you were just about to reach the thickening of the trees—

That is until: “Hey! That’s not how this is supposed to go!”

You stopped in your tracks, your grip tightening on your basket.

Did that come from the… lake?

You slowly turned to the lake, and in between the trees you could make out… something.

Ah, this is the day you die isn’t it.

You thought to turn back around and try to make a break for it, but instead, you walked back to the lake, dropping your basket beside one of the trees.

If you were going to die, you were willing to accept it if it meant you’d be able to see your mother again.

When you made it back to the lake, you expected to see a demon or something of the like, but instead it was just the statue again.

But this time, it was standing up. Its arms fists at its hips with its lips frozen in a pout, as though it was mad at you. Its eyes were open this time as it glared at you.

Okay, magic statue it is then.

Was this statue the thing that killed all your family members before?

Well, you hoped it made it quick.

You walked up to it. Stopping just a step away from it. “Um, did you just speak to me? Like you, the statue?”

With a blink, the statue was in another pose, his palm pressed against its forehead, the other hand still against its waist. And without the statue’s mouth moving at all from its slight agape position, it said, “Yes, I did. Now, kiss.”

With another blink of your eye, the statue had once again changed its pose. Its arms were brought up behind his head, posing like a self-absorbed man trying to show off his arm muscles, as its hands pressed to the back of its head, out of sight. His eyes were closed once again.

You weren’t sure what to do. Were you meant to kiss this statue? You really did not want to. “I’m not going to kiss you. Forgive me.”

With another blink, the statue's eyes shot open. “WHAT?!” With another blink, the statue was right in front of you, nose to nose with you, as it bent slightly to glare directly into your eyes. Its arms were crossed over its chest, as it lamented once again, without moving its lips, “This isn’t how this is supposed to go! You’re supposed to kiss me!”

All you felt was annoyance. Was the statue going to kill you or not? You were getting a bit impatient having to deal with its dramatics. “Is that so? And why am I meant to kiss you?”

In less than a second its posture had changed again. Its arms were still crossed against his chest, but this time he wasn’t leaning into your face. Instead, he was standing upright with his head looking off to the right with a deep pout. “The others did!” He whined. “They said I had to win you over, so that’s what I’m trying to do, but you are not cooperating!”

“Who are they?” you asked, adopting his pose with your arms crossed against your chest.

“You know! My people! The ones who govern this forest and our respective lands. I come from the Kim clan, one of the many clans in the nation. I was meant to tell you this after you kissed me.” He remained pouting off to the side.

“So you come from a group of statues?”

He left out an affronted gasp. “Good Earth, no! This is obviously a facade that was meant to woo you! We’re obviously not a people of statues. How absurd of you to even imply that.”

“Then what are you then? And why do you need to “woo” me?”

He changed his position again, now sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, his head propped up on his hand. He looked frustrated. “I would have explained all that to you if you had kissed me like you were meant to. If you want to know, you shall present me with a kiss.”

You sat down in front of him. “That’s unfortunate as I am not going to kiss you.”

His mouth fell open in shock. “I told you, I’ll tell you once you kiss me!”

“Yes, I heard. And I am not going to kiss you,” you insisted, also resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“But that’s what we’re meant to do! The elders told me that I get to be the one from our clan to finally have our turn to get a L/n human as a spouse! They told me I’m meant to come up with a ceremony to sweep you off your feet, and then you’ll be mine! I was only supposed to explain everything else to you after you gave me your hand.”

The statue shot in front of you, now sitting up on his knees, with his hands on either side of your body, his face only a few centimeters from your face again. This time he had his lips all puckered up, with his eyes all scrunched up as if he was prepared for a kiss.

“Now give me a kiss,” he demanded. “And then I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Plus, I can take you back to my lands with me. Now. Kiss!”

“That all sounds well and good.” You leaned back from the insolent statue. “But I’m still not going to kiss you, especially not if it's part of some ceremony.”

The statue was on the ground in a blink of the eye. His knees bent to the sky, as he covered his eyes with his hands. His mouth downturned in a frown. “Why did I have to get the L/n that was the most stubborn of them all?” He seemed to ask no one in particular.

You let him wallow in his self-pity, instead picking at the grass surrounding the both of you. After a few minutes of silence, you asked him, “Has your tantrum completed yet?”

Like a child he said, “no.”

“Well then,” you stood up, brushing the dirt off of your rear, and pulled your hood over your head. “I’ll be off.” You turned and were back on your route, picking your basket up as you passed it.

“Wait!” Finally a man appeared before you, no longer a statue, but a human looking man. His chest was rising and dropping quickly as he held his arms up in front of you, keeping you in place. It was good to see him actually moving, and not just teleporting whenever your eyes closed, it was starting to strain your eyes. “Look, I’m in my true form now, will you just let me explain?”

“Alright, but I will not be kissing you.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he mumbled, pushing his purplish-pink, wet hair back from his forehead. “Can we sit? And I’ll explain.”

“Could you put on some clothes first?”

He sighed, but in an instant he was dressed in an immaculate, translucent set of fabrics that seemed to shimmer in the early evening light. The clothing was unlike anything you’d seen before. They were in hues of blue and green that flowed loosely over his body as though they were waterfalls that sprouted and fell from his body.

You wondered if they were tangible or something he had just magicked up. You wondered if you were to grab at them, would you be able to feel them or would your fist come back empty.

He walked past you, back towards the lake with his clothes dragging behind him. He looked luxurious.

He went to a different edge of the lake, with giant boulders. He sat down on them, letting his legs soak in the water, his form slumped.

You followed after him, and also sat beside him, but instead of dipping into the water, you sat beside him cross-legged.

He twirled his feet around in the current. “I thought you’d like my entrance. I thought you’d want something romantic for the first meeting you had with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was meant to win you over. You were mine to have, but it’s not that simple. We are not allowed to just steal you away, We need you to come willingly. We need you to fall for us.”

“We as in your people?”

“Yes, my people. We are known by many names to you humans: fairies, fae, elves, pixies, selkies, nagas, tricksters, incubi, demons, witches, immortals. We are shapeshifters, we have magick, we can come to humans however we please. It led to many folklore about us. Really, all those myths stem from our mating ceremonies.”

You waited for him to continue.

“We are only allowed to pick mates from one lineage. In every nation, there is only one family that we can take spouses from. It’s part of our laws, so we do not reveal ourselves to much more than we need to to humans. It also keeps our spouses from fighting amongst themselves, since most of them are on good terms with one another. It prevents clan wars.” He turned to look at you, his hair slightly drier than before.

You took a moment to take in his beauty. He was a handsome man, that you could not deny. You had never met a person with colourful hair like his, other than the one person in the glade with red hair. But this was so different from that. It looked like he’d dyed them with flowers like people did wool, something unnatural for people to have. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was his natural hair colour or if this was one of the perks of being a shapeshifter.

You hummed at him to keep going with his explanation.

“It was agreed upon centuries ago that it would be the L/n family that we would take partners from. As long as they had had time to have children to keep the family line going, we could take our pick of who we wanted. In return, your family got the ability to walk in our lands unharmed. Something that other humans would be… killed for trying to do.”

He eyed you to see what your reaction would be to him admitting to his people killing humans. He didn’t know how to feel when he saw no sympathy for the humans who had perished.

“It was my clan’s turn next to get a L/n, and of course, there was you. I had just turned twenty, and you had been twenty-one. I was entranced right away by you. I wanted to take you right away, after all, it was my birthright. But, the elders of the clans told me I had to wait. I had to wait for you to have a child, but how could I?!” He had turned right towards you, pulling your hands into his lap. “How could I let a human hold you close before I got the chance to? How could I let you raise children with a human, with someone other than me. I couldn’t bear it.”

He had pulled your hands to his chest. “But the clan leaders, Y/n, while they understood me—they had after all had to go through the same thing as I did before they got their L/n—but they told me I must wait. So I did. I waited even though it hurt me. I waited until you had a child so that I could finally take you away, but then it just wasn’t happening! You weren’t meeting people, you weren’t falling in love or having children! It had been five years, and it just wasn’t happening.”

He pulled one of your hands from his chest to come up and cradle his cheek in your hand. “So I spoke with the clan leaders, and they said I still couldn’t take you.” 

His arm came around your torso, pulling you against him. “So I decided, I was going to take you. Who are they to stop me from taking my spouse, my mate? Let them burn, I say. Who cares if the remaining clans will not have their own L/n spouses, I do not care. You are mine, and I refuse to wait any longer.” His other arm had come to the back of your head, bringing you closer to his face. “Kiss me, Y/n, and then I can claim you as mine.”

He tilted his head, flickering his eyes closed as he went to close the gap between the two of you, but you instantly put a finger up to his pursed mouth.

“Do you mean to tell me my mother is alive? She was taken by one of the other clans?” Your eyes were urgently digging into him.

The man pulled away slightly, his eyes opening back up slowly. “Well yes. All of your family members are alive in one way or another in our lands.” He could see the way your eyes hardened, he could imagine that you were worried for your mother’s state. “Once we take them, they become ours, Y/n. We tie them to our eternal life so they could be by our side as long as we shall live. We take good care of our spouses, that I can assure you. I’ve met her once before.” He cupped your face in his hands. “She is well, Y/n.”

You felt tears run down your face and onto his hands. “S-She’s alive?”

He nodded.

You collapsed against him in sobs, calling out for your mother. He rubbed your back, trying to calm you down the best that he could.

Fifteen years it had been since she’d disappeared—no, been taken from you.

Fifteen years.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t come to see you in all those years, you could forgive her for that, but you wanted to see her now. You needed to see the only person who cared for you. You needed her.

You straightened up, wiping your tears away before grabbing onto the man. “Take me to her. I’ll do whatever you want, just take me to her.” You begged in a choked voice.

“I can only do that if you agree to be mine. Only if you kiss m—”

You pressed your lips against his.

For a second he didn’t move, just allowing you to ravage his lips. But once he realized what had happened, he immediately pulled you closer. He pulled you against him and kissed you back with as much fervor as you did. He felt jolts of electricity pass through his body as the vow between the two of you cemented in place.

You were his now.

And he was yours.

When the burning in your chest got too much, you pulled away from the magickal man. Just enough for you to breathe in some air.

He pressed a kiss against the corner of your mouth as you panted. “I suppose it is time for me to give you my name now that you are mine.”

He pressed a kiss to your jaw before he whispered into your neck, “I shall give you my name, as you gave me yours through the completion of the ceremony of the vow. I give you my name: Kim Seokjin.”

Reader won't even realize the gravity of him giving his name to you until they went back to his land and learned more about his people. He really meant the whole "I am yours, and you are mine" thing 😬

Just so you guys know, I wanted to write a bit more to explain why he decided to come to you as a statue, but then this was just already way too long, so I decided not to. Long story short: He was inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, and he thought he may woo you (as that is part of the ceremony, he must win you over), by replicating that myth. He thought you'd fall head over heels for his handsome statue self, and you'd kiss him without him even having to ask! Obviously, he was a bit over confident lol.

Maybe at some point, I'll write that Jin explaining to his partner why he did what he did later on in the month or maybe afterwards. I just wanted to write him being all pouty as he explained his plan, but oh well lol.

Anyway, please reblog and comment, it makes my day and motivates me so much! Have a good night!

[decemebercircus]

Ping list : @jellypouches , Also tagging @shironakuronatasa, @m1dnight-artisan, and @happydeertraveler because they requested it. You will be tagged for all the parts. (There are two left)

If anyone else wishes to be pinged I will reblog this in the near future. Let me know in the comments section so you can be tagged on the reblog on Tumblr.,

This is only part 1 so be warned there will be future pings.

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Don't Blame Me, Love made me Crazy (if it Doesn't You ain't Doing it Right)

Based on Tumblr posts by Ventique18 concerning Malleus and a father's day joke.

I am a bit late but here is the promised fanfiction of Malleus's response.

First of as much as I like Malleus's character I'm not ( in my personal opinion) very good at writing him. However I decided to wing it since I said I was gonna do this story anyway.

Credit to @ventique18 on Tumblr ( I forgot your AO3 name I apologize).

Malleus x Yuusona even though I'm no good at those type stories.

Likewise chapter 1 of this fic is short and has no NSFW content. But chapter 2 will have sexual content so be warned.

Inspired by: Father's Day tease by Ventique18

Alternative Response here

STORY:

"Good morning Tsunotaro... Happy Father's Day!" Andromeda smiled at him. Her cinnamon brown skin, especially her hands, looked like it had golden glitter on it. Today she was wearing her birthday gift from last year: a dark indigo dress with bishop sleeves and a asymmetrical mermaid style skirt that trailed on the floor. The rounded, puffy cowl layer at the waist also had the pale green vine detail. She sat on a chair and made herself comfortable.

He paused as if mentally saying "MalleusDraconia.exe has stopped working due to an error. Would you like to restart?"

It was a meaningless joke, even given they were in an intimate relationship. But they loved each other enough to appreciate each other's efforts to be ~~shameless~~ a playful tease. She was about to drop her punchline, when she was stopped by his astonished face.

Correction: astonished face decorated with a single tear down his cheek.

"oh-- No, I-- I didn't intend for you to tear up-- It's--only" she started.

Malleus knelt in front of her clasping her hands: "Are you pregnant?"

'Ah fuck…'

She began chuckling awkwardly: "Haha, Now listen, I--"

"That's good! I'm not alone in the world anymore. Though I have my grandmother, there has always been a nagging emptiness inside me that I could not fill."

Well, that was heavy. Panic welled in her chest. She felt completely torn, so much, she was sure she had a headache. Because she was, in fact, not pregnant.

"Perhaps it's simply overcompensating for being orphaned, but I've always wished for a family of my own. Wished, and despaired. Despaired that no one in this world would actually want to be with me." He continued.

"Umm. Tsu- Tsunotaro," she blushed. Now that he poured out his feelings she felt the joke was cruel.

"But now, you're here with me. I would have been content with just you and me."

"Oh But you..! Today You're telling me... A product of our love..." He carried on over her comment.

"Funny story about that, Malleus…." She tried again.

'Finally... Another blessing in my wretched life…' he nestled against her breast quite comfortably and she sweatdropped.

"-alleus!"

"Malleus!"

Alarmed at the concern in her tone he snapped out of his reverie.

"Ah!? Yes, what is it?" He startled, then collected himself.

" I've been trying to get your attention for ten minutes, I'm surprised you zoned out so quickly," she said, pushing a a lock of her curly black mane of hair off her shoulder.

"Tsunotaro... Darling... Love of my life..." She started nervously.

"Yes? Is there something you want? You may have it of course, anything for you and the child's happiness," he responded without batting an eyelash.

She startled. "I'm. Not. actually w-with child," she breathed and he hugged her tighter before letting her go. She blinked tearfully at his disappointed expression.

He dried her eyes. Not many tears had fallen but she had gotten worked up wondering how he'd react.

Gulping silently she tried to put the conversation on a lighter note.

"But! but–! You know my Roar Roar Drago? The one we bought and paired as your Tamagotchi's wife?" She grabbed her tamagotchi off her desk.

He inclined his head to show he still heard her. "Um, it just so happens that she's pregnant, even though I am not."

His expression was oddly neutral as if trying to settle an emotion to be for the rest of the day and coming up empty. She laughed nervously. "Sorry for getting your hopes up, I'm really bad at jokes you know…."

The heavy silence was only broken by the beeping of their duo Roar Roar Dragos asking to be fed.

Finally Malleus had a response.

"Ah I see it was one of your jokes." He commented and she went rigid.

"Y-yup one of my poor jokes that aren't actually funny, you're welcome to get even as you see fit," she rambled as she fidgeted with her engagement ring.

Malleus had an unnatural momentary glint in his eyes. "Indeed. I shall think about my response," he said smoothly.

"Well…There aren't any clouds in the sky…" she noted looking out the window. "I'd say that went over pretty well,"

Endnotes:

Andromeda [formerly known as Redacted]

She shares her height with Azul and Cater (176 cm)

Her concept is a conglomeration of Vanessa (both 1959 Little Mermaid and 2023 Live-Action adaptation), Belle (Beauty and the Beast), Tiana (Princess and the Frog)

I was gonna put Andromeda in a recolor version of Maleanor Draconia's dress.

(I hate that I fucking struggled to spell that. And TwstEN added more letters….) But I looked again at ALL the details of the silver parts and quit.

I still did the dress, just… budget version.

Before you go!

The fic is also available on Ao3 under my pseudo name YourGildedCage, similar to one of my Tumblr alternate accounts. That way the fic can be downloaded if desired (when it's complete of course).

The link is here:

Chapter 2 will be up soon!

[lynxindisguise]

very normal fic writer ask game

If [insert fic] was made into a poison, what effects would it have on the drinker?

If you put all your fics into a crockpot, what would be the resulting soup?

Which fic are you using to introduce yourself to your new therapist?

Which fic are you using to scare away unwanted suitors?

When future scholars analyse your work, which fic will they find most puzzling? 

Which fic would cry the most if you decided to orphan it?

Which fic would you be too afraid to orphan, lest it enact revenge?

Have you ever been commissioned by the devil to write, and what were you offered as payment?

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of your longest fic.

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of your fic with the most comments.

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of [insert fic]?

Attempt to make a monster by assigning each of your fics a body part.

A witch has cursed [insert fic] into a monstrous creature. Please describe its new plot.

If you melted your three most kudos'd fics, what would they smell like?

If you put your three least kudos'd fics in a blender, what would they taste like?

Assign each of your fics (or selection of them) an illicit substance.

Assign each of your fics (or selection of them) a cryptid.

Break up the main pairing in [insert fic], and give them both new partners.

You've been arrested for [insert crime], which fic is the prosecutor submitting as evidence?

Uh oh! All the kids are hooked on your fics—what behaviour(s) are their parents now concerned about?

If you were starving and had to feast on one of your fics to survive, which fic would it be?

If you forgot your WIP in the oven and burned it, what would happen to the characters?

If you left your WIP out on the counter and it spoiled, how would it now end?

If your WIP fell into a vat of toxic waste, how would it change?

All of your fics are featured in a nature documentary, which one goes viral for its absurd behaviour?

[olderthannetfic]

I was searching for an author through looking at replies to my ao3 comments and found the old fic comments I left almost 10 years ago. I was one of those "The characters are kind of OOC" commenters but the cringe part is that I didn't stop there and actually went "The way you wrote the characters are better than what others did but it's still OOC. I hope you write them better next time cause I like your stories.". Holy shit, I was awful! The author was so nice to me anyways as they thanked me for my comment and said they'd do their best in their next story and hope I'd give them a read, too.

God, I feel so bad but I can't even send them an apology for being rude anymore as their account had been deleted (their stories are now orphaned).

--

Live and learn!

[winderlylandchime]

Wait this is so dumb but I just realized you’re that aj on ao3 - for some reason when I read some of your works back in May I thought that the account was like someone who had left the fandom?? Idk how I came to that conclusion but I was just re-reading some fics of yours on a flight and obviously your tumblr handle is in your endnotes and i went wait shut up ✋☝️that’s like a whole ass totally active person out here on my dash!! Anywhooo i had commented on the fics themselves back in the spring on how wonderful they were but now that I’ve put two and two together just wanted to say again how lovely they are and I’ve been re-reading them this week as I do work travel! They slapped when I read them fresh off my first qaf binge and they slap even more after an entire summer of obsessing over the show. Thanks again for sharing your work with the world and I’m glad you’re still a person and not the orphan account I thought you were hehehehe

Oh what a lovely message to receive! Yes, I'm ThatAj on AO3 and winderlylandchime here which is confusing.

I'm glad you connected the dots and thank you so much for your kind words. Hearing someone is re-reading a fic is such a huge compliment!

I'm taking a pause from writing fic to work on some personal projects but I am indeed still a person ;)

[ereardon]

Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Kiss me, it's a mystery, let's figure it out together.

*All of my fics are 18+. Please do not repost my work without consent or steal my work. Reblogs and comments give me life so please do interact if you'd like!

✤: Fluff

❂: Angst

❀: Smut

Full-length series:

❀❂✤ Come Back — Bradley x OC [Maggie Brooms] – Complete

Eight years ago, Bradley Bradshaw was just a college boyfriend who broke your heart. Now, he’s back in your life after a coincidental reunion, and he’s adamant about starting up a friendship. Will it be possible to be just friends with Bradley, or is he inevitably going to end up ruining everything you’ve spent the better part of a decade rebuilding?

❀❂✤ That Summer — Bradley x Reader – Complete

One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

❀❂✤ Golden Hour — Bradley x Bob x OC [Dr. Olive James]

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Miniseries:

❀❂✤ His Best Friend's Wedding — Bradley x Reader – Complete

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

The Stranger — Bradley x Bob x OC

Bradley Bradshaw left an impression — after finding him naked and passed out after a night of drinking in your front yard, he’s anxious to never see you again in his life and relive the embarrassment. But there’s something about him you just can’t let go. He’s a project, and you hate to admit you love a fixer upper. Bradley is hesitant to let you in, but you’re persistent. Is he making a massive mistake?

One shots:

❂ Too Far Gone — Bradley x Reader – Complete

Your life changed forever the moment you fell for Bradley Bradshaw. But his life wasn’t an easy one to fit into. He had more baggage than lost and found at JFK airport. You were always one for a fixer upper. Bradley could be your ultimate passion project. But was he too far gone for you to save him? 

❂ Darkness — Bradley x Reader – Complete

Darkness surrounds your life with Bradley. But every time he pulls away, you pull him back in. It's your job to save him from the darkness.

[andreafmn]

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 7

Prompt (by @12-days-of-ficmas): anonymous donor pays for the kids at your nonprofit to have a perfect christmas wait this handwriting looks familiar

Word Count: 2.2K

Story Description: (Y/N) has always worked tirelessly for the Heaven's Care Foundation to provide orphaned children and at-risk youth with a safe place to be. But working in a nonprofit is hard, and trying to give hundreds of children a Christmas to remember even more. Unless an anonymous donor changes everything.

Fandom: Twilight

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader

A/N: i may or may not be working on another part for this fic, be on the lookout 🫣 and to any of my Speak fans, I will be updating sooon 😬

Follow 😊 -> TikTok • Instagram • Business

If you’d like to be tagged in 12 days of ficmas, let me know in the comments. 

For any other story: click here

Here’s the 12 days of Ficmas schedule: click me

<- Previous | Next ->

Christmas Miracles Come in Attractive Packages

Working at a nonprofit was hard enough. Working at a nonprofit for kids during Christmas was close to impossible. Especially when the organization couldn’t provide to give them a proper celebration.

(Y/N) was doing all she could to give them a good Christmas day, filled with presents, good food, fun, and games. But there simply wasn’t enough to give them that. Sure there had been some monetary donations, some toys, and food too, but nowhere near enough to provide for every one of them.

She canvassed, she petitioned, and she even put some of her own money. But it wasn’t near enough. It was never near enough when unforeseeable things always seemed to happen, one right after the other. Still, she didn’t give up. There was no way she could.

That day she was out leaving flyers in hospitals, local cafes, and any place that would take a piece of paper. If more people knew of the foundation, maybe then she could have a miracle — the kids could have their miracle.

“Hi there! My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I work with the Heaven’s Care Foundation,” she told the nurse at the front desk of the Cayuga Medical Center. “I was wondering if I could leave some flyers here. We are trying to give the kids an unforgettable Christmas and need all types of donations. So we’re hoping to appeal to the hearts of everyone in Ithaca to hopefully be able to give them that.”

“Well then, go ahead, honey,” the nurse smiled. “There are bulletin boards on every floor and you can leave some on each nurse’s desk.”

She took some flyers from the box she was holding and put them on the counter. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ll leave these here then.”

“Alright, honey, I’ll let the other floors know you’re going up,” the woman smiled once again. “Good luck and Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas.”

(Y/N) took the box back into her hands and headed for the elevators. The hospital was rather empty, only the night shift staff left roaming the hallways and a few patient companions. She had spent the whole day driving around the area, stopping at any place that looked even the least bit crowded.

As she rounded the corner into the elevator area, she collided with someone, sending the box of papers flying through the air and onto the floor. It was a mess of papers and folders. And (Y/N) couldn’t help the embarrassment that washed over her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she scrambled to gather the flyers closest to her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I am the one who should be apologizing,” a melodious voice responded. Somehow the owner of that voice was able to pick up every piece of paper that had flown away in the area. “Heaven’s Care Foundation?”

She finally looked up, meeting face-to-face with entrancing golden eyes. They were a quite peculiar amber color and they belonged to a man that was ten times as beautiful as his eyes.

“Uh, yes,” she finally snapped out of her trance. “It’s a nonprofit organization that cares for orphaned and at-risk children, providing them with food, shelter, and education. We’re currently asking for donations to give the kids a special Christmas. Although we still have our charity gala to go, we want to raise enough to also be able to provide the kids with better accommodations, learning supplies, and all that.”      

“It sounds like quite an outstanding organization,” he smiled before writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to her. “I would love to hear more about it sometime.”

“Of course! That’d be great,” (Y/N) responded excitedly. They both started to walk away before she turned abruptly. “Uh, I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Carlisle Cullen,” he responded warmly. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I look forward to that call.”

“Likewise.” 

After delivering the rest of the papers she had with her, she went home. As she lay in bed, thinking of other ways she could raise money for the foundation, pictures of Carlisle snuck into her head. He was an intriguing sight to behold. With his perfect blond hair, his honey-colored eyes, and his smooth and pale skin. But it wasn’t just his beauty that had piqued her interest.

There was something in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her, how attentive he had been when she spoke to him. She looked at the paper he had given her with his name and phone number and studied the fine penmanship. It was as beautiful as he was, she thought.

“Who are you, Carlisle Cullen?” 

As the morning light started to creep through the horizon two days later, (Y/N) was already on her way in to work. With a tray filled with coffee and a smile on her face, she entered the rehabilitated high school they had turned into the headquarters and living facilities of the organization.

She had been one of the founding members, giving almost all of her college savings to renovate the place. (Y/N) had always wanted to provide a place for children that had no other place to go where they felt safe, accepted, and cared for. And for the past ten years, she had been doing just that – with barely any money.

“Good morning, Maggie,” she smiled at the foundation’s receptionist, placing a coffee cup on her desk. “How have we done this past week?” 

“Well, it’s been better than the last one,” she tried to sound hopeful. “But at the pace we’re going we’re gonna have enough for the bathroom repairs and the ceiling leaks. As for the Christmas party, it’s not looking too good.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to have some faith,” (Y/N) sighed, but tried to keep the smile on her face. “We still have the gala at the end of the week, so hopefully many rich people are feeling guilty for something this Christmas season.”

“That would require them to actually feel guilt,” Maggie chuckled. “But you’re right. We have to keep a good attitude about it. Anything can change in even just a couple of hours.”

(Y/N) went on with her day. She checked on the kids, and made necessary purchases to replenish food inventory, cleaning supplies, or any requests the kids or staff had made. Her day was so booked she barely had any time to eat her lunch. She had been stuck in her office with limited interactions, glued to her phone and her computer.

It was getting late at the point she finally decided to call it a day. The sun had gone down by then, the bustle of the still roaring and alive outside. She was finishing closing up her office when suddenly Maggie came in running, cheering excitedly.

“Mags, calm down,” (Y/N) laughed. “What’s got you all excited? Are you and Lila finally engaged?” 

“Better than that.” 

“What could be better than getting engaged to your girlfriend of six years?” 

“We just received the most sizeable donation in our history,” she said. “It’s for ten million dollars, (Y/N).”

“You’re joking, right? It has to be a joke.”

“I can promise you it is not. I even called the bank. And even though they wouldn’t give me the person’s identity, they confirmed it was a real check,” she recalled joyfully. “(Y/N), this piece of paper means we can give the kids the Christmas many of them have never had and we can start on the repairs ahead of schedule.”

“And this is without what we will raise during the charity gala!” (Y/N) could not believe her eyes as she saw the amount of zeros after the ten written on the blue paper. “It’s our very own Christmas miracle.”

“It truly is, (Y/N). Whoever this person is, may their blessings be multiplied.”

“I’ll go to the bank early tomorrow morning and deposit this as soon as they open. I’ll call you when I’m done and I want you to start ordering what we’ll need for the party. Also, call up the maintenance company so we can start getting quotes for the repairs. This needs to be unforgettable for these kids. They deserve it.”

“They really do,” Maggie smiled.

That night when she got home, she studied the check. There was something familiar about the writing. It was an exact replica of the writing she had been studying the past two nights. (Y/N) knew exactly who the anonymous donor had been and she was already thinking of how she could thank him.

***

It was the end of the week and the gala was well underway at The Oncenter Complex. (Y/N) was surprised at the turnout. Sure, she was expecting a good enough number of guests but not to the amount that had RSVP’d during the week. It seemed like their organization had grown overnight.

But she had her suspicions on just who was responsible for the sudden increase in attention.

She gallivanted around the room, shaking hands with powerful and rich people, making herself and her name known amongst them.  These were the people that could elevate the foundation to national standing, helping millions of children in need.

As her red dress swayed across the floor, her eyes fell upon the figure of the man she had been waiting the whole night for. Dressed in an outstanding white suit, Carlisle Cullen stood in the back of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hand. Even if other guests were dressed in similar apparel, the man simply stood out amongst them.

She headed toward him, heat rushing to her face – and to her lower regions. He looked more handsome than the night she had met him. His hair was brushed back, his white suit perfectly form-fitting, and his golden eyes the perfect accessory to his ensemble.

“I’m glad you came, Carlisle,” (Y/N) announced herself with a bright smile on her face. “I’ve actually been looking forward to seeing you face-to-face once more. I’m…”

“(Y/N). I know,” he responded with a smile just as bright. “We met the other night and you brought this amazing foundation to my attention.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” she chuckled. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I have you to thank for this surge of support as well as that anonymous ten-million-dollar donation.”

“How did you know?”

“You’ve just confirmed it. Truly, the lettering on the check was exactly like the one from the note you gave me. And someone that has that kind of money has influence and connections. I’m seeing them in play right now.”

“You are quite an insightful woman, (Y/N),” he grinned. “I simply made some calls to friends I believed would also admire the work you’re doing with Heaven’s Care. It’s completely on them how they wanted to help.”

“Well, I still have to thank you for your donation. You’re going to make hundreds of kids very happy this Christmas.” She smiled warmly at him, not being able to help herself from staring at those amber eyes. “Many of those children have never had a proper Christmas, let alone a safe and happy place to live in. You’re making that happen for them. I don’t know how I could ever thank you for this. You have changed many lives.”

"I’m only doing my part to give back to the community. At some point in time, someone changed my life too. Everyone deserves that chance, (Y/N). Especially children.”

“Your wife must be very proud of you.” She tested the waters. There was a ring on his finger, but it wasn’t exactly a traditional wedding ring. He wore a silver ring on his left hand, an interesting crest on it.

“I’m not married,” he chuckled. Carlisle followed (Y/N)’s eyeline and noticed her staring at her ring. “This is an heirloom ring. It has my family crest on it. Although, your partner should be proud of all the work you’ve been doing here. It truly is impressive.”

“I, uh, I’m single,” she grinned.

Before she could continue, Maggie came up from behind her. “(Y/N), it’s time for your speech,” she said. “Sorry to steal her away.”

“No worries,” Carlisle smiled. “Go ahead.”

“Give me a sec, Mags.” She left her friend and her colleague for a second and turned back to Carlisle. “Don’t leave, please. Find me after everything’s done. Okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

(Y/N) joined Maggie once more, her face growing red with warmth. Both women giggled at the situation and turned every few seconds to look back at the striking man that had gained (Y/N)’s full attention.

“Who is that Greek statue of a man, (Y/N)? A new suitor?”

“He’s the man who donated the money to the foundation and got all these people here.”

“What?” Maggie exclaimed. “Who is he?”

“That’s what I intend to find out, Mags. He just might turn into my Christmas present.”

And she had no idea just how right she was about it.

Part 2 (SMUT) ->

Taglist:  @agent-annana @banterbanner @alitav99 @daniallh @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @imaginetwilight2704 @mauvette268 @beefwhobarksandisalilmadalot @abelbai000 @ridiculous-creature​ @mikariell95 @gryffi-ndor @jules-bea2308 @comic-book-overload @winter-soldier-101 @jessicasunderground @mxyee @hey-you-therexo @witchy-obeyme-freak @xcastawayherosx @kortniec696 @slutforsainz @Blackbluerose666 @DyslexicCatterpillar @sunflowerleii @gypsymusiclover @byelannie @a-sifu-hotman @zheezs14 @minhaimaginação @bluebirbnamedJay @sirenheadenby @mushroomelephant @swidkid @skyesthebomb @user0ur0mom @nogitsune-the @cometstail @volturiwolf @locokoca @esposadomd @this-is-a-bad-idea @nocturnalherb16 @rosalie-whitlock @Nyctophilia710 @blueshoelaces @ems-alexandra @then-worship-at-my-altar @Six-Call @witchofhawkins @lovel-blog @sugajar  @goodpeoplegotohellanyway @Yuki254 @avis15 @honeylovemoon @wonieeee @baebeepeach @catgirlpwr @krazyk99 @klf1999 @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @cinffy23 @toomanythoughts33 @sugasthreedollarkookie

[ihni]

Chipping away at the @feedthefandomfest (Old fic edition) and have managed three rows at the moment ...

[wordsandrobots]

Wishing on Space Hardware: Trivia and the cutting room floor

Having finished the single longest writing project I've ever done, I find myself with a number of bits and pieces left over.

To be fair, I also invite you to contribute to the pile by letting me know if there are any extra scenes you'd like to see based on my truly excessive amount of Iron-Blooded Orphans fanfic. The ask box is open for that and anything else you'd like to prompt me to write about.

However, there remains a bunch of stuff that never made it into the final story and a lot of little details I feel are worth commenting on. So as I luxuriate in not having to spend the week editing chapters any more, I thought I'd share a couple of quick lists regarding the process and what got cut out of it. For posterity, at least.

Spoilers for the fics, obviously, and since they're post-canon, spoilers for IBO as well (go watch it if you have not, it is very, very good, hence the 656,000 words I wrote as a direct consequence [not counting the essays. Jeepers, I'll have to tot it all up some day and get the grand total).

Ahem. Anyway. Trivia!

First up, I must publicly credit penitence_road (on Tumblr as @stillness-in-green)’s excellent IBO fics for inspiring one of the major threads in WoSH (I've mentioned this in author notes but the debt cannot be overstated). The phrase 'Almiria's Adolescent Apocalypse' lodged in my brain and became a mission statement. I did try to steer in a completely different direction regarding the specifics (hence why Todo is very much not a part of the core gang), but the main thrust was all about taking that description and seeing how I could flesh it out. (Go read these fics, my goodness.)

Second, there are, of course, mythology gags referencing the wider Gundam franchise sprinkled liberally throughout. Some I've already called out in author notes, but I believe managed to reference Gundam 79, Zeta Gundam, Gundam ZZ, Char's Counterattack, Gundam Wing, Turn A Gundam, Gundam SEED, Gundam 00, and Reconguista in G in more or less explicit ways. See if you can spot them all!

I named Skoll and Hati with specific reference to their roles in the Poetic Eda. That is, I thought of them as 'the moon-hunter Gundam' and 'the sun-killed Schwalbe', respectively, in reference to their rolls harassing the Arianrhod Fleet (formally the Outer Lunar Orbit Joint Fleet) and destroying the Ahab reactor factory. But also they reflect their pilots' temperaments, with Skoll 'the mocker' being flown by Embi and Hati 'the hater' by Lin.

Spaceships Baldr and the Váli were named in a similar fashion, for their connections to Ragnarök (Váli is Vidar's brother, another of the gods who survive the final battle), and I chose to describe the finale as 'Ragnarök' in the first place because in the sagas, it represents a renewal of the world, rather than a complete end. Quite apart from the Norse influence on Gjallarhorn's whole deal, the cyclical nature dovetailed nicely with what I was trying to do with the story.

I had a very near miss with Skoll in that I wrote it as being based on ASW-G-15 Eligos, named after a demon that took the form of a handsome knight who can see the future. Some months later, the IBO-G app would reveal ASW-G-16 Zepar, the very next Gundam in the sequence, whose namesake's appearance as a red-garbed soldier seems to have been muddled with Eligos in some of the sources I checked. I am really quite relieved I didn't have to rework anything there, but it was close!

Visually, the deconstructed Char-clone that is Almiria's gang channel aspects of other iterations of the trope, with Asher obviously replicating Montag, Embi settling vaguely in the region of Quattro (that is, a more civilian-mode masked man), and Almira assaying McGillis in a way that probably lands not a millions miles from Rau. But I was primarily thinking of Relena's Sanc Kingdom outfit for her, so the 'general's' coat is a lot fancier.

The media-savvy ally to Victor Handa in Revolution for Beginners... is the same cameraman who filmed Kudelia's pivotal broadcast at the conclusion of Season 1's Dort arc. Those events seemed like they would have consequences for the journalists involved and in Hajime's case, that involved being swayed fully over to the workers' movement.

I invented Alessio as a character to counter-balance Iverson and ensure I had some non-villainous non-binary rep. That I picked the stoutest background character model I could find was not unrelated to this, though it's also an *interesting* model, especially coupled to the ones around him/them in the big group shot.

Doc Chaifin, meanwhile, just sort of happened. Sometimes characters do that.

I wrote a significant chunk of the sex scene (well, post-sex scene) in To Catch a Falling Star while sitting in a car park, waiting for my partner to come back from an appointment. This was mainly because the fic was absolutely consuming my brain and I'd discovered the joys of using a mobile phone to write notes (I put off getting a smart phone for a long, long time).

With respect to the Calamity War recording segments of Eugene Sevenstark and the Hesperus Treasure, my working head-canon is that Agnika Kaieru had a science/engineering background. Or, well, I think he moved in a social circle full of scientists and engineers before getting started on the war effort. I also have this notion that his parents at least were part of the corporate class, distinct from the aristocratic class from which people like the Bauduins and Fareeds emerged. But I never sat down to work it all out in full, as that wasn't required for the story.

Regarding Hesperus, I kind of fudged a lot to get the story to work. I'd sort of assumed Radonitsa Colony was a post-War construct rather than something pre-existing, which isn't really supported by the Urdr Hunt game. So the idea of it being a composite of different space platforms bolted around a space elevator terminal is perhaps a bit of a stretch. I still like it though, the basic concept of doing archaeology on space stations.

There's a lot of stuff I did in the moment, to get an individual fic to work, that I was later able to basically repurpose as long-term plot-points. I didn't actually intend for the 'There are three things you need to know to understand what comes next' bit to set up the salvager ship in the finale, or the pluma in Let Sleeping Angels Lie to set-up for what the McGillis faction would do with the leftovers of Season 2's events. But having those things set up gave me some wonderful 'ah ha' moments as I marshalled the overall plot. If nothing else, I got quite a rush out of realising both Gaelio's weaponised wheelchair and the beach house's lethal defences were there to use.

...try not to think too hard about how excited I got figuring out a convoluted assassination method. I'm certainly going to try not to.

The plot really kicked into gear for me with The Ares Affair. Up to then, I'd been coasting on character interactions and fix-its. But then all the consequences suddenly coalesced in my brain and I went, 'oh, this is what we're doing, is it?'

In addition to the playlists I've already put up, grown-up!Almiria's theme is Bach's Polonaise in G Minor on the harpsichord because it is *precisely* what you'd get if you pitched Rustal Elion's theme higher and more playful.

I still have no proper explanation for why A New England stuck in my head so hard when I was writing th first few fics. But I'm glad it did because it gave me a killer series title, if I do say so myself.

I tried extremely hard to make sure everyone in the anime cast got some kind of moment in the spotlight or at least a mention. Think I did a pretty good job on that front, overall.

And to wrap up on that point, yes, the narrator who occasionally addresses you directly is a character from the show. I'd be terribly interested to hear if any of you've worked out who. (It might not be strictly guessable, since there isn't anything gesturing at it per se; I just imagined it being their voice and it kind of fits, thematically.)

Now let's open the door to the cutting room!

The big one is that when I originally planned out the plot of Revolution for Beginners and Polyamory for Dumbasses, a key part of the uprising in the Dort Colonies was going to be the hackers allied with Ride knocking out the nearby Ariadne beacons in order to blind Earth to what was happening. Gjallarhorn would then have analysed the computer virus they used, and that would have been the basis for them messing about with the Network in the final stretch of fics. In the end, there simply wasn't enough room to fit any more threads into that fic and the more I thought it over, the more I decided this would be weighting the balance of power wrong. It'd be too much of a flat-out win for the colonists. Joshua's appearance on Ariadne One -- which had been intended to set things up for the beacon-hacking -- remained, just recontextualised as a clue to who was responsible for the attack in Frozen Sunlight, and a small bit of character development for this OC. I repurposed the remainder of this plot as a way to tie Ride's arc into Almiria's (she taps him for the hacking resources as a result of them messing with Ariadne One's sensors instead) and made 'Höðr' an entirely Gjallarhorn project.

The delay to the release of the Urdr Hunt mobile game drastically changed the opening to arc 4 and had knock-on effects for how the grand finale worked. Because I thought I'd have more to work with in terms of plot and characters of the game when it came time to do the writing, I'd assumed I'd be able to work in appearances from Urdr Hunt's cast. I'd planned a much bigger pay off to the idea of Radonitsa Colony's tourist board trying to get the Martain Chairperson to visit, which was that Atra and Akatsuki would have gone alone with Eugene and Sri. The whole 'let's pretend we're here to assess the facilities on behalf of the Martian government' would have been more than a passing joke and instead been a full-on cover story, with Wistario and the his friends scrambling to put on a good show. This would, I admit, mainly have existed to set up a rather dumb gag whereby Sri and Akatsuki would have been the only ones not distracted by Nanao Narolina's everything in a room full of straight male or bisexual adults. But with the delayed release of the game, I needed a drastic rethink, hence bringing in Zaza and having the whole adventure take place with the Urdr Hunt characters off-screen (I even made it vague as to whether they were the ones running the colony, just in case I needed to swing it as someone else taking over following a tragic or failed ending). Ultimately I am very happy this happened, since I didn't especially gel with the protagonists of the game and it gave me greater opportunity to play with my beloved manga cast. But it did mean my idea of having both spin-off heroes come to the rescue at a dramatic juncture never materialised.

This proved to be single biggest alteration to my plotting for the final arc, too. Initially, the escape from Earth was going to be a lot more dramatic. For one thing, I was planning for the whole 'Yamagi gets left behind' element to happen in orbit, with Shino and Eugene actually present. Some sort of ship to ship transfer going wrong, people going adrift in space, that kind of thing. For another, I had the idea of bringing both Gundams Astaroth and Hajiroboshi into play, for a proper 'fight our way through the blockade' moment. Wistario was going to swoop to the rescue as the shuttle broke atmosphere, there'd be pursuit, and I'd wreck as many cop cars Grazes as I could get away with in some protracted chase sequence before we got to the big NOOOO moment. Yeah. But obviously without knowing Wistario's real personality or situation post-game, I didn't have enough material to work with and plans changed. For the better, I think, given the characters moments it allowed me to have and given that Wiz's character is one of my least favourite parts of IBO's extended media. But yeah. I was aiming for a proper team-up, the kind where you could have different people's theme music kicking in as they swooped into view, and it was not to be.

History of a Catastrophe. Oh boy. As I noted at the time, this one got away from me a lot in terms of length. I ended up cutting three complete scenes in an effort to contain the sprawl. The first to go was one focused on Ville Klaassen, (main?) villain of the Moon Steel manga, who I'd already had cameo in Of Obsessions and Erotemes. I wanted to gesture more towards a conclusion for the manga's story, extending from what I'd laid down previously, but ultimately that was too low a priority to justify adding to the word count, so out it went. Given the alternating structure of this fic (it switches between what is broadly 'Julieta's strand' and 'Almiria's strand), that meant cutting a later scene as well and I opted to ditch a brief cutaway to Embi, mainly because it just repeated stuff I'd already establish in A Handful of Rusted Petals. And possibly because of this cut, or because I'd just mucked up the ordering at some point, I also had to get rid of a scene between two of Gjallarhorn's high command that, while cute from an office politics point of view, didn't really contribute much else.

Actually, since these are all quite short, I might as well put them in here so you can see what you weren't missing!

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P.D. 327 – In the middle of entirely unrelated events; Gjallarhorn branch office, Prague

“I'm sorry, is this a bad time?”

Ville Klaassen pushes his briefcase and hat across the desk, out of sight of the terminal screen. “Not at all. I'm just in the middle of preparing for a business trip.”

The Police Bureau officer's eyebrow twitches. “Hopefully this shouldn't take up much of your time. I'm calling regarding two cases you worked on in the aftermath of the McGillis Fareed Incident.”

That explains the highly-secured channel, which demanded Ville confirm he was alone before it would establish an encrypted link. “Oh yes?”

“I'm specifically referring to events at Research Station AD-5, and the investigation into the Fareed Charitable School.”

“The Alaya-Vijnana research? Of course.” The murdered scientists, the destroyed data – evidence of a zealot's self-mutilation turned to so much ash and broken glass. “What of it?”

“This is your official notification that information on these cases has been deemed deleterious to the public good and will henceforth be restricted to category five clearance.”

Interesting. The research Ville can understand, but a school –? Oh, that's right. Those rumours concerning Lord Iznario's predilections. “I was only peripheral to the second investigation. I wouldn't even have been on the ground for the first, had internal affairs not been so short-handed.”

Clearly the exact details of the involvement are irrelevant. “Please sign the forms now being sent to your inbox to confirm you have received this notification. Since you only hold level four clearance, you are not permitted to discuss the indicated cases unless ordered to do so by a superior with level five clearance or above. I am additionally required to run a remote-access search on your Gjallarhorn-issue devices to purge any data pertaining to these cases.”

“Remote access?” Ville asks, a drop of sweat forming at the top of his spine and seeming to fall right the way down it. “Now?”

“The scan must be run as soon as is viable.” There is an overly-deliberate pause. “Do you object?”

Such a rookie error. Ville curses himself inwardly. “Naturally not.” He casts a glance at the pad on the other side of his desk, still displaying the surveillance feed from this morning. “Will you need to scan my personal devices as well?”

“I am not authorised to do so, since under level four clearance, you will not have been permitted to take personal copies of relevant information.”

“Forgive me, I merely wished to be certain.” Opening the security menu on the terminal, he checks his settings. Shouldn't be too much of a risk since he isn't amateur enough to conduct his outside dealings using work equipment. “Please go ahead.”

“Thank you,” says the officer once the progress bar has run its course. “No excisions required.”

“I try to keep things tidy.”

“Please sign the forms promptly. Good day.”

Doing as instructed, Ville wonders what will become of the staff and 'students' of the school. They must surely know plenty of juicy details that would be deleterious to Gjallarhorn's good name… on any other day, he'd consider stretching feelers in that direction, just to see what he might find…

The pad twitters. Fresh footage of two people on a street corner, a skinny blonde with a crutch beside a big, white-haired man, both huddled in cheap anoraks.

Ville snarls, grabbing his hat and dialling furiously. “Nanao,” he snaps as soon as the comm connects, “the Warren boy and his employer's pet thug are right outside the building! I cannot have them causing a scene here. Where the hell are you?”

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P.D. 327 – More than two years after Tekkadan's last battle; Chryse, Mars

First time Embi takes Fly-Away, he doesn't stop giggling for four hours.

He floats on a cloud of painlessness, the ghosts and memories lost somewhere way below him as the vapour swirls happily inside his head. His brother is dead. He's constantly surrounded by the people Elgar died for. And right now, he doesn't care. About any of it! It feels so good!

Crashing afterwards sucks. Not getting the shakes bad. It just stinks to be stuck with all the usual feelings. He has fucked-up nightmares about carrying Elgar through the desert, a dead weight clinging tight to his back. Barely gets through the day without starting a fight. Tries to punch Hirume for asking what's wrong.

The solution is obvious. Embi gets some more Fly-Away and the second time is even better.

So it becomes a pattern. Get the money to buy what he needs to make things a little less shit for a while. Burn through that. Rinse. Repeat.

Everyone keeps telling him he needs to find something to live for, right? He guesses this is it.

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P.D. 329 – Some time later; a private dining room at The Blue Horn, Vingolf

The Director General of the Inspection Bureau sniffs, as he is wont to do whenever he wishes to delay speaking. “Lord Iznario's death is being ruled misadventure. As… anticipated.”

The Regulatory Chief of Staff eyes him from across the table, fingernails digging ever so slightly into the white cloth laid between them. “Indeed it is.”

There is a heavy pause, the kind filled with common understandings that cannot be said aloud.

“You don't think…”

“I wouldn't know.” The Chief of Staff adjusts her forks. “That falls in your purview, not mine.”

“The Police Bureau is… not my bag either. Unless there's evidence of misdemeanour, the investigation is beyond our scope.”

“Is there? Evidence?”

The Director General fiddles with the cuffs of his tunic. “Seems the old man just muddled his tablets and didn't care about watching his diet.”

“The Seven Stars always thought they were above mere mortals.”

“Yes. Yes…”

Another, heavily pause.

“Convenient, at least,” concludes the Chief of Staff. “One less remnant of the old order, hanging around.”

The Director General coughs. “You know I'll be retiring in the new year? Lord – I mean, Commander Elion has some up-and-coming young fellow picked out to replace me.”

“I heard. Is he up to the job?”

“Mm. Probably. Didn't… get much say in the decision.”

“How democratic.”

“Hm.”

A waiter glides into the third silence, bowing obsequiously. “Madam, sir? Your entrées.”

-----------------------------------------------

As I said, nothing especially mind-blowing. I also had a slightly different opening to the segment featuring the pluma, which I again cut for length, but that I rather liked, as a conceit.

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Can a machine remember?

It is possible for a machine to record. Pluma ASW-A-H-011_sub:27 can access data on its previous combat deployments at any time, to support its tactical algorithms. It can return the dimensions of the space freighter it disabled on its last activation, the topography of the desert it traversed during the battle before that, or images of the colossal detonation that led to it becoming buried for ERROR: UNABLE_TO_SYNC years.

But that is not remembering as you would understand it. Memory is imperfect, riddled with loss of clarity and skewed by emotional prejudice. A machine records raw, uncaring facts, free from conscious understanding of why they occur. Even if it performs tasks based on the patterns it detects, even if that performance resembles intelligence, it is most likely nothing more than a cascade of hollow logic, as insensible to wider context as a pebble dropping into the sea.

These, then, are the facts.

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On the subject of aborted starts, here is something I sketched for a putative 'Wistario segment' of the Arc 4 opening story, which as discussed never materialised:

Wisterio Afam is having a bad day. That is to say, he's not having a good day. In the grand scheme of things it probably doesn't count as truly terrible given that nothing is presently on fire and as far as he knows the colony isn't being attacked right this minute. He personally is being assailed from all sides but that largely seems to be on the scale of a cosmic joke whereby all his carefully laid plans are coming apart at the stitching.

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And finally, just because I thought it was clever at the time, a reprise segment from Love, Death and Cannoli that I again cut for length, but that would have repeated the echoing memory trick from To Catch a Falling Star chapter 11, with Yamagi recalling lines of dialogue with Shino that were (mostly) from my fics rather than the anime:

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Suns turn into black holes if they get too big and die. So it is with his feelings. Gravitationally crushing.

I don't want perfect. I want you.

What a dumb thing to say.

(There's something wrong with me.)

But isn't it better to be wrong together than apart?

Do you think if we're both worrying it's our fault, that's a sign of something?

At least there are similarities in how they're screwed up, for whatever comfort that is.

(You're here and you're – you're mine.)

And Yamagi will hold on with hands and teeth and everything he's got.

Jeez, you're so uptight sometimes.

He can be fierce too, if it's necessary.

(Of course I want to be out there with you.)

Right to the very end.

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I've a few more partial scenes in my planning document, but they're mostly things I reworked for the actual posted versions, rather than cutting entirely. Stuff like some of the flashbacks Shino has to his pre-Tekkadan days were originally in different places and the conversation between Yamagi and Ordsley wound up requiring a lot of changes as the story developed. I think that about covers all the major deviations from my original outline.

Oh, except for Gundam Paimon. I swear I meant to figure out what to do with that thing, eventually, but in the end it just remained hanging on the wall. Ah well.

[andydrysdalerogers]

The Type You Save ~ S I X T E E N

James "Bucky" Barnes and OFC Alexandra "Alex" Richards

Detective James Barnes hasn't seen the love of his life in three years. Since the night she was almost caught stealing a painting. He knows it was her and she disappeared leaving him confused and heart broken.

Alexandra Richards never expected to be pulled back into her old life two years after she left it. She had found love and a home and was happy. Until a note blackmailed her to take one last job. Three years later she walked into the last person she expected to see in San Francisco. Because he lived in New York right?

They always put family before everything. And he would do anything to get his family back. Because she's the type you save.

TW: mob, death, smut, rape intentions, angst, guns, family abandonment, dub-con, manipulation

A/N: the penaultimate chapter

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: F I F T E E N

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Steve woke up with pain.  Shit, he thought to himself.  The light in the room was blinding, not helping the headache he had at all.  He blinked slowly trying to orient himself.  He went to massage his head but found he couldn’t move. This is what finally brought him into full consciousness.  He looked to see Nate sitting next to him, tied to the chair with his arms behind his back. He finally lifted his head and saw Alex in front of him, also tied to a chair but gagged.  He could see that she had been crying.  “Alex?” 

“Ah, Captain Rogers, good to see you are finally awake.”  A man in a crisp suit stood in front of him. “I don’t believe we have met.  Christian Grey.”  

Steve stared daggers at the man. “You’re the asshole that is trying to rip my family apart. Trying to take my brother’s wife.  My nephew’s mother.”  

“She is mine,” Christian snarled.  “She was always mine.” He punched Steve in the face. Steve raised his face back up, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his lip. Alex muffled scream came from across the room.  A laugh could be heard, and he looked to see another man with Zemo standing next to him.  

Christian walked over to Nate. “I knew you would betray me, Nathaniel.  You were always weak, especially for my girl.”  

“She was never your girl.” Nate looked defiantly towards him.  “You took an innocent girl and ruined her.  I did everything to protect her.  You just wanted to fuck her up.  We had a code, ethics.”  

Grey got right in his face. “Don’t act like you had to moral high ground,” he snarled.  “You were right there next to us, doing my dirty work without a second thought.  You lusted after Alex just like every other man. Let me rephrase, you were in love with her.”  

Nate didn’t blink.  “Yes, I do.  I loved her so much, but she deserved more than this life.  I had no problem helping her escape if it meant she was happy. I couldn’t save my soul, but I could save hers.”  

Alex let the tears openly flow.  She knew Nate had a crush, but she hadn’t known how deep it had gone. She looked at him with sorrow.  Nate knew what she wanted to say but he simply nodded.  

“That is so romantic.  A declaration of love,” Grey mocked.  

“Well, it’s better than what you think you are calling love.” Nate threw back.  “Tell her.  Tell her how you made her an orphan. How Walker ran them off that cliff. That you actually found her brother a few days after he tried to leave and tortured him when he refused to give his blessing.  How he begged you to spare her life. How you slit his throat and watched him bled out on the same floor you made her bedroom in.”  

Alex’s eyes widen at Nate’s words.  She started to scream through the gag and buck in the chair. Her mind on Simon.  She had assumed he was alive but underground.  Underground was right but he hadn’t been alive in years.  

Christian roared at Nate. “You think giving her these truths would make it better? I should kill you first, so she knows she is powerless to stop this. Walker.” Christian turned to face Alex as Walker went up to Nate and punched him in the gut, the force tipping the chair over and sending Nate onto his back.  Walker picked him back up and swung at his face, his nose now bleeding but unconscious.  

Alex continued to scream until Grey went and ripped the gag from her mouth.  “You’re a monster! You killed my family!” 

“I only did what I had to do to keep you, Alexandra.  I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”  He saw the confusion in her eyes. “You don’t remember? You wandered into a game one night, looking so innocent and beautiful.  I knew I had to have you.  But Simon refused.  So, I eliminated the obstacles.”  He laughed with such malice that it made Alex flinch.  “You were so easy to mold into what I needed.  Now, it’s time for some negotiations.”  

Outside, the police were slowly surrounding the home and garage.  Infrared camera detected no one in the house but they still send a team in to make sure.  James and Tony were waiting at the command center with the local police captain Thor Odinson.  “The house is clear, but it looks like someone was injured.  They found blood in one of the bedrooms.”  

“Alex,” James whispered and closed his eyes.  He snapped them open.  “Have you found Captain Rogers?” 

“No, but we still have the garage that is a ways back.”  Thor looked at his colleagues. “I would ask but I already know you won’t stay put.”  

“Sorry, but my entire family is in this.”  James pulled on his vest.  

Tony moved to stop him.  “Bucky, are you sure you can handle this?” 

“I need to bring them back to Drew.  He can’t lose them.” He checked the clip on his gun.  “I’m taking Grey dead or alive.”  

“What negotiations?” Alex kept breathing deep, trying to level her head.  But all she saw were thoughts of her parents, her brother, ripped away from her.  

“I have some paperwork that needs to be signed.”  Grey smirked.  “Formalities, really.”  

“Formalities?  For what?” 

“For you to be completely mine.  We have things that need to be resolved.”  

Alex lifted her chin.  “I won’t sign anything for you, you fucking prick.”  

Christian didn’t say a word as stepped towards her.  About six inches away, he leaned to her face.  “Watch. Your. Mouth.”  And without another warning he slapped her, her face rearing as it moved from the force.  A cry left her mouth as the pain radiated.  

“Don’t touch her!” Steve yelled, trying to move the restraints.  He felt one of the ropes slip but didn’t let on as he slowly freed one of his hands.  

“I won’t touch her again Captain.  Not until we finished at least, and I claim my prize.”  He whipped back to Alex.  “These papers.”  He threw them on the table next to her and turned her in her chair. “You will sign them.  Otherwise,” he grasped her chin to have her face the men tied up, “I will make you watch as we began to play with them.  Walker, as you know, loves to have fun with new friends.”  

Alex’s eyes glanced at Walker, an evil smile gracing his face as he played with a knife from his belt, twirling, glinting with menace. “What are they?” she whispered.  

“Marriage dissolution papers.  I want you to be mine and first I need to end your joke of a marriage to that cop.”  

Steve pleads with her. “Don’t sign them, Alex.  Its ok. Everything is going to be ok.” 

Alex could barely see him through the tears building up in her eyes. “I have too Stevie.  I need to save you.”  

“No, you don’t Ale. You were the one we needed to save. Everything will be ok.  Please don’t sign them.” 

The SWAT team approached the garage silently, James and Tony among them.  They all positioned themselves near the windows and doors.  James glanced in to see the three people tied up, Alex’s face red but could see someone with their head down and Steve with what looked like a hand free but playing it off.  “We have three hostages in there, one who looks unconscious,” he whispered.  They could now hear the conversation going on.  

“This is all so sweet,” he heard Grey say, but now is not the time.  A gun cocked back, ready to fire.  “Now, Alexandra.  What have you decided?” 

He could hear Alex sobbing quietly.  “What happens if he doesn’t sign?  You need two signatures.”  

“To save your life, I’m pretty sure I can get your officer to sign them.  He gets everything after all.  Your business, your money.  Everything but your son.  I’ll raise him after this.  Bring him up to be a good soldier and eventual heir.  You will still be his mother, but you will be my queen.”  

Alex face was one of horror, matching the one she could see on Steve’s and unknowingly James’s as well.  “You can’t have him,” she whispered.  

“Oh, I will pet.  And we will have others.  Our own little family.” Christian laughed, echoing in the garage. 

Steve saw out of the corner of his eye that Nate was waking up.  Nate looked around and saw Steve waving his loose hand at him.  He gestures to charge, and Nate understood.  He waited until Walker turned his back on the men.  Steve loosened his other hand holding the rope, so no noise was made.  He glanced around for a weapon and saw James in the window.  James winked and Steve understood.  They were no longer alone.  

He saw the men waiting for Alex to make her decision.  He subtly glanced at Nate and nodded once.  

James got ready after explaining what he saw.  He made it to the main door. And took a breath. Please God, make sure they are ok. He closed his eyes and opened them with focus. The SWAT team took position in front, their tactical gear making the practical choice for all.  Odinson counted down in his ear piece.  “Breach in three, two, one… “  

“Let’s have it, Alex.  I want an answer.  NOW!” 

Alex pulled in a breath as she could see that Steve was free and motioning Nate, looked in her direction.  But not at her.  And it hit her.  He was here. James was here. “Fine, I’ll sign.  But I need my hands.  I want to read it.  To understand what you are taking away from me.”  

Grey smirked.  “Sure.”  He let go of the tie on her wrist and she flexed.  She picked up the papers and started to read them, her eyes moving but actually observing the scene. Walker and Zemo had their backs to Steve and Nate, a huge mistake on their part.  Grey had his body turned as well.  

Steve saw that he had Alex’s attention.  He held up a hand counting down.  Closing his fist, he quietly went up to Walker, Nate up to Zemo and charged.  Steve put Walker in a choke hold while Nate charged into Zemo’s stomach, dropping both.  Grey turned to the commotion and then back as the door burst open.  

“Police!” 

Grey didn’t hesitate, firing at the officers as he ducked behind the desk.  Alex pushed herself back out of the way, but Grey grabbed her. Walker loosened Steve’s hold, turned and pointed his gun at Steve, but a SWAT officer took him out before he had a chance.  

Nate was loose from the chair and began to wail on Zemo.  Zemo pushed him off, but Steve got there with Walker’s gun.  “Move and you die, “ cocking the gun back.  

As the police moved in, Grey took hold of Alex and used her as a shield, his gun at her head, arm around her neck.  James ran in and stopped.  “Ah, Sargent Barnes. Nice of you to join us.”  

“Stop!” James put his hand up to stop the other officers.  Steve looked up and his face fell.  Nate’s face twisted in anger at the scene.  “Ok, just let her go.”  

“Let her go?  No, I don’t think I will.”  

“Jamie!” Alex cried.  

“Its ok Allie.  Everything is going to be ok, doll.” James took in her disheveled state.  “Are you hurt?” 

She shook her head slightly. “No.”  

“Ok enough chatter. You are going to talk to these nice officers and let us walk away.  I’m going to put her in the car with me and we are going to drive far away.  I won’t hurt her, and you get to live.”  

“That’s not going to happen.” James kept his gun trained on him but had no clean shot.  

A movement in his peripherals caused Grey to shift.  “Think about what you are going Captain.  I just need to pull and the world ends,” stopping Steve in his tracks.  

“Ok, let’s just remain calm,” James called out.  “You have no clean exit, Grey.  I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you try and take her from me again.”  

“Take her?  She was mine to begin with!  She was always mine!  And you, you just charmed her with your Brooklyn ways!” Grey screamed.  “You took the only thing I have ever loved!” 

“She ran from you.  What does that tell you?” 

“Alex just needed time.” Grey was letting his delusions out. “Didn’t you just need time pet?”  He grasped her neck harder, making her cry out.  “She’ll see that we are perfect together. I just need to get rid of the obstacles.  I just...” his eyes moved to James.  “I just need to get rid of you.”  He moved his gun away from Alex and pointed it at James.  

“No, please!” Alex yelled.  “I’ll leave, I’ll stay with you.  Please don’t hurt him.” She cried harder.  “Please don’t kill him.”  

“You need to stay with me Alex and the only way is if he is gone.” His attention was now on Alex, watching her beg for her husband.  

“Please Christian, I’m begging you to leave him alone.”  

In the chaos of her pleas, Nate moved closer to James.  He knew how unstable Grey could be.  He got around Steve just as Grey refocused the gun on James.  

“Thanks for keeping her safe Barnes.  But it’s time to go.”  

Alex screamed as the gun fired at James.  “Jamie!” 

James fell over, the wind knocked out of him after he hit the floor. He coughed and looked up to see Alex fall to her knees leaving Grey wide open.  He fired and hit Grey right in the chest, the blood splattering onto Alex as Grey fell over on top of her.  

That’s when James realized a body was pinning him down.  

“Nate!” Alex screamed  

James realized that this was Alex’s friend who jumped in the way to save his life. He pushed him over to see blood seeping from his stomach.  James immediately put pressure on the wound.  “Steve! Get Alex!” 

Steve pushed Grey off of Alex.  Steve checked her over as she thrashed to get to James and Nate.  “Stevie please, I’m fine!” She finally pulled free. “Alex, wait.”  

She fell next to Nate.  His eyes looked around panicking until he saw her face.  “Its ok Nate, it’s going to be ok,” she whispered.  

“We need EMTs in here now!” James yelled.  “Come on Nate, keep your eyes open.”  

“Please Nate, keep your eyes on me,” Alex pleaded.  She took his hand into hers.  “You have to live, ok? I need to kick your ass for being so stupid.”  

Nate tried to smile, blood coming from his mouth, staining his teeth.  “Love. You,” he labored to say.  

“Love you too Nate but don’t do this ok.  My son needs to meet you.”  She watched as his eyes began to flutter.  “No, no, no, Nate come on, stay with us.”  

The EMTs rushed over, and James moved out of the way to let them work.  He went to Alex to move her out of the way. “Come on Allie.”  

“No, I can’t leave him! Nate! Nate!” she screamed as James picked her up and pulled her away.  “Jamie please, he needs me.”  

“I know doll, I know.  I’m sorry.”  He held her close as she screamed for her friend.  

Nate felt cold, but when he looked into Alex’s eyes, knowing she was now safe, he felt at peace.  He let his eyes close as the medics worked on him. He could rest now that she was safe. 

I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry....

NEXT

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[wings-of-waffles]

Oh my god, you're THE AUTHOR of that one Mastermind x Chameleon fic on ao3! I'm a huge fan of your work, but I don't have an ao3 account, plus they disabled commenting, but I just wanna say that I'm a huge fan! Keep up the good work! Also, though I've personally never really put relations on the island for Stonemover in my headcanons (makes him more sad lonely British orphan coded to me), I personally am *loving* your idea of Stonemover and Mastermind being brothers. Just a worried older brother faced with so much after they found out about his animus magic and how people on the island whispered of his future madness and how he should be avoided, and the younger, nerdier brother who never fit in due to his nerdiness, and the older just wants to look out for the younger... Though I think I recall Mastermind mentioning in your fic that they grew apart? I'm not sure how you envisioned it, but after reading your fic, I really thought about maybe Stonemover returning to the island, only to see Mastermind gaining some success and he has Farsight and Mastermind claims that they're having a dragonet, while he remains convinced that his own romance can never work out, and then that's when Stonemover decides to leave the island, because he thinks that Mastermind no longer needs him? It'll sure be a doozy if they ever reunite. Maybe they'll figure out how to use the telephone? Maybe Sunny and Starflight will suddenly find out about each other's fathers being related? Anyway, sorry for the ramble, but I think that your ideas are really cool!

FIrstly, thank you thank you thank you!! This ask made me so happy to read, I'm so glad you like my stuff!! And now I'm going to ramble back at you because this stuff has been stuck inside my head for so long and I need to get it out!

And about some of what you said-- yes, Mastermind and Stonemover do grow apart, and some of it is some kind of rivalry, but it's also kind of two sided? Like Stonemover is jealous of his brother being able to do just do all this stuff he was never particularly good at, while Mastermind is a bit jealous of Stonemover not seeming to have to try to do things for the tribe since he just has it in his talons (and also he's a bit salty about his brother breaking the laws of physics and sometimes drives himself a little bonkers trying to come up with scientific explanations for feats of animus magic), and they both don't understand why the other seems to be suffering, even though it's the same reason: ludicrous expectations and severe overwork.

Now, about Farsight and Thorn and all that, although it's definitely an interesting angle, I do personally prefer to sideline it just a bit. Like Stonemover knows his brother has a girlfriend, but not much else, and Mastermind thinks it's a bit funny that Stonemover keeps hanging out in the desert, but hey you can see the sun there, and he's not one to judge. They can freak about them both having children around the same age later when they reunite and feel bad for not paying attention to each other and their struggles more.

Oh yeah their reunion! It is, as you put it, a doozy. Provided nothing changes, it should happen in chapter twenty-one of my current longfic. [(Re)Building Bridges, the one "I had a brother once..." was impatiently spun off from.] It takes that long because Stonemover can't really use a phone from where he's stuck to the floor, and Mastermind never told anybody except for Chameleon about his dead brother, and he doesn't tell anybody else about his dead brother (at least not by name), and so nobody realises they're related until M & C end up down at JMA for plot reasons.

So yeah! Mastermind is horrified by the fact that his brother felt the need to turn himself to stone and feels terrible about it, and then he has to tell him about the RainWing experiments and his intense moral failing and every other terrible thing that happened to him after Stonemover left. Then they have a mutual moment of understanding when Stonemover explains how he was forced to do *something* bad with his animus magic (I haven't decided on what yet) that pushed him over the edge and prompted him to leave, although it's really not the same they can still sympathize. There is lots of screaming, and crying, and Mastermind is kind of mad his brother was practically left to die in a cave after doing this to himself even after others fell out because somebody needs to be, and they find a way to keep in touch and promise they won't ever fall apart or resent each other ever again.

Meanwhile everybody else, who were preoccupied in the plot reasons, is confused as all hell as to why those two (Mastermind especially) are acting that way and Chameleon is like "oh yeah that's his dead brother" and then everybody else freaks out but differently because 1. even though there's no classes right now, they had a bit of a situation going on in their school 2. two of them just got surprise cousin'd 3. oh yeah also this weird green rainwing is here too 4. they still have plot reasons to deal with and finally 5. oh moons there are way too many things going on at once!! It's a whole situation, but the brothers reunite and they stop crying eventually and it's fine. :)

So yeah thanks for the ask, I'm glad you liked my work, and sorry for rambling a poorly formatted essay at you lol. <3

[amandacanwrite]

Violet Thread of Fate || Part Eleven: A Set of Portraits

Other Chapters || Join Taglist || Requests Open || Subscribe on AO3

Pairing || Elinna Inklynn (Half-drow tav) and Gale Dekarios. Briar Larklight (Gender Neutral Tav) x Halsin

Length || 4,300-ish Words

Scenario || In an alternative timeline for the events of BG3 Elinna Inklynn, an orphan from the Moonshae Islands seeks out the tutelage of accomplished wizard Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep. She has a knack with the Weave, but no money or connections to actually learn how to harness it. She has heard the wizard is a gentleman and a schollar, and hopes she can appeal to him to take her on as his apprentice in exchange for her help around his tower, with his research, and in running errands in Waterdeep. Unfortunately for her, Gale Dekarios does not take on apprentices.

Warnings || Age gap (Perhaps about 10ish years.) Description of scarring from corporal punishment. Mature themes. Shared memories of neglect and abuse.

A/n || Finally starting to get into some of the overall plot! I'm so excited to write the Underdark Arc. I hope you like this chapter!

I also just wanted to say a heartfelt thank you to those of you who have been commenting after reading. You have no idea how much it means to me when you stop for a few moments to do that and let me know that you're liking this project. Every morning one of the first things I do is check Ao3 and Tumblr for responses to my fic. I wish you could see my dumb little face when I read them. It really does make my day.

Taglist || @softvampirewhump @horizonstride @thoughts-of-bear @mymybirdie @tiedyedghoulette

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@auroraesmeraldarose @puckprimrose @dont-try-pesticide @cherifrog @circusofthelastdays

@nourangul @crucibelle @fan-aaa-tic @listen-to-navi @spillthetaesissy

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Gale’s gaze stayed focused on Elinna’s face, watching her cycle through a myriad of emotions before she finally dropped to her knees in front of him. Her green eyes were so bright and aware–something he had missed in the days she spent recovering from the spider toxin in her system. But there was something complex behind them;some mixture of trepidation and curiosity–perhaps even pain. 

He still held the locket in his hand, the delicate face of it slightly ajar as Elinna stared at it. 

She was rendered speechless, and Gale found himself unsure of what to do.

He understood what she’d meant when she’d called her mother a figment; understood that Elinna was letting go of the possibility of ever knowing what her mother had intended for her life when she offered him the magic within the locket. 

But now that locket was open, and whatever lay hidden in the shadowy interior was now available to her. All there was left to do was open it. 

But Elinna…she was just staring at it. Part of him wanted to simply open it for her, but he knew that was curiosity spurring him on and not necessarily what was best for Elinna in this moment. 

“Elinna,” Gale finally said, willing patience into his voice. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Her eyes went to his, wide and frightened. 

“It’s open,” she said. 

He nodded. “It is.”

“But it opened after you drained the magic of it?” she asked. 

“It appears so–the magic inside of it was what kept it locked, I assume,” he said. “Do you not wish to see what lies within?”

“What if–what if they’re instructions for how to use the magic you just consumed?” she asked. “What if they reveal a path I can no longer take?”

“What if they don’t?” Gale asked. “What if it’s a portrait of your mother?”

He hoped it was something more like that. The guilt he would feel if he’d taken away the last chance of Elinna to have found her family…he didn’t know if he could carry it. 

Elinna lifted her thumb to her mouth, chewing at her nail for a moment. He watched her face again, the gentle creases in her brow as she lost herself in thought, staring at the locket. Gale simply held still, letting Elinna process. 

Finally, she gave a shaky exhale and reached for the locket, taking it gingerly into her hands. 

“I’m sorry–” she said with a humorless laugh. “I said all those things about being ready to lay this journey to rest and now I’m having a crisis. It must be making you feel wretched.”

Gale shook his head. “You have no reason to apologize,” he said. “I just want to be here for you, whether you decide to look inside or discard the locket altogether.”

Gale’s heart warmed as Elinna’s shoulders faintly dropped and she heaved out a little exhale of relief. 

He really had forgotten how nice it felt to be needed–for his presence to matter to someone in the world aside from Tara and his mother. 

Perhaps he had more in common with Elinna than he originally realized.

Finally Elinna looked down at the object in her hand, biting down on her lower lip. 

“I think…I think I need to open it,” she said in a quiet voice. 

Gale nodded. “I’m right here, Elinna,” he said softly. 

Gale’s heart squeezed again as she let out a soothed breath and nodded. 

She slipped the locket open and peered inside. 

*** 

Underneath Gale and Elinna, lounging near the hexblood viol player that had resumed their music after they’d left, Halsin, Briar and Astarion all sat, drinking from tankards and wine glasses. 

Astarion lazily let his head drop back to look at where the wizard had rushed to catch the girl before she had a nasty tumble down the stairs. Astarion huffed out a little sound as he looked to the bard on the stage once more and griped, “What do you suppose they’re doing up there? They’ve been gone an awful long time.”

Briar sat on a tall barstool, their legs kicking where they hung in the air with their shorter stature. They looked up at the ceiling as if they could see through it and into the room they’d paid for at the inn. They gave a little shrug. 

“Maybe he’s getting her situated back in bed,” they offered. 

“I still think it’s strange–they seem very close for two people who aren’t lovers,” Halsin said, placing his chin in his hand. “Perhaps Gale is confessing matters of the heart.”

“What is this, primary school?” Astarion asked with a scoff. “They’re probably just up there engaging in some heavy petting like any normal adult should be.”

Briar quirked an eyebrow at Astarion. “Halsin confessed his feelings for me before we shared a bed,” they said. “Not everyone is as jaded as you.”

Astarion looked between the two of them with an assessing gaze, taking in their size difference. After seeming satisfied in his assessment, he let out a little chortle of delight

“Oh, you’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” Astarion said to Briar, eyes narrowing on them. “How do you even make him fit?”

Briar’s eyes narrowed as they gave the vampire a wry smirk. “And why would I tell you that? You don’t even deserve to imagine it as far as I’m concerned,” they said. “You’ll have to conjure your own fantasies to synchronize your cold, sad, little hand to, I’m afraid.”

Halsin was halfway through a sip of his honey mead when Briar said this and the unexpected vulgarity had him sputtering into his tankard before being seized by a coughing fit. 

Astarion barked a delighted laugh, not at all offended. He seemed to enjoy the opportunity to banter with someone. 

“Please,” Astarion said as he took in a breath and sighed. “I could have the little half-drow if I wished. She was like putty in my hands before. Don’t offend me just because you lack taste.”

“Was that before or after you nearly got her killed?” Halsin asked dryly.

“Lack taste?!” Briar griped over the end of Halsin’s sentence. They gestured with an open hand at their partner. “Have you seen this man?!”

“Technically speaking, it was she who nearly got me killed, thank you very much. Secondly, yes I have seen him, the question is have you seen me?” he said. “And Elinna will forgive me eventually, I’m sure.”

Briar rolled their eyes. “Such arrogance,” they said. 

“You say arrogance, I say charm and wit and social graces,” Astarion tutted as he took another sip from his wine. “Eugh, this wine is about as robust as horse piss.”

“You’re welcome to pay for something better,” Halsin said flatly, his coin purse already made quite empty enough thanks to his unexpected traveling companions and their need for a warm place to tuck Elinna into sleep. At least the vampire spawn didn’t eat, that helped

Astarion took another deep drink from his wine glass before lifting it in a mock toast. “Horse piss is fine,” he said. 

Briar rolled their eyes once again, looking toward the room as they bored of Astarion’s complaining. 

When they did, their eyes caught a smudge of color on the staircase. Gale descended the stairs a few steps ahead of Elinna, who was now fully dressed. Her amber hair still tumbled in lovely waves down to the middle of her back, still unbrushed, as if she’d gotten dressed in a hurry or perhaps was just too tired to do her full routine for getting ready.

Gale got to the bottom of the steps and offered Elinna a hand as she limped down the last few stairs. Once done making sure she was stable on her boot-clad feet, he scanned the room, meeting Briar’s eyes and giving a nod of acknowledgement.. He was still holding her hand as he pointed with his other to where they were sitting and bantering. 

Her eyes scanned them before landing on Astarion, lounging lazily with his bottle of wine.

Briar watched as per complexion blanched and as she almost turned on her heel to run back upstairs Gale stopped her and speaking to her, cupping her one hand with both of his. They could see the same coaxing care in his face as they once saw in Halsin the first time they met; when he’d saved Briar from those goblin poachers.

“Astarion, why don’t you make yourself scarce for a bit?” Briar said. 

“What?” Astarion asked, looking at Briar. “Why?” he asked as he followed the fox-shifter’s line of sight. 

When he saw Elinna he gave a little pout; the face of someone who knew they were facing the consequences of their choices, but still didn’t want to be. 

“Fiiiiine,” he said, drawing out the word into a sigh. “Let me know when the stray cat will be allowed back in.” 

He got to his feet, and grabbed his cheap wine by the neck of the bottle, looking between the glass and the bottle for a moment before downing the bit of wine left in his glass and, chasing it with a swig straight from the bottle as he wandered outside. 

Halsin looked over his shoulder just as Briar looked back at Elinna. Her shoulders were already dropping and the color was returning to her face. She still seemed a little hesitant as Gale tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her over to the table. 

“Elinna Inklynn, allow me to introduce you to Halsin Silverbough and Briar Larklight. These are the valiant druids who helped me locate you and save you,” Gale said.

Briar gave their friendliest smile to Elinna, which they were relieved to see returned, albeit a little shyly. They watched as Elinna took Halsin in for the first time, seeing as her mouth opened slightly with surprise. 

“Wow,” Elinna said under her breath as she took in Halsin’s height and the muscled mass of his body. 

Halsin’s mouth split into a wide grin before he gave a hearty laugh. “Nice to meet you more officially, Elinna,” he said. “I’m happy to see you back on your feet.”

“Oh, you’re the one who asked me why I was out of bed,” Elinna said. “And the one who carried me.”

“We all took turns carrying you, thank you,” Gale said, playfully affronted. 

“Well Gale and Halsin did,” Briar corrected. “I’m afraid I’m a bit shorter than you and lacking in the necessary muscles to carry you for more than a quick spell.”

“I offered to cast enlarge on you,” Gale said. 

“And I told you I quite like my size,” Briar quipped back. 

“As do I,” Halsin said with a warm smile cast their way, eyes hooded in that private way that Briar knew added an edge of suggestion to the complement. 

Briar pressed their lips slightly in an effort to keep the bronze flush from coming to their face. They looked back at Elinna again, “Astarion was forbidden from helping, considering he was the reason for your ailments.”

“Why are you traveling with him?” Elinna asked. 

“He helped us defeat the spider,” Briar said. “And he shares another ailment with you all.”

Elinna looked at Gale with surprise. “You told them about it?” she asked. 

“Worry not,” Halsin assured her, a broad hand lifting. “We were already on our way to do our own investigation on the nautiloid when we found your traveling companion. You’re not the first I’ve seen with the ailment.”

“So…do you know why we’re still…us…then?” Elinna asked. 

Halsin’s expression sobered a bit. “Admittedly, no,” he said. “But I can at least tell you that you’re not the only ones whose transformation is stalled. It’s an anomaly from anything we’ve ever seen when it comes to…to your ailment.”

Elinna nodded. “I see…and I suppose if you haven’t helped Gale or Astarion…you don’t have a cure for it.”

“Not as of yet,” Halsin said. “But that’s something I hope to figure out in our travels together.”

Briar watched as Elinna looked at Gale with a questioning gaze. Gale looked down at Elinna and gave her a subtle nod. 

Elinna drew a piece of jewelry from her coat and placed it on the table between everyone. 

It appeared to be a locket with a depiction of a couple sitting on a crescent moon, a child cradled between them. It had some Drowic words inscribed on the face of it that Briar couldn’t read. 

“This is a locket that was left with me when I was left at The Scribe’s Guild in Moonshae,” she said. “I’ve never been able to open it until now.”

She gingerly handled the locket, opening it cautiously. Within the locket, on either side, were two hand-painted portraits in miniature. One of a beautiful drow woman with periwinkle-colored skin and white hair, Elinna’s face looked eerily similar to the woman, as if Elinna had been drawn the same way but painted with a different color palette.  

The other portrait was one of a stately-looking human man with a strong nose, a tidy red beard and thick, waving hair to match. Most striking was the green color of his eyes and how similar they were to Elinna’s, though they lacked the curious twinkling present in Elinna’s wide eyes. 

Rolled into a tight, thin scroll was a piece of yellowed parchment about as long as a single digit of Elinna’s fingers. 

She picked up the parchment, unfurling it with some effort as she nibbled on her lower lip. 

“I think these are my parents,” she said. “And there was this paper inside…”

She unfurled the paper, revealing a message written in Undercommon, the language of the inhabitants of the Underdark.

“‘When you get this locket open,’” Elinna read, “‘Come find me in the mushrooms sing.’”

“It’s gobbledygook to me,” Gale said. “I thought our druids might know where singing mushrooms could be found.”

Elinna looked at Briar and they shook their head. “It’s not something I’m familiar with,” they said. “I’ve never heard of a singing mushroom.”

Briar looked at Halsin, expecting him to say the same. But Halsin’s face had grown serious–almost grave. 

“The Fungus Folk,” Halsin said. “Also known as Myconids. They’re quite literally humanoid mushrooms. They operate as a hivemind and their magic comes through the songs they sing.”

“Where can they be found?” Elinna asked. “I’ve never encountered them in any of my reading.”

“They’re a very private society, and are fiercely protective of their own. There are not many who can penetrate their society and learn the finer points and intricacies of their colonies. There is not much to be read about them,” Halsin said. “Their largest colony is in the Lowerdark, the deepest level of the Underdark, beneath even the duegar and the deep gnomes. 

“It’s dangerous there. The Myconid colony may be an oasis of decency–but the darkness we might encounter on the way…” He trailed off for a few moments, seeming to be lost in some thought. He blinked and shook his head, as if shaking it off. “There’s an old adage about the Lower dark–”

“If you think it’s impossible, it’s happening in the Lower Dark,” A haughty voice drawled from behind Elinna.

Briar furrowed their brow. “You’re supposed to be giving us space, Astarion,” they said. 

“Yes, but then I heard you talking about The Lowerdark,” Astarion said. “I didn’t want to miss it.” 

Briar looked at Elinna, seeing her begin to tremble as Astarion drew closer. Halsin stood from his seat, picking Elinna up in one smooth motion and placing her in the chair he’d just vacated, as if she weighed nothing. He put his massive body between Elinna and the vampire spawn. 

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Oh come on,” he complained. “I’m not feral.”

“And she’s supposed to know that, how?” Gale snipped. “I’ll remind you of your less-than glowing first impression on her.”

“Such dramatics,” Astarion sighed. “It was a little nibble. And she enjoyed it. Most people do.” 

Elinna’s face flushed scarlet as she fiddled with her hands in her lap. Seeing her shrink was enough to reignite Briar’s irritation with the pale elf. They were about to tell the bastard to go outside again when Elinna’s trembling voice rose from behind Halsin. 

“Y-you’ve been to The Lowerdark?” she asked. 

Briar’s brows rose with surprise, and judging by Halsin’s glance over his muscled shoulder, he’d been surprised too. 

The girl was clearly terrified, but so determined to learn the truth about her parents that she would speak to him anyway. The only one who didn’t seem surprised by Elinna’s bravery and curiosity was her traveling companion, the wizard. 

Who was still staring Astarion down with an unimpressed glower.

She seemed to note the surprise on Briar’s and Halsin’s faces. She shrunk a bit more into herself, looking a bit embarrassed. 

“It’s easy to be a bit brave when you’re protected by a giant elf,” she mumbled. 

Briar was relieved to see the warmth return to Halsin’s expression as he let out a little chuckle. “Glad to make you feel a bit more comfortable, young one,” he said. 

“To answer your question,” Astarion said, sounding almost annoyed at Halsin’s interruption. “Yes. I’ve been to The Lowerdark dozens of times. One of Cazador’s favorite places to…frollic…as it were.”

“Cazador?” Gale asked. “Pray tell, who is that?”

“My…ehm…superior,” Astarion said, doing his best to maintain discretion in the crowded inn. There was no telling who was listening, after all. “He liked to bring us along–like a bottle of wine to a dinner party; meaning he brought us not for our own enjoyment, but for the enjoyment of the other guests attending.” Astarion took another swig from his wine bottle. “It’d be nice to participate in the debauchery for once, instead of being devoured by it.”

“I can’t recommend going to The Lowerdark,” Halsin said. “It’s a terrible place.”

“I have to go,” Elinna said, her voice suddenly steady; determined. “My mother is there. She wants me to find her.”

“How long have you had that locket?” Briar asked. “You said it was left with you when you were a baby.”

“I’m twenty and eight if that’s what you’re asking,” Elinna said, a defensive edge coming to her words. 

“It’s probable she’s long dead by now,” Astarion said with a shrug. “Best to put it out of your mind.”

“We do have other matters to address,” Gale said with a diplomatic tilt of his head. “Some unwanted guests in the ocular region and all of that. Elinna, I’m sure that if she’s waited this long, she can wait a few more days.”

“You’d ask me to postpone fulfilling a wish I’ve had my entire life?” Elinna retorted. 

“Elinna, you just said to me yourself that your mother is a figment–” Gale stopped short when Elinna’s eyes widened with urgency–as if he had shared something she didn’t want the rest of them to know. 

Her face flushed slightly as she looked down at the table and spoke in a quiet calm. 

“I’m going to The Lowerdark,” her voice grew a little louder–almost awkward sounding as she made her demands– as if she were a child learning to stand up for herself for the first time “You can join me or not, but I am going.”

For just a moment, Elinna looked so very much like her father, her brow creasing in the very same places his did; her mouth set in a similar line.

“Elinna…” Gale said, measuredly. “I think perhaps we should get some food in you and let you have a bit more rest–”

“Don’t patronize me Gale,” Elinna said, her voice trembling and breaking. Not with fear, this time, but with uncompromising, desperate will. With the frustration of someone who wasn’t being understood.  “This isn’t some silly, girlish day dream. I could find my mother—possibly alive!” 

“Elinna, the Underdark—especially The Lowerdark—is not like it is up here. There are dangers everywhere,” Halsin said. “The very plantlife down there can be deadly, there are slavers and politics we can’t understand and–”

“And you can’t protect yourself. You’ve already failed the test with me,” Astarion interrupted, his tone much less kind than the others. “You’ll be a liability to all of us down there and I’m not going to let you put my life on the line again.”

“Me? Putting your life on the line?! Do you not hear yourself when you speak?” Elinna asked. “And I wasn’t asking you. I wasn’t asking any of you.”

Halsin placed a hand on Elinna’s shoulder, exuding that calm wisdom he seemed to always carry around in his back pocket. “Elinna, you are still healing. As someone whose family is long gone, please know that I understand your plight. Your mother has waited twenty eight years for you to get this message, she can wait a little while longer—until you can hold your own in a fight.” 

“I would know how to fight if someone would just teach me!” Elinna said, exasperation flashing in her face. 

“I suppose that’s aimed at me?” Gale asked. 

“It’s aimed at everyone,” Elinna growled. “When I was at The Nest, the scribes trusted me with nothing. When I came to you seeking help, you called me a presumptuous upstart!”

Gale cringed slightly. “I’d hoped that particular bit of nastiness would have fogged over with the rest of the memories from a few days ago.”

“You’re a seven foot tall elf!!” Elinna said to Halsin. “You’re built like the gods damned walls of Baldur’s gate.” She pointed an angry finger at Astarion. “You could teach me how to work with knives, I saw how skilled you were with them.”

“Oh, thank you,” Astarion said, placing a hand on his chest and giving a genuinely pleased smile. 

“You’re an excellent tracker! You could teach me those things–you’re small like me and you could teach me how to avoid trouble instead of trying to wrestle it into submission. 

“I just want someone; anyone to have some faith in my abilities for once,” she said, her eyes filling up with glistening tears. 

“Elinna, don’t cry,” Gale pleaded, his voice plantive. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad!” Elinna said as those tears fell onto her face. “I’m…I’m… fucking angry!” 

Astarion gasped. 

“Oh, such language!”

“That’s what I mean!” Elinna said. “This patronizing tone, the way you all think I’m too weak to take it.”

Elinna pulled up her sleeve, revealing the ladder of caning scars on the sensitive skin on the inside of her forearm. “I can take pain,” she cried. “I can be strong. I just need for someone to show me how!”

Halsin’s hand tightened slightly on her shoulder, squeezing her encouragingly. 

“Just because you can take pain; just because you can be strong, doesn’t mean you should have to be, Elinna,” Halsin said. “Resilience is an admirable trait, but it’s borne from the need to persevere through great pain. Can you blame us for not wanting such a thing for you?”

Elinna’s eyes met Halsin’s, flickering as she searched his face, her lips still pressed into a pale line. Gale wanted to correct Halsin–to tell him that Elinna had already seen her fair share of abuse and maltreatment. The things she had shared with him…he wondered if it was only the tip of the iceberg. He wondered if Elinna even remembered the worst atrocities done to her, or if she found some way to block them out. 

Whatever the answer was, Gale wouldn’t be getting it tonight. Elinna pushed Halsin’s hand off of her own shoulder like it was a piece of refuse–like it disgusted her.

“You’re all cowards,” Elinna said.

She turned around and trudged back up the stairs, her boots loud on the hollow, wooden structure.

Gale heaved a sigh, dropping his hand from his chin. “That went swimmingly, didn’t it?” he said. “She’s just woken up and we’re already at odds again.”

Halsin gave him two hard claps on the back, hard enough that Gale huffed a subtle cough from the force of it. “Don’t take it too hard, Gale,” Halsin said. “I’m sure there is much on the young woman’s mind since waking up. I don’t think her ire is personal, even if the words she used were quite strong.”

“I, for one, am a proud coward!” Astarion said. “How else do you think I survived so long? It wasn’t by taking on every enormous challenge thrown my way. Sometimes it is simply better to run.”

Briar was still looking at the stairs where Elinna had left. They plopped their chin into their palms, bringing up their legs and crossing them on the chair. “She’s going to try to leave regardless of whether we go with her or not, isn’t she?” Briar said.

Gale nodded let out a low, frustrated breath.

“Most definitely,” Gale said. “What she lacks in training she makes up for in tenacity and ambition.”

“Tenacity, or stubbornness?” Halsin said, though he huffed a warm chuckle.

“Or perhaps stupidity…” Astarion grumbled under his breath.  

“Best we go up before she decides to pack her things and leave without us,” Halsin said. “It will take us near a fortnight to get to The Lowerdark, longer still if we have any complications.”

“We will certainly have our work cut out for us,” Gale said. “But…well, there’s no time like the present, is there?”

Halsin gave Gale a knowing grin. Briar and Astarion started to bicker about Elinna’s intelligence compared to the vampire spawn; specifically having a debate on whether or not Astarion had the qualifications to remark on her intelligence at all. 

Gale didn’t know what would follow; he didn’t know what awaited them all in The Lowerdark. He did know one thing, though. 

He’d hated how it felt when Elinna was apart from him. 

And he certainly had no intention to experience that feeling ever again. 

Not if he could help it.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove and I felt like some public masochism so here we are!

Edit: Holy fuck this got long, putting it under a read-more.

How many works do you have on ao3?

258 although I orphaned 100 works back in 2020.

What's your total Ao3 word count?

Why. Why would you ask me this. Why would you do this to me.

4,578,245 - although I shudder to think how much it will have gone up by the end of the year.

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly 9-1-1, but I took a nosedive into Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves last year and still have one more fic I'm writing for it. I tend to have quick little detours into other fandoms, which I think is overall a good thing since it helps me flex my writing muscles with different characters and settings. I'm currently working on a fic that is from a show where the main characters are all constantly sassing each other and bickering, and it's pushed me into being witty and sharp with the dialogue and humor in a way that I don't think I have been in quite some time.

Top 5 Fics by Kudos:

Even Steel Blades Need Fire - that's right, a WITCHER fic. HA. You all weren't expecting that!

Leading with the Left - yeah yeah we all knew this one was coming.

Drowning in Dreams (You're My Raft) - I'm constantly surprised this little oneshot I wrote post-tsunami is so popular.

Footprints are More Easily Seen in the Snow - my first Witcher fic I ever wrote and might still actually be my favorite.

Sometimes a Hammer, Sometimes a Lockpick - another Witcher fic! I had a lot of fun with this one.

Do you respond to comments?

I do! I try to respond to every comment I get. I know not everyone can but given the anxiety I know readers have around giving comments I try to show how much every comment is appreciated by me.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I do happy endings, overall, but every once in a while I decide to be evil, so it's a tie between the two fics that are about a character dying:

The Soft Goodbye - a Timeless fic that focuses on the idea that time travel, like being in space for a long time, wreaks havoc on your body.

Full Circle - a Doctor Who fic written years ago speculating about the Doctor gifting a dying Donna her memories back so they can say goodbye.

For those of you in the 9-1-1 fandom however, since I'm sure everyone's looking at those two fics going "wait what," the fic with the angstiest ending is:

I'm Not Breathing Unless I'm Giving You CPR - spoiler alert, but I end this fic on an angsty and purposefully ambiguous note. It's up to the reader to decide what sort of ending they get.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh. All of them, I'd say? With the exception of the two MCD fics above, I deliver happy endings. However based on reader feedback, I think I'll go with...

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows Like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) - the amount of angst in this fic, especially the Bobby and Buck relationship, seems to hit readers extra hard and so the happy ending, especially Buck's reunion with his father figure, is extra joyful and cathartic.

Do you get hate on fics?

I have once in a blue moon gotten "flames," as we used to say. Writing fanfic since I was thirteen, I don't think it's possible to fully avoid a few cranky people with nothing better to do than go around and shit on people's beds. But I've been extraordinarily lucky in the love and kindness I've gotten from my readers.

Do you write smut?

Baby, it's what I'm known for. Honestly sometimes to my chagrin - I hope people enjoy my worldbuilding, characterization, and plots as well - but overall I have a lot of fun writing smut and I love reducing people to slack-jawed water-chugging babbles.

Also someone had to bring the monsterfucking around here so by golly I'm reporting for duty.

Craziest crossover?

I don't do crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup! Someone stole my Budde Porn Star AU and turned it into a Rooster/Hangman from TG:M fic. Someone kindly alerted me and I was able to report it to Ao3. Truly a surreal experience.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Multiple times. It's deeply flattering and I really admire translators who put in the work to take something from one language and convey the same meanings, flow, and story in another. Translation is a genuine art form, if you ask me.

Have you co-written a fic before?

Yes! A few times, all with my beloved @extasiswings. We did one Timeless fic together whispers like poetry and we had such fun that when I started my first long, plot-ty Buddie fic I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) and panicked, I roped her into finishing it with me.

We also co-wrote Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me because I was in a bad writing slump and she graciously made everything better, and then A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (But Love is Undefinable) because she uno reverse'd me.

All time favorite ship?

I've been shipping for so long it's incredibly hard to pick just one, but I think given the sheer depth of my insanity, I have to say Buddie. I haven't had a ship grip me like this in... ever, actually. Honestly after being burned hard on some previous ships in my time, names redacted to protect the guilty (me), I didn't think it was possible to love a ship this much, and yet here I am.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I plan to finish all of my WIPs. Once I start a fic I'm committed to finishing it. I do however have a couple fic ideas that I don't think I'll ever actually write.

What are your writing strengths?

Um. Smut, apparently. I also seem to do well with fusions; that is, taking one trope or setting and fusing it with another in a sort of plot mash-up. And people seem to really like my world building.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm a hyper-sexual person who is very casual about sexual relationships and so sometimes I think as a result I have characters think with their cocks a bit too much and jump too quickly into sex, and sometimes there's more smut than plot. Run-on sentences, my beloved (and my editor's beloathed). I tend to write out-of-order and so sometimes little plot details can contradict, not be followed up on, or get lost in the shuffle.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I don't really write dialogue in another language in most of my fandoms, but in a few it's come up and I've approached it in different ways.

In Timeless, the character Garcia Flynn's first language is Croatian, so I would have him sometimes speak in it. In my dragon!Jaskier series, I was able to bastardize some of the Draconic from D&D (mixed with some Germanic root languages) for when he was cursing or communicating with his draconic family. In both cases, the other language was limited to only a line or two of dialogue, or perhaps a single word, so I wrote the dialogue in that language, and then had a translation guide at the bottom of the fic.

This tends to be my modus operandi, an exception being Xenk speaking Thayan, because I couldn't find any actual Thayan for the life of me, so I just describe how the phrase sounds or allude to him muttering something/swearing/etc. Since Ed, a former spy, also speaks Thayan, he can then inform the reader through his thought-process what the Thayan meant.

Occasionally, I will have two characters speaking in another language and simply italicize their words and have a line of description saying "they switch to French" or something similar, since I don't want readers to have to scroll up and down to understand an entire conversation.

In my original novels, however - the Horsemen quartet specifically - the characters communicate about fifty percent of the time through sign language. It's become the lingua franca, because noise alerts zombies and ASL is a silent language. In the books, I write the dialogue as I would English, and simply have the dialogue tag "she signed" instead of "she said."

As someone who speaks other languages but for whom English is their first, I'm not sure I get to really speak on how and when one should use other languages in one's predominantly-English fic in a predominantly-English-speaking fandom and online space. All I can say is that I listen to what others say in regards to what is most respectful and comfortable, and I don't have any personal preference in how a writer handles the use of secondary languages in their writing.

First fandom you wrote in?

I'm not sure which came first since they were right on top of each other, but Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Favorite fic you've written?

Well that's just mean. How dare you. I don't have one favorite fic, that's like asking me to choose a favorite child.

I will say I am particularly fond of In the Gray You are Golden. I banged it out in a day in some kind of fugue state and I do think it's one of my best works.

Someday when I am filthy rich I will commission someone to draw it as a comic, especially the reunion scene between Buck, Eddie, and Christopher.

Tagging, with no pressure:

@princessfbi @buckttommy @extasiswings @kitkatpancakestack @gracieryder (once again I typed your fucking old url like five times...)

aaaaaaand @givemeunicorns.