#but here he is! Mr. Slab!

[quagsthecryptid]

Hermit a day May 17: Etho!

Mr slab himself! I should really draw him more, I’ve missed it.

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 2

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC PART ONE HERE

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

WC: 11K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

-

Your first meeting with the Parks was not what you expected.

Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, welcomed you in her minimalist office overlooking Seoul's skyline. Everything about the space proclaimed power—floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk carved from a single slab of marble, carefully curated art pieces that probably cost more than your entire education.

The woman herself matched her surroundings—elegant, precise, every silver-streaked hair perfectly in place. Her handshake was firm, her assessment clinical as she gestured for you to sit.

"So," she began without preamble, "you are the woman who captured my son's attention where so many have failed."

You felt Jay tense beside you. This was your first test.

"I believe we captured each other's attention, Mrs. Park," you replied evenly. "Sometimes connection happens where you least expect it."

Something flickered in her eyes—not warmth exactly, but perhaps respect.

Her questions were direct bordering on invasive. Your education. Your family background. Your career trajectory. With each answer, you maintained the same calm directness, refusing to be intimidated despite the butterflies in your stomach.

When she asked about your professional goals, you surprised yourself with your honesty.

"Journalism lets me uncover truths others miss," you said. "I value authenticity, even when it's uncomfortable."

"Authenticity," she repeated, glancing at her son. "A rare quality in our circles."

"That's what drew me to Y/N," Jay interjected, his hand finding yours. "Her perspective is... refreshing."

Chairwoman Park studied your joined hands for a moment. "You understand, of course, that marrying into the Park family comes with considerable scrutiny. Your life will not be your own."

"With respect, Chairwoman," you countered, "my life will always be my own. I'm choosing to share it with your son and, by extension, your family. But I won't disappear inside the Park name."

A loaded silence followed. Jay's grip tightened on yours—whether in warning or support, you couldn't tell.

Then, unexpectedly, Chairwoman Park smiled. Not broadly, but genuinely.

"Good," she said simply. "Jongseong needs someone who won't vanish into his shadow. Come, I'll show you to your quarters myself."

As she led you through the compound, Jay fell into step beside you, an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows.

"My mother never personally shows guests to their rooms," he whispered. "That's what staff is for."

"Should I be concerned?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think she might actually like you."

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

Your suite was breathtaking—traditional Korean elements blended with modern luxury. Adjacent to Jay's quarters but with your own entrance, exactly as promised in your contract.

"These were my grandmother's rooms," Jay explained after his mother left. "No one has used them since she passed. Not even guests."

"Is that significant?"

"Extremely. My grandmother was the family matriarch. The only person my mother genuinely respected." He ran his hand along an intricately carved wooden screen. "This is... unexpected."

-

That word—"unexpected"—became the theme of your first week in Seoul.

At family dinners, Jay's father questioned you extensively about American business practices, not dismissively but with genuine interest in your perspective. His uncle, who reportedly spoke only Korean in business settings on principle, made efforts to converse with you in English while praising your attempts at Korean phrases.

Most surprisingly, Jay's cousin Danny—initially the most skeptical about your sudden appearance—appointed himself your unofficial cultural guide.

"The press will tear you apart if you make certain mistakes," he explained, showing you how to properly pour drinks for elders and which honorifics to use with which family members. "Better you learn from family than from a public relations disaster."

Family. The word kept surfacing in unexpected contexts.

"Y/N is family now," Jay's father announced when authorizing your access to the private family wing of Park Industries headquarters. "She'll need to understand our operations."

"Family chooses wine together," his aunt insisted, inviting you to help select vintages for the wedding reception.

"Family protects its own," his mother stated when she discovered paparazzi had obtained your old address in New York. She immediately dispatched security to ensure your apartment was secure and your subletting friend undisturbed.

It was Danny who finally explained what was happening.

"They're closing ranks around you," he said during an impromptu shopping trip for traditional Korean accessories. "Not because they necessarily believe this whirlwind romance—"

"But they're acting like they do," you interjected, confused.

"Because Jay chose you," Danny said simply. "That's enough. If you're his, you're ours. The Pack protects its members."

"The Pack?"

"Family nickname. Not very subtle, I know." He grinned. "But accurate. We Parks might fight among ourselves, but against outsiders, we're unified."

You found yourself surprised by the Parks' fierce protectiveness. From Danny's explanations about family loyalty, it seemed at odds with the cutthroat business world they dominated.

Later, during a rare moment alone with Jay in the garden, you broached the subject.

"Your family is so... unified," you observed. "Different from what I expected."

Jay's expression turned pensive. "The Parks protect their own. That's always been the rule."

"And yet you seemed shocked by how they've embraced me."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the stone path. "I've seen another side of them. In business, loyalty can shift suddenly when interests change. I've witnessed how quickly protection can turn to abandonment."

Something in his voice suggested personal experience—a wound not fully healed.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," you ventured carefully.

His jaw tightened. "Just cautious. The business world has taught me that today's allies can become tomorrow's executioners without warning."

He fell silent, tension radiating from his shoulders. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.

"Well, you have me now," you said softly. "And I don't abandon contracts halfway through."

His smile was hesitant but real. "That may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, Y/N."

"I try, baby," you replied, the endearment slipping out more naturally now.

The moment lingered between you—not quite romantic, but something deeper than your initial arrangement had suggested. You couldn't help wondering what experience had made him so wary of sudden betrayal, even from his own family.

Later, alone in your suite, Jay paced like a caged tiger.

"Something's not right," he muttered. "I've never seen my mother compromise like this."

"Maybe she genuinely approves of me?" you suggested, curled in a window seat overlooking the compound's gardens. "Unlike whoever she was planning to match you with before."

"Perhaps." He didn't sound convinced. "But my mother never yields on guest lists. Never. It's unprecedented."

"Is that concerning?"

He stopped pacing, his expression thoughtful. "Unexpected, certainly. But advantageous. They're accepting you more readily than I anticipated."

"Your romantic soul overwhelms me," you teased gently.

His expression softened as he looked at you. "Sorry. Corporate strategy is my default setting."

"I've noticed, baby. It's almost endearing now."

The pet name made him smile every time—a small, private reaction that felt like a victory.

-

Three weeks before the wedding, as preparations reached fever pitch, Jay found you in your suite's private garden—your sanctuary when the pressure of performing became too intense.

"We need to discuss the honeymoon," he said without preamble, settling beside you on the stone bench.

You'd been wondering when this would come up. The wedding night and subsequent honeymoon had loomed in your thoughts—unspoken questions about proximity and expectations.

"Bali," he continued, consulting his tablet. "Private villa, secluded beach, minimal staff. I've arranged separate bedrooms, of course."

"Of course," you echoed, trying to identify the strange emotion that fluttered in your chest. Disappointment? Surely not.

"Two weeks is standard for executives of my position," he added, scrolling through details. "The villa has separate office spaces so we can both work when needed. Full security team, but stationed distantly for privacy."

"It sounds... well-planned."

Jay looked up, studying your expression. "But?"

You hesitated. "Nothing. It's appropriate for our arrangement."

He set down the tablet, turning to face you more directly. "Y/N, by now you should know you can speak freely with me."

"It's just... very businesslike," you admitted. "Which is fine. That's what this is."

Something shifted in his expression. "It is business," he agreed. "But after these weeks together, perhaps also... more than just business."

The admission hung between you, neither fully acknowledged nor dismissed.

"People will expect certain behaviors," he continued after a moment. "Public affection. Shared meals. The appearance of... intimacy."

Your mouth went dry. "You mean..."

"Nothing beyond your comfort," he clarified quickly. "But enough to convince the staff, who will inevitably report back to my family and, by extension, the press."

"Right. Our ongoing performance." You nodded, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "I can handle looking... in love."

Was it your imagination, or did his eyes linger on your lips before he glanced away?

"There's also the wedding night," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt has been secured. Very private, but hotel staff notice everything. Champagne that goes untouched. Beds that aren't slept in."

A blush crept up your neck despite your best efforts. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing inappropriate," he assured you, though his own complexion seemed warmer than usual. "Just... awareness that appearance matters. The illusion of consummation without the actual act."

"Rumpled sheets and champagne glasses," you summarized, aiming for a clinical tone. "The suggestion of intimacy without crossing boundaries."

His gaze met yours, something unreadable in his expression. "Unless specified otherwise in a future amendment to our arrangement."

Your breath caught. "An amendment?"

"The contract allows for mutual revisions when both parties agree," he said carefully. "I'm simply acknowledging that... feelings can evolve. Expectations may shift over time."

The implication was clear—if physical boundaries changed between you, the option existed to formalize that evolution.

Your heart raced traitorously. "I'll consider the amendment possibility," you replied, matching his professional tone while heat bloomed low in your abdomen.

"Good," he said softly. "That's... good."

A weighted silence fell between you, charged with possibility.

"I should check on the security arrangements," he said finally, rising from the bench. At the garden entrance, he paused. "Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens or doesn't happen, you have my respect. Always."

After he left, you sat in the garden until twilight, wondering how a false engagement had led to what might be the most honest relationship you'd ever experienced.

-

The photoshoot among cherry blossoms marked a turning point. What began as another staged display of affection shifted when the photographer positioned you against a tree, Jay's body pressed against yours from behind.

"Kiss her neck," the photographer instructed. "Like you can't resist her."

Jay hesitated, then lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot below your ear. The touch of his lips sent electricity down your spine. You couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped you—one that had nothing to do with performance.

His arms tightened around your waist in response, and you felt him inhale sharply against your skin.

"Now turn and kiss properly," the photographer demanded. "Passionate but elegant."

You turned in Jay's arms, expecting the usual carefully controlled press of lips—three seconds, no movement, just enough for the camera.

Instead, when your mouths met, his lips parted immediately. Without thinking, you responded in kind, your hand sliding into his hair as the kiss deepened. His groan, too quiet for anyone else to hear, was undeniably real. Seven seconds stretched to ten before you separated, both breathing harder than the situation warranted.

"Perfect!" The photographer exclaimed. "The chemistry is explosive!"

In the car afterward, heavy silence hung between you.

"That was..." you began.

"Convincing," Jay finished, his knuckles white on his knee. "Very convincing."

But that night, sleep proved elusive as you replayed the feeling of his mouth against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressed against you during that brief moment.

-

The final wedding rehearsal was scheduled for exactly one week before the ceremony—a full dress run-through to coordinate the complex choreography of family processions, ceremonial exchanges, and media moments.

You stood in the bride's preparation room, attendants adjusting the simplified version of your wedding hanbok, when commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Sharp voices in Korean—too fast for your intermediate skills to follow, but the tension was unmistakable.

Danny appeared at the door, his expression tense. "Small situation. Nothing to worry about."

"What kind of situation?" you asked, recognizing the forced casualness in his tone.

He hesitated. "Unexpected guest. Jay's handling it."

Before you could press further, the door opened again. Jay entered, his face a carefully composed mask that didn't quite hide the tension around his eyes.

"Everything okay?" you asked.

"Perfect," he replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a minor protocol issue."

He was lying. After weeks together, you'd learned to read the subtle tells in his expression—the slight tightening around his mouth, the barely perceptible furrow between his brows.

"Babe, come on.."

He met your gaze, then sighed. "We should speak privately."

Once the attendants had been dismissed, he took your hands in his.

"Seraphina Visconti has arrived in Seoul," he said without preamble. "Apparently for a 'routine business meeting' with Korean shipping companies."

Your stomach tightened at his expression. Though he'd never mentioned this woman before, his reaction told you everything you needed to know. This was someone significant. Someone threatening.

"Who is she?" you asked directly.

Jay hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The daughter of an Italian shipping magnate. Her family has been trying to establish business connections with Park Industries for some time."

There was more to the story. Much more, judging by the tension radiating from him.

"And?" you prompted.

"And at one point, she was someone my mother considered a suitable match for me." His jaw tightened. "Her arrival, one week before our wedding, can't be coincidence."

Understanding dawned. "She was a candidate. Before me."

"Yes." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "The Visconti connection would have been... strategically valuable."

"But you chose me instead," you said slowly. "And now she's here to what? Object at the ceremony?"

"The Viscontis don't give up valuable connections easily," he replied grimly. "If they can't secure a Park alliance through marriage..."

"They'll seek another inroad," you finished. "Business partnerships, friendships, however they can get close to your family."

He nodded. "She's requested a meeting with my mother tomorrow. To 'extend congratulations' on my engagement."

The subtext was clear. This woman represented exactly the kind of strategic alliance Jay had been so determined to avoid when he proposed to you. Her presence was a direct challenge to your arrangement.

"What do we do?" you asked.

Jay's expression hardened with determination. "We proceed exactly as planned. But we must be extra vigilant. Seraphina is... persuasive. She can make fiction sound like fact and manipulation feel like coincidence."

You squeezed his hands, an unexpected protectiveness surging through you. "I'm not going anywhere, Jay. Remember, I keep my contracts."

Something flickered in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or something deeper.

"There's something else you should know," he said quietly. "Seraphina and I... we had some history. Brief, but potentially something she might leverage."

"I understand," you assured him, an unexpected pang of something like jealousy surfacing. "You don't need to explain."

"No, I do." His grip tightened. "Because there was never anything real between us. It was strategic on both sides. But with you..." He paused, seeming to search for words. "With you, the strategy has become... complicated."

Your pulse quickened. "Complicated how?"

Before he could answer, a knock interrupted the moment. Danny again, looking apologetic.

"Sorry to disturb, but she's here. At the rehearsal. Somehow she convinced the event coordinator she was on the guest list."

Jay's expression darkened. "Of course she did."

He turned back to you, his gaze intense. "Stay close to me. Don't let her isolate you or my family members. She's skilled at creating divisions."

You nodded, a strange mix of anxiety and determination rising within you. "I'm ready."

"Y/N," he said softly, bringing your hand to his lips in a gesture that felt more genuine than performative. "Thank you for being here. For being real."

As you stepped into the hallway together, his arm protectively around your waist, you couldn't help wondering what Jay wasn't telling you about this woman—and why her arrival had shaken him so deeply.

Something bigger was happening beneath the surface of your arrangement. Something Jay was keeping from you.

And for the first time since accepting his proposal, you wondered if there were secrets within your contract that might eventually tear it apart.

-

The rehearsals for the wedding ceremony required hours of practice—precise movements, timed responses, careful choreography. Two weeks before the wedding, after yet another exhausting day of preparations, you found yourself alone with Jay in the family's private study, reviewing final details.

"If I have to make one more decision about fucking flower arrangements, I might lose my mind," you groaned, kicking off your heels and curling into the corner of the leather sofa.

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his public chuckle. "The Parks have been arranging strategic marriages for generations, but I doubt any of my ancestors had to choose between thirteen different shades of white roses."

"Is that what we're doing? A strategic marriage?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His smile faded. "That was the agreement."

"I know what the agreement was," you said, studying him. "I'm asking what we're doing now."

The question hung between you, dangerous in its directness.

Jay moved to the bar cart, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to you, then sat beside you on the sofa—closer than necessary. You found your eyes drawn to the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he leaned back, the top button undone revealing just a hint of collarbone. When had you started noticing these details?

"I don't know anymore," he admitted, the rare honesty catching you off guard. "This has become...complicated."

You took a sip, welcoming the burn. "Because of the kiss?"

"Which one?" The question surprised you both. He continued quickly, "The photographer. The press appearance last week. The practice for the ceremony. We've kissed numerous times."

"You know which one I mean."

His eyes met yours over the rim of his glass. "Yes. I do."

Another silence, this one charged with possibility.

"We could try again," you suggested, your heart hammering. "Without the photographer. Without the audience. Just to... clarify things."

Jay set his glass down carefully. "That would be crossing a line."

"We drew those lines. We can redraw them."

He studied you, his expression guarded. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything when you touch me," you answered honestly. "Because I'm curious if whatever happened during that kiss was real or just... heightened performance."

"It was real," he said quietly. "At least for me."

The admission hung in the air between you, neither advancing nor retreating from it.

"So?" you prompted.

He exhaled slowly. "So this is dangerous territory. Emotions complicate strategy."

"Fuck the strategy," you said, setting your own glass down. "Just for a minute. Just be Jay, not Park Jongseong with his perfect plans."

Something shifted in his eyes—the careful calculation giving way to something darker, more urgent. His hand moved to your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone in a touch too intimate for strategy.

"If I kiss you now," he said, voice low, "it won't be like the others."

"Good." You held his gaze steadily. "I don't want it to be."

He closed the distance between you slowly, deliberately—giving you time to retreat. You didn't.

His lips met yours, and immediately you understood the difference. This wasn't performance. This was hunger—controlled, but barely. His hand slid into your hair, cradling your head as the kiss deepened. You moved closer, your hand finding his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath expensive fabric.

When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you opened to him willingly, a small sound escaping your throat. He groaned in response, the arm around your waist tightening, pulling you half onto his lap.

The kiss turned desperate, months of controlled touches and careful boundaries dissolving under the heat of genuine desire. His hand moved to your thigh, sliding upward beneath the hem of your dress, fingers tracing patterns on sensitive skin.

"We should stop," he murmured against your mouth, even as his hand continued its upward path.

"Probably," you agreed, making no move to pull away. Instead, you shifted fully onto his lap, straddling him. The position brought you into direct contact with unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

"Fuck," he hissed, his composure fracturing further. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you into a slow, deliberate movement against him.

The friction was exquisite even through layers of clothing. You tangled your fingers in his perfect hair, destroying hours of careful styling as you deepened the kiss.

His mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. "Tell me to stop," he said against your skin, his breath hot. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

In answer, you rolled your hips more firmly against his, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

"I want this," you breathed. "I want you."

His control snapped. In one fluid movement, he had you on your back on the sofa, his weight deliciously heavy as he settled between your thighs. His mouth reclaimed yours with new urgency, one hand sliding higher under your dress, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

A sudden noise in the hallway outside—a staff member passing by—broke the spell. Jay froze, then slowly pulled away, his breathing ragged.

You both stared at each other, the reality of what had almost happened settling between you.

"That was..." he began, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"Definitely not in the contract," you finished, adjusting your disheveled clothing.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "No. It wasn't."

"Do you regret it?" You had to know.

He considered for a moment, straightening his tie with hands not quite steady. "I regret the interruption," he said finally. "Not the action."

Something warm unfurled in your chest. "So what now?"

"Now we should probably get some sleep." He stood, offering his hand to help you up. "Separately," he clarified, though the reluctance in his voice was evident.

You nodded, accepting his help. As you stood, he didn't immediately release your hand.

"This changes things," he said quietly.

"Yes." There was no denying it.

"We should discuss it. Tomorrow, when we're both thinking more clearly."

But tomorrow brought a crisis with the venue. The day after, an issue with security arrangements. Each evening ended with meaningful glances and careful distance—both of you acutely aware of the shift but unable to find the right moment to address it.

The unresolved tension built with each passing day, each careful touch that lingered too long, each glance that held too much promise.

-

The wedding was a masterpiece of carefully orchestrated moments—traditional Korean ceremony in the morning, Western exchange of vows at sunset, both executed with flawless precision despite Seraphina's strategic presence in the third row.

Throughout both ceremonies, Jay maintained perfect composure, his hand steady as he placed the ring on your finger, his voice unwavering as he recited vows that sounded surprisingly heartfelt for a contractual arrangement.

"I choose you," he said, his eyes holding yours with unexpected intensity. "Above all others, against all expectations, I choose you."

Only you noticed the way his gaze flickered briefly toward Seraphina when he spoke the words.

At the reception, she approached with practiced grace, champagne flute in hand and calculated warmth in her smile.

"Such a...surprising match," she said, air-kissing your cheek. "Jay never mentioned you during our time together in Europe."

"Some connections don't need public announcement to be meaningful," you replied smoothly, feeling Jay's hand tighten at your waist.

Her smile never faltered. "How fortunate that his mother's plans changed so suddenly. We all thought—" She laughed lightly. "Well, it hardly matters now."

Before you could respond, she turned to Jay. "Your uncle mentioned the Hanjin merger is progressing. Fascinating choice, considering."

Something shifted in Jay's expression—fear, barely controlled.

"If you'll excuse us," he said abruptly, "my wife and I should greet the ambassador."

He guided you away with uncharacteristic urgency, his composure fractured.

"What was that about?" you whispered.

"Nothing. Just Seraphina being Seraphina." But his eyes kept scanning the room, tracking her movements like someone monitoring a bomb.

-

The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt was everything Jay had promised—lavish, private, with discreet staff who delivered champagne then vanished.

Yet the tension from the reception followed you. Jay paced by the windows, making calls in rapid Korean, his tone increasingly agitated.

When he finally ended the last call, you confronted him directly.

"What's going on? And don't say 'nothing' again."

He stared at you for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression.

"I need to check something at the office," he said finally. "A document that shouldn't exist."

"Shouldn't exist?" You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I'll explain when I return." He was already reaching for his jacket. "Please, Y/N. This is important."

"It's our wedding night!"

"I know." He paused at the door, genuine regret in his eyes. "Two hours, maximum. Then I'll tell you everything."

After he left, you paced the suite, frustration mounting. Whatever game he was playing with Seraphina clearly went deeper than corporate rivalry.

On impulse, you opened his laptop—the one he always kept with him, password protected and closed whenever you approached.

The password prompt glowed accusingly. You tried his birthdate. Access denied. His mother's name. Access denied.

Then, on a hunch: YN-contract-date.

The screen unlocked, revealing dozens of folders meticulously labeled and dated. One caught your eye: "Original Timeline - Evidence."

Heart pounding, you clicked it open.

News articles. Court documents. Photos of Jay looking years older, haggard, defeated.

A marriage announcement with Jay and Seraphina, dated three years earlier.

Headlines about corporate espionage, Jay's disgrace, his removal from Park Industries—all dated years in the future.

The room seemed to tilt as you opened a video file.

It showed Jay—older, with strands of gray at his temples—standing in an empty apartment, speaking directly to the camera.

"If you're watching this, it worked," the Jay in the video said. "I don't know if the consciousness transfer will be complete or if I'll remember everything, so I'm recording key details. The Hanjin merger is the trigger point. Seraphina orchestrated everything through her connection with Chairman Kang..."

He continued methodically outlining his downfall, his eventual disgrace, names and dates and evidence.

"Time travel is theoretically impossible," he concluded. "But so is the pain of having your entire life stripped away in a single day. If there's any chance of preventing it..."

The video ended abruptly.

You stared at the dark screen, heart racing. Time travel? Consciousness transfer? Future knowledge?

"I'm losing my mind," you whispered to the empty room.

You closed the laptop, then opened it again, half expecting the folders to be gone. They weren't.

Maybe this was an elaborate fiction—research for some project, a game, a psychological exercise. Because time travel couldn't be real. That would mean...

The implications made your head swim. That would mean Jay had known about meeting you at the gallery before it happened. That he'd orchestrated everything—your meeting, your relationship, your marriage—as part of some grand design to change a future that had already happened.

It would mean everything between you was calculated, predetermined, false.

"No." You shook your head. "This isn't real."

But the evidence on the screen didn't vanish. Future dates. Future events. Things that hadn't happened yet detailed with journalistic precision.

By the time Jay returned, you'd gone through half the champagne and were sitting on the floor, back against the bed, laptop open beside you.

"Y/N." He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. "What are you doing?"

"Having a psychotic break, apparently." You gestured vaguely at the laptop. "Either that or marrying a time traveler. I'm not sure which is more concerning."

His face drained of color. "I can explain."

"Explain what? That you're from the future?" You laughed, a brittle sound. "That's literally insane, Jay. I'm insane for even considering it."

He approached slowly, as if you were a frightened animal. "You're not insane."

"Then you're saying it's true? That you—what? Traveled back in time to avoid marrying Seraphina? To prevent some corporate disaster?" The words sounded ridiculous as you spoke them. "Do you realize how that sounds?"

"I know it sounds impossible." He knelt in front of you, keeping a careful distance. "But you've seen the evidence."

"I've seen elaborate fiction. Or I'm hallucinating. Because time travel isn't real." You ran your hands through your hair. "People don't just wake up five years in the past with a chance to redo everything."

"I didn't think it was possible either." His voice was steady, gentle. "Until it happened."

"So what am I to you?" The question escaped before you could stop it. "A convenient pawn in your time-travel chess game? A random variable you introduced to change your precious timeline?"

Pain flashed across his face. "Initially? Yes. I sought you out deliberately at the gallery. I remembered our brief conversation from my original life, and you seemed...perfect. Outside my world. Beyond manipulation."

The confirmation hurt more than you expected. "So you manufactured everything. Our relationship. Our connection. All of it."

"No." He moved closer, carefully taking your hands. "The plan, yes. The contract, yes. But what's grown between us? That wasn't planned. That wasn't strategy."

"How can I believe that?" You searched his face. "How can I believe anything now?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth when I could keep lying." His grip tightened. "Because I'm risking everything by admitting this to you."

"Or I'm having a complete mental breakdown and none of this is happening." You pulled your hands away. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and be back in my apartment in New York. Maybe this whole thing—you, Korea, all of it—is some elaborate delusion."

"It's not," he said firmly. "You're not crazy, Y/N."

"Prove it." You met his eyes. "Tell me something that will happen. Something specific. Something I can verify."

He hesitated. "The stock market—"

"No. Something personal. Something that matters to me."

Jay thought for a moment. "Priya and Jake will announce they're expecting a baby next month. Earlier than they planned to tell anyone, but there will be complications and they'll need support."

Your heart stuttered. "That's cruel. Using my friends—"

"Call her tomorrow if you don't believe me. She took a test two days before our wedding but didn't want to steal your moment."

"Stop it." You stood up, needing distance. "I can't—this is too much."

"I know." He remained kneeling, looking up at you. "And I'm sorry. I never intended for you to find out like this. Or at all, honestly."

"That's worse! You were just going to lie forever?"

"I was going to fulfill our contract. Two years, then release you with everything promised." He rubbed his face. "The timeline is already changed beyond recognition. My purpose was accomplished."

"Your purpose." The words tasted bitter. "Which I was instrumental in without my knowledge or consent."

"Yes." No excuses, just raw admission.

You moved to the window, staring out at Seoul's glittering skyline. Everything suddenly felt alien—the city, the marriage, the man behind you.

"I need time to process this." Your voice was steadier than you felt. "I need to... I don't know, call Priya tomorrow. Verify your claim. Try to determine if I'm actually having a psychotic break."

"Of course." He stood but didn't approach. "Whatever you need."

"I'll sleep in the second bedroom tonight."

He nodded, accepting this without argument. "For what it's worth, Y/N, whatever brought us together—time travel, fate, strategic planning—what's grown between us is real. At least for me."

You couldn't respond to that. Not yet. Not when you weren't even sure what reality was anymore.

As you gathered your things for the night, one question burned through the confusion.

"Why did you do it? Why come back?"

Jay's answer was simple and devastating in its honesty.

"Because I lost everything. And I couldn't bear to live through it again."

You closed the bedroom door between you, then pressed your forehead against it, tears finally escaping.

Either your husband was a time traveler who had manipulated your entire relationship, or you were completely losing your grip on reality.

You weren't sure which possibility terrified you more.

Sleep proved impossible. Around 3 AM, you gave up trying and reached for your phone, scrolling until you found Priya's number. It would be afternoon in New York.

Your thumb hovered over the call button. This was ridiculous. You couldn't just ask your friend if she was pregnant based on your time-traveling husband's inside information.

But you needed to know. Needed some external verification that either confirmed you were sane or confirmed you weren't.

With a deep breath, you pressed call.

"Y/N!" Priya answered on the third ring, her voice bright. "Should you be calling me on your wedding night? Shouldn't you be, you know, occupied?"

"Just checking in," you said, aiming for casual. "How are you feeling?"

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." You pressed on. "You seemed tired at the wedding. Jake was hovering more than usual."

Another, longer pause. "Okay, that's weird. We literally told no one."

Your heart stopped. "Told no one what?"

"Y/N..." Priya's voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you psychic or something? I'm pregnant. Six weeks. We weren't going to tell anyone until the second trimester, but I've been spotting, and the doctor says..."

The room tilted as she confirmed exactly what Jay had predicted. Exactly what shouldn't be possible for him to know.

"That's wonderful news," you managed, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm so happy for you. And whatever's happening, I'm here, okay?"

After reassurances and promises to talk soon, you ended the call and sat motionless in the dark.

It was real. All of it. Which meant Jay had truly traveled through time. Had truly sought you out as part of his plan. Had truly married you to prevent some alternate future.

You moved to the door, pulled it open, and found Jay sitting on the floor in the hallway, back against the wall.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you asked.

He looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Not really."

"I called Priya."

Understanding flashed across his face. "And?"

"She's pregnant. She's spotting. Everything exactly as you said." You slid down the wall to sit beside him. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know." His honesty was strangely comforting. "I went to sleep in my apartment five years in the future and woke up here, in the past. I've spent every day since then trying to prevent the sequence of events that destroyed my life."

"Including marrying me instead of Seraphina."

"Yes." No hesitation, no sugar-coating.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, shoulders almost touching.

"I'm still angry," you said finally. "And confused. And honestly, a little terrified."

"I understand."

"But I also..." you struggled to find the words, "I also can't deny what's happened between us. That feels real, even if the foundation was a lie."

Jay turned to face you. "It is real. The beginning was calculated, yes. But everything since—the late night conversations, the moments when no one was watching, the things we've shared—those weren't strategy. Those were just... us."

"Is that even possible? To find something genuine inside a manufactured situation?"

"I don't know." He reached for your hand tentatively. "But I'd like to find out."

You stared at his outstretched hand, the wedding ring glinting in the dim light. A contract. A strategy. A lie.

And yet, underneath it all, something had grown that neither of you had planned.

After a long moment, you took his hand.

"I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having some elaborate psychotic break," you said with a shaky laugh.

"If it helps, in my extensive experience with both time travel and mental breakdowns, this feels more like the former."

That surprised a genuine laugh from you. "Oh well, if you're an expert..."

His answering smile was hesitant but real—the smile of the man you'd grown to care for, time traveler or not.

"So what now?" you asked.

"Now we figure this out together," he said simply. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," you agreed.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a question in the look.

You answered by leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his—your first real kiss, not for show, not for strategy, but because despite everything, you wanted to.

His response was immediate and overwhelming, arms pulling you against him as the kiss deepened. Months of performed affection crystallizing into something genuine and urgent.

"Y/N," he breathed against your mouth. "Are you sure?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I want this. I want you."

He stood, pulling you up with him, searching your face one more time before lifting you into his arms and carrying you toward the master bedroom.

Whatever came next—whatever impossible reality you were living in—at least this part would be real.

Jay carried you to the bedroom, his movements both gentle and urgent. In the dim light filtering through the windows, his eyes never left yours—searching, questioning, even as he lowered you onto the bed.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, hovering above you. "With everything you now know..."

You reached up, tracing the contour of his face. This face you'd come to know so well, yet belonged to someone with secrets you were only beginning to understand.

"I'm not certain about reality anymore," you whispered. "But I'm certain about wanting you."

Something broke in his expression—the careful control he'd maintained since you met him fracturing completely. He lowered his mouth to yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his kiss no longer measured or performative but raw with need.

Your bodies had been close before—staged embraces for photographs, choreographed affection for observers—but this was different. His weight pressing you into the mattress felt like an anchor in a world suddenly unmoored from everything you thought you knew.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your neck, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. "No script. No strategy. Just us."

"Everything," you breathed. "I want everything that's real."

His hands trembled slightly as they moved to the zipper of your dress—the man who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking suddenly unsteady with wanting. The vulnerability in that small tremor undid you.

You helped him with the fastenings, the dress soon forgotten on the floor. He paused to look at you, his expression almost reverent.

"I've imagined this," he confessed. "Not as part of the plan. Just as a man wanting a woman."

Your own fingers worked at his shirt buttons, needing to feel skin against skin. "How long?"

"Since Washington Square Park. When you laughed at that Ukrainian restaurant. I wanted to kiss you then, contract be damned."

The admission sent heat spiraling through you. All those controlled touches, those careful boundaries—beneath them, he'd been wanting this too.

When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, you ran your hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Not the measured rhythm of Park Jongseong, corporate heir, but the accelerated tempo of Jay, the man who wanted you.

His mouth found yours again as his hands explored with increasing boldness—tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through delicate lace until you arched into his touch with a soft moan.

"I need to taste you," he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck, between your breasts, his tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. "I've thought about this for months."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease, his mouth closing around your nipple while his hand kneaded your other breast. The careful restraint he'd always shown was nowhere in evidence now—replaced by hunger barely contained.

"Jay," you gasped as his teeth grazed sensitive flesh. "More."

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Say it again."

"More," you repeated, understanding he meant something else.

"My name," he clarified, voice hoarse. "Not for show. For me."

"Jay," you whispered, then louder. "Jay."

Something fierce and possessive crossed his features. He moved lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, his fingers hooking into your underwear and slowly drawing them down your legs.

When he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most intimate place, he paused again, looking up at you.

"This isn't strategy," he said softly. "This is just me wanting to taste every part of you."

Your answer was lost to a gasp as his mouth closed over you, his tongue exploring with deliberate precision. This was Jay applying the same focused attention he gave to corporate acquisitions to your pleasure—finding exactly what made you tremble, what made your breath catch, what made you cry out his name.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as you began to unravel beneath his relentless attention. When he slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them forward while his tongue continued its assault, the tension building inside you shattered.

You came with his name on your lips, your body arching off the bed, one hand fisted in his hair while the other clutched desperately at the sheets.

Before you'd fully recovered, he was moving up your body, his expression almost feral with need. He shed his remaining clothes with uncharacteristic urgency, his erection heavy against your thigh as he positioned himself above you.

"Protection?" you managed, your mind still hazy with pleasure.

"Nightstand." He reached over, retrieving a condom and sheathing himself with efficient movements. Then he was there, poised at your entrance, searching your face one last time. "Y/N?"

You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer. "Now, Jay."

He sank into you with a groan that sounded almost pained, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes open—connection beyond the physical as he filled you completely.

"You feel..." he began, words failing him for perhaps the first time since you'd known him.

"I know," you whispered, understanding perfectly.

He began to move, slowly at first, each thrust measured and deep. But as your bodies found their rhythm, as your hips rose to meet his, the careful control he prided himself on began to slip.

His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged against your neck. You ran your nails down his back, urging him on, needing more of whatever this was—this genuine connection amid so much calculated deception.

"Y/N," he gasped, his rhythm faltering. "I can't—"

"Let go," you urged, feeling yourself climbing toward another peak. "Just let go."

Something inside him broke at your words. His next thrusts were almost desperate—hard, deep, relentless. One hand slipped between your bodies, finding where you were joined, his thumb circling your sensitive flesh.

"Come with me," he commanded, his voice raw. "I need to feel you."

The intensity in his eyes, the command in his voice, the precise circles of his thumb—it was too much. You shattered around him with a cry that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have been a curse at the universe that had brought you to this impossible moment.

He followed moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure through your still-pulsing body. His arms gave out, and he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most grounding way possible.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing gradually slowing, his heart pounding against yours.

"That wasn't in the contract," you finally said, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He lifted his head to look at you, a smile spreading across his face—genuine, unguarded. "I believe that qualifies as an amendment."

"A very thorough amendment," you agreed, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him, keeping your bodies connected. "I may require multiple amendments. To ensure complete clarity."

"Very prudent," you murmured, tracing patterns on his chest. "Contracts should be explicit."

His expression sobered slightly. "Y/N, what happened between us just now—"

"Was real," you finished for him. "Whatever else isn't, that was."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your forehead. "I didn't travel through time expecting to find you. That wasn't part of the plan."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed. His hand traced lazy circles on your back. "I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. The time travel or...this."

You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having an elaborate psychotic break."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "If so, it's an exceptionally vivid one."

"Maybe that's all life is," you mused. "Vivid hallucinations we choose to believe in."

His arms tightened around you. "Then I choose this one. With you."

You lay together in comfortable silence, the questions and complications temporarily held at bay by the simplicity of skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back—Seraphina's machinations, the timeline Jay was trying to alter, the complex web of truth and deception that had brought you to this point.

But for now, in the quiet darkness of a wedding night never meant to be real, you'd found something neither of you had anticipated in your carefully constructed arrangement.

Something genuine in a world of strategic fabrication.

Something true in a reality bent by impossible physics.

Something neither time nor planning could have engineered.

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"I said I wanted to relax on the beach, not hike up a mountain," you grumbled, one hand braced against your lower back, the other resting protectively over the prominent curve of your seven-month pregnant belly. "This babymoon was supposed to be about pampering, not cardio."

Jay looked back at you from several steps ahead on the winding trail, his expression softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the slight breathlessness in your voice.

"It's hardly a mountain, angel," he said, immediately returning to your side. "More of an elevated pathway with strategic viewpoints. But we can turn back if you're uncomfortable."

You leaned into him as his arm slid around your waist, supporting some of your weight while his other hand came to rest alongside yours on your belly. "A 'strategic viewpoint' is what you called that cliff in Santorini last year, and I nearly had a heart attack."

"You said the photos were worth it," he reminded you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I was being polite. I was actually contemplating pushing you over the edge for making me climb all those steps."

His laugh rumbled against you, warm and genuine. In three years of marriage—one beyond your original contract—that laugh had become more frequent, less guarded. When you'd first met, Park Jongseong's calculated public chuckle had been as meticulously controlled as everything else about him. Now, Jay laughed openly, especially with you.

"The Park heir doesn't back down from challenges," you added, perfectly mimicking his mother's crisp tone and slight accent. "Isn't that what your mom told me last week when I complained about the nursery color palette meetings running four hours? Who needs eighteen shades of 'celestial' anyway? They're all just... blue."

Jay winced. "If you quote my mother again while we're on vacation, I'm flying Danny out here to keep you company. He's been dying to revisit that story about my high school talent show performance."

"The K-pop cover?" Your eyes lit up with mischief. "With the leather pants and the hair gel? Please do. I've only seen the photos, but the video footage would make excellent blackmail material for the next twenty years of parenting."

"I looked good in those pants," he defended, though his hand moved to massage the sore spot on your lower back that had been bothering you since morning.

You groaned appreciatively as his fingers found exactly the right spot. "Keep doing that and I might not share the existence of those photos with our daughter when she's old enough to be mortified by her father."

"Negotiating already? She's not even born, and you're forming alliances against me." His tone was playful, but the tenderness in his expression whenever he referenced your unborn child made your heart flutter. The man who had once approached marriage as a tactical business arrangement now spent evenings reading pregnancy books and speaking Korean lullabies against your belly.

"Another ten minutes to the overlook," he promised, thumb working circles against your lower spine. "Then we'll head back to the villa. I promise it's worth it."

You sighed dramatically but allowed him to guide you forward. "Our daughter better appreciate all this hiking I'm doing for her. She's been practicing her taekwondo moves on my bladder all morning."

"She's already plotting her corporate takeover strategy," Jay said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "A true Park."

"God help us all," you muttered, though your free hand squeezed his in affection. "One strategic mastermind in the family was enough."

"You forget your contract negotiation tactics. You extracted a villa in the Maldives with private chef, daily massages, and no conference calls for two weeks. Our daughter is getting the best of both of us."

"Speaking of strategies," you said, pausing to catch your breath, "I've been thinking about names again."

Jay groaned dramatically. "Not this again. We had a system. A spreadsheet with weighted attributes and cultural significance metrics."

"I'm vetoing the spreadsheet." You continued walking, leaning heavier on his support. "No child of mine is going to be named via algorithm."

"It's not an algorithm, it's a—"

"Strategic naming methodology with comparative analysis," you finished for him. "I've heard the pitch, Mr. Park. Still vetoing it."

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "What names are you considering now?"

"I like Mina."

"That's actually on the spreadsheet's top five. Strong in both cultures, elegant, historical significance—"

"I don't care about your spreadsheet points. I like how it sounds."

"Alright, angel. Mina stays on the list." His easy acquiescence was still something you were getting used to. The Jay you'd first met would have defended his methodical approach for at least another ten minutes. "We still have two months to decide. Unless she makes an early entrance."

"Don't even suggest it," you warned. "After what your mother said about Park babies always arriving precisely on schedule, like their corporate acquisitions? I think she'd be personally offended if this baby came early."

"Chairwoman Park does not acknowledge the existence of unscheduled deliveries," he agreed solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Though she did order the hospital's maternity wing renovation completed a month ahead of schedule, just in case."

"Your mother terrifies me," you admitted. "And somehow I still adore her."

"She feels the same about you. She told Uncle Jimin you're the only person who's ever successfully changed her mind during a board meeting. He said she sounded proud."

"She should be. That sustainable investing initiative is going to increase profits by twelve percent next quarter."

Jay grinned at you. "Look at you, talking profit margins and quarterly projections. Remember when you said you'd rather die than become a 'corporate drone'?"

"I maintain that position," you insisted. "I'm an independent consultant who happens to occasionally advise the largest conglomerate in South Korea. Completely different."

"Of course," he agreed diplomatically. "Just like I'm not a workaholic, I just have 'dedication to operational efficiency.'"

You bumped your hip against his. "You've been better. Only three midnight emails this month."

"All emergencies," he defended.

"The color of the fonts on the annual report was not an emergency, Park."

"Brand consistency is critical to market perception," he began, then caught your expression and laughed. "Fine. Not an emergency."

When you reached the overlook, the view did indeed steal your breath—crystal-clear waters stretching to the horizon, the private cove of your Maldives villa visible in the distance, pristine white sand contrasting with vibrant turquoise.

"Damn it," you murmured.

"Excuse me?" Jay raised an eyebrow.

"You were right. It was worth it." You leaned back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you, hands cradling your belly. "Don't look so smug."

"I would never," he said, not bothering to hide his satisfied smile. "Besides, being right is just part of my charm."

You elbowed him gently. "Your humility is what I love most about you."

"That and my strategic viewpoint selection."

"And your modesty. Clearly."

His hands splayed wider across your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked sharply against his palm. The look of wonder that crossed his face at the contact never diminished, no matter how many times he felt it.

"That was a strong one," he said softly.

"Tell me about it. I'm pretty sure I'm growing a future taekwondo champion in here."

"Like her mother," he said, his voice warm with admiration. "Strong. Determined."

"Cranky when hungry?" you suggested.

"I was going to say 'formidable when provoked,' but your phrasing works too." His chin rested on your shoulder, and you felt his smile against your neck. "She's already perfect."

The simple sincerity in his voice made your hormones send tears threatening. You blamed pregnancy emotions, but the truth was deeper. This man—who had literally traveled through time to avoid destruction—was now embracing a future neither of you could predict or control, with complete certainty that it was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Did you ever imagine this?" you asked, gesturing vaguely at your belly, at the two of you standing on this pristine outlook. "When you made that original contract proposal at that ridiculously expensive restaurant?"

"It was hardly ridiculous. Their wine list was impeccable." His deflection was automatic—the old Jay momentarily surfacing.

"You know what I mean," you persisted. "Did time-traveling Jay ever see this coming?"

He was quiet for a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder. "No," he finally answered with characteristic honesty. "This was never part of the strategy. My plan ended with avoiding the merger, preventing Seraphina's sabotage, maintaining family control of the company."

"Very romantic objectives."

"I didn't believe in romance then," he reminded you. "I believed in risk management."

"And now?" you asked, turning slightly to see his face. "Disappointed that your perfect plan got derailed by unforeseen variables? Namely, catching actual feelings for your contract wife?"

His eyes met yours, that intense gaze that still made your heart skip. "The plan was to avoid disaster," he said seriously. "I got happiness instead. That's not a detour, angel. That's a miracle."

"Don't go soft on me now, Park. What would the shareholders think?" you teased, though you leaned into his touch as his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"They'd think I finally made a sound investment with appropriate long-term growth potential," he replied, matching your business terminology while his eyes remained soft.

"Oh? And what's the projected ROI on this particular acquisition?"

"Immeasurable," he said simply, the single word holding more genuine emotion than the countless practiced speeches he'd given over the years.

"A time-traveling corporate heir and a skeptical journalist walk into a gallery..." you began, a reference to how you often joked about your improbable origin story.

"Sounds like the setup for a terrible joke," he finished, smiling against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Or the perfect story," you countered when you separated. "Though no one would believe it."

"Danny believes it," Jay said dryly. "After walking in on us arguing about whether my future knowledge of the 2024 Olympics constituted gambling when I placed those bets."

"In my defense, it absolutely was cheating."

"In my defense, we donated all the proceeds to charity."

"After I made you," you reminded him.

"A minor detail." His hand moved in slow circles over your belly, soothing both you and the active little one inside. "Speaking of details, that cloud formation suggests a weather change within the next hour. Ready to head back? I've arranged for a prenatal massage at the villa."

You narrowed your eyes. "Did you plan this entire hike timing based on weather patterns?"

"I may have consulted three different meteorological reports and timed our arrival at the overlook for optimal viewing conditions before the afternoon clouds moved in," he admitted without a hint of shame.

"Your level of extra never ceases to amaze me." You shook your head, but couldn't suppress a smile. "This is why I keep you around, Park. Your strategic planning has its advantages."

"Just fulfilling the terms of our renegotiated contract," he replied, guiding you carefully back toward the path. "Section four, paragraph three: 'Husband agrees to ensure wife's comfort during pregnancy with particular emphasis on lower back support, regular food provision, and optimal weather condition monitoring.'"

"You need to stop letting your legal team draft our personal agreements," you laughed. "But I appreciate the thoroughness."

"The legal team wanted to include a footnote about reasonable expectations regarding my ability to control weather patterns, but I refused. I have standards."

"Of course you do." You laced your fingers with his as you began the descent. "Tell me more about this massage. Did you fly in some exclusive practitioner from Sweden who only treats royalty and tech billionaires?"

"Of course not," Jay scoffed. "She's from Norway, and she primarily works with Olympic athletes. Royalty is just her side clientele."

You burst out laughing. "You're impossible."

"I believe the term you used last week was 'extra but endearing.'"

"I was being generous."

"You usually are," he said, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "With your patience. Your understanding. This journey hasn't been... conventional."

"Conventional is overrated," you replied, squeezing his hand. "Though I do plan on writing a book someday. 'How to Negotiate Your Way from Fake Marriage to Real Happiness: A Time Traveler's Guide.'"

"Catchy title. Limited market though."

"You don't know that. There could be dozens of time travelers out there, all looking for contractual arrangements that evolve into genuine love stories."

"Dozens seems optimistic."

"Says the man who literally bent physics. You don't get to talk about 'optimistic.'"

The banter continued as you made your way back to the villa, a luxurious beachfront property that somehow combined Jay's taste for refined elegance with your insistence on comfortable practicality. Like your relationship, it shouldn't have worked on paper, but in reality, it was perfect.

Later, after the Norwegian masseuse had worked miracles on your pregnancy-strained muscles, you lounged on the villa's private deck while Jay prepared dinner—another evolution that would have seemed impossible three years ago. Park Jongseong, corporate heir and strategic mastermind, now insisted on cooking for you at least twice a week, a skill he'd developed with the same methodical precision he applied to business acquisitions.

"Your mother called while you were in the shower," you mentioned as he served grilled fish with a mango salsa he'd perfected over the past year. "She wanted to know if we'd considered her suggestion about the trust fund structure."

Jay paused, wine bottle hovering over your glass of sparkling water. "Please tell me you didn't discuss financial planning during our vacation."

"Of course I did. I told her your idea about the educational milestone incentives was better than her straight distribution plan, and that the sustainable investment portfolio she proposed needed more diverse clean energy holdings."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Three years ago, you called investment banking 'legalized gambling for people with too much money.'"

"I stand by that assessment," you replied primly. "But if our daughter is going to have Park money, it might as well be responsibly managed Park money that does some good."

"Our daughter," he repeated, a smile softening his features as he set down the wine and rested a hand on your belly. "I still can't quite believe it sometimes."

"Which part? That we're having a baby, or that you're having one with the woman you initially approached as a strategic human shield against corporate sabotage?"

"Both," he admitted. "Though more the latter. When I found you at that gallery, I was looking for a solution to a problem, not..." he gestured between you, "whatever miracle this is."

"A solution to a problem," you echoed thoughtfully. "That's not the most romantic description of your future wife I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer 'tactically advantageous alliance partner'?" he offered with a straight face.

"Much better. I'm swooning."

His expression grew more serious. "You know what I mean. I wasn't looking for connection then. I didn't think I needed it—or deserved it, after what happened."

"After what was going to happen," you corrected gently. "A future you prevented."

"Semantics," he said with a slight shrug, though you both knew it was more than that. The guilt he carried for actions his alternative self might have taken had taken months of conversations to address.

"Did I ever tell you," you said, changing tactics, "that I almost didn't go to Priya's gallery that night? I had a deadline the next day and was planning to skip it."

"You hadn't mentioned that." He looked up, intrigued.

"I finished the article early and decided last minute that I should support my friend." You took a bite of fish, appreciating the perfect balance of flavors. "One small decision. Go to a gallery or stay home. And here we are."

"The butterfly effect."

"More like the exhausted-journalist-who-finished-work-early effect, but sure." You smiled at him across the table. "Time travel or not, I think we were supposed to find each other."

"I don't believe in destiny," he reminded you.

"Says the time traveler."

"Time travel is physics. Theoretically. Destiny is..."

"Also physics, if you think about it. Predetermined paths, fixed points in spacetime."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been reading physics journals again?"

"Maybe. The baby likes quantum mechanics. She kicks when I read about wave-particle duality."

"Of course she does," he said proudly, as though your unborn child's apparent interest in physics was a personal achievement. "She's brilliant like her mother."

"And modest like her father," you countered, though you couldn't help the warmth that spread through you at the compliment.

That night, as you lay in bed with Jay's body curved protectively around yours, his hand resting on your belly where your daughter occasionally pressed a foot or elbow against his palm, you reflected on the strange, wonderful path you'd traveled.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against your hair, always attuned to your shifting moods even when you thought he was drifting to sleep.

"About how sometimes the best futures are the ones we can't plan," you replied, covering his hand with yours. "Even for time travelers."

He chuckled softly. "Especially for time travelers."

"Do you ever miss it?" you asked. "The certainty of knowing what comes next?"

"Never," he said without hesitation, his arm tightening around you. "The future we're creating is better than any I could have foreseen. Besides, certainty is overrated. Where's the excitement in knowing every outcome?"

"Says the man who made a career of eliminating variables and calculating risk."

"I've developed a taste for the unpredictable," he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear that still made you shiver. "A certain journalist taught me the value of beautiful chaos."

"Chaos theory," you murmured. "Small changes in initial conditions leading to wildly different outcomes."

"Exactly." His hand splayed wider across your belly. "One gallery opening. One conversation. One impulsive dinner invitation that wasn't in my original plan."

"Was anything about that night not calculated?" you asked, genuinely curious. After all this time, there were still pieces of his original strategy you occasionally discovered.

"The way you looked at me," he said softly. "When I made that comment about the abstract painting being 'deliberately obtuse to mask the artist's technical limitations.'"

"I remember. I laughed and said you were 'refreshingly honest for someone wearing a watch that cost more than my rent.'"

"That's the moment I deviated from the script," he admitted. "In my original timeline, we had a brief, pleasant conversation and never saw each other again. But something about your reaction made me want more. That dinner invitation afterward wasn't planned."

"So I have your impulsive deviation to thank for all this?" You gestured vaguely at your life together.

"That, and your capacity to negotiate a marriage contract like you were dismantling a hostile takeover bid."

"I was thorough," you defended. "Anyone would be when being asked to marry a virtual stranger for business purposes."

"You demanded a custom sleep number bed, a language tutor who specialized in colloquial rather than business Korean, and a contract clause about maintaining your own journalistic independence even when writing about companies connected to Park Industries."

"All reasonable requests."

"The Hawaiian pizza provision was a bit much."

"A woman has to draw the line somewhere. No pineapple on pizza in our household is a hill I'm willing to die on."

His laugh vibrated against your back, comfortable and familiar. "I love you, angel. Unreasonable pizza restrictions and all."

"I love you too," you replied, shifting to face him despite your unwieldy belly. "Strategic time-traveling and all."

As you drifted toward sleep in his arms, your daughter shifted inside you, a gentle reminder of the impossible journey that had led to this moment—a contract transformed into commitment, strategy evolved into love, calculation giving way to the beautiful chaos of a life built together.

Sometimes the best vows were the ones you never planned to make, but discovered you wanted to keep anyway.

And sometimes the most calculated beginning led to the most wonderfully unpredictable destination.

fin.

Taglist: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @zzhengyu @naurwayyyyy @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @jaeyunsbimbo @cutehoons02 @deluluscenarios @bubbletaeq @lamin143 @dearestdreamies @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heewhoresimp @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @loudpeachdetective @cristy-101 @ash-engen @miuwonis @pinkglitterpuke @theothernads

[ichibawmbz]

my personal design for mr etho slab

i usually reserve this style for my traditional drawings but here we are

keep reading if you dare read my very rambly headcanon info dump about this design

things very important to me in this design

he has 2 moles: under the left eye and under the right side of his lip because moles make everyone prettier

he has more moles on his whole body but he Does Not Take his long top off therefore no one will know where those are. but you will be forever haunted by the fact that you know they exist.

i believe in moles being there to represent your past lover's favorite areas to kiss. i will not be elaborating further.

hooked nose because Yes

mask and shirt is one piece. gloves are another

mask+shirt top is skin tight. jacket and pants are baggy. the skin tight top feels like a tight hug and the baggy jacket and pants feel like pillows. this in turn makes the Ultimate™ outfit that is stylish, comfortable, and versatile (totally not inspired by one of my irl outfits)

his eye scar runs down to his lip (i wouldve made it to run until his neck but i keep on forgetting on all my drawings therefore its up until his lips only)

said scar is totally caused by him fighting a big monster and not due to a mundane reason (its definitely caused by a mundane reason that he lies about because he is #embarassed)

fingerless gloves are originally full gloves but he cut them down bc they are a sensory nightmare; also easier to fiddle with things without the thick fabric

the fingerless gloves now serve no protection for his fingers against his redstone contraptions therefore: scars

removing his hair tie will cause the world to spontaneously combust itself

[cameronspecial]

What if Drew meets the actress!reader' parents and older brother at a family dinner, he would be graciously greeted by their kindness of her family, especially her mother who seems to have a little crush on him. Her father will tell all the funny anecdotes of his childhood and her brother who teases them about marriage of them 😏😅 It's rather embarrassing for her but it's a good night for Drew

Plz can u doing that !?

The Embarrassing Meet

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Masterlist

Y/N has brought home boyfriends since she got famous. Other Actors. Authors. Musicians. Even sons of famous people. However, she hasn’t been as nervous about bringing them home as she was about bringing Drew home. She is incredibly in love with him and family meetings always seem to chase her boyfriends away. Not only are they embarrassing for her, but they also make her boyfriends realize that her home life is not as glamorous as they want it to be. Drew holds the passenger’s side door open for her. She smiles at him, dropping it once she sees her family at the open front door already. “Oh my goodness, look how handsome he is. And he is tall too. He could get all the stuff on the high shelves for us and we could have tall grandchildren, Jeremy,” her mother gushes. The older Y/L/N woman comes running to hug the new arrivals. Drew is more than happy to receive it while Y/N crosses her arms at her mom. “We literally just got here, Mom. Do you have to lay it on so thick?” she asks. Drew smiles at Emily, “It’s okay, Y/N/N. I’m honestly flattered that I’m already making a good impression and I would love to grab anything you need, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Emily’s face warms up and she hits Drew’s bicep playfully. “Please, call me Emily. We have a shelf that needs hanging if you are okay with being put to work,” her mom offers. “I would be more than glad to help out with that.”

———

Drew and Jeremy stand in front of the wall. The shorter of the two reaches up high with his hands to approximate how high they want the shelf. Y/N sits on the sofa with her mother while her brother makes dinner, watching the two men do the work. Her father tries to lift the heavy shelf they are going to put up, but he freezes and holds his hand to his lower back. Drew holds a hand out to the older man and takes the slab of wood from him. “I’ve got it, Jeremy. I see the nice woodwork you have on the other shelves. Is that what this shelf is for?” Drew questions, using the pencil to mark where he needs to put the screws. Jeremy beams and picks up one of his pieces. He shows drew the wooden duck, “Yes. I’ve been doing it since I was in high school. My best subject was wood shop. I made this duck for Y/N/N when she was little. She would refuse to take a bath unless it was beside her. If it wasn’t near the tub near bath time, then she would run around the house naked looking for it.” “Ugh, Dad! Do you have to tell that story? It’s so awkward,” Y/N complains, burying her head in a pillow. Drew chuckles and takes the duck into his hand, “What are you talking about? I think it’s an adorable story. Might have to make you another duck if it that’s how you react without one. Plus, I would love to spend more time with your dad while he teaches me.” Drew’s laughter increases as he catches the pillow that is whipped at his head.

———

Jeremy and Emily stay at the front door to wave the couple off whilst Gideon follows his sister and Drew to the car. He leans against the open car window to formally say goodbye. “Okay, so I expect a wedding invitation within a year. You got me, Starkey? You are too good for this family to let go of,” Gideon orders with a finger pointed at the male in the driver’s seat. Drew glances at Y/N with a grin before looking at Gideon, “I got you. I would be crazy to let your sister go.” Gideon slaps the car door in satisfaction. “Good. I knew I liked you for a reason. Okay, bye you two. Drive safe.” He straightens up with a wave and steps back so Drew can drive off. Y/N sinks lower into the seat at the sound of her family very loudly wishing them goodbye one more time from outside of her car. “I hated that so much. I didn’t know I had so many embarrassing childhood stories.” Drew chortles, “What are you talking about? I loved it. I think I made a great impression with my future in-laws. I can’t wait to see them again.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[thewertsearch]

And now we have to deal with this motherfucker.

It’s probable that Scratch knew things would play out like this, which means this message was always intended for Karkat.

...it's probable that that's the case, but there's always a slight possibility that we're in one of his dark pockets. If so, then Karkat wasn't supposed to see this message, and might be about to learn something Scratch doesn't want him to know.

Mr. Vantas.

Dang it.

I'm delivering this message through the console of one of my numerous unwitting proteges to give you a word of advice, and then you will not hear from me again.

Characteristically unhelpful - and in fact, it might not refer to either of Eridan's victims. We still have Tavros's corpse to deal with, and I'm sure there'll be more bodies hitting the floor before the day is out.

All of the bodies in the room remain as they were. There is clearly nothing to be concerned about whatsoever.

Feferi has an eldritch connection through the Horrorterrrors, and they could probably pull some dark magical shenanigans to get her body moving again. I think that's unlikely, though, since Feferi's ghost is active in the Dream Bubbles, and I don't think she'd actually want to be revived. After all, she's go a job to do.

I'm still convinced that Kanaya's coming back, but it's hardly going to happen while our back is turned. We're out of Kernelsprites, so she can't be prototyped - and we can't use her Dream Moon Slab, if it even exists, because Prospit's been destroyed by Jack.

Frankly, I can't think of a single realistic way to revive her short of time travel, and that's not a road we want to go down. I'm really trying not to think about what that might mean.

I guess that leaves Tavros.

There's definitely something going on with him that we don't understand. He was about to smooch Vriska before she stopped him, and the Breath symbolism surrounding the act makes me think it was more than just a typical Dream Self revival kiss. He has a hidden power, and that power seems to kick in when someone's dying.

Could Tavros be a little less dead than we've been led to believe? It's possible - his arc doesn't scan as complete to me. He'd only obtained the merest shred of confidence before Vriska brought him fatally down to earth, and I think there are still many interesting places you could take his character.

CG: THERE YOU ARE, YOU HAD ME WORRIED DUDE […] CG: QUIT THE BULLSHIT PARTYCLOWN ANTICS AND GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE. […] TC: shut up. CG: WHAT… TC: I SAID SHUT THE MOTHERFUCK UP, MOTHERFUCKER. TC: honk honk honk :o)

Gamzee’s rocking a new quirk. He’s still swapping cases, but they’re alternating every message rather than every character, as though his mind is less scrambled than it used to be.

Could this be how he talks when he's off the slime? He already seems more aware than before, and his grumpiness evokes a hangover - but he's honking more than he used to, which is the opposite of what I'd expect if he was sober.

CG: SERIOUSLY, GET BACK HERE NOW, AND HAVE A SLIME PIE TO RELAX OR SOMETHING. TC: SLIME? TC: there is no more slime, brother. TC: AND ANYWAY. TC: shit was motherfuckin poison, didn't you know?

Yup. It looks like Gamzee’s gone cold featherbeast.

It's not a great time for this to happen, but it's not like we can stop it now. I highly doubt Gamzee was forward-thinking enough to reproduce his pies through alchemy, and things are a little too tense right now to try getting clever with an Appearifier. For better or worse, his supply has dried up for the foreseeable future.

So now, for the first time, we're interacting with a Gamzee who isn't out of his mind on soporifics. His shift in personality is already pretty drastic, and I'm interested in seeing what the real Gamzee is like.

[thefusioncelestial]

Mix 13: A Geeky Bulk

Anonymous asked:

I am a chubby and hairy American Guy who is a little on the geeky side of life. I love Jamar Pusch's pecs and how he can make them bounce. Could you merge us please?

For the uninitiated, for those going the natural route of being big & cut at the same time comes in two cycles; the bulk and the cut.

The bulk is when the user focuses on gaining mass, and that means an big calorie intake. That means covering that coveted slab of visible muscles; the abs. But while they join the population of bears, the muscles, when paired with exercise, encourages muscle growth with the building blocks just sitting there.

The cut? Think of it as revealing the results. You go in the opposite direction on calorie & fatty intake and bask in the results. Continuous use of this basic method is how the skinny kid becomes the long lost cousin of Captain America.

Here is one dude who does this:

Jamar Pusch.

Worked his butt off to get that look. You would swear that he was sculpted rather than built up.

Unbeknownst to himself, he is the target of that infamous group we call the prowlers. In this case, a father who wants to give was Jamar has to his wimpy son. You would think that with all the money in the world that he could just pay for the best trainers & dieticians, but many wealthy people can be illogical & demanding.

He procured a bottle of red liquid. All he has to do is pour on the target, and have the one who attends to assimilate touch them.

Jamar is finishing a typical photo-shoot, the best result will go on his Instagram, the rest to whoever he dms. The man is looking for love like the rest us.

His shoot has been infiltrated, a couple of payments here & there under the table, and the father and son arrive to the location using the new info. There are other people there admiring the modern day Adonis. The duo poses as fans. The event concludes, and Jamar goes to a trailer he rented for use for a nearby music cultural event, and the duo follows him.

There is a knock on the door. He opens and sees the father & son standing there gleaming. The son has a nervous energy about him, but Jamar pushes this away as a nervous fan. He beckons them into his trailer for a private supervised one on one meet & greet, and they obliged him.

The father was more excited than the son. Maybe the son was just getting introduced to this world to inspire him to workout? How fatherly.

Unknown to all three of them, a third fan was just out of earshot in the area. He saw this as an opportunity, goes to the trailer as well. The door is unlocked. He goes in, but what he sees angers & shocks him.

Jamar sits the pair down and offers them drinks.

They accept.

The father sees this as his chance.

He uncorks the bottle and splashes the contents on Jamar. He turns around to protest, but soon he freezes up like a statue. The only thing he could do is plead & scream in protest.

"I must thank you Mr. Pusch, I appreciate what you are about to do for my son. He is about to go to college, and I find he will have a better time if he can "hang" with the physically gifted type. Tell me, what sports are you into," he asked in a jubilant manner that turned stern.

His son looked nervous. The father glanced over with a frown at his son.

"Hopefully you will give him your confidence too, I tried so hard to instill courage into him, but his mother may have babied him a bit too much. No matter, let's get this over with," he said.

"Charlie, go shake Mr. Pusch's hand," he said.

The young man walked over silently. Jamar tried his best to move but couldn't. He then saw something. Hope.

The silent fan who came over saw all of this in the trailer. His mouth was agape. Was Jamar about to get kidnapped or worse killed? His anger took over. He dropped his phone that he was going to use to get pictures, and ran over to the father.

The shock of an intruder made the father's heart stop and blood freeze. Was he caught by security? The person coming over was a large man after all. By the time he registered to do something else and than wish for laser beam eyes, he was knocked over.

The son too was shocked at this. He moved his hand away from Jamar, and turned to his father.

Truth be told, he didn't want to change like this. He didn't want to steal someone else's body to appease his father or anyone else for that matter. If he was going to change, it was going to be on his terms. What Charlie wanted to do right now was save his father.

He found his courage.

He ran over, and with an adrenaline boost peeled the large man off his father and shoved him away. But he pushed him in the direction of Jamar.

He crashed into Jamar, and it began.

Surprisingly, Jamar didn't fall over or collapse. He just sort of absorbed the impact. For the large fan, it was like jumping into a combination of marshmallow & quicksand. His body sinked further into Jamar until all there was left was just Jamar.

Jamar cocked his head back & began to shift.

Mentally, Jamar was in this fan's head space. He was getting assimilated by him. Jamar & this fan talked it out. Explaining things from their perspective and then uniting under one cause of escaping from these crazy people. Jamar also convinced him to let him drive the wheel. He sensed that whatever was happening was a done deal, and he would be better steered to handle whatever they are about to become. The mind space inverted. They were in Jamar's mind. The fan broke down into confetti and merged into Jamar. It was time to kick some ass.

In flipping the mind merge, Jamar was able to reverse the physical merge process. The fan would upgrade him.

He let out a soft moan. His body began to quiver & shudder.

His skin grew softer as layers of fat grew all over.

"Hmm."

A warmth washed over stomach, each wave an inch of fat covering his abs.

There was rustling in his pants. His rod grew longer and strained against the tight pants. He grunted and then chuckled.

His neck bulged out & his head lengthened.

His facial features shifted, bigger eyes, smaller lips. A slightly more upturned nose. He kept his ears. His hair shortened.

He took on a darker skin tone as well, but soon after hair began to grow throughout his body.

He opened his eyes. The father & son were shocked by what they saw.

The father snapped out and commanded Charlie to touch the fused Jamar, but nothing happened. One pair per dose, and the father used all of it in one go.

He gave the father a beating. He had to change himself and consume someone else because some jack rabbit of a father wanted a shortcut. Security came in after seeing the trailer move a bit, and apprehended the pair.

The father was charged with attempted kidnapping later on.

The son wasn't a total wash and Jamar would mentor the young man.

As for Jamar, his life trajectory changed. The fan that saved him, was a part of him now, imparted some interesting interests. With the connections he built up, Jamar went into acting; doing mo-cap & voice acting for video games, one of which involved a galaxy far far away. He is having a blast too:

In time Jamar would deal with layers on his stomach. He has been here before many times. He just fast tracked a bulk cycle. Time for the cut.

Wait, did that water bottle move by itself?

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Hermit-A-Day Day 14: Groups and Collabs

A reminder that my Hermit A Day series are all both individual bits of writing and also supplemental material for my fic Glitch!

Today will be slightly different from the others due to the nature of the prompt!

@hermitadaymay

Interviews on the apparent existence of a Fight Club on Hermitcraft 10, transcribed by the Admin.

Interview 1: Ethoslab

Ethoslab: Xisuma, I really don’t get what the big deal is. It’s not like PvP is illegal on the server. We do it all the time.

The Admin: What’s confusing to me is that you all decided to keep it a secret. I’d like to know what’s going on on my server, Mr.Slab.

Ethoslab: Dang, Mr. Slab. You’re serious about this? Alright, what do you want to know?

The Admin: Can you describe to me how you got involved with this ‘Fight Club’?

Ethoslab: Well that’s easy. Pearl invited me.

The Admin: You were just invited? No special initiation or anything?

Ethoslab: Well, she sent me something in the mail to come meet her at her base. Then when I got there, we fought. She had a whole arena set up for a mace fight, platforms and bouncy pits and armor stands. Super impressive. She won most of the rounds but I won a couple and that was enough to let me in.

The Admin: Where in her base? I don’t think I’ve seen an arena like that when I’ve been.

Ethoslab: Oh dude it’s so cool. It’s in the ballroom. She like, flicks a switch and everything comes out. The whole middle of the floor transforms. You could go in there and not even notice it’s an arena.

The Admin: I certainly didn’t. And do you have an arena at your base? Have you initiated anyone?

Ethoslab: Nah, I haven’t gotten around to it. I’m planning on using fishing rods though, eventually.

The Admin: So you don’t all use maces?

Ethoslab: Uh no, I don’t think so. Pearl said they all have their own. I haven’t seen the others’ yet.

The Admin: Alright, I think that’s everything then. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Slab.

Ethoslab: Never call me that again.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 2: Pearlescentmoon

The Admin: Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Moon?

Pearlescentmoon: No, not really. And why are you calling me Ms. Moon? That’s weird, dude.

The Admin: I’ve invited you here to interview you in an official capacity about the Fight Club. As your admin.

Pearlescentmoon: Dang it. Who told you?

The Admin: Mr. Slab did. He described your ‘arena’ in great detail and the initiation process.

Pearlescentmoon: Aw nuggets, alright. What do you want from me then?

The Admin: I would like to know how you got involved. Mr. Slab only said your name in his interview.

Pearlescentmoon: I guess it can’t hurt, I’m not great at keeping it a secret anyways. Cubby invited me.

The Admin: I see. And was the process similar to Mr. Slab’s initiation?

Pearlescentmoon: You’re being so weird. Just say Etho.

The Admin: This is an official interview.

Pearlescentmoon: I know you just call us our names on files and stuff. I think you’re just trying to be a big bad admin because it’s fun.

~Pause in the interview~

The Admin: Anyways, Ms. Moon, was your initiation process similar to Mr. Slab’s?

Pearlescentmoon: Fine, alright. Yeah, pretty much the same. He invited me by opening a private channel in the chat. Then I went to his base. Cub has his arena all hidden, but there’s a calibrated skulk sensor you can activate that opens it up. It’s a two floor arena with bubble elevators at the corners and a bunch of copper blocks to use for cover and hiding. It’s pretty tight but big enough to move around quickly. It’s easy to lose people in it.

The Admin: And the weapon? It’s not maces too, then, if it’s so cramped.

Pearlescentmoon: Nah, Cubby’s weapon is fireworks in crossbows. I fought him for a few rounds and won a whole two times. I needed to prove that I was good enough to get in. That it was enough for me to get initiated.

The Admin: I see. Well I think that’s enough for me. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Moon.

Pearlescentmoon: Love you, ‘Suma. C’mon say it back. Say you love Ol’ Pearly.

The Admin: *sigh* Love you too, Pearl.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 3: CubFan135

CubFan135: Hey man, what’s up? You never have meetings in your office unless the sever’s about to explode. It’s not about to explode is it? I haven’t gotten any weird readings on my moon tracker.

The Admin: The server isn’t going to explode. Just sit down, Mr. 135. I have some questions.

CubFan135: Oh I like that. Can you do Mr. Fan though? The numbers are superfluous.

The Admin: *sigh* Alright, Mr. Fan. I wanted to know a bit about the ‘Fight Club’.

CubFan135: Never heard of it.

The Admin: Please don’t be difficult. Mr. Slab and Ms. Moon already told me everything. I know it exists and I know that you initiated Ms. Moon into the club personally. What I don’t know is how you got involved.

CubFan135: Fine, I guess if they already told you. I got invited by Gem.

The Admin: Right, and what’s her arena like? Was the initiation the same process as you gave Ms. Moon?

Cubfan135: Why do you want to know? We’re not breaking any server rules.

The Admin: I just like to know what’s going on my server, Mr. Fan. No one’s in trouble. PVP is perfectly legal.

Cubfan135: Hmph. I got invited by the mail, Gem sent it. She’s got the trident arena. And I mean, Gem’s arena is pretty great. It’s right under her base, you have to swim through a tunnel to get to it. Then you have to find a little opening and boom, you’re in the arena. It’s a pretty classic looking fighting ring except for the water columns on the corners and in the center and the water at the bottom. You’re supposed to use those with a riptide trident to kind of chase each other around the arena.

The Admin: Right, and you had to win a fight to get accepted?

Cubfan135: No, I don't think that was in the rules Gem told me. I mean we did a couple of rounds, I won one and Gem won one. But she never said I had to win to get invited. Did Pearl make it seem like she had to win to get invited? Me just showing her the arena was the invitation, I wouldn’t have not let her if she didn’t win. It’s not like I have a mind wiping device. Yet.

The Admin: Please don’t develop a mind wiping device.

Cubfan135: I make no promises. Innovation calls.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 4: Geminitay

The Admin: Have a seat Ms. Tay. I have a few questions about your ‘Fight Club’

Geminitay: Dang it! Who snitched? Was it Joel?

The Admin: Until now I didn’t even know Mr. Beans was in the Fight Club, so no. I’ve so far interviewed Mr. Slab, Ms. Moon, and Mr. Fan. Mr. Slab is who initially made me aware of the existence of the club. So far I have detailed descriptions of three of the arenas. All except Mr. Beans’ I guess.

Geminitay: Ugh I swear. These Hermits man, can’t keep a secret!

The Admin: You’re not in trouble, I just want to know what’s happening on my server, Ms. Tay.

Geminitay: I will do whatever it takes to get you to stop being weird and just call me Gem.

The Admin: These interviews have to be formal.

Geminitay: Ew, fine. Let’s make this quick then.

The Admin: Right, then. How were you initially made aware of the club, who invited you?

Geminitay: Joel invited me, it’s his club. He came up with it. I think maybe he didn’t realize we just have normal PVP battles and stuff all the time on Hermitcraft because he’s new? Or maybe he just likes being dramatic like all of the Hermits.

The Admin: Don’t look at me like that, I’m not being dramatic. This is perfectly normal formalities.

Geminitay: Right, totally normal. Anyways, so, yeah, he took me to a bar in his city and opened up a secret passage behind the bar tender. It leads into a sword fighting arena. It’s pretty cool, he used glass to make you feel really boxed in but still like you’re being watched. We fought for a while. He’s actually really good at PVP, don’t tell him I said that, but I think it was pretty even in the end. Then he told me he wanted me to invite one other person and to build my own arena. The rest you heard about, I guess.

The Admin: I have. So those are the official rules then? Once you’re invited you make your own arena and invite someone else? Anything else?

Geminitay: The first rule is actually don’t talk about Fight Club which we’ve all failed spectacularly. So congrats to us.

The Admin: I’m really not gonna tell anybody. I just have to interview Mr. Beans and then I’m done.

Geminitay: You better not. Can you stop calling me Ms. Tay now? It’s like, super weird.

The Admin: Alright let me just finish writing then.

~Interview Ended~

Interview 5: SmallishBeans

The Admin: Do you know why I invited you here, Mr. Beans?

Smallishbeans: Uh no, I don’t think I’ve done anything recently so.

The Admin: This is about your Fight Club.

Smallishbeans: I’m not in trouble am I? I read all the Hermitcraft rules when I joined, it didn’t say anything against PVP.

The Admin: You’re not in trouble. I keep having to tell you all that, wow. I’m not the principal of Hermitcraft, I just like to know what’s going on.

Smallishbeans: I mean, yeah if I’m not gonna get kicked out or anything, what do you want to know?

The Admin: No one is getting kicked out about this. PVP and PVP arenas are not only allowed but encouraged. I literally modified the world to let you keep players’ heads when they die, why would I do that if I didn’t want PVP?

Smallishbeans: So Cleo can make more armor stands and they would kill you if you limited their options.

The Admin: That is a plus. But anyways, I’ve heard all about the different arenas and the rules from the other members of the club. All I want to know from you, Mr. Beans, is why keep it a secret? You said it yourself, there’s nothing in the rules against PVP.

Smallishbeans: I guess like, right, it’s more cool that way? Like all the mystique and stuff. You get to make a cool secret passage way or try to hide it in plain sight the way Pearl did! And it’s more fun to fight in those custom arenas built just for one kind of weapon, because then people get creative with the actual landscape. Not so much for me, you can sword fight in pretty much any flat space, but the others. Gem had to work out those water columns and trouble shoot the armor and Cub had to work out how much cover was enough and make it advantageous both to stay on the ground and go up and Pearl figured out how to hide those pillars and pits and use decor like the chandeliers and the dancers to fight.

The Admin: So the attitude of secrecy adds to the drive for innovation?

Smallishbeans: Exactly! I wanted everyone to be able to get creative and I think it’s better to do that when there’s a little bit of mystery about it.

The Admin: I agree. I think what all of you have done is really cool. You did a good job, Mr. Beans. It’s your first season and you managed to make something that not only brought you all together, but that encouraged everyone to innovate and builds in ways they may not have before. I’m proud to call you one of my Hermits.

Smallishbeans: Aw man X you’re gonna make me cry. Please don’t write down that I’m crying. It’s actually really embarrassing.

The Admin: Maybe I should end the interview now then.

~Interview Ends~

[covetyou]

in honour of the Pedro Party, I sent @goodwithcheese this ask about who would get pantsless first and who stays pantsed until the end of the party. between that, and a particular thought about party hats (and Mr. Pedro "I hate belts" Pascal), I thought it was a good idea for Dieter and his PA to make an appearance at this party. enjoy!

do it like Madonna

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Mature (18+ only!) warnings: no smut. nudity. mention of Dieter Bravo's dick and balls. drug and alcohol use/refrence, improper use of party hats. cameos from Javi G, Oberyn, and Santos (all the P-Boys are there!) word count: 801 summary: Being Dieter Bravo's plus one to a party isn't always all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes, just sometimes, it puts a smile on your face anyway.

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It all starts when Dieter Bravo walks into the party with you, his long suffering assistant. He'd been grumbling the whole ride here about how uncomfortable he was, and he hadn't stopped now that you'd stepped through the door and said hello to a few people before making your way to the empty kitchen to grab drinks.

You barely have a drink in hand when an all too familiar jingle reaches your ears and, like every time before it, you whip around to see Dieter standing there, fiddling with his belt buckle and fighting it through the loops of his pants.

"Dee, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he grumbles.

"This is a nice party, you can't go taking shit off. It's not that kind of party."

"I know, but you made me wear a belt. I fuckin' hate belts."

"Because your pants were falling down, Dee."

"So," he grumbles again, only just managing to whip the belt off before you can grab him, slapping it down on the counter not a second later before double fisting two drinks and leaving you stood there in the kitchen staring after him.

His pants are already sagging at the ass by the time he walks out onto the patio, his arms spread wide, drinks sloshing over onto the slab below, as people wrap themselves around him in warm greeting, before sipping from one cup and then the other.

Your own drink will have to wait. You have a belt to put back in the car and a menace of a man to keep an eye on for the rest of the night.

Except, he's nowhere to be seen when you get back inside from stashing his belt. You check the pool and just about every room, but you have a sneaking suspicion he's intentionally avoiding you.

It's a suspicion that's confirmed when you find his shoes and pants hidden in the corner of the office.

Even moreso when you find his shirt tucked behind a sofa cushion.

Dread runs through you at the thought of all the NDAs you'll have to get signed when you find his boxer shorts in the punch bowl, fishing them out only to throw them - still fruity - onto the pile of Dieter's clothes in the back of your car.

And then, twenty minutes later, you see him.

Completely naked, obviously.

Kind of.

It is a party after all.

And what's a party without party hats. It seems Dieter doesn't think it'd be much of a party at all, because he's wearing four. One is exactly where you'd expect it - directly on top of his head with the elastic pinching under his chin.

From there, it just gets worse the further down his body you look.

He has two hats strapped to his chest, each pointing a different direction even has he tries to reposition them over his nipples. And the fourth hat... well, he's somehow managed to stuff his cock and balls into the cone of the fourth hat, because at the very least you can't see anything hanging out or dangling in the sight of anyone who shouldn't be seeing it.

It's miraculous really. Even in his nudity, he's somehow managed to be modest about it.

He's grinning at you as you approach him, that giddy, too happy, look on his face that he always gives you when he's too drunk or high to care about actively pissing you off.

"Do I look like Madonna," he slurs, sticking out his pointy chest.

"Dieter, why are you wearing four party hats and not your clothes," you ask, hoping against hope the people coming out of the house haven't seen him and you can tidy this all up before they start to stare.

"Five."

"What?"

"Five party hats," he says, giving you a twirl. There you see the fifth hat, strapped against his ass with the thin elastic, looking exactly like a-

"It's a tail," he says with a giggle. "I have a tail."

And with a dozy smile his gaze trails off and lights up just as a very stoned, but very beautiful, Spaniard comes walking out of the house in his own set of party hats, followed by a man wearing nothing at all, eating from a plate of berries, and another in the tiniest, tightest Speedo you've ever seen. And, beyond that, you see a few more bare asses, and even more bare chests inside, mingling with fully clothed bodies that don't seem to care too much that your employer is comparing party hat sizes with his new friend.

You'll allow it this time, you suppose, taking a tepid sip of the same drink you've been nursing for hours, watching Dieter run off back inside, his party hat tail shaking with every jiggle of his ass. tagging my Pedro Party pals - who do you think would be pantsed vs. pantless? @ghotifishreads @sp00kymulderr @missredherring @ozarkthedog @perotovar

@undercoverpena @schnarfer @secretelephanttattoo @hellfire-state-of-mind @readingiskeepingmegoing

[soubi122]

Funeral

This is a oneshot that was collecting dust in my drafts and I finally managed to finish it - ft kakucho.

Warnings: Domestic violence, smut, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of death, slight dark content, alcohol, language, slight angst and fluff.

MDNR - MINORS, respectfully, GO AWAY.

You never thought about being this happy at a funeral. Past funerals attended were full of grief and sorrow. The person who left the earth would be someone whom you'd dearly loved or were close with, someone who you felt was taken too soon. But this was different, the funeral taking place today was for none other than your husband. What you thought would be the best thing in your life turned out to be a nightmare. 

At the funeral many people flooded the marble floors, paying their respects to the dearly departed. His large portrait was on a stand surrounded by white and yellow chrysanthemums. The sight of these flowers was too pure for the vile being that was being honored today. Strangers were coming up to you and bowing - giving their condolences for your loss. They placed small envelopes in a box, a red and gold box that you wanted to burn. He deserved none of the generosity offered today. 

The black veil that covered your face felt like a mask, obscuring your features to avoid people gauging your reactions or grief, it also hid the ugly bruises and swollen eyes. For hours you've been sitting in that cushion and in pain. Your ribs were aching, the throbbing in your head wouldn't stop, the taste of metal on your tongue was driving you mad. As the funeral was winding down, the director approached you with a warm smile, years of practice and empathy made this process easy for them. “Mrs. (L/N)? We're at the last 10 minutes - we will begin escorting the guests out.” You nodded and were about to get up and leave but a tall figure approached you. Oh god, please… no more 'sorry for loss', 'your husband was a great man' lines. You think to yourself as you look up and notice the male's features. Raven hair, a scar that ran across the right side of his face to the left eye - despite his threatening appearance, the look in his eyes was sincere. 

Remembering him as a recent acquaintance of your husband, you knew they were coming to ask about his will. Business is business after all, it will keep going even when you are laying on a metal slab or are 6ft underground. “(Y/N), I'm very sorry for your loss.”  His stern but gentle tone caught you off guard. As you were beginning to bow, he spoke again - “We will need to speak regarding your husband's affairs and assets.” Here we go…the ever looming threat of his wealth was barreling towards you already and his ashes have yet to be scattered into the wind. The vultures were ready. “His attorney will be reading the will tomorrow - I'm sure he outlined what is to be done with his assets.” The raven haired man said nothing more and bowed, taking his leave. Finally, this act was over. 

You made your way to the penthouse that you were forced to call home but now that he was gone, you welcomed the emptiness that awaited you. Kicking off your heels, you exhaled a sigh of relief and slid down to the floor - barely noticing the figure that emerged from the dark corner of your kitchen. Only when you heard the sound of a click did you notice the shadow. You began to put your hands up and stare into the dark corner, waiting for the figure to emerge. “Sorry to do this during your time of grief, but this is urgent.” The same scarred man approached you, he had a gun in hand, loaded and pointed in your direction. 

Soon more figures emerged from the dark corners of your home. How the hell did they get past security? A knot began to form in your throat as the man tilted his head, pointing towards the kitchen island and telling you to take a seat without words. You got on your feet and made your way towards the island, silently taking a seat with your hands still up. The final figure that emerged was that of a shorter male with silver hair and eyes that looked like they haven't had a good night's rest in months. The dark circles became even more prominent by the dimmed overhead lights in your kitchen. “You can put your hands down, dollface.” One of the many men spoke, his tone was that of a psychopath - to avoid invoking anyone's wrath, you put your hands down on the counter. “Your husband's assets belong to us - at tomorrow's reading, you will relinquish them without any opposition.” A third voice said and his figure stepped into the dim light. He too had silver hair but his was long and he had eyes like a feral cat. A light chuckle escapes your lips as you reach for your coat pocket. In an instant your head was pinned against the counter, making you grunt and a gun was pressed against the back of your skull. “Don't even try, gorgeous…” Long slender fingers reached for the hand that held the metal object, prying it from your hold. “It's a cigarette box…” You say quietly without moving or resisting. 

With a nod, the shorter man gave permission for them to remove the gun, allowing you to lift your head from the counter. “We will have someone accompany you to tomorrow's reading…as a safety precaution - wouldn't want you to make a break for it.” Your silence spoke volumes to them. “We can also just make you hand everything over without the attorney present.” Another voice said from behind you, his tone was much softer than the one who pinned you down. Just what the hell did your husband get into? How did they know where you lived? The only thing you could do is nod. “Kakucho, you and these three will stay with her until tomorrow's reading. Takeomi and Mochizuki will bring you some spare clothing in the morning.” The man who you assumed was Kakucho nodded. Were they really planning to spend the night here? Or did they have other plans in mind? Did they want to break you more than your husband already did? You looked at the man with the short silver hair, his eyes were empty, bare and cold. Though the veil covered your face and hid your expression, he saw right through it - the submission and fear. “They won't touch you unless you give them a reason to…” His words of reassurance did just the opposite. 

Once the rest of the men left your penthouse, the others that remained began to make themselves at home and turned on the lights. Turning to face them, you noticed that they were all dressed in suits, had wildly colored hair and two of them had neck tattoos. The more ‘normal’ looking one was the raven haired man, with the exception of his facial scar. “So, dollface…you're probably wondering what your dear ol' husband did in order for us to be here…” The male with the psychopathic tone spoke, the two diamond shaped scars on the corners of his mouth curved as he smiled wickedly at you. Never have you seen such beautiful crystal eyes on such a sinister looking man. “You're scaring her Sanzu, she'll be sleeping with an eye open now thanks to you.” The coy and playful tone of the tallest male made you look in his direction. He had clean cut short purple tresses, the neck tattoo robbed your attention from his lavender eyes and handsome smirk. If you were to stand in front of him, you were sure to get top shelf vertigo. “Mikey said not to touch her.” The third male spoke, he had almost a matching hair color to the taller man but in mullet form, he too bore a neck tattoo - wait…that hanafuda design…it can't be! Alarm bells started going off in your head, you've seen the news, heard the rumors and seen first hand at what Bonten is capable of. That life of peace that you thought you were going to have? Well it just went up in smoke. These men were probably going to torture you, rape you or throw you in a brothel to pay off whatever your husband owed them. 

It felt like your chest was about to burst, the anxiety was ravaging your nerves and mind. The shortness of breath and trembling started, when the raven haired man noticed, you were on the verge of passing out. He caught you right before the back of your head met the floor. “Hey! What's wrong?” He asked as you began to have a panic attack. A sharp pain in your chest was making it difficult to breathe or even speak. “Get her some water!” He ordered one of the others as he sat across from you on the floor. The others began bickering, yelling at each other over who scared you. There was too much noise. “I'm going to slowly remove your veil, ok? I'm not gonna hurt you.” His hands gently reached out to you and you screwed your eyes shut. Don't look at me, please…! The voice inside your head screamed, your body was too in shock to move away from him. When he removed the veil, they all went silent. “…fuck, we didn't know.” You could hear one of them say. 

All four men flinched for a split second, recalling when they slammed your head against the counter. The purple and faded yellow bruises on your face and busted lip were staring at them dead in the face. The veil wasn't so that people wouldn't see your puffy crying eyes, it was to hide the pain and evidence of domestic violence.

The silence was overwhelming, making you panic even more - your breathing struggled again, snapping them out of their daze. You felt a pair of hands intertwining themselves with yours. Despite being inside, your hands felt like ice - the warmth of his hands made you feel alive. “I need you to try and take a deep breath. Focus on my voice, squeeze my hand if you understand.” Kakucho's soft and honeyed tone traveled through your ear canal and went straight to your chest. There was a soothing bass in his voice that made you follow his directions. 

Slow and steady you began to take deep breaths, one light squeeze signaled your understanding. A second voice was now in your ear, gently he titled your head in his direction. “Slowly open your eyes and focus on me…what color are my eyes?”  When you opened your eyes, you were met with a pair of lavender orbs and a tender gaze. “T-They're…beautiful.”  You managed to stutter out, his eyes matched the taller male - were they siblings? Your comment made him smirk softly, usually when people stare into his eyes they see death. “Rindou, I think she likes you…” The taller male whispered as he noticed the slight blush on your face. Finally, you were beginning to relax and breathe normally. Who would have known that the world's most dangerous men could soothe your soul? “Here, take small sips at a time.” The man with the diamond shaped scars said to you and handed you a small glass of water. Little by little, you were able to think straight without panic or anxiety. “So you can call us by our names and trust us - my name is Ran, this is my brother Rindou.” The tall male said. “The knucklehead you see over there with the pink hair is Sanzu and finally, in front of you, you have Kakucho.” Their introduction was not needed but worthy of making you feel a little at ease. 

Kakucho released your hand and helped you get on your feet. “Please, get some rest - we need to be on time for tomorrow’s reading.” That's right, these men stated that everything your husband owned was theirs. The question slipped your tongue when you opened your mouth, “Will I be set free or sold tomorrow?” Ran stepped closer and cupped your bruised cheek, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “That's not for us to decide.” Depending on what Bonten's king says, he will ultimately determine your fate - even after his death, your husband is still finding ways to break you. 

With your head hung low you made your way to your room. “Keep the door open, dollface.” Sanzu said as he sat on the Burrow couches and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. It made your eye twitch, your husband would have made you sit on the floor if that were you. Despite being at home, you had to be perfect, primed and ready for anything. To have such freedom and fearless nature, you envied it. 

It was useless to try and protest keeping the door open. Walking into your bedroom, you began to lay out clean clothing - the day was long, you needed the comfort of warm water to relieve the ache in your ribs, the aches on your legs and arms. Once you had everything ready, you picked up your bathrobe and went to the bathroom - quietly closing the bathroom door. You took a long hard look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the bruises on your face, the marks across your neck and the redness in your eyes, it was over. Your life was over before it even began. That freedom you were hoping to have was now dependent on someone else. 

After filling the tub you began to slowly shed the clothing that clung to your figure. You had hairline fractures that were making it impossible to stay still during the funeral. The bruises extended down to your hips and thighs. Something no else would see. After showering you settle in the bathtub, gently laid back and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you should even continue to walk this earth…

Several minutes of staring into space, the door to your bathroom opens and in walks Kakucho. His calm demeanor was rather comforting - you were used to seeing your husband walk through that door with a scowl on his face or worse, a liquor bottle in his hands. “I’m not trying to drown myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” You say while slowly sitting up. You were surprised that they gave you this much privacy knowing that you could have called the cops or signal for help. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust the cops. That dearly beloved husband that departed this earth always had his way anytime you or someone else would call the cops. They would ask questions but your husband would pull them to the side and slip a small stack of bills in their pockets to keep them quiet. As soon as they would leave, he’d continue where he’d left off. Days would go by where you couldn’t even walk or let alone stand due to the pain. 

“Please be ready by 8:00 tomorrow, the reading is at 10:00...” He says and hands you a towel. Guessing by how they are looming over you like this, they wanted to make sure you’d be able to attend tomorrow’s reading. He was about to walk away but you pulled his sleeve and stopped him. “I need help.” You spoke meekly and avoided his eyes, as much as you didn't want to ask - you needed his help. “Oh…I won't look.” He said, closing his eyes and turned the other way as he extended his arms for you to reach out and grab. Sucking in a deep breath you braced yourself for the next painful seconds of your life. Kakucho could hear you struggle and grunt as you were struggling to get up. It was exciting to him, but he refused to indulge. With his eyes still closed, he spoke - “Your face isn't the only thing bruised, is it?” Usually they don't pry into other people's affairs but this was different. Gathering information was his specialty, but your docile nature drew him in. 

Kakucho felt compelled to at least leave you with something to take care of yourself with. Despite Bonten's reputation and crude nature there was still some sort of kindness in their subconscious. “My late husband would beat me almost everyday if something wasn't up to his standard.”  You said while wrapping yourself in a bathrobe. Maybe, just maybe they'd have a little mercy on you if you tell them the truth. “Yet he wanted me to conceive a child…and he fucked me nonstop until I couldn't walk… “ Kakucho felt his hand twitch for a second, raising your hand at a woman - it made his blood boil. Even though Bonten was involved with prostitution, their merchandise would still be protected. 

Your mother-in-law's declining health led to her asking you to bear her only son's child. It was a request made out of love. She loved you and adored you like her own daughter, yet she was completely blind to her son's true nature. Manipulative, cunning, aggressive and silver tongued - that's what he was. He tried to knock you up but had no luck. With a visit to the doctor, you'd come to find out about your infertility. This caused a maelstrom of emotions, you were glad yet heartbroken. Cursed to suffer alongside him and unable to conceive. After his mother's death the beatings worsened, the cheating began and so did the drinking.

“Did you miscarry?” Kakucho's question made you chuckle, making him open his eyes to face you. The sight in front of him was that of beauty and horror. The thin bathrobe left little to the imagination, the outline of your perky breasts made him blush. Your figure was gorgeous, your frame was perfect and your eyes almost had an ethereal glow to them. Yet the bruises on your body made him sick. How could someone do that to you? Was your love and devotion not enough for that sadistic son of a bitch? “Apparently I'm hollow…” Your hands caressed your belly as you spoke. Confusion was written all over his face. “I can't have children.” For someone who knows very little about you, he was ready to kill your husband but alas he was already dead. Someone beat him to it. 

There was little to no emotion in your voice. You accepted your infertility and begged to be divorced but he refused to let you go. He refused to see you happy, let alone happy with another man. “I know it doesn't mean much now but I'm very sorry.” Kakucho says and breaks you out of the misery spiral. For the first time in your life since your mother-in-law's death - someone actually said something sincere to you. “Thank you. Who knew strangers could provide such comfort?” You say and head to your bedroom to get dressed. Something about you made him curious. What else were you forced to endure? 

From the doorway you could see the other three males laying on the couches and nodding off to sleep. Looking back at Kakucho, you noticed his eyes never left you. There was warmth building up inside you, but the reality of it all loomed over you like a rain cloud. Yet, the urge to feel that warmth overpowered you. “Mind if I close the door?” There was a tinge of playfulness in your tone. You knew he would keep his eyes on you. He nodded and gently closed the door himself, he didn’t want to catch the attention of the others. 

Shedding the bathrobe and letting it drop to the floor, you kept eye contact with him. You could hear him swallow thickly as his eyes began to wander around your naked figure. Kakucho just about groaned as your body was on full display. The bruises, scars and cuts drew him in like a moth to a flame. He began to walk towards you and closed the distance. Seeing how you could barely lift your arms or bend over, he helped you get dressed. There was tension but as much as he wanted to act on it, he couldn’t. You were too fragile to even touch. 

Finally after helping you to bed, he stepped out of the room and left the door ajar. “I know that look…” The sound of Ran’s voice broke through the silence. Turning around, Kakucho saw that Rindou and Sanzu were asleep on the couch. Ran was sitting by the island and smirking at him. “We might need a little help tomorrow.” Kakucho says and makes a phone call. The remainder of the night was quiet, you slept peacefully for the first time in 3 years. 

*the next morning*

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, it was gently tugging at you and waking you up. Mumbling, you turned to face Kakucho. He was standing next to your bed. “It’s time.” He says softly. Slowly sitting up you notice he was the only one with you. The others had left already, maybe they were making their way to the lawyers office…wait, what time was it? Grabbing your phone, you see that it’s 8:30 a.m.- you were late. Sensing your panic, Kakucho explained that they let you sleep in as the reading wasn’t until 10:00 a.m. 

During the car ride, you stared out the window and wondered if you would live to see the next sunrise. “Did you tell your boss about that?” You asked him and broke the silence. Apparently there was more than just a simple helping hand last night. You laid your soul bare and told him some additional information that Bonten needed to be aware of. “It’s been taken care of.” He says and keeps his eyes on the road. 

When you arrived, you made your way to the office and upon entering you saw it. Well to be exact, her. Your husband’s mistress and the wicked smirk she had on her face. She was clad in a skin tight black dress that accentuated her bust and belly, a large ‘fur’ coat, stilettos and was wearing bright red lipstick. It was a stark contrast compared to you. You were appropriately dressed like a widow, wearing black dress pants and a black blazer - it was to cover your bruises and also be comfortable during this shitty reading. You had neutral makeup on, just enough to hide the bruises and dark circles. “Well well…you showed up knowing that you ain’t getting shit. How bold of you (Y/N).” The mistress said while eyeing you up and down. Kakucho glared at her, after what you told him last night - he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her face.

In walked the lawyer about 2 minutes later, he was a very short man with gray hair and thick glasses. He carried a serious look on his face and by the creases in his face, you can tell his scowl was permanent. Clearing his throat, the lawyer sat down and confirmed that the required party was present to begin. Before he could begin with the reading, the mistress interrupted him by saying something that made you ball up your fists. “Sorry, I need to run to the ladies room. Being pregnant and all, you just can’t hold your bladder.” Her faux apologetic tone was a jab at you and your infertility. Of course she knew, your husband made it known to every prostitute he slept with. How she managed to stick him, you weren’t sure but you no longer cared enough to harbor any jealousy towards their affair. The only thing that managed to hurt you or cause you anger was the fact that she always threw your infertility in your face. It was worse when she found out she was pregnant with his child. Constant bullying and teasing by them both ensued. She was currently 4 months pregnant.

When she returned, you kept your eyes focused on the lawyer and asked him to proceed. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as her. “Very well…we are gathered here today to read the final will and testament of (Husband’s Name). ‘To my wife, (Y/N), I leave to you only one thing, my mother’s wedding ring.’ To- ” The lawyer was interrupted by the loud cackle of the other woman, she was laughing and holding her sides. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to rip her tongue out. Kakucho placed a hand on your shoulder and snapped you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry, oh that was too funny! Please go on.” She says and wipes tears from her eyes and calms herself.

The lawyer subtly rolls his eyes and proceeds. “As I was saying, ‘To (Mistress’s name), I leave to you all my assets and fortune as you carry our child and my bloodline.’...” Of course she was elated and smiling from ear to ear. Kakucho could see that she was only looking forward to the money and didn’t care that the man in quest had passed away. She was giggling and making a whole scene about how lucky she was and how the god’s blessed her. The lawyer kept reading the will and then the room went silent when the lawyer read the last line of your husband’s will. “In order for (Mistress) to claim any assets and fortunes, a paternity test will be required to prove that the child is the biological child of (husband’s name) no later than 1 month of the child’s birth. In the event that the child is not his, all assets and fortunes will go to his spouse, (Y/N).” As she is a floozy, you knew there was a 3% chance that it wasn’t his child. All eyes turned to look at her and her face was red. She was pissed. “How dare he question his own child?! I will prove it as soon as I am able to get the paternity test!” She yelled and huffed. To be honest, you just wanted to go home, you didn’t care who ended up with anything - Bonten was going to take it anyway.

Just then Kakucho’s cell phone rings, he lightly taps your shoulder and gives you a warm smile before he steps out of the room. The mistress caught it all. Her fires simmered when she noticed the look of what she assumed was worry on your face. “Moving on so soon (Y/N)?” She says and it looked as if she was baring her fangs at you. Maybe she could try and take Kakucho from you too. You ignored her question and asked the lawyer what needed to be done in the meanwhile as the mistress was in her 2nd trimester. He explained that you will manage all assets and issue a monthly allowance until the child is born. 

After 10 minutes, Kakucho walked back into the room and asked you not to contest the will. You figured that Bonten instructed him on how you needed to proceed. They will obtain the assets through the mistress, knowing them - it will be easier than dealing with you. You knew the ins and outs of the legal world so you may be able to contest in some sort of way. It was a little upsetting that you were being tossed aside but at the same time you were grateful that you didn’t have to continue suffering for your husbands fuck ups. 

The lawyer presents you and the mistress a document, it was to confirm that you were present at the hearing and will not contest the will. You read over the information to make sure it was all accurate, once confirmed - you signed it and returned the documents to the lawyer. The mistress was so giddy and had a shit eating smirk on her face that it made the lawyer roll his eyes again. The poor man was not having it. Once everything was signed, his assistant came to collect the documents and was personally dropping off the documents to the courthouse for filing. Everything was to be expedited and they did not want to waste any time. “(Y/N), I guess I will come by before the end of the month and drop off my things. Since I will be moving into the house and all.” She says smugly and leaves the office. You wanted to punch her in the face but had to resist the urge to upset her as she is pregnant. It’s not the baby’s fault that their mother is a fucking bitch.

Standing up, you thanked the lawyer and headed out, leaving Kakucho behind. You were so overwhelmed with emotions that you forgot about him and just wanted to go home to pack up your things. You didn’t want to leave anything personal behind for that woman to enjoy. Once you were out of sight, Kakucho placed a document on the lawyer’s desk. He didn’t say a word and let the lawyer read it to himself first. The lawyer gasped and chuckled. “I expect you will arrange a meeting within the next 2 weeks, yes?” Kakucho said and the lawyer nodded. He exited the office and headed back to headquarters. 

The next few days were a blur, you were trying to figure out what to do with your personal belongings and searching for a new place to live. Even if your husband would have left you the penthouse - you didn’t want it. There were too many bitter memories in this hellhole. Lucky for you that you set aside money for yourself and weren’t fully dependent on your husband, you were able to afford living comfortably by yourself. With some of your injuries healed or at least not as bothersome, you were able to move around a little better. It allowed you to pack and put things in storage. Luckily, Kakucho came by everyday to help you. He was extremely kind and believe it or not a great cook. In the midst of all the chaos in your life, he was slowly becoming your rock. 

There were innocent gestures that made your heart skip a beat. As much as you tried not to get attached to another man, it was hard when the man in question was treating you like an actual human and not a punching bag. 

By the end of week 2, you received a call from your husband’s lawyer - he stated that you and the mistress needed to come back down to his office for a final reading and to confirm that the paperwork was accurately filed. You asked if this was something that could be confirmed over the phone but he said no. “It is in your best interest to attend, you also need to sign an additional statement.” Great… You didn't want to see the mistress and her smug face. It was rather short notice, you had to attend tomorrow evening. Ending the call you prepared to let Kakucho know. Either way Bonten was bound to know about this right? Regardless, it was no longer your concern as the mistress would be taking hold of all your husband’s assets. 

A hard knock on your front door spooked you and you thought it was going to be none other than her as she promised to stop by. Huffing in annoyance you walk over and open the door but were caught off guard by the gentleman that stood in there. “(Y/N).” Kakucho was standing in the doorway and made a chill run down your spine. The timing was too perfect. Were they wire tapping your home? You wouldn’t be surprised. “You’re still packing?” His calm demeanor was rather soothing and welcome. Opening the door wider you let him in. “I have to.” You smile softly. 

He noticed that you were packing other things that were rather questionable and gave you an odd look. You chuckle. Kakucho was taken aback at how sweet your laugh was. He realized how much you changed, it was like night and day. On day one, you were broken and quiet - almost frail and had given up on life. Today, you are warm and vibrant. Was this the same woman? 

Throughout the day you were drinking wine and offered him some, at first he refused as he was technically on the job but you somehow got him to accept. Now you were down to the third wine bottle. Getting to know your executioner was rather endearing. Aside from Bonten being what it is, their members weren’t as bad as they seemed - well for now anyways. With the previous visit leaving a bit of tension behind, the wine was giving you the edge you needed to get closer. Who knows, this might be the last time you could sleep with someone of your choosing. Bonten might end up selling you or leaving you penniless. 

“So, why do you do this?” You ask and lean your head back on the couch. You both were sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. There were multiple boxes, papers, momentos and wine bottles scattered about. Kakucho picked up a photo and looked at it, exhaling as he pointed at your husband in the photograph- “To keep people like him in check.” There were various things that came to light after you asked Kakucho to elaborate. Backroom deals, gambling, fraud, prostitution and of course murder - they were all dealt with by Boten. Your husband ended up joining them as a partner after trying to move into their territory. Some things were a little familiar to you but there were other unsavory things that hit you like a truck. It made you sick. Your husband owed them money amongst other things.

All this wealth was obtained by walking on other people’s corpses. Your husband not only destroyed you but he also destroyed others. It was naive of you to think that you were the only one who was taking in his wrath. Sensing your disquiet, Kakucho opted to change the subject. “You will be set free, (Y/N).” He says softly. Turning to look at him, you noticed his eyes were glossed over - oh that innocent look on his face… It made you want to devour him. “You know you shouldn’t promise things like that.” You say coyly. You were just teasing but at the same time you meant what you said.

Taking a chance and letting the liquid courage take over, you leaned over and pressed your forehead against his. The unsteady breathing and sweet scent of alcohol only drew you in. “What are we doing?” He whispers and almost pouts when you bite your lip. “I want you to make me feel like a woman again.” You almost whimper your reply and place your hand on his chest. Oh you just made Bonten’s number 3 head spin. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours - hungrily devouring every breath and whimper. For once, you were enjoying getting kissed, you were enjoying the taste of alcohol on someone else’s lips and you were sinking into bliss.

You felt your heart racing, it was racing out of excitement rather than fear. His hands began to travel along your body and touched places that you never thought would make your heart skip a beat. The more heated the kiss got, the more you wanted him to lay you down already - you were desperate. 

Feeling bolder, you moved your hands south and felt the bulge that was throbbing. You breath almost caught in your throat - he felt bigger than anything you’ve ever had before, larger than your now dead husband. Wasting no time, you made haste and unbuckled his belt, you were leading. Throbbing in your hands was Kakucho’s member, oh the gods gifted him with more than just a menacing look. Leaning back away from him you took in the sight in front of you. Heavy panting, chest heaving, glossy eyes and parted lips - he was beyond handsome. You paused a little too long before you were snapped out of your daydream. 

“You’re not gonna leave me like this are you?” He pants and moves your hand in a stroking motion, sending a jolt of electricity down his shaft. Oh how he was making your brain turn into mush. Continuing your motions, you felt your core aching and in desperate need of attention. Running your thumb over his leaking slit, you felt his hips jerk and he let out the sweetest moan. “Kakucho…” You say coyly and put a little more pressure around his length. He moans a response and gazes at you. His mind was also melting and on the verge of turning into mush. “Can I…taste you?” You ask while leaning in and give his tip a kitten lick that makes his eyes roll back. He chuckles and gives you permission to devour him.

Taking him in your mouth, you taste his sweet essence and bob your head slowly up and down. Focusing on his tip, your tongue swirls around the head and he feels his vision getting hazy. He was a lot to take in, with the tip hitting the back of your throat, you had a feeling he was going to tear you apart later. To him it felt like sweet torture, you were giving him affection - something that he hasn’t felt in a long time and yet you were going so slow with your movements that he wanted nothing more than to thrust his hips up to make you gag. Hearing those husky moans and his breath hitch made your folds begin to stick to the fabric of your panties. Pleasing him like this only made butterflies run rampant in your stomach. 

Releasing his member from your mouth, you took a long lick from the base of his cock up to his flushed tip. You continued to take his length further into your mouth but not too deep, you wanted to keep him on edge and make him whine a little longer. Your jaw was getting sore but you wanted to keep going. 

Kakucho placed his hand on the back of your head and pushed you down further. It made you gag a little but you welcomed his actions. They were gentle, unlike your husband - he would force your head down until you couldn’t breathe properly or until you threw up. He would leave your throat and jaw sore for days and wouldn’t care if you could barely eat the next day. Moving your hand to his length, you start to pump his cock while sucking and it sends him into overdrive. “Ngh…(Y/N), wait! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum…” He moans and tries to pull you off but fails. You were determined to swallow his seed. 

The vibrations of your moans travel down his cock and into his core. Kakucho was getting lost in heaven. The very woman who Bonten was going to take everything from was on her knees and pleasing him. Your pace began to quicken as you felt his length twitch and the vein along his shaft pulsed. His coil was so tightly wound that the moment he felt it snap, his eyes rolled back into his skull and that numbing sensation made his toes curl. Hearing him come undone was bliss, to know that you could make a man like him melt and make him whimper - it did wonders to your ego. Your husband would always say that you were good for nothing, that you would never be able to satisfy a man and yet here you are with one of the country’s most dangerous men. You were giving him the blowjob of a lifetime.

Swallowing his thick seed, you made sure to not waste a single drop and continued to suck his sensitive tip even after he emptied himself inside your mouth. “Stop…oh fuck!” Kakucho whines and pulls your hair. Releasing his member with a pop, you smile and slowly stroke him - making his hips twitch and his whimpers louder. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. You felt validated and worthy of satisfying another man, you felt like a woman for the first time in years. Your husband only ever made you feel like a toy, almost as if your sole purpose in life was for him to break you. He would treat you less like a woman and even less as a human being. 

Catching his breath, Kakucho remained seated on the floor - dazed and determined on what to do to you. “Get up…” He pants and pulls you up. That tone of voice was quite authoritative. You obey and get on your feet. He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom. “Strip…” His low tone made a chill run down your spine and you removed your clothing. He too started to remove all his clothing. When he saw that you left your undergarments on, he paused. “Everything, (Y/N).” He demanded and layed down on your bed. Feeling the cool air hit your skin, you shivered and he noticed. “Come here.” He says warmly, he was trying to reassure you. 

Seeing him in all his glory…oh how your cunt clenched instinctively. His defined muscles, the veins on his arms - it made you almost drool. Even the scar on his chest that appeared to be a bullet hole had your slick dripping. Climbing on the bed, you take place next to him and run your hands along his body. The slow and gentle touches made his member twitch. Even in its flaccid state, it still twitched and looked big. He rolled you on top of him and slid his arms underneath your thighs. The confused look on your face made him chuckle. He lifts you by your thighs and slides you up towards his face. The movement was so sudden that it made you squeak in surprise. Looking down at him, his pupils were blown as he had your pretty cunt in his face. 

“Wait…I-ngh!” You moaned out loud as he pushed your hips down and buried his face in your honeypot. He was sucking on your bundle of nerves and wasted no time in making you scream his name. Your hands quickly found solace by holding on to the headboard and your forehead was leaning against the wall. Whoever was lucky enough to be on the other side of that wall could hear you moan like a whore in heat. Kakucho snaked his hand between your thighs and slid two thick digits inside your tight walls. Pumping them in and out while sucking on your clit had your eyes rolling back and your hips grinding into his face. Hearing him slightly struggle underneath you only made your coil tighten. 

Such lewd and wet sounds echoed in the room along with your wanton moans. “Ahn…Ahn…Kakucho! It feels s’good!” You mewl and run your hands along your chest, pinching and teasing your nipples. The electricity coursing through your veins had you in a daze. Not even your husband ever bothered to eat you out before - Kakucho’s gift to you was more than anything your husband could have offered you. He curled his fingers to find your trigger, when he found it your legs were beginning to shake and your hips were stuttering. Your pitch got higher and higher as you neared total bliss. 

That unmistakable tingle that ran down your spine made you throw your head back and total ecstasy as your orgasm was ripped out of you. Kakucho didn’t stop, he kept going - he wasn’t satisfied with just one. “Ngh, s’too much!” You whine and try lifting your hips away from his face. However, the iron grip that he had on your waist made it impossible for you to escape. “Mhn…one more, just one more…” He pants from between your legs. The sound of your sweet voice kept him spellbound. He wanted to keep hearing you cry out for him. 

Your overly sensitive bundle of nerves was throbbing from the continuous stimulation. He moved lower and shoved his tongue inside your tight cavern. Kakucho wanted to taste everything, his warm and wet muscle felt like heaven. With your walls fluttering you thought you were going to lose it again. “Stop! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You whine pathetically, begging him to stop knowing full well that you didn’t want him to. The final push was him tracing circles on your clit with enough pressure to make your vision go white. 

Kakucho made you gush and he took it all. The obscene sounds of him slurping up your honey echoed in the room. Your whole body was shaking from the intense orgasm that you felt almost light headed. Slowly, he slid your body down and made you collapse into his chest. The energy was drained from you, barely being able to move or respond when he asked if you were ok. Only a small hum could be heard from you. Wrapping his arms around you, he placed a kiss on your head and whispered. “We’re not done yet. You wanted to feel like a woman? I’ll keep showing you…” His low tone made you smile softly and bury your face into his chest. 

The rest of the night became a blur. By the time morning came you were left disheveled, sore and satisfied. Kakucho meant what he said. All night he made you moan, scream, cum and cry out in pure bliss. He stuffed you full of his cum to the point where the sheets were beyond saving. His aftercare was even better, got you water and some light snacks for you to nibble on - even medicine for your throat. To think that this was one of the most feared men in all of Japan, last night he was more than that to you. Rolling over, you see Kakucho sleeping next to you. He looked so peaceful and innocent despite the prominent scar on his face. Seeing his chest rise and fall softly, you take a better look at the tattoo on his chest - it looks like all the higher ups have this. You recalled the man with the feline like eyes and the placement of his tattoo on his temple. The two Haitani brothers and their neck tattoos. Also, their leader - the man with the empty eyes and white hair, he had his on the nape. It would be a tattoo that you’d need to familiarize yourself with. 

Kakucho stirred in his sleep and woke up with you kissing his cheek. “Good morning…” You say softly and ask him if he’s hungry. You both opted to get up and shower…together, it ended up in another round of sex that led to skipping breakfast and diving straight into lunch. Offering him a change of clothes, he accepted - besides, the clothes were brand new and never worn. No need to worry about the mistress recognizing it and accusing you of theft of ‘her things’. 

Arriving at the lawyers office, you see that the mistress was already there. She was smiling smugly from ear to ear. When she noticed you with Kakucho, her smile faded ever so slightly - jealous that he was still with you. “So quick to move on…what a shame (Y/N). Looks like you truly don’t deserve any of (H/N)’s fortune.” You paid her no mind, you just had the best night and morning of your life. “I feel bad for you when you give birth, that baby’s gonna have a big ass head just like the mother and father…you might just tear (M/N). You might never be able to please a man again.” You say without thinking. The sudden fire in you made Kakucho almost burst out laughing. Quite the insult to a pregnant woman, she of course gasped and huffed defending her unborn baby’s head size. The poised woman was gone, you no longer had to keep appearances nor bite your tongue. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat made the room fall silent. He took a seat at this desk and went over the original will one last time before making you and the mistress review the already signed and filed documents. Both parties agreed that everything was in place. The mistress couldn’t help but keep chuckling to herself as she repeated words loud enough for you to hear. “...to my wife, I leave nothing.” It was annoying but you didn’t let her get to you - you wanted to come back home and have dinner with Kakucho. 

“Now that both parties confirmed, please note that there is a new document that was received after the filing that affects this arrangement and cannot be disputed.” He says and narrows his eyes. For a moment you felt your stomach flip - what the hell was he talking about? Did the wench take an early paternity test? It’s not like it mattered, you knew you were going to vacate the home and keep your mother-in-law’s ring. That much was certain. Acknowledging the lawyer's words, you asked him to elaborate and explain what the real reason was for you both to be here. He nodded and began to read out loud the document in his hands:

“From the University of Tokyo Hospital, below is the information requested by (Husband’s full name) on (11 Nov YYYY) and (12 Dec YYYY). The original tests and new tests administered resulted in the following:

Spermatozoa count - below 2 million per mil.

Sperm motility - below 20%

Sperm viscosity - high

Sperm morphology - abnormal

Unfortunately, both labs have confirmed that the patient is infertile. With the severe lack of sperm motility and spermatozoa count - treatment is not possible.”

Everything in the room went dead silent. You felt faint and nauseous, was this actually true? The sudden screech of the mistress startled you and she came charging at the lawyer’s desk to snatch the paper out of his hands. She was beet red and almost foaming at the mouth. Reading the document in hand she crushed the edges that she was holding and her hands were shaking. “This…this can’t be! It has to be fake!” She screams and looks at Kakucho who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “You probably faked this document to get in on your whore’s money!” She spits and rips the paper to shreds. The lawyer simply sighs and asks you to sign the document confirming that you were present at this hearing. Apparently your late husband amended his will one month prior to his death. When he received the first results in November he contacted his lawyer to insert a new clause. Originally he wasn’t going to leave you anything, however, due to him sleeping around not getting anyone pregnant - he grew suspicious.

With the mistress screaming like a banshee and almost attacking the lawyer, security was called to have her escorted out. The lawyer was quick to have you and Kakucho sign as a witness to all this. “Ms. (L/N), congratulations - you have all your husband’s assets and fortune. Please rest assured that the mistress will not be able to contest.” He said softly and smiled. His smile was warm, it’s as if he knew this was going to happen. How long was this information in his hands? Wait, is this why Kakucho said for you not to contest the will?

The lawyer excused himself and left the office for you to have a moment to yourself. The room was spinning and thought you were going to die. It wasn’t just the shock from the hospital results but the fact that your husband abused you and beat you non stop for being infertile when in reality he was the one shooting blanks the entire time. You began to laugh to yourself, slowly building up to a cry that made you drop to your knees. It was painful. Recalling all the times he called you hollow or less of a woman when your pregnancy tests would come out negative - it broke your heart. You were both the problem, the blame shouldn’t have been just placed on you. 

“(Y/N), there is something else I need to tell you. We did some digging and whoever was in charge of getting your fertility results a few years back royally fucked up which rendered your tests inconclusive and marked as infertile by mistake. You can have children.” Kakucho says softly and helps you stand back up. A second wave of emotions hit you and panic soon followed. You were fucking him raw yesterday and this morning like a rabbit in heat. “Kakucho…how long have you known for?!” You ask him and shove him. There was a slight pained expression on his face, he should have told you sooner. “That medicine I gave you this morning was a morning after pill. (Y/N), I’m sorry, I let myself get carried away.” At least he was honest. Last night he snuck out of your apartment to purchase the pill and would pass it off as ibuprofen or something since you were saying your throat was sore. Though he wasn’t expecting to sleep with you again in the morning he explained that he would take responsibility if the contraceptive fails. Whatever your decision would be, he will respect it and will do what he can. He made sure to explain this to you and managed to pull you in. Crying in his arms, he embraced you and did his best to calm you down.

“You didn’t sleep with me just for my husband’s assets, did you?” You ask a little broken hearted. The night you spent with him meant more to you than just sex. It was you liberating yourself once and for all from your husband. You didn’t expect to feel something more for Kakucho. Maybe it was the fact that he made you feel validated and praised you like a goddess, but it felt real. “The assets have nothing to do with what we did last night or this morning.” He assured you. 

*4 months later*

You signed off on all documents that allowed you to transfer or ‘donate’ your husband’s assets to Bonten. The head of the organization, Sano Manjiro, handed over a legal sized envelope with your name on it to you. He said nothing and walked away. “W-wait, what is this?” You ask him and he waves you off without responding. Opening the envelope you read over the information and gasp. Though you handed over everything to Bonten, they gave you something in return. Manjiro was kind enough to leave you something that the three of you could enjoy. Kakucho leaned over and placed a peck on your head. “You know, he is kind of excited to be an uncle...” 

END.

TAGS: @anxious-chick

[lulublack90]

Prompt 12 - Roar

@wolfstarmicrofic June 12, word count 615

Previous part First part

“Come on Gryffindor’s row!” Sirius ordered as he thrust his own oar out in front of himself, brandishing it like a sword. The Slytherin team looked up too late. James, Remus and Peter rammed the other team’s raft, knocking them all into the water. Sirius nimbly hopped across with James following close behind and started rowing it away from the Slytherin's reach. Remus and Peter moved their raft as fast as they could after them. Remus was thoroughly enjoying himself. He’d never played pirates as a child and this seemed an excellent way to have that chance. It was what his dad had wanted, after all, he reasoned, as he rowed just that little bit harder. 

They stopped in the middle of the lake. James quickly lashed the rafts together and turned them into one. 

Sirius let out a roar like a lion as he held his oar above his head. James joined in on the next one, raising his oar above his head as well. Peter joined them on the third roar and Remus, not wanting to be left out, roared on their final roar. Feeling the rush of excitement from their successful commandeering.  

“BLACK, POTTER, PETTIGREW AND LUPIN! RETURN IMMEDIATELY!” Minerva McGonagall’s voice boomed across the water. She’d gotten a megaphone from somewhere. She lowered it and crooked a finger at them, beckoning them back. 

“Don’t know why she’s using that thing,” Sirius muttered as they dipped their oars into the water. “She’s shouted at me louder than that without its aid.” James snickered and set the others off, so by the time they’d steered their oversized raft to the shore they were all struggling to keep their faces straight.

“Chores,” Was all she said before she stormed off. The four looked at each other, silently debating if she meant for them to follow them. She turned back and glowered at them. Yep, they were meant to follow her. 

“Never in all my years of working here have I had a group of boys quite as troublesome as yourselves. Knocking other campers into the lake and stealing their raft! What were you thinking?!”

“I believe the correct term is pirating their raft.” Sirius chimed in helpfully. Oddly enough, McGonagall didn’t find it very helpful. 

“Mr Black,” Her sick sweet smile made Remus nervous, and it wasn’t even aimed at him. “You will be cleaning the toilets every day until your stay here is over, as well as,” She raised her voice slightly when he started to protest. “As well as, weeding, painting, putting away equipment we have used that day, helping Ms Pince in the library, mopping the main hall, and collecting dirty washing from the cabins.” She turned to look at Remus and the others. “You will all be helping Mr Black with these chores. I will also be writing to all your parents,” She dismissed them, telling them they’d be painting the border fences tomorrow instead of going on the nature trail Mr Flitwick had planned.

“Sorry,” Sirius whispered in Remus's ear as they crossed the campsite to their cabin. 

“For what? That was thrilling,” Remus grinned at him and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Today I was a pirate. I’ll gladly do whatever she wants because I got to be a pirate,” Sirius chuckled at his excitement. 

“Well, at least we’ve still got our dibs cards. She forgot to take them off us. I say we use them to get extra pudding tonight before she remembers. You know, make the most of them.” Sirius grabbed his hand and Remus could almost taste the big slabs of chocolate cake he knew were for pudding that night. 

Next part

[lupinmoonlights]

Dear Remus,

Winter is slowly dying here. Nature is coming back to life, but I'm not. You, of all people, would understand. The world feels harsher these days, colder. But in the corners of my mind, I still find you. You were never here. Not really. But somehow, you are.

I miss things I've never had. Conversations we've never spoken. Your presence that was never mine to know. Since I don't know how else to say it, I am ending this with my favourite passages from the books. The ones where you felt closest. The ones where you made the world feel a little warmer, a little softer.

Happy birthday Remus <3

Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. "Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help." PoA, p.68 Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. "Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help." PoA, p.68

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably." PoA, p.107

A ray of wintery sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin's gray hairs and the lines on his young face. PoA, p.155

"I have complete confidence in you," said Lupin, smiling. "Here -- you've earned a drink - something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have tried it before --" He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase. "Butterbeer!" said Harry, without thinking. "Yeah, I like that stuff!" Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Oh - Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade," Harry lied quickly. "I see," said Lupin, though he still looked slightly suspicious. "Well -- let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides, as teacher… " he added hastily. PoA, p.204-205

“Remus says you’re a good flier,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. “He’s excellent,” said Lupin, who was checking his watch. OotP, p.51

“It looks wonderful, Molly,” said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table. OotP, p.84

“Oh — oh — oh!” gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands. “Molly,” said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her, “Molly, don’t…” Next second she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin’s shoulder. “Molly, it was just a boggart,” he said soothingly, patting her on the head. “Just a stupid boggart…” OotP, p.176

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” said Lupin, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?” OotP, p.177

Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; OotP, p.507

“Take care, Harry,” said Lupin quietly. “Keep in touch.” OotP, p. 870

Take care, Remus.

[hodari-pavels-good-boy]

Espresso Chapter 1:

Knock on Wood

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

Pairing: Hodari Pavel x Reader Word Count: 2.1k Chapter 1/? Rating: E Summary: "You take a moment to silently watch him work, a true master at his chosen craft. You take note how his arms tense before bringing them down in a powerful swing, a rhythmic motion he repeats over and over as he carves the ore from its resting spot in the Earth. You find it not too dissimilar from a sculptor chiseling one's vision from the marble slab before them. His eyes were heavy and focused on the mass of stone he was chipping away at and clearly he had been at it for quite awhile by this time if the sweat that’s beaded along his forehead and down his temple is any indication. His hair is stuck to his face and you can follow the trail down to a damp shirt and skin that almost seems to lightly glisten in the lantern provided light." --------------------------------------

You find yourself in an unfamiliar world with a new life before you. Maybe... you'll help someone find a new life too?

Tags: Angst, Angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, fluff, eventual smut

A/N: This is a multi chapter story! Gender is not specified (though I did originally start writing it with the intention of it being a male reader lol). Tags will be updated as the fic goes. Cross-posted Here on Ao3. Fic below the cut! Enjoy :)

It’s getting late in Kilima as you start to cross the path that leads from the town proper to Bahari Bay, the lantern bugs greeting you as you pass through the gate. Catching a few, you secure them in your empty lantern before starting our evening walk down to the mines. This is one of your favorite times of day, the busy world winding down and coming to a slow stop.

Most people are comfortable in their homes by now, starting dinner for them and their families and relaxing from a long day of work. The glow in the windows of the Pavel’s house ahead of you lends itself to your point. The local miner and his daughter must be settling down to tuck into a good meal right about now after a hard day down in the mines and the thought makes you smile as you pass by.

Over the last few months you’ve been here you’ve started to pick up a bit of a routine for yourself while also observing the local’s daily routines around you. It hasn't escaped your notice that you're one of the only humans that’s decided to stay in the Kilima region for now, most supposedly having moved on to The Capital in search of answers. While you understand the reasoning, that fact definitely aids itself to a feeling of loneliness and otherness in this foreign place, so it helps to see everyone around you maintain a sense of normalcy while you adjust to this new ‘normal’ for yourself.

Sooner than later, the earth beneath your feet becomes more gravel than dirt while the hills on either side of you that frame the well-worn path have become cliff faces and you know you're nearing the mines. The sun has long since set by now and the light evening chill now has a little bite to it. As you approach the entrance, you can hear the sound of metal hitting rock echoing off the cavernous walls. Adjusting your pack, you curiously follow the noise into the depths, wondering who is here so late besides yourself. Usually it's just you and silence that surrounds you to keep you company, so your interest is piqued. Rounding a corner, you find the town’s respected but quiet resident miner, Mr. Pavel. You haven't had a chance to really talk to him since he gave you your first pickaxe and helped you settle in on the plot you’re slowly starting to make into a home. He seems like a very private person who minds his own, so anytime you've seen him around town you haven't wanted to bother him. Besides he always seems like he's busy with places to be and you don't want to interrupt him if that's the case. Outside of the village though you hardly see him. Usually, he's long since left the mines to return home by the time you've made the lengthy journey from your plot all the way out here.

Since he hasn't noticed you yet, you take a moment to silently watch him work, a true master at his chosen craft. You take note how his arms tense before bringing them down in a powerful swing, a rhythmic motion he repeats over and over as he carves the ore from its resting spot in the Earth. You find it not too dissimilar from a sculptor chiseling one's vision from the marble slab before them. His eyes were heavy and focused on the mass of stone he was chipping away at and clearly he had been at it for quite awhile by this time if the sweat that’s beaded along his forehead and down his temple is any indication. His hair is stuck to his face and you can follow the trail down to a damp shirt and skin that almost seems to lightly glisten in the lantern provided light. You feel a light dusting of heat grace your cheeks as you watch him continue for another minute before the sound of the pickaxe abruptly stops, dragging you back into reality as a rough rough voice speaks up. 

“You comin’ in here or are you just enjoyin’ the show?” He asks, no patience in his tone as he turns to look where you’re standing. He raises his hand up to the light blinding you to him and you quickly turn the lantern away so it’s no longer shining directly in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s you.” He says in recognition. “Here again? At this point m’starting to get used to it but don't you have anything better to than spending your time down here in the dust and dirt this late?” He says it genuinely as if he’s actually curious and you wonder how many times he’s noticed you coming here. Enough that he isn't surprised by your presence it appears, but surely it can't be too often, you almost never see him yourself.

You set your lantern and pack down on the floor while you pull out your own pick that's ready to begin its service for the night. “Nah, I’m gonna be up for quite awhile yet. No rest for the wicked and all that.” You chuckle at your little joke for a moment before it dries up when you realize he’s not laughing with you. You clear your throat before looking back at your things, closing your pack and gathering all the items you set down as you stand up. Quickly glancing around you decide to head down one of the side shafts to save you both from any more of this awkward interaction and let the miner get back to work, clearly he has things he wants to get done if he’s still here this late. 

“Okay then, well, good chatting with you. You have a good rest of your night and I’m gonna go look for some ores to mine up. Good night.” You rush out a little awkwardly as you move toward the mine shaft, pausing at the entrance to give the wooden support beams a few knocks before heading down the carved out path. 

When you reach the end you give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts before getting to work. You like it down here, it's quiet and gives you time to think about anything and everything while your hands stay busy. As a small bonus, you're always so tired afterwards that by the time you return to your home plot and clean up you're always too exhausted for those same thoughts to keep you up. Seems like a win-win in your book.

Not too long after you start, you hear shuffling and the soft sounds of footsteps coming down the same route you just walked, the sound echoing off the long walls behind you. As the sound gets closer to you you hear the miner clear his throat before speaking up.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask…” he starts and then trails off. You stop your mining and turn to get a better look at him, giving him the respect of your full attention so he knows you're listening to him. He's shifting his weight from side to side as he tries to find the words to convey what he’s thinking. Clearly he’s out of his comfort zone so it must be something he's been thinking about for a bit if he’s willing to go through the trouble of.. whatever this is.

Trying to help, you silently motion for him to continue, knowing you won’t be able answer whatever is on his mind if he doesn't share it. He clears his throat again before starting over. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you, why do you do that?”

You blink a few times waiting for him to continue, but he just stands there with his arms crossed as he looks back at you. After a silent staring contest, you reach the conclusion he isn’t going to elaborate or say anything else. “Do what?” you ask confused, looking for clarification. 

At your response, Hodari looks down as if he regrets saying anything in the first place. He takes a sharp breath through his nose before he mimics your earlier knocking on the support beam next to him. “That- This knocking thing you do. I promise those supports are as sturdy as they get. Check ‘em myself twice a week.”

“Oh no! I’m not worried about that at all! I-” Stopping abruptly in your attempt to give an explanation. After a beat, “I’m not actually sure why I do it. I guess I've never really thought about it.”

Hodari stands across from you, recrossing his arms as he listens to your reasoning a little unbelievably. “You don’t know?”

You look away, breaking eye contact with the man. Being put on the spot like this has you feeling exposed, as though he can see right through you. Maybe it's just a symptom of being a father but it unnerves you, like he’ll know if you lie to him. A little self-consciously you answer, “Well.. yeah. It’s not like any of us remember what life was like before..” you trail off. Hodari stays silent. This time, however, it feels less of an oppressive silence but rather more curious as he nods his head for you to continue, so you do. “Humans, I mean. We don’t remember anything from before we appeared here, just our names. We tend to do a lot of things out of reflex but I don’t know where they're from or why I’m doing them. It’s not like we know nothing per se, I know the Earth is round and that a hot stove will burn and things like that even though I haven't done it or been explicitly told by any of the villagers. But I also sometimes feel I have to avoid cracks in the road when I'm walking and that I should avoid breaking mirrors at all costs but I cannot for the life of me tell you why. We all seem to have little things like this and it absolutely adds onto the ‘out of place’ feeling we experience, besides the whole being human in a world that humans don't exist in anymore thing. It's why it doesn't surprise me that most of us leave here, we all just want answers and to understand why we are here and where we are from as much as the rest of you want us out of your hair.” You lightly chuckle at the end but Hodari looks like he’s actually thinking about what you've just said.

The silence continues to stretch between the two of you as he absorbs all the information and you find your face flushing with embarrassment realizing you dropped a bunch of information about humans he didn't ask you for. Having gathered he’s not really one for talking this much you open your mouth to apologize and he holds up his hand to cut you off. He’s not looking at you now but rather down at the ground, his gaze locked on a pebble as he toes it with his boot. He doesn’t look up as he starts talking.

“I, uh, I didn't know that. The not rememberin’ anything.” He looks back up at you now, a little sheepish in his confession. “I haven't really talked to many of the humans after they appeared here. I just helped a few like you get set up on a small plot of land and give a few pointers every now and then so they don't get themselves killed in my mines before they head out of town to explore the rest of the world.” He hesitates for a few seconds before grabbing something from his back pocket. “Here.” he says, holding out his hand between the two of you, a pile of well worn leather in his hands. “Speakin’ of givin’ pointers, since you seem to be sticking around longer than most, you really should be wearing some gloves if you're gonna be at it this long. Take em’, it’s an older pair but they’re broken in and your hands will thank me later.”

Recognizing it as the olive branch it is, you reach out and take them. Before you can even begin to thank him, the miner is already picking up his own lantern and turning to head out of the mines. You follow him to the entrance and he pauses looking at the main wooden beam before giving it a quick rapt with his knuckles as he throws over his shoulder, “I’d wish ya luck findin’ those ores, but I don’t believe in luck.”

As his footfalls on the dirt and gravel fade away as he starts his trek home, something clicks inside your mind. Luck?

[Dividers by the-aesthetic-shop and firefly-graphics]

[definitelynotamhafan]

Bound (Fear pt.4)

You were choking. Fire, water, whatever it was, shoving itself down your throat in the void. You wanted to scream, but nothing came. It wasn’t painful. If it was, you would’ve pushed the god off of you long ago.

Atum-Ra’s burning hot hands gripping your throat, and then, kiss after kiss, brought you back. And then fire lit your blood up, flaring inside your veins. Your fingers clutched onto the creator’s hair, pulling and tugging as your own lips sought life into his own. Kisses after kisses, more and more heat sparked your souls.

“Amheh.” Your name, off of his tongue. “You’ll never leave me, right? You promise?”

The heat pounding in your head, along with the lightheaded feeling which his addictive lips gave you, barely allowed you to process his words. But when you did, you barely managed to slur out a:

“Never.”

Before white hot, searing pleasure brought its tendrils around you again, as Atum-Ra’s hips molded into yours for the nth time that night.

It felt so good. So right, up until you’d felt his warm smile fade, into a psychotic grin.

“Swear it. Amheh. Amheh. Amheh! AM-“

___

“-HEH!” Seth’s voice startled you awake as you jolted up, sweating and panting.

“M’ awake! ‘m awake!- ow.” Your head hit the wooden beam of Seth’s bed with a smack.

“You alright? You were screaming in your sleep.” His voice took on a teasing tone as you rubbed your head in absolute silence.

Great. Even in your sleep you couldn’t escape your filthy and possessive ex.

“M’fine…” you mumbled, voice sore and hoarse with grogginess.

You sat up, propping your back off of the cold floor with a hand, the floor on which you had insisted to sleep on the night before, assuring Seth that beds were of no comfort for you, since you used to sleep on obsidian slabs and in pools of hot molten lava. You may or may not have regretted that decision, because you definitely felt your back crack with a wince.

“Told you.” He said, as if knowing what you were thinking. “Was it good?”

“Was what good?” You shot back as you pulled yourself together hard enough to stand up.

“The sex.”

You almost choked on your own spit, wheezing out a: “JESUS CHRIST.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” You answered, shrugging off his confusion. “And that.” You said, referring to your private affairs. “Is none of your business.”

Seth’s smirk only tugged up further, turning even as smug as possible, for someone who’d gotten carried to bed by yours truly.

“C’mooooon. I heard you.” He teased. “Oh, Ra, please! Harder~! Harder~!”

You grabbed a nearby pillow and smacked him on the head.

“Bold words coming from you, Mr. I-fell-asleep-on-the-couch-so-Amheh-can-carry-me-like-the-princess-I-am!” You retorted, frowning.

After the entire charade involving hiding from Horus in antique pottery you had stayed up late, enjoying Seth’s yapping about other gods, laughing at how he mocked them and trash talked them, and eventually ended up watching him doze off on the couch. You had carried him back to bed, and when he stirred awake, he had tried to persuade you into joining him, which you refused. Multiple times.

He may have been one of the only people you’d be close enough to consider family, but that didn’t mean you trusted him any more than the venomous viper Ra was. For all you could know, this could’ve been a setup, to get you to admit to the crimes you’d been accused of.

“What’s your deal?” You suddenly blurted out.

“What?” Seth asked, suddenly confused.

“Why are you here?” You questioned, raising a brow. “Didn’t the council curse you to be a demigod? Last I checked, demigods don’t have temples, let alone ones this big-“

“How do you know about that?” He asked, suddenly aggressive. His eyes drifted to yours, blood red eyes meeting your light speckled ones.

“Oh please. You think I’m stupid? Even I, on my millennia long trip, managed to hear what kind of crap you shoved yourself into.” You chastised, half mocking, half annoyed.

“To answer your question, I was a god once.” He retorted, mirroring your tone.

“Was.” You corrected.

“…” he paused. “Your point?” His brow quirked, lips pursing together in annoyance.

“Why would Ra let you keep your temple? Let me tell you this. She wouldn’t.” You said, suddenly suspicious of him. “Did she set this up?”

“What do you take me for?! A fool?” Seth suddenly jumped, like an aggressive hound at the throat of a hare. “Of course not!”

You went silent, but eyed him suspiciously as you sat back down. He was too jumpy. Too quick to shut you down. Something was up.

Silence. It was deafening. It filled your mind, flitting and jumping in between traitorous thoughts and excuses for not believing him. It wasn’t the quiet, serene silence. No. It was the kind which upheld tension, almost suffocating when your brain’s buzzing with so many questions.

“Are you hungry?” Seth asked, breaking this silence.

“What?”

Seth? Offering you food? That was new. But then again, everything was new. You’d been gone millennia. He could’ve changed…

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Nevermind. He’s still the same angry sandcat he once was.

“I won’t.” You replied, defiantly.

“Fine.”

“Fine!” You insisted.

“Fine!” He mirrored.

Silence, again. This wasn’t how you wanted to start your day. In fact, you didn’t even feel like staying in his room anymore.

“I’m going out.” You said suddenly, standing up abruptly, getting ready to leave.

“No.” Seth refused.

“What do you mean, no?“ you whipped around to face him.

“I mean no. You’re not leaving. You’re supposed to be under my surveillance, remember?”

Oh great. Just great. This was what you needed. And it only fed your suspicions further. He may have only wanted to help, but knowing Seth…. There was also an ulterior motive.

“Too bad, sandcat.” You answered, heading for the door.

“What did you just call me?” He asked, stopping you in your tracks, his teasing smile gone, like the moon behind a cloud.

“Sandcat. It’s only fair that I get to call you that since you mistook me for that bastard Heh.” You stated, moving towards the exit, again.

“Cute. But still no.” He said coldly.

A wisp of sand coiled around your foot, keeping you pinned. He had. You knew that much. Demigod or no, his control over sand was much too better than any demigod you’ve encountered. That means, someone had granted him a temporary godhood. And you had a few people in mind.

“Seth.” You said firmly. “Let me go.”

He took in a deep breath, rubbing his hand through his long red hair.

“I can’t.”

You knew he couldn’t, for you could finally see the marking on his lower back. A small eye, in a thin circlet of sun rays, representing your one and only Sun god.

“You lied.” You stated.

“I did.” He replied, smirking sadly.

You paused. Your mind spiraling into too many questions and thoughts of betrayal.

“How much?” You asked. “How much do you have to keep me here, for you to gain your whatever he- she promised you?”

Seth went silent, his lips pressing into a thin line, he looked at you, and then at anything but you.

“A fortnight.” He answered.

Shit.

HEYYY GUYS. SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED IN SO LONG, I’ve just been busy with school stuff and catching up on some missing assignments! Hope you enjoyed this part, and I’ll make sure to try and write the next two parts faster!

[riabunn]

weirdcore tower character designs part 3! 👁️🗼

surprise surprise! this batch is a two-in-one!

Thingies are the toppins of weirdcore tower, based off of different objects commonly associated with weirdcore. they are Flower, Mushroom, Smiley, Meat, and Moon. moon is inspired by mac tonight from mcdonald’s

Thing Terrors are the toppin monsters of this au. they reside at an abandoned kids party venue which has games, indoor playgrounds and live performances where the terrors performed. the venue also serves food such as pizza, popcorn and juice, often having weird toppings/ingredients like eyes and teeth. more info on specific terrors: the meat terror is a decapitated butcher with his head replaced with a slab of meat. the decapitation was a HUGE part of the downfall of the kids party venue. the moon terror’s reference to mac tonight is much more evident. instead of shouting DINNAH! he shouts PARTEH!

the fakes and bruno are pretty much the same. clones like them can be glitchy in terms of speech and acts. how much they glitch depend on how stable the clone is. they can do any glitch you can think of that happens in video games. if a clone turns scary, their voice may sound deep and demonic, and/or their eyes bleed out black, and they become glitchier

fake peppino is the same strange goopy frog-acting being as his original version, but despite how he looks, he’s not quite the friendly guy that a lot of fans make him out to be, he’s actually quite terrifying. i imagine him to have a similar goal to RecD’s interpretation of him: HE WANTS PEPPINO ON THE PIZZA. as he’s unstable, he’s glitchy, but not as glitchy as fake ria. like seen near the end of RecD’s PTNE lyric video, he always makes pizza with strange things. PIZZA IS INEVITABLE. YOUR SKIN IS STUFFED CRUST.

the other bruno, can simply be referred as just bruno, this is not the same bruno that was peppino’s mentor. i have a hc that the version of bruno (ill refer him as the real bruno) you see after escaping from fake peppino is the mentor of peppino and passed the torch to him. no one except pizzahead knows what happened to him, which he was used to make fake peppino. in this au, it’s almost the same case, but it’s something very strange and unexplainable on what happened to him. the other version of bruno never actually existed in the waking world as was made by pizzahead’s equivalent (i won’t show him yet) as a pure mockery against peppino and the real bruno, as a caricature showing a message that peppino and the real bruno will never be as perfect as the other bruno. he appears at a liminal abandoned pizzeria still named “Peppino Pizza 2,” as a mural on the wall and an outdoor window. and yes he can still turn scary and become glitchy when he’s like that

fake ria (who’s still not canon, she’s basically never gonna be a canon character) is the same extremely unstable, extremely hostile lizard-acting being. she is one of the most unstable clones, so she is extremely glitchy. just like her og version, she hates pizzahead’s equivalent for not making her as good as fake peppino or bruno. she has the same distorted voice, and her pitch varies even more, her pitch can slide a lot here too

be warned, they are actually not as friendly as they look…

and that’s it for this part! i already know what pizzaface and pizzahead’s equivalents will look like, but i have yet to think of stuff for mr stick, peddito, the doise, pillar john and gerome… maybe i can do bonus characters after i do said characters, such as maurice! see you in the next part!

[anonymousreader4d7]

Hermit-a-day Day 17: Etho!

It's Mr. Slab for Day 17!!!

Etho, in RMAU-Verse, is an Unknown, subspecies Kitsune! As always, you can check out RMAU-Verse for explanations/details

I'm super pleased with my Etho design here. He's still clearly Kakashi-inspired, but he's also clearly his own character too! And he's so fluffy!!!!! But yeah, I really like my Etho here. I think I want his shoulder patches to be maple leaves... (But they were a little small here to really do that, XD)

[razzzletazzle]

title: Jacob's Ladder (read on ao3)

rating: G

summary: Digging for scraps in order to survive another barren winter, the boys find something far more precious than a space heater. The baby they pick up might not keep them warm, but he gives them something far more important: a reason to fight for the future.

inspired by this amazing art by @tapakah0 !

Dawn crawled into morning, sun peeking over the horizon, shining pale light on the razed town. Mounts of piled destruction littered the broken streets, heaping around the cracked and folded-together asphalt. Homes stood here, once, but now only skeletons remained, a glimpse of a simpler past found in the bright pink bike handle peeking out from under fallen walls, its purple glitter tassel rustling in a barely-there breeze.

Leo dug his hands deeper into the pile of debris he was sitting on. Sharp edges threatened to nick his hands, but he ignored the almost painful scrape against his scales.

Winter was almost at their doorstep, Autumn rolling further into dark, further into cold. Barely any snow fell anymore, but the nights and days had gotten more cutting, the cold had grown sharper teeth. If they wanted to make it through the coming season, they needed supplies. Clothes, blankets, machinery that Donnie could fix up or use to make new, better ones. Anything that would keep them alive and, if they were lucky, somewhat comfortable.

Rays of sun filtered from behind wispy clouds, finally finding him and his brothers. They brought him no warmth.

Leo tossed a broken phone – snapped clean in two and hanging on by force of will alone, the top and bottom parts crushed up almost past the point of being recognizable – over his shoulder. It clattered down the hill and onto the street below, where it either lay still, flat at the bottom of the pile, or disappeared into one of the giant cracks in the road. The noise echoed, only for a moment, and then all was quiet again, the only sound the scraping of concrete as their two strongest moved giant slabs out of the way, and the grind of small stones, wood, and whatever else was buried in the pile where he and Donnie were digging for scraps.

It was dull – almost oppressive, the silence that clung to his family. To himself, too, now, far too often. Sure, they still laughed, they still found comfort in each other, they were still there, but it was almost like they were muted, and Leo's fingers itched to turn the brightness back up. The need to speak, to fill the unbearable quiet, bubbled in his chest and clawed up his throat.  Sometimes Leo ignored it, this pressing urge, swallowed it back and pushed it down, hoping it would settle and ease. But sometimes he couldn't suppress it, the sight and lack of sound too heavy to endure.

A laugh, at the very least, would sound heavenly right now.

So he sighed, and he groaned, drawn-out and grossly exaggerated, and tossed his head onto his shoulder to look at Donnie, working diligently next to him. Leo's arms were still buried, half-way up to his elbows, in the debris.

"There's nothing but junk here."

He might've counted the familiar pull of Donnie's scowl as his first, small step towards victory, if Donnie's tone wasn't so tight.

"Of course it's all junk." Leo twitched at the edge that sharpened the words. "But it's your job to find the parts that aren't total scrap and give them to me so I can decide whether it's usable or not."

"I've done this before, you know," Leo muttered, and saw Donnie's scowl deepen out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm just saying, we've been at this for thirty minutes and we've found zilch."

There was a comment curling around Donnie's lips, Leo could tell, a rough dismissal, saying Leo just wasn't looking hard enough, then. Donnie probably found some useful things already. Instead, he said: "You have no sense of time. It's been ten minutes, at best."

"Says Mr. Hyper-focus," Leo said under his breath. He pulled at something stuck tight in the pile, wiggled it, and yanked it loose. He briefly lost his balance, rocking back on his heels, and managed to not tumble down. He looked at the piece in his hand.

More junk.

He tossed it over his shoulder.

Okay, new plan. Gauge how annoyed Donnie was exactly and how far he could push this, or if he shouldn't push anything at all, and if he should let the heavy shroud of silence settle back over them.

"Donnie," Leo whined, and watched keenly as his brother rolled his eyes. Alright, not a bad sign. Meant Donnie was in a poor mood, but not a leave me alone or I'll vaporize you mood. More an I need some TLC so I'd like my darling twin to annoy me mood. Sure, Donnie would never put it in those exact terms, but Leo was a verified Donnie-connoisseur, and he knew exactly what his brother needed.

Leo put his hands up and presented them to his still-working brother. They were dark with grime. "My fingers hurt," he announced with a pout.

"Tragic," Donnie said and dug further into the pile. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Kiss it better?"

Disgust curled at Donnie's snout and Leo fought not to grin. "I'm not going anywhere near those dirty paws of yours."

Mischievously, Leo wiggled his fingers and cooed: "Awww, but Donnie, they hurt! You wouldn't leave your only twin to suffer!"

He lunged, shoving his hands into Donnie's face, relishing the shriek he drew from his twin.

Donnie spluttered, pulling away sharply and trying, futilely, to keep Leo at arm’s length. He bared his teeth, fangs glinting, and snapped at Leo's squirming fingers straying too close to his mouth.

"So mean, Don-Don!" Leo whined around a laugh.

"If you don't get your hands – off! I'll happily be an only twin in two minutes!"

"Awww, that's so sweet of you to say! You think I'd hold out against your arsenal for two whole minutes!"

"Make that ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven – "

"Donnie," Raph's voice came, tired but still fond, from a little way behind them. "Don't threaten Leo with fratricide."

"Then he shouldn't– !" Donnie made another attempt to bite off Leo's wriggling fingers. "Tell him to stop! And that he needs a bath." To Leo, he said with a glower: "You stink worse than the sewers."

"Like you're any better, hermano."

"We all need a bath," Raph said as he picked both of them up by the scruff of their shirt and hung them in the air like particularly naughty kittens. "Both of you stink to high heaven, but you don't hear me complaining. So quit squabbling and get back to digging."

Donnie made a noise of protest. "I was working just fine before Leo–!"

Raph shook him once, jostling him and pulling his shirt just so that his arms hiked up, and gave him a look. Donnie acquiesced with a grumble and a stubborn, but meaningless, attempt at crossing his arms, succeeding only in crossing his wrists and accidentally framing his face. Leo muffled a snort.

Satisfied, Raph placed them gently back down. With his feet back on somewhat solid ground, even if it was rocky and precariously uneven in places, Leo looked at Raph. Scars lined up his arms, and there was a particularly gnarly scar covered by his mask where he lost his eye to a Kraang attack that haunted Leo's waking dreams. On instinct, Leo breathed in, but no scent greeted him. Raph had learned, by force of necessity, to keep his scent under control, to the point Leo couldn't smell him at all anymore. He wished he hadn't teased Raph for it when they were younger. It was another small comfort he often found himself missing.

"Found anything yet?" Leo asked. A small frown tugged Raph's lips down and his gaze became troubled, and Leo wished he could take the question back.

"Nothing," Raph said. "Looks like some other survivors passed by here before us, probably took whatever useful stuff that was still around with them."

Leo sighed. “Yeah, figured as much."

"Not everything's been taken," Donnie cut in. "I found a few scrap pieces and wires that'll help me create a heater. I need a few more pieces before I can build it, but we'll get there."

Worry hung heavily off Raph's shoulders, even though he tried to keep them up. He might've gotten a handle on his scent, but he still wore his emotions like a comfortable vest, like pages of a book written in large font, an inextricable part of him laid out so openly for them. Leo didn't think he could ever do the same, and he didn't know whether he envied Raph for it or not.

But worry wasn't Raph's burden to bear on his own, not anymore.

Leo patted Raph's arm and mustered up an easy smile. "We'll be fine, big bro. Trust me."

"Yeah..." Raph sighed. "Yeah, I s'ppose. We always are."

Leo wasn't sure why the easy trust made his chest feel so tight.

"Course we are," he said instead. "So stop worrying that big head of yours, m'okay?"

"My head's not big."

"Raph, big brother, your head's massive, 'cause it keeps growing along with that giant body of yours. You're huge, accept it."

"That's a really interesting way of asking for shell rides, Leo," Donnie said, smirking, because he knew exactly which secret he just laid out in the open. Leo gasped; Betrayed by his own kin, and Donnie had the gall to stand there and look smug.

Raph looked at Leo with big, soft eyes. "You want shell rides?"

"What – no! I mean, yes. No!"

"Awww, buddy," Raph cooed, and the worst part about it was that his brother really meant the almost-aggravatingly sweet tone. "If you wanted shell rides, you should've just asked! C'mere – "

"Raph, wait, no – "

A loud crash from behind them – where their little brother was still working through the pile – had them instantly on high alert, weapons one swift movement away from being drawn as they spun, quick and practiced, ready to tackle any possible danger.

An ugly, chipped mug was raised high above Mikey's head. The gaudy thing was decorated with a round, yellow smiley face in its center, orange and green 80's flowers circling the body. They were scratched to hell and back, but still mostly recognizable. Mikey's grin was blinding.

"Donnie!" he hollered. "Bring out the Poppins bag! I'm taking this baby with me!"

Tension bled out of them in one collective sigh.

"It's called – whatever. You guys will never get it right."

The relieved slant of Donnie's shoulders betrayed his nonchalant tone. He took a small pouch out of his pocket and opened it, tugging at its edges to make it big enough to put the mug in.

"Don't mix it with the clean items," Donnie instructed as Mikey bounded up to them.

"Don, if you want him to do that, you gotta upgrade that non-existent sorting system," Leo said. "Just make sure it's at the top or something."

"You have no idea how difficult it is to create a contained, portable pocket dimension meant for storage, nevermind to create any form of system within such a space."

"Right, yeah, explain that to me again some other time."

Donnie huffed and rolled his eyes. The bag was a project both he and Mikey had worked a long time on, combining both their ninpo into creating a storage space that could hold almost anything. It wasn't endless, but they hadn't reached its end yet, and it'd saved them from a pinch more than once.

Mikey proudly presented his new mug to them. It was even uglier up close.

"Look at it and weep!"

Leo wanted to weep alright, but not as much as Donnie, by the scrunched look on his face.

"It's a cool mug, Mikey," Raph said.

"Right? If I clean it up a lil', it'll be as good as new!"

"I'm boiling it at least five times, I hope you know." Donnie held out the bag.

"Of course! Man, this is so cool, that's the best find I've had in ages! You guys must be so jealous right now–"

A noise, nothing but the smallest rattle, faint but there, drew Leo's attention. He turned to find its source, tuned out his brothers, eyes sweeping across the destruction, a quick survey of the area, but he found nothing.

Another sound, less a rattle and more something alive. Leo straightened his back, standing to full attention, and brought up his fist as he clicked once, quick and sharp. His brothers hushed at once. He moved, trusting his brothers to follow and cover his back.

Donnie scanned the perimeter before they entered the area, but it wouldn't be the first time one of those pink monsters managed to evade the scanners somehow. He'd upgraded them, and upgraded them again, until they had almost no fault, but they'd grown to be careful – couldn't be careful enough – unlike their days in youth where hubris colored their every action. Before the world went to waste and everything they knew disappeared. They'd lost almost everyone. They couldn't bear to lose each other, too.

A piece of rounded concrete stuck out between the pile of wreckage across from them, and another small noise echoed out. A tunnel, then, of sorts, whatever the concrete had once been had made a passageway under the debris. And something was in there.

Leo motioned to it, then twirled his finger, signaled his brothers to spread out and circle the entrance. They assumed their positions without protest, without question, silent and swift. Raph remained at Leo's back.

A roofing sheet covered most of the entrance. Leo counted down from three to zero with his fingers, hand in the air, and lifted the sheet with his sword, but the movement must've displaced something, because a moment later it came tumbling down with a loud clatter, stone and metal grinding their way down.

He tensed, but whatever was inside the tube – and he could clearly see it was one now, reminding him somewhat of the sewer tubes of his childhood – didn't startle and attack. But another noise came, clearly now, and Leo froze. It sounded like a cough. A very tiny cough. And a gurgle. It sounded like –

Leo ducked, without thinking, and climbed into the tunnel.

Black guck covered the bottom. It smelled rancid, pungent in a rotting way. His hands and knees sank into the wet mass. He sucked in a breath and held it, hoping the stench would leave his nose if he didn't breathe for long enough.

He ignored Raph's startled and concerned "Leo?!" and crawled further. He trudged through the sludge, trying not to gag at the slimy feel. Pieces of metal stuck through the roof of the tunnel, but Leo found himself lucky enough to not have to duck under them far enough to end belly-down in the gunk.

The baby looked up at him when he came to a stop close by. His cheeks weren’t nearly as chubby as they should be, and his hair was matted and greasy, clinging to his scalp. Only a ratty blanket covered him, flimsily at best. Something dark and unpleasant mixed with the black guck, and Leo didn't need to see the dried blood on the kid's arm to know what it was.

He looked past the baby, further down the tunnel, and saw a man. His arm was outstretched, reaching towards the kid, face turned towards them. A giant puncture hole was clear as day on his back, as repulsive as it was familiar.

Dead.

He must've died protecting his baby.

"How long've you been here, little guy?" Leo muttered, and regretted it immediately, a fresh wave of rot bombarding his senses. He coughed, covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

"Alright," he said, strained. "You're coming with me."

He wiped his hand on his thigh, clearing most of the gunk from it, even if the baby was dirty enough that another layer wouldn't matter that much, and gingerly touched him. The baby grabbed at his fingers immediately, like a homing missile seeking warmth, sudden enough to startle Leo. He gurgled, big, doe eyes staring wetly up at Leo.

"Yeah, yeah," Leo mumbled, soft. "No need to look at me like that, I'm not leaving you here."

He unwrapped his scarf after wiping off his other hand, and fashioned it into a sling, knot tied atop his shoulder. He picked the baby up and murmured softly to him when he whined.

“I know, kiddo. Just a bit longer.”

The baby fit snugly into the sling, covered from head to toe by the scarf. The baby made a noise and curled his tiny fingers into Leo’s shirt, cuddling closer against him and burying further into the sling. He’d been out in the cold for a long time, it was nothing short of a miracle that the kid didn’t have hypothermia. Leo attempted to cradle him closer.

"Sorry, this'll be a bumpy ride. Hang tight, okay?"

Leo spared another glance at the man. It didn't feel right to leave him here to rot, after he gave his life to protect his child, but there was no other choice. Even if they dragged him out, there was no place to bury him, and no time to spare on it. Not with recent Kraang activity painted in the decay of his body. Leo closed his eyes, paid him respect the only way he still could, honoring the man's sacrifice.

His brothers called his name, their voices thin and sharp as they echoed through the tunnel and beat against his eardrums, their worry thick. Leo turned, and didn't look back.

Leo gulped in fresh air greedily the moment he tumbled out of the tunnel. He coughed, attempting to banish the foul smell out of his lung, while his arms curled around the baby.

"Leo," Raph rumbled, upset clinging to his words. "What were you thinking! You can't leave without saying anything! What if you got – " He paused. "What is that?"

The baby peeked over the top of the sling, curiously taking in his new surroundings and the people around them. Leo carefully took the baby out of the sling and showed him to his brothers. Their jaws dropped.

"Leo–  what– " Raph spluttered.

"Why do you have a baby," Donnie's tone was dry, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"I found him," Leo said and held the child out towards them. "Isn't he cute?"

"He's naked."

Leo wiggled the kid. "Yeah, but so were we until we were forced into clothes. C'mon, look at 'im."

The baby cooed and giggled when Leo wiggled him again. Leo couldn't stop his grin. That's right, kid, back him up here.

"He's adorable," Raph said and Mikey nodded in agreement, a gentle smile and soft look on his face that Leo hadn't seen in a while. Then, it turned to a frown.

"He's dirty." Mikey looked at Leo. "You're dirty." His nostrils flared and he pulled a face. "Oh, Pizza Supreme, you reek."

"It was full of gross, rotting stuff in there, of course I stink."

"Nuh-uh, no, that's – Donnie, bag!"

Donnie, remaining at a decent distance from Leo, the scent probably having wafted his way now as well, shoved the Poppins bag into Mikey's hands.

"Leo, come here," Mikey commanded as he took out a surprisingly well-maintained towel and a bottle marked Rain out of the bag.

"No, Mikey," Leo protested, even as his little brother stalked towards him and the wiggling child in his arms. "We shouldn't waste water on something like this – "

Mikey shushed him. "If you think I'm going to let you run around smelling like that, you're an idiot. Now, hands."

There had never been any arguing with Mikey. Reluctantly, Leo did as told. The water felt wonderful on his scales, black gunk and slime washing off his hands, then his knees when those were clean.

"Baby."

Leo carefully angled the baby in his arms so Mikey could rinse him off.

"Hold him tight."

A task far easier than Leo would've thought it would be. The kid whined and fussed a little when Mikey poured the water in small streams over him and scrubbed the filth off him, but he was otherwise extremely well-behaved. Maybe he was tired. Leo hoped he wasn't sick.

Leo dried the baby off while Mikey dug a blanket out of the bag – and dropped Leo’s now-dirty scarf in – which he then used to swaddle the baby. The kid cuddled into the warmth of the blanket, and released a body-shaking sneeze.

"Is he sick?" Raph asked, worriedly. His hands hovered near them, shifting around, but never reaching out, as if afraid to hurt the fragile little thing curled in Leo's arms.

Leo examined the child's eyes, nose, and mouth. "Doesn't seem like it," he determined. "But it bears keeping an eye on, to be sure."

"Was he alone down there?" Donnie asked as he poked the kid's cheek and earned himself a gurgled coo in response.

Leo's face fell. "There was a man there, too. Been dead a few days. I think he was the kid's father. The..." he hesitated. "The Kraang got him."

The air turned tense, his brothers grew grim.

"They were here. Recently," Donnie mumbled. "We should..."

"Move," Leo agreed. "Soon."

Mikey sighed. "And I was just starting to like that place, too."

Guilt swirled like the beginning of a vortex in Leo's chest. He swallowed down the instinctive sorry, knew none of his brothers would appreciate that pesky self-blame rearing its ugly head again, not after they'd spent so long picking up and gluing together the pieces that'd shattered after the end began.

The baby shifted in his arms, rolling over and almost careening out of his hold and onto the ground. Leo, panicked, scrambled to shift the kid and hold him more securely.

"Don't do that!" he scolded, but the baby just blinked at him, like he had no idea why Leo had stopped him from whatever little plans his infant brain had hatched.

"Are we..." Raph hesitated. "Are we taking him with us?"

The question was tentative, a glimmer of something Leo couldn't quite identify sparkling in Raph's gaze, but he knew it was soft, and maybe even a little hopeful, but the uncertainty Leo himself felt was clear for him to see. The baby was heavy in his arms and suckled sweetly at one of Leo’s fingers.

"We can't leave him here," Mikey said, loud, like it was already a protest. "He'll die!"

"Yeah, 'course, I didn't mean..." Raph held his hands up. How he managed to always look so much smaller than their little brother in moments like these would forever remain a mystery to Leo.

"It's a fair question, Mikey," Leo said. "It'll be a lot of work. We'll need to find far more food and supplies than what we survive on now - "

"So we're leaving him here just because - "

"Michael," Donnie cut in. His no-nonsense tone always worked best on Mikey, and they watched the rush of a fight leave their little brother. "It's an important thing to consider. This is a child, an entire person we need to take care of. Are we the best choice for that?"

They didn't know anything about babies, all reference they had was from their Pops' stories about their own childhood – and most of that was probably not applicable to fully human children – and some TV shows, which left much to be desired.

Mikey looked sadly at the baby and rested the back of his hand against his cheek.

"Where else is he supposed to go?" he whispered. "We're all he has."

Sorrow frayed at Leo's edges. His brother wasn't wrong – the kid was all alone in the world. They couldn't trust other humans to take care of him, even if they managed to find a group of them anywhere soon. There was no vetting process trustworthy enough in the mess that was the apocalypse for them to entrust the baby to strangers. Leo glanced at Donnie and Raph, and knew, from the looks on their faces, they were considering the exact same thing. Leo and Raph's eyes met, they exchanged nothing but a wordless look for a moment, and then they nodded.

"He'll need a name,” Raph said. Mikey looked between them for a startled moment and then positively lit up.

"I've got the best names! There's Clunk, Cody, Haley, Joel -"

Donnie, a smile tilting at his lips, leaned in, consideringly, and he hummed a melody-less tune.

"He reminds me somewhat of Cassandra."

Leo made a noise that was a mix between offense and confusion, while Raph, looking only confused, leaned curiously closer to the baby.

"Oh!" Mikey said. "He does kinda look like her, doesn't he?"

Leo squinted down at the child in his arms. The baby looked back up at him with wide, dark eyes.

"I don't see it," Leo said. "He's so much cuter."

"He's a baby," Donnie huffed, but Leo could hear amusement in his tone. "They're designed to be cute."

"Which means I'm right."

"No, Leo, look. He does look like her," Raph's hands skated around the baby, one palm almost dwarfing the little guy. He pushed the kid's hair back with one, careful finger. "See?" The baby reached up, grabbed Raph's finger best he could with his tiny baby-grip. Raph melted, smile wide and warm, and Leo's breath almost stopped, stolen from his lungs, because he felt, vaguely, as if the sun had come out for the first time after a barren, endless winter.

"Okay," Leo said. Cleared his throat to rid it off its roughness. "Yeah, okay. I guess I see it. So, Casey, then?"

"Casey Junior," Mikey declared, a new sort of pride lining him almost as bright as his ninpo. "It's perfect."

"You wanna hold him, Raph?" Leo asked. It was easy to spot the building refusal, worry and hesitance pinging back in his big brother's eyes, so Leo, swiftly, and without too much jostling, deposited the baby in Raph's arms.

Panic seized, but only for a moment, because then Casey cuddled closer up to him, burying himself in the safe comfort of Raph's arms, and every bit of tension washed away.

His brothers huddled around, gazing at the slowly dozing baby nestled, like he'd always belonged there, in their big brother's arms. They talked in hushed, bright tones, and warmth sang like a crackling hearth through Leo’s soul.

Picking up Casey might’ve been the best thing he’d ever done.