#it’s been rotting away in my files for a few months and i don’t know if i’ll ever finish it in a way that feels right so. be free

[ciearcab]

old unfinished painting. something about unpacking feelings towards stampede vash and the other plants

[weathertheraine]

Pirate AU!! Thank you @stringofturtles for watching OFMD S1 with me and re-igniting my Pirate Emotions so I had the motivation to finish this. The first sketches have been sitting in my files for months so please forgive the fact that they look different skdfjh.

More fleshed out AU details under the cut !! :D

- The kids are a little older than canon - the third years in their early 20s - but the story still starts with the second and third years as an established crew who then pick up the first years and the coaches.

- Daichi as a Captain is of course very much like he is in canon. He works very hard to take care of his crew and takes on a huge responsibility for providing for them (as well as making sure they don’t die in idiotic ways). Suga is First Mate so it’s his job to make sure DAICHI is okay and not worrying himself to death. He also has a good handle on morale/the emotional state of the crew.

- Asahi is the first line of offence when dealing with other ships. He doesn’t like actually hurting people, but he’s good at breaking ranks and barrelling through defences to get hold of whatever Karasuno needs. He was ‘off the team’ and out of commission for a little while after he lost his hand (not seeing combat while he was in recovery, and needing to build up his courage again). Noya played a huge part in helping him back onto his feet, and has been kind of protective ever since.

- Noya’s job is to make sure the ship isn’t boarded, so he very rarely leaves it.

- Ennoshita and Kiyoko work together as navigators and managing the little money the crew has. Ennoshita is the only crew member in the beginning who can kind-of read (Kiyoko can only read a little), and they work a lot with maps and planning out journeys.

- Tanaka is great at intimidating opponents. His eyepatch is totally for show - he thinks it makes him look cooler and scarier. His parrot doesn’t often co-operate with him.

- Narita and Kinoshita take care of maintenance and supplies and making sure there isn’t gunpowder anywhere there shouldn’t be, as well as things like fraying rigging and rotting boards/canons secure and the like. Of course, things like that are everyone’s responsibility, but these two consider is theirs particularly. It’s thankless work but the boat would definitely have burned down by now if not for them.

- Enter the first years!

- Kageyama is a prodigy swordsman with a huge reputation as a lethal pirate, although most people who spread those rumours don’t realise he’s as young as he is. He was marooned by his previous crew for being a controlling Captain (who should never have been captain in the first place, having only his fighting talent as the real reason).

- Hinata recently ran away from home to “become a pirate” without much of an idea what that actually entailed, and ran into Kageyama without knowing his reputation. All he knew was that this guy was incredible fighter, and he demanded that he teach him to fight! He now won’t leave him alone.

- Tsukishima ran away as a very young child in an attempt to find Akiteru, whose sailing ship was attacked and lost at sea. He fell in with pirates along with Yamaguchi (who was picked up after surviving a shipwreck), and the pair ended up sticking together as they bounced from ship to ship, ready to run whenever it seemed like tensions were getting high. They (read: tsukki) are going to need to break this habit, if they’re going to be a real part of this new crew.

- Tsukishima and Yamaguchi can’t sleep if they’re not in the same hammock. Embarrassing. The reason Yamaguchi was so tiny as a little kid is that he didn’t get enough food. Tsukishima still tries to sneak him extra (and gets in trouble with Daichi).

- Tadashi ends up as a sharpshooter, one of the few kids who’s confident using a pistol

- Hinata and Kageyama spar together all the time. It’s GOING to end in a make-out the first time Hinata successfully beats him.

- Neither of them have noticed that Tanaka’s eyepatch switches sides.

- Yachi is picked up when the crew stop in a bar in her town. She’s a better-off girl, about to be talked into an politically advantageous marriage, and desperately wants to get out of her situation. “Running away with pirates” was admittedly pretty drastic, but anything sounds like a good idea when Hinata suggests it so sincerely!!

- Ukai is a washed up older pirate, without a crew. Takeda is a very unlucky literature teacher who just happened to be on a sea voyage. They both ended up taken as hostages by the same (meaner) pirate crew, who were then stolen by the Karasuno kids. Although, it’s kind of unclear at this point whether they’re actually prisoners… They’re being treated very nicely (especially Sensei) and are in danger of getting attached…

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

congrats on 900 rae !!!

i’m so proud of you reaching this milestone and i will always cherish you mind and works !! <3

“love is not over” i’m in my angst feels, i wanna feel tears run down my cheeks🥲

Ran this as a vibe, hope that's okay! ~650 words

When you're barely a teenager, you watch Jason Todd's coffin be lowered into the cold, hard dirt. Your hands are fisted in the fabric of your black clothes, and it feels like your world is ending.

The drizzle patters on the umbrella held lowly over your head, but you can hardly hear the sound over the way grief and anger seem to tighten your throat.

The tears that stain your face don't go away, not after the chestnut wood is long since covered, and not after the flowers lining the granite headstone start to wilt. You want to look away, want to pretend none of this is real. But you can't.

Jason Todd is dead and buried long before you really understand the meaning of the word love, but it's love that keeps him alive and vibrant in your memories. (And in your heart)

At first, in the first few weeks after his death, it's love and denial that keeps you instinctively filing things away to tell him later, keeps you looking over your shoulder to laugh with someone who will never be there again.

Then, it’s love and bittersweet sorrow that keeps his picture on your wall, that keeps the ever growing pile of trinkets in your closet to give to a boy that will never come home.

It’s love still, that has you visiting his grave to leave behind flowers and stories of your changing life. Even if your visits grow less frequent as the years pass, you find yourself talking to the silent gravestone at least once a month.

Most people grow out of their first love, some people go on to marry their first love. You, instead, find yourself in a strange limbo with the idea of love.

Even if you didn’t know it, then when you were younger and brighter and blind to the rot of Gotham, you had loved Jason Todd. Loved the laughter he brought to your life, loved the way his smile always made you mirror the expression yourself.

You think a part of you will always love him, crave the possibilities of what could have been. But maybe you’ve just never been good at saying goodbye, at least not to him.

Your heart hangs onto the love you carry for him, even as the granite starts to weather, and his name starts to chip on the stone. But no amount of love will bring the boy in the ground back to you.

So, you keep his name in a box in the deepest parts of your heart, and try to learn how to move on. You don’t quite find what you’re looking for, not the love that makes you starry eyed and warm, but you learn how sweet kisses can be, how warm someone else can be when they hold you close and steady.

You don’t quite fall in love again, but you grow and learn and find yourself surrounded by a different kind of love. You decide you don’t need more than that. You decide that, for you, there might not be another Jason Todd, and that’s okay. You can still be happy, still love, and be surrounded by people who love you.

It’s a notion you’ve grown comfortable with. So when there’s a sharp knock to the glass of your apartment window, and piercing eyes meet yours through the frame, you have no idea what to do with the name that gets torn from the box you’ve buried in the recesses of your soul.

Well, almost no idea.

It’s love again that gets you to open the window. Love that lets a stranger crawl into your home and stain your carpet with mud. Love that reminds you of the way the man standing uneasily in your kitchen likes his tea.

Love that makes you brave enough to listen to his story and not break down in tears. Love that gives you the will to reach out, squeeze his hand, and ask if he’d like to visit you again.

It’s love that makes him say yes.

[heademptie]

Scrapes and Bruises

CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFAE III (2023) DRABBLE HANDLER! READER, UNDECIDED/READER: 

cw: mentions of death, hospitals. mild depictions of violence (one punch is thrown) mentions of mental illness (PTSD). [I don't know if there other warnings I should add]

a/n: the writing is incosistent because the idea got away from me a bit. unedited ramblings. there are definatly military and medical inacuraces, and if i make this a proper fic/fic series there will be more. im leaning towards making this a price x reader fic because he's my recent brainrot. the title is also subject to change.

   Handler! Reader who used to work in the field until they suffered an injury that made active field work too difficult, instead taking up a desk job, occasionally training recruits in the basics. Handler! Reader works hard, doing the rare, simple job out in the field, and eventually gets promoted to a handler position. A contact for soldiers doing confidential, dangerous work. Reader is good at their job, their innate healthy (not so healthy) amount of paranoia serves to keep themselves and their charges safe. Theres been close calls, and severe injuries (one charge lost an limb, another's lungs will never recover, and of course the PTSD almost all have), but only three have died in their eight years (almost nine) as a handler. Some cases lasted a few months, others years. 

   It’s after a four year long case, a pair of soldiers are finally able to go home, they wear new scars and their bodys have new aches. The paperwork is all done, the soldiers have been checked over and given well deserved time off and counselling. Reader gets them settled, hands them off to the person who helps them readjust to society, offers (like every time) for them to call if they need. But like every time, they nod to be polite and don’t take Reader up, wanting to cut ties from the time spent isolated. 

   Reader gets a call then, asking them to be the handler for a new soldier, one who hasn’t done this type of work before. The isolation that rots away at soldiers' minds. So they agree, they’ve always been the best at handling the newbies. A file is sent over in an email, the soldiers information inside, along with a brief explanation of circumstances. A K.I.A case, these ones needed to be handled carefully. 

   Handler!Reader arrives at a military hospital, always hating being here, always being the bad guy here, and the place is in a bit of a flurry. They’re dressed in fatigues, blending in to the soldiers and medics around. It's easy to spot the team they’ll have to pry a comrade from, be the bringer of grief and mourning, and it kills a bit of them too. They wait off to the side, speaking with a nurse absently, actively avoiding looking at the team. They already look defeated, hollow and angry and, much to Readers juxtaposing relief and dread, hopeful. After a while, Reader makes their way past the team, escorted by a nurse through a set of doors separating dire patients from their concerned teams, friends, family. 

   They get to the Sargents room, Sargent MacTavish, he’s surrounded by doctors and nurses, all fluttering to keep him stable. It feels pervasive, it always does, to watch him be sewn together, hear the shriek beeps that monitor his heart, to watch him die. Except he’s not actually dying, not currently anyways, it's all a show, John MacTavish is currently unconscious in front of them, peacefully asleep as a play of chaos happens around him. Armed with a surgical mask and latex gloves, they slip into the chaos easily, grab their dead soldier's hand and squeeze it. A comfort more for them than him. Reader slips a note between his teeth and cheek, laminated to avoid damage before he can read it and uses a sharpie to mark the inside of his left bicep. A subtle way to let the morgue know not to autopsy.

   They leave the room the same time as the rest of the medics, departing in a flurry of movement, they pass the team again as the doctor in charge approaches. She delivers the news with practised sympathy, giving them a beat before leading them to where Sargent MacTavish lay dead. If they check, his heart won’t be beating, his skin won’t be as warm, he’ll look dead, he’ll feel dead too.

    (“Let them say goodbye.” “What?” “The only way I take this job, be a handler, is if they can say goodbye.” “It will put them in danger.” “Let the people they leave behind say goodbye.” “We can’t-” “The only way.” “Fine.”)

   He’s cremated, they typically are, and his ashes are spread somewhere Reader hasn't been. Handler! Reader takes Johnny there. They wait for him to get his bearings, patient as he processes what he’s been told. 

   (“‘M no’ dead.” “Literally? No, of course not. Officially? Time of death eighteen, thriteen.” “An’ ma team?” “Alive and, well not well, but physically they’re relatively unharmed.” “Relatively?” “Scrapes and bruises, Sargent MacTavish. Just scrapes and bruises.” “I wa’ shot.” “Yes.” “In the’ head?” “Yes.” “Bu’ ‘m alive.” “Sargent-” “Johnny.” “Johnny, give me your hand please.” “Wha’ for?” “...There it is.” “Wha’?” “Your pulse, steady and strong. Exceptional for a dead man.” “...” “...” “Ya do this alo’?” “Job of the Ferryman, Johnny. Job of the Ferryman.”)

   They watch from afar, safely hidden in tall grass looking through a sniper's scope. Reader purposefully ignores the shake in Johnny's shoulders, does not comment when his hand covers his mouth and a muffled, near silent, cry barely reaches their ears. 

   Handler! Reader has to pull him away, covering his mouth just in case he calls out to them, he doesn’t thankfully, he doesn’t fight as hard as others do, some part of him resigned to this new work.

   (“They won’t want to go, they’ll fight you.” “I know.” “No, you don’t. It’s not the kindness you think it is.” “It can be.” “It can also be a torture.” “I know.” “No,” “Yes, sir, yes I do know. They will fight and kick and scream and beg. But there will be some, if only just one, who will be thankful. And the ones who don’t make it, because that's something I have to accept, that there will be casualties, no matter how good they are, how good I am. They will remember that they got to say goodbye. At the end of the day it’s just scrapes and bruises.” “Your hearts’ too big for this.” “Nah, I’ve lost just enough of it.”)

   Handler!Reader gets him far enough away, safe for him to scream and grieve without an audience. That's where he hits them, a solid punch to the jaw and more yelling before he just collapses to his knees in the stony dirt. Little pebbles try to dig into the fabric and flesh over his knees, and Reader joins him, sits with their arms around their knees and looking out into the distance while Johnny composes himself. Their jaw aches and they only rub it slightly, curiously pressing on the forming bruise, a hum that sounds awfully like admiration taking Johnny's attention. It takes a half hour, forty-one minutes to be precise, for them to get moving. Johnny apologises on the way to the car.

   (“‘M, ach, ‘m sorry fer…” “Nothing to apologise for, Johnny.” “No, really, ‘m sorry. Ye dinnae deserve,” “Scrapes and bruises, Johnny, it's just scrapes and bruises.”)

a/n: yeeaah, this is gonna be a proper fic eventually

[nixytea]

TEASER - at the will of the waves (yjw)

pairing: otaku!yang jungwon x otaku!gn reader

genre: love is hard for wotaku (wotakoi) au, childhood friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, slight angst, one-sided pining (don't worry it gets better)

summary: to pretty much everyone you know, you’re a diligent office worker. but behind closed doors? you’re what society calls an “otaku”: obsessed with manga, anime, gaming and the like. after a traumatising event, you swear to yourself you will never again let anyone find out about this side of you, but what happens when Yang Jungwon, your best friend from middle school and fellow nerd, squeezes his way into your life again?

est wc (well at least my aim): 5k?

You’ve got a feeling the universe might just hate you. Just a teeny tiny hunch.

Today’s supposed to be a fresh start for you. New job, new coworkers, new outfit -- which you totally didn’t spend two months’ worth of your salary to purchase, no way.

So then why in the name of Eren Jaeger’s left buttcheek are you sprinting towards the train station in three-inch heels?

It’s your first day at work, you can’t afford to be late. “If i can just run a little faster-” you wheeze, frantically swinging your arms. A hiss of the doors and you’re in. “Nice, I’ll be on time at this rate,” you think to yourself. It’s the morning train, so you opt to grasp a handle dangling from the bars overhead. Relief washes over your body, relaxing your overworked calf muscles. Nothing can stop you today.

Yet as your eyes skim across a manga advertisement, you can't help but clench your free hand.

I hope no one finds out this time.

Less than ten minutes later, you find yourself in a waiting room. The door swings open, and a tall woman steps in. She doesn’t seem much older than you, yet she exudes the confidence you’ve only dreamed of having since middle school. You can't help but admire the way everything about her screams elegance and professionalism. That would’ve helped three months ago, you muse internally.

“Nice to meet you. I’m your supervisor, and I’ll be your guide for the next few weeks. We work in the same department.” She offers her hand, a graceful smile spreading across her face. “I hope we get along well.”

You grip her palm in a firm handshake, while secretly scanning her gorgeous face. “Let’s work hard together!’

Your supervisor leads you into the hallway, briefing you as she strides along. Thoroughly engrossed in your new mentor’s advice, you only realise someone else is in the corridor when your shoulder brushes theirs ever so slightly. Yet you continue walking on after a quick apology, attention returning to-

Wait.

You swivel around, disregarding your supervisor’s confused mumble. “Yang Jungwon?!”

The once-fading back of your victim pauses, head lolling to his side. “Y/n?”

Your mind races in overdrive, thoughts scrambling in your head as you scramble to open your mouth. “H-hey, Jungwon! It’s um, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Last time we met was in middle school!” Your hand lifts in a shaky wave, heart skipping at the glimpse of his familiar smirk. “It’s so unexpected! What are the odds that we’d be working here together?” Avoiding the curious gazes of your supervisor and Jungwon’s colleague, you continue rambling on. “Uhh…let’s catch up over dinner! Don’t be late!” You mentally slap yourself to shut your mouth, and breeze past the two men. Phew, that was close. You cannot let the only person who knows your darkest secret go free. Luckily you’d spotted him on your first day, or who knows-

“By the way, are you tabling at Comic Con?”

You swear you were one word away from a heart attack. “C-comic Con? What’s that? Ahahahahahaha you’re so funny Jungwon! Bye now!”

crap crap crappity crap crap crap-

note: listen…i have like 3 wips in my files right now and this is my first attempt at fic writing ever so uh imma try my best cuz my interest is on the line too ehe look forward to it!! nixytea out!

[pomegranate-machinations]

A Demotion (Jayce/Viktor)

i’ve been keeping this drabble in my notes app for months. this was the first thing i had written for arcane, but i never posted it until now!

In which Jayce slips up at a benefactor event, and Viktor is rightfully pissed.

Word Count: 719

Content: G rating, tooth rotting fluff, pet names, Jayce is far too soft and Viktor can never stay mad for long

“Knock, knock.”

Viktor huffed, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to say ‘Knock, knock,’ you know that, right?”

He had been sat in the lab for a few hours, hunched over his desk but doing more pouting than any proper work.

The door slowly swung open, revealing Jayce fully shrinking into his suit jacket. The image almost made Viktor laugh, but he quickly stiffened as he remember he was supposed to be upset.

Wordlessly, Jayce slouched over to the desk to stand beside him, his eyes the size of dinner plates and fully locked onto Viktor in silent pleading.

Viktor averted his gaze, lip trembling to keep his smile at bay. He had to hold strong on this one, regardless of how precious his partner was acting. After all, he had been mortified.

The two of them had been at a Hextech showcase. After the roll out of the second wave of Atlas Gauntlets, they had been playing circus for weeks. All of the benefactors wanted an up close and personal look at the new designs, and of course Jayce obliged, wanting to constantly keep their progress moving. Viktor was completely onboard, until tonight.

After the presentation, Jayce had been doing his usual rounds chatting with the benefactors of the evening. Viktor normally preferred to just trail behind, happy to quietly hoard snacks and look on in wonder while Jayce worked his charm. However, during one of his notorious sales pitches to a potential investor, he had referred to Viktor as his “assistant.”

Now, of course they had a level of professionalism to uphold. “Boyfriend” wasn’t necessarily going to get them the support they needed. Normally, they had both stuck with “partner” when it came to Hextech. Sometimes for giggles it would be “colleague,” normally accompanied with an air of mocking snootiness that passed over the heads of their debutante audiences. But never, never, was it “assistant.” As soon as Jayce had said it, he knew what he did wrong, and quickly corrected to “colleague,” but it was too late.

Which had lead Viktor back to lab, staring at the wall and debating the purchase of a pencil skirt to accompany his demotion.

And in turn, had led Jayce to mooning over him like a kitten in a puddle.

“If you don’t need anything from me, I really do need to get on with my work.” He paused, throwing over his shoulder. “After all, I am just your assistant-“

A light pressure against his leg cut him off. As he looked down, his last bit of stubborn strength melted away.

Jayce had taken to sitting criss-cross on the floor, pathetically leaning his head against Viktor’s thigh as he looked up at him with the biggest pleading eyes. He still hadn’t said a word, but kept his cheek squished against Viktor’s leg.

Viktor’s heart burst, and he ran a hand through Jayce’s hair.

“You know, you can’t always get away with things like this.” Jayce moved to prop his chin up on Viktor’s knee, his pout morphing into a small grin.

“I can so long as you let me.���

Viktor shoved his head gently, snorting. Jayce caught his hand, grabbing it and pressing his lips to Viktor’s knuckles gently. Viktor’s ears burned, and he turned away slightly.

“Fine, fine! But if you ever call me your assistant again, I’m filing for divorce. Understand?”

“Of course, of course. From now on it’s only ‘my love.’” Jayce pulled his arm slightly to face him, kiss his hand again. Viktor burned a little more, sinking into his chair.

“Or would you prefer ‘my heart’?” He placed another kiss, this time on Viktor’s wrist.

“‘My dove’?” A kiss on his forearm.

“‘My angel’?” Two kisses along the crook of his arm.

“‘My light’?” A kiss on his shoulder.

At this point, Jayce had risen to stand over Viktor, who had turned into a blushing pile in his seat. Attempting to save some grace, Viktor straightened up a bit.

“P… Partner is still fine.”

Jayce smiled, lightly pecking Viktor on the lips.

“Partner it is then!”

Viktor brow furrowed, and he surged up, wrapping his arms around Jayce’s shoulders to pull him closer.

“Then kiss me like your partner, and not like a fucking assistant.”

Jayce’s smile widened, and he leaned in.

“Of course.”

ty for reading !! check my fic tag if you’d like to read more, i usually post on ao3 and share the links here!

[itsallyscorner]

For Tom x

Pairing: Tom Holland x singer!reader

Summary: You have a surprise for Tom:)

Warnings: none, just pure teeth rotting Fluff:)

A/n: Hello my loves! This is literally a rewrite because I accidentally deleted the original version of this story on Tumblr RIGHT before I was gonna post it😭 Anyway here it is, I hope you all like it! Ally x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

look at my sunshine🥺

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Your giggles filled the hallway as you lead Tom into your makeshift studio. Since you were quarantining with him and his mates in their shared home in London, you were miles away from your crew and studio. Which, yes, made it difficult to record an entire album on your own—but it did give you the creative freedom to do whatever you pleased for the album.

The boys had their own creative outlets; for example putting together a puzzle or having a movie marathon. While you found those activities enjoyable, the inner singer in you couldn’t stop thinking of beats or coming up with lyrics in your head. You needed the studio—you needed to bring those beats and lyrics to life before you could forget them. So with the help of the houses’ tech lord himself, Harry made it possible for you to have your own little studio in the spare guest room of the house. There, you spent endless days writing and recording things like harmonies and building melodies. Little did you know that this would lead to the creation of your sixth album. Now a couple months later, your latest album is currently in its final stages and would soon be released to the world.

Tom adoringly watched your figure, which was drowned in one of his oversized jumpers, excitedly skip towards the guest room. As soon as you were both inside, you rushed to close the door and eagerly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What have you been up to, lovey?” He teasingly asks you. He knew you were up to something, he just didn’t know if it were bad or good.

Your figure was bent over the desk where your laptop was located. Turning over your shoulder you tell him, “It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You’re met with an amused grin on his blush pink lips.

Gathering your laptop into your arms, you move to sit beside Tom on the bed. He curiously leans forward, trying to get a glance at what’s on your screen.

“Nuh uh, it’s a surprise, Thomas.” You playfully scold him and gently push his face away from your laptop. He responds with a pout against your palm before pressing a kiss onto your skin. You continue to click around on your laptop, looking through your documents for the specific file.

Meanwhile, Tom shuffles further up the bed, getting comfortable. He notices the new distance between you and him and decides that he’s unsatisfied with the additional inches. He choses to snake his arms around your waist and lifts you up, happily placing you on the empty and lonely space on his lap. Laying down on his back, he takes a moment to admire the way you look in his jumper. It was a few sizes bigger than you and stopped right above your knees. The jumper may have looked good on him, but it looked absolutely perfect on you.

“You look so cute in my jumper.” He hums, hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs. Your nose scrunches up as you lightly slap his chest; your silent way of saying “shut up” whenever Tom would say something that made you blush.

You finally find the file you were looking for and place your laptop on your lap. You nervously glance at your screen, biting down on your lip out of habit.

“Ok, so I did something.” You started. Tom squints his eyes at you, “That sounds like the beginning of a really bad something.”

You huff, “I just told you it wasn’t anything bad! Do you want your surprise or not?”

Tom chuckles and grasps onto your thighs, “Yes—yes, sorry, keep going.”

“So you know how I’ve already finished my album?” You question him. Tom nods, staring up at you while you sit on his thighs.

“Well, I wrote a few more songs that were supposed to be on the album. But I don’t know, I felt a bit greedy and decided to keep them for myself.” You explain. Tom raises a brow at you, “Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping songs to yourself. If you don’t want to share them, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s just that, they’re about you.” You pause, staring down at your fingers that fiddled together. “Like I wrote them specifically for you to listen to. I wanted to include them on the album, but it just didn’t feel right to share something that was meant only for you.”

You place your laptop on the bed and turn it so the screen is facing Tom.

“So...as a solution, I made you your own album.” You were too busy avoiding his stare, that you missed the twinkle in Tom’s coffee colored orbs. He carefully sits up, his arms around you getting tighter, as he pulls you closer into his chest. Tom ducks his head down to yours, nudging your nose with his to get you to look at him. When your eyes finally meet, the lopsided grin on his features grows wider.

“You made me my own album?”

“Yeah.” You shyly answer. Tom softly coos at you, cupping your face and pressing a chaste kiss onto both of your cheeks.

“You are the most precious thing in the world, sunshine, I swear.” He squishes your cheeks together and began to cover your face with butterfly like kisses. Sweet laughs erupt from you, the sounds making Tom’s heart swell.

You stuff your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, using it as a place to hide from his lips. Instead, Tom opts to lay his kisses along the side of your face, your neck, and your shoulder.

“Lemme kiss you!” He whines. You chuckle at him, finally moving away from his neck. His attention darts towards your lips more than once, prompting you to lean forward and connect them with his. Tom’s lips were soft against yours, like clouds or cushiony pillows. The kiss was short and sweet; though it didn’t prevent you from feeling the adoration and passion he felt for you in that moment. In fact, he felt it all the time, but right now, his love for you was coursing through his veins.

He finally pulls away, leaving the taste of him linger in your mouth. “Can I have a listen?” He motions his head towards your laptop beside him.

“Go ahead.” Tom’s arms unravel from your waist, the area they once occupied left cold and yearning for his warmth. He uses one of his elbows to hold himself up and the other to control the touchpad. His eyes scan the file.

For Tom x

someone like u

test drive

worst behavior

main thing

He glances at you, “I start with ‘someone like u’, right?” You reply with a quiet “mhm”.

Tom clicks on the link. The opening notes of ‘someone like u’ begin to play followed by your angelic voice. You hear him release a content sigh, making a small smile to form on your lips. His arms make their way around you again, this time holding you closer against him. He rests his head on your chest and sneakily presses a kiss onto your neck. You fondly run a hand through his curly hair and rest your chin on the top of his head, listening to the songs you’ve made for him.

The two of you listen through the album in one go with no stops. You found joy in Tom’s reactions towards every song. Sometimes he would make little comments or sounds of shock whenever he heard you hit a certain note. He nodded along to the beats of ‘test drive’ and ‘worst behavior’, dancing around in his seat and making you join him. This time, you didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes when he listened closely to the lyrics. ‘Main thing’ got him the most, leaving him with a goofy-lovesick grin plastered onto his face.

When ‘main thing’ came to a close, the room became silent, leaving Tom enough time to process the four songs you wrote about him and the meanings behind them.

You were the first to speak, “So did you like it?” You scan his face looking for any signs of dislike.

Tom’s eyes widen, “Are you kidding me? That was bloody fantastic—that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! I’m obsessed with it, oh my god!” He expressed, arms moving around as he spoke.

His face was radiating with happiness, “You are the most talented and loving woman in the world. And I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you or your love—but I just love you so fucking much.”

“I love you so fucking much too, you dork.” You laugh, pecking his lips.

“No, but seriously, thank you so much. I know you’re used to writing songs, but the fact that you actually took the time to write songs about me means a lot. They’re just a bunch of songs, but they mean the world to me and I cherish each and every one of them.” He admits, taking one of your hands and placing it onto his heart. Your palm feels the faint rhythm of his heart beating against his chest.

You tilt your head at him, mirroring the smile on his face, “I’ll always write songs about you. You somehow manage to inspire them anyway.”

Tom smirks, “Well I am Tom Holland.” You snort and roll your eyes at his humble brag.

“You’re still a dork, Tommy.” You comment.

Tom shrugs, “I’m a special dork because I’m your dork. Therefore making me superior to the other existing dorks—there’s a difference, darling.”

“And where did you come up with this hypothesis, Mr. Holland?” You question him, playing along with his antics.

“It’s Tom’s Theory.” He answers with feign seriousness. You burst out laughing, “Oh is it?”

Tom leans down to your laptop and restarts his album. “Yes, and now Tom’s Theory, believes that we should listen to the album again until I learn all the lyrics to every single song.” He proclaims.

“Babe, you don’t have to—” Tom stops you, “I’m dead serious.”

It was going to be a long night.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[sukirichi]

earned it [07]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. explicit smut, pool sex, slight angst, i miss naoya :(, mafia business, mentions of blood, lots of drama, mentions of death and murder

note. IDEK ANYMORE. lmao anyways do you guys want faster updates or do you guys want to wait? i can finish the series next week and then we can move on to white lies 😈

series masterlist

The three of you were seated back at your tables, where the whole dancing fiasco had thankfully ended. Satoru noticed nothing of your behavior – either he was really clueless, or you were a damn good actor – the guy was much too invested with the files Nanami was currently showing.

For a moment, you let yourself loosen as you took a deep breath. The account was much more important than whatever Nanami was scheming.

“I think I may have found where the real money is, or treasure, we should say, since none of us can really figure out what the Zen’ins might be hiding. And from the looks of it, considering Naoya had no idea about what his family kept prior to his death, this is something only his elders wanted to know about,” Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding a photo of an unsuspecting white manor that you hadn’t seen in a long time. “And it’s been right under our nose the whole time.”

“That’s one of our islands,” you replied with a furrowed brow, “Are you saying you traced the source back there? But that’s impossible, we haven’t used that island for years and even Naoya told me he was going to sell it because it was of no use to us. It’s not on commercial waters and there’s no local people around either. That island is in the middle of nowhere.”

“This is exactly why it’s the best place to hide things – because no one would ever suspect this seemingly harmless middle of nowhere could contain their assets.”

Satoru, who’d kept silent the whole time, inched closer to you. His cologne wafting off to you eased you for a moment – purely because it was familiar – and even though you despised saying it, you were thankful he was here. Currently, the blond man posed a bigger threat, the difference being that Nanami actually had leverage against you while you had more control over Satoru.

You sighed. If Naoya was here, things would’ve been so much better. He never lost his composure in figuring things out on his own. But now that he was gone, now that he’d never be coming back, you had be responsible for his sake, but mostly for yours.

“Take a look at this. The nearest land is a small, uncharted city from Brazil’s outskirts. I’ve been illegally transporting weaponry and firearms somewhere near there since our family started the business – it’s the easiest place to sneak in things without getting caught. All you need to do is pay a few fishermen and they’ll easily transport our load from one place to another, no questions asked,” Satoru announced, seemingly deep in thought as he rubbed his chin. “It would make sense if the Zen’in clan elders found this place useful too. It’s basically a hot site for criminals.”

“But we don’t operate this way. The Zen’in elders are too prideful to handle transactions like this. They would’ve chosen a more…discreet yet formal way of handling things.”

“How does an underwater passage sound?” Nanami pushed the other photo aside to reveal a blurry snap of what seemed like a tunnel under the sea. On the surface, it looked just like an abandoned rig, but it stretched too long, the exterior already covered in mold and seaweed. “About 80 years ago, the Zen’in Clan leader at that time was often heavily targeted by their enemies in business that they preferred to travel under the sea. If my theory is correct, right under that island would be another base of some sort that allows the clan leaders move from one country to another while remaining undetected.”

“So that’s how they easily sent their own shit overseas…”

“It would be a very sound conclusion to assume so,” Nanami crossed his arms at Satoru’s musings, “However, that’s all I know. All I can tell you is where I last got the signal for the source – which is about seven years ago, and a few months right after Toji Zen’in was disowned by his family when Naobito took over. It would also be near around the time he met his wife and had his child, which would increase the possibilities that he may have stored something in this island for his son’s future. Again, it could be money, gold – we don’t really know,” he nodded your way, a sense of finality behind those blue eyes that had now looked so menacing when once it brought you comfort – reassurance. “How you get there is all up to you.”

Something didn’t feel right.

“If the elders really wanted to hide this place, they wouldn’t have passed the rights of the island into my inheritance when Naoya died. They surely wouldn’t have wanted me to find out about this.”

“I could think of two things,” Satoru proposed, “It’s either they trust your potential enough as the clan leader to replace Naoya, or they didn’t think you’d care anyway.”

You let his words sink in. The clan elders have never bothered much with you. They were too prideful about “saving face” and “keeping up images” that they couldn’t even let a word of insult slip past their lips under the belief they were above that. But you weren’t stupid; they had never approved of your marriage to Naoya. An outsider like you, suddenly becoming a part of their family when they could’ve had your husband marry a family friend?

They may have kept silent about their dislike to you, but one way or another, they were going to take action for it.

Knowing the Zen’ins, being a Zen’in, you knew there was one thing they hated the most: not being in control.

“Neither,” you finally concluded while mumbling down at your lap. The theory was hazy, incomplete, based only on mere emotions but slowly, you were coming together to piece it. You felt Satoru turn your way, his large hand caressing your knee as if coaxing the words out of you. “It’s neither. Naoya’s elders…they never liked me. It’s been made pretty clear to me that I’m dispensable without my husband, and I will never be a Zen’in in their eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked me to give up all my inheritance from Naoya because I’m not related to them by blood.”

The silence in the table stretched.

No matter how grandiose the hotel restaurant may be, you felt suffocated in that seat. How didn’t you realize it sooner? You were in a land that stretched past your territory, with both men accompanying you people you couldn’t wholeheartedly trust, while your husband rotted away back at home – probably covered in dust and not even given a proper burial like he deserved.

There was only one way out of this, to put an end to everything. It would prove to be a daunting task, but you didn’t have a choice. No, in fact, this was your only choice if you wanted to survive.

Satoru’s voice softened upon seeing the grimness of how you turned mum. “I’ll follow you wherever you go. I promise to help you in finding out whatever is in there,” he met your eyes; yours filled with contempt, with fear, with desperation, and his filled with regret. “It’s the least I could do���after everything I’ve done to you.”

You took a deep breath.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. There was no way you could trust him with his empty promises. He’d shown enough times that he wasn’t a man of his word, and you’d be a fool to fall for it again. However, Nanami’s glance was curious and suspecting, hiding his true colors with an innocent gesture of sipping his wine. He may seem unbothered and only here to ‘help’, but this man was cunning, possibly more so than Naoya could ever be, and one wrong move would be similar to stepping on a land mine.

Satoru received no response from you, and soon the three of you were standing outside the hotel’s lobby to escort Nanami back where he came from. The dinner was tense, so much so that you’d unknowingly been clutching Satoru’s bicep the whole time.

He tapped your shoulder, bringing you back to life as he gestured to his phone. “Sorry, it’s Geto.”

“Oh,” you muttered and stepped away from him, feeling your heart sink in your chest as you watched him retreat behind the glass doors. Beside you, Nanami snickered.

“Made up your mind, agent?” he taunted, “This is your final chance to prove yourself. Gather enough intel for us to intrude whatever that mighty clan is hiding underneath that island, surrender Gojo to us, and we’ll give you everything as promised.”

You faced him with fiery eyes, prepared for whatever he’d throw your way when he showed you that cursed red coin again. Realizing its power, the true meaning it held, you immediately shut your lips. It must’ve satisfied to know he was the one in charge here, and how could he not be when your life was literally at the palm of his hands, your days growing more numbered if you didn’t follow everything he asked for?

If you had just…if you had just done everything the Organization had asked you for, you wouldn’t have been here. You wouldn’t have felt this torn.

Nanami flipped the coin before tucking it into his pocket, sending one last salute your way. He hailed a cab and disappeared afterwards, leaving you alone to ponder over the consequences of your actions, your emotions. For the first time in his life, Naoya had lied to you.

He wasn’t correct when he said you were strong.

Because after all this time, you still held onto something that you should’ve let go of a long time ago, and you had nothing but your weak, sensitive, hopeless heart to blame for. Said hurdle appeared not long afterwards, his touch warm on your shoulder as he gazed at the empty spot beside you.

“Oh, Nanami left,” he noted, turning your shoulders to him until you were completely exposed. There was no more hiding from him, or more like you didn’t have enough energy to. You felt dull, tiredness lining your eyes and lips pressed into a flat line. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Ten days. That was how much you’ve wasted your time here in Milan, and you weren’t even remotely close to figuring things out. Your resources were much more limited the farther you were from the Zen’in Estate, and your lawyer was a family one, meaning they held more loyalty to the actual Zen’ins instead of law-affiliated people like you were.

Simply put, you were all alone to solve this by yourself.

Satoru promised to help, but he kept disappearing in the morning along with Geto. You never asked where they went or what they did; it simply didn’t matter anymore.

You would only spend hours locked in your room as you researched everything you could on your private island near Brazil. Just like Satoru said, it seemed like the perfect place to hide things for the spot seemed remote enough to offer privacy for the family’s getaway. You could somewhat recall Naoya proposing once to take you there for your honeymoon, but business got in the way, and it wasn’t like you truly trusted him then to spend such an intimate with him that you said no.

Sighing, you put all the papers away. Not even a single clue led you to what could be possibly be there, but there was an underwater passage. The fact the Zen’ins was capable of building that made you wonder just what the extent of their powers and influence stretched to, and you contemplated for a bit if you could hold that same ability now that you had his name.

Whatever was there, you would look for it.

Your mission was clear – the success of it would determine the fate of your life. Find out what they’re hiding, surrender Satoru Gojo to the Organization, and then everything would be over.

It sounded simple, yet your heart knew it wasn’t. Naoya died with the confidence of his trust over you, the trust you worked so hard to earn. But wasn’t that point? You needed him to trust you for you to be able to pull this mission off, but things happened, emotions and conscience got in the way, and you banged your knuckles on the table until your ring throbbed on your finger.

You just wanted it all to end. You never meant to hurt Naoya, never meant to betray anyone, but it fucking pissed you off that Naoya wasn’t the real problem. He wasn’t the one holding you back.

With not much thought to your next actions, you slipped past the guards and into the pool that had long been closed since 10PM. Being at your room’s tub reminded you of memories you’d rather forget, and you slowly undid your robe and stepped out of your underwear before dipping in the cold, freezing water.

It felt good. It may have been temporary, but the numbing bite of the water helped you feel more placated. Even for a little while, it was nice to not worry about anything. There were no titles, no mafia drama, no anything, just you and the water that you would’ve easily fooled yourself to be simply enjoying your little trip in Milan until –

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You had me worried sick,” You sighed. Of course. Opening your eyes, you raised a brow as Satoru towered over you, a standard hotel towel in his arms. He’d change out of his suit and into cotton shorts and a shirt this time around, possibly on his way to sleep when he realized the room was empty. With no energy to deal with him, you swam away from the man, earning a groan in response. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve been acting weird ever since Nanami came. Listen, if this is about that island, you don’t have to worry too much about anything. I have enough people and resources to help you in every step of the way.”

You ignored him. After everything that happened, what was there to talk about anymore? Even if you told him everything, he might not understand.

So you swam in the middle of the pool, thankful that it was dark enough from the maintenance shutting the lights off that Satoru struggled to find you. However, you’d underestimated him because soon you heard the splashing of the water, and you were harshly tugged by the wrist before Satoru cornered you at the edge of the pool.

He was breathing hard; both of you were, and tried to push past his chest, only to be met with a solid plane of muscle that wouldn’t budge. You sighed and turned away from him, covering your exposed chest with your arms.

“Whatever Naoya is looking for…you’ll find it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious,” the scorn in his tone had been so biting you turned back to him, about to hit him with something, scold him for something, but your words died down in your throat before you even had the chance to.

Satoru hadn’t been demanding. His face, illuminated by the moonlight, made his azure eyes twinkle like stardust exploding. Once in your life, you found so much comfort into staring at such beauty, but that was when everything was still a perfect lie. Funny how the truth ruined everything for its darkness, and you could only look back at him weakly, throat running dry from all the emotions that threatened to pour out of you.

Regret and desperation was written all over his face.

“Please,” he rested his forehead on yours, eyes closed as he mumbled, “You’re not alone in this. I don’t want to ask for much because I know I don’t deserve it, but please at least understand you don’t have to solve everything on your own. You’re not…you’re not alone. I’m here now.”

“When you left me,” your voice cracked, “It’s because you thought I wouldn’t love you anymore if I found out your true nature,” Satoru opened his eyes, anxiety swimming in those eyes that had once been so sweet. Perhaps he still held that sweetness now, albeit it was less tender and more cautious as he waited for you to continue. “If I told you about every sin I’ve committed, the name of each person I killed and everything I’ve done, would you stay with me? Or would you leave me again, only this time it’s because you think I’m no longer someone you could love?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” was all you said before you felt a tear prick the back of your eyes. You didn’t want him to see, god, you wanted to disappear in that moment you couldn’t think of anything else. Crashing your lips to his, you brought him down by the back of his neck to hide the tears freely falling from your face.

He froze for a split second before he eagerly pushed back, clenching the pool edges with his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. You were panting, moaning in his mouth as he pressed you harder against the edge, skin to skin, breath to breath, soul to soul.

Threading your hands to his hair, you grinded down on his shorts where he was already beginning to grow hard. Satoru groaned inside your mouth from your teasing but made no move to stop to – after all, why would he want to stop? It had been years, seven fucking years, and even you wouldn’t want to stop. It was wrong, it was dirty, it was immoral – but you needed this. You needed this more than ever.

Satoru’s hands tickled your waist as he squeezed them harsher than he intended, his calloused fingers travelling until he was kneading your breasts. You pulled away from him, head thrown back to rest on the edge.

And it was romantic.

The moon had never been so big, sprinkles of star shining in the vast darkness, the scene just perfect for two lovers in a getaway from the harshness of life. You knew it wasn’t real and the spell would break sooner than later, but did it matter? He rolled your beaded nipples into his fingers before he ducked down, lips suctioned to suck heavy bruises on the sensitive patch of skin on your neck that had you twitching in his hold.

Along with your moans, you cried harder. From heartbreak, from regret, from guilt; there was no turning back from this.

“Satoru, please, please, please. Make me feel better, make me feel good, I just want to forget everything.”

He nodded eagerly against your neck, letting your eager hands help him push his shorts down before his cock sprang free. His length grazed your lower abdomen for a moment, though he didn’t waste any time in entering your hole. You gritted your teeth at the intrusion, nails dug so hard in his shoulders that he bled.

The both of you had your foreheads connected, noses brushing and breaths mixing as you moaned and he sighed, eyes shut tight from finally being engulfed in your warmth.

“Right there, ‘Toru, oh fuck.”

“F-fuck,” he hitched one of your legs to wrap around his waist, “You’re still so tight after all this time,” Satoru praised, molding his lips with yours once again. He picked up his pace and watched as you desperately clung from one surface to another – his shoulders, his hair, the edge of the pool, flailing your arms each time his deep thrusts knocked the wind out of you – breasts bouncing as he bounced you on his cock.

“You look so fucking beautiful – my sweet, sweet angel. I missed you, missed you so fucking much.”

You didn’t say anything. No words were needed to be exchanged; actions spoke louder than words. At least right now, you could promise you wouldn’t lie.

Pulling him down for another kiss, you bit down on his bottom lip to muffle your moans, too speechless at each movement of his dick grazing past your walls. Fuck, he still felt so good, still knew your body way too well and your pussy hugged him so tight like you didn’t ever want to let go.

But you knew you had to, even as he came inside you and brought you back to your room, uncaring of the dripping mess you’ve both made before he locked the door.

You forgot how many hours you spent underneath him writhing in his bed. He took you each way he wanted – knees folded beside your head, on your side where he whispered all the filthy things he’d been wanting to do to you while he took you from behind, or your head squished on the pillow as he repeatedly smacked your ass, pulling your ass cheeks apart to praise you on how you took him so well. Satoru didn’t stop; you knew what you were getting into the moment you pulled him into you, that his sex drive was insane and he’d take long to tire himself out.

By the time the first shy fingertips of the sunlight extending across the horizon arrived, you were emptily staring at the window, Satoru fast asleep beside you.

It was time.

Silently, you pulled his arm away from you and quickly got dressed. He seemed to still be deep in slumber, and you carried the only bag previously packed with everything you might need. You were on the process of wearing your stilettos when he stirred awake, sleepily eyeing you from the bed you both devoted yourselves to in pleasuring one another.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” you answered, tight-lipped. “From you.”

“Why?”

“Because…I lied,” you inhaled sharply, gloved hands frozen on the golden knobs.

Just open it, you screamed at yourself, walk away before it’s too late.

But you couldn’t move, pathetic that even after everything Naoya had worked so hard for, you still remained a slave to your past.

“No matter how much I hate everything you’ve done to me, I can’t bring myself to forget I once loved you. Maybe I still do – I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not as strong as I thought I was,” you cried, losing grip on the bag before it fell. You watched emptily as all the contents poured out – your money, your clothes, your phone, your ring – it all served as a reminder of who you were, of who you’d forgotten to be, of who you were supposed to be.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I don’t have enough strength to kill you.”

“Hey, angel,” he cooed, reaching you in three long strides before he caged you in his arms. Satoru was so warm, so strong, and the safety he provided you with only made you cry harder. You wanted to hate him, wanted to keep lying yourself since you’d been doing a great job at doing that for the past seven years, but it wasn’t that easy. Deep down…you still harbored the most miniscule affection, and that enough was capable of destroying you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you whispered brokenly as you banged a weak fist to his chest, “Everything is wrong.”

Finavice Pharmaceuticals didn’t disappoint.

You were beyond impressed the moment you stepped through the door, a horde of eager chemists guiding you through the upper floors. Finavice was one of the biggest – if not the biggest – companies that were known for harboring the rarest or hard to get elements that not even you and Naoya could get your hands on.

Not by yourselves, anyway, so you took it upon yourself to strike a sponsorship to their research program in developing a cure to cancer under the guise of being an advocate to the improvement of the medical field.

Truthfully, you just wanted to please Naoya, show him you were useful and that he didn’t need to kill you. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and there you were, your prettiest smile plastered on as you scanned the towering buildings with unmasked interest.

“Here is the laboratory for the Finavice Pharmaceuticals where we test…”

“Mrs. Zen’in?”

The entire team stopped as a tall man, cloaked in a beige suit instead of a lab coat appearhed out of nowhere. Judging by how everyone had ducked their heads down and turned silent, you could only guess he must be the boss. Flashing your most charming smile, you hitched your bag higher up your arm. “Yes?”

“May I have a word with you?”

You fought the urge to sigh. His question was spoken much more of a statement that you weren’t really given a room to decline, and the young chemists gazed at you curiously under their lashes.

Not wanting to create a commotion that would lead into unwanted attention, you nodded, following the man through a set of double doors, guarded by two heavily armed men from the outside.

The man, who was Kento Nanami, the founder of Finavice himself leaned back into his seat as he made himself comfortable. “So you signed a contract with us two weeks ago to partner on our latest medicine, am I right? I’ve read over your proposals and I must say, they are rather interesting and innovative. I didn’t expect that a businessman’s wife would be a chemist who is interested in expanding to the pharmaceuticals as well. The Zen’ins has never been much invested in that.”

Gladly accepting the tea he’d slid your way, you made sure to clink the teaspoon against the porcelain as you played along. “People change, Mr. Kento. My husband and I’s goals are rather different from their former, traditional ones. Surely, steel exchange couldn’t support us for the rest of our lives.”

“I can’t say no to that. Kudos to you and your husband for your rather…ambitious shared goals then.”

Your hand froze on the utensil, and you narrowed your eyes at him in warning. “Are you implying we should not have trusted you with this, Mr. Kento?”

“No, I am merely letting you know that your act won’t fool me,” he chuckled, leaning forwards to rest his chin on his clasped knuckles, his blue eyes growing dark and serious. “I know what you and your husband’s family does. The Organization knows a lot more about your actions than you think you know we do. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re only here because we’re the only company who has access to an element you need for your drug, isn’t that the case, Mrs. Zen’in?”

Well…this was certainly unexpected. You’ve been effortlessly deceiving countless businessmen, government leaders and officials even, that this took you by your surprise. Two could play at this game.

Even if he saw through you long ago, it wouldn’t take much to grab his letter opener that was right beside you and puncture it through a jugular vein. If his guards came, you could easily take them down too. Today was one of those few moments you were thankful for Naoya’s hellish training.

But you didn’t want him to feel satisfied, so you leaned back into your seat and crossed your leg over the other.

“If you knew this whole time, why didn’t you kill me already? A lot of people wouldn’t miss the chance to do so.”

Nanami chuckled. “It’s because like you, I’m not just a pioneer. I, too, have my goals and loyalty laid out for someone else. Most specifically, the Organization, an international collaborative effort of stopping and reducing mafia movement for the safety of our people. Obviously, I’ve been assigned in the Yakuza Division, and it’s no coincidence I read through your file. You are, after all, one of our precious targets.”

You stared at him boredly. Why couldn’t he just get straight to the point?

“Is this a threat? I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Oh, no, I’m not threatening you,” he snatched your tea and took a long sip from it, and it was the first time you learned of his habit of concealing his curious gaze through drinking; a perfect act to seem inconspicuous.

“I am offering you a path to redemption. You may fool everyone, but I know an unhappy woman when I see one, Mrs. Zen’in, and I can tell you find no pleasure in the life you live – running errands for your criminal husband, constantly fearing for your life, wishing you’d just been a regular person like everyone else…” At the lack of response, he took it a gesture for him to continue, and he set the cup down, pushing his glasses right back up his nose. “The Organization has labeled you a target, but I think you’re more of a victim caught in a series of unfortunate events. I merely wish to save you from it.”

You guffawed in laughter at his last statement.

“You men really are ridiculous!” you slapped your palm on his table, losing every bit of that elegant composure to be perfected by a Zen’in wife. “Always preaching about saving me and protecting me – what actually are you pathetic losers even capable of?”

Much to your dismay, Nanami didn’t seem the least bit affected by your mockery.

“Please, don’t group me in with your husband and your former lover. Unlike them, I harbor no interest in you as a woman, I only want to fulfill my duty as an Agent and save you not because you’re a damsel in distress, but rather because…I could kill two birds with one stone,” his eyes shone in mischief, and you swallowed in discomfort as he gazed you up and down.

You’ve had enough experience with being seen as a meal, but this was different. Nanami was viewing you like you were a secret weapon he intended on using as much as he could to achieve his goals.

“You are a very convenient woman, Mrs. Zen’in. Similar to how your husband adores your abilities, I would like to take advantage of your connections. The only difference between me and them is that I can actually give you something money can’t even buy.”

“Such as?”

“A second chance at a normal life.”

“What makes you think I’ll accept your offer? I’m the wife of a mafia leader – my loyalty resides in him.”

“Only because you fear for your life,” he flashed you a red coin, crescents of a Latin quote scripted inside. Mori quam foedari – death before dishonor.

“Join the Organization, Y/N. With your connections, we could easily take down these families and protect the country. Hand over Satoru Gojo and Naoya Zen’in to us, and I promise the Organization will do everything in its power to give you the life you always wanted. A safe, normal one. No more worrying about being killed as you ride your car, no more beating yourself up as you make drugs to promise your usefulness to your husband and no more pretending you are someone who you’re not,” he flipped the coin between his fingers, and tantalized, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. “Don’t you want that? You’d be able to live freely if you cooperate with us.”

You could hear the gears in your head turning. Part of you would’ve assumed this was a trap had you not known better, but Naoya taught you that if something was a trap, it would sound too easy, too good.

None of this was easy. It would require facing a demon from your past and handling things differently than what Naoya had planned, but that wasn’t the worst.

It was the fact that if you accepted, you’d have to come home tonight and lie in the face of your husband who could easily read through you. He smelled lies and treachery before you could realize you were even thinking of doing something, and knowing Naoya, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes the instant he felt something was off.

But his offer… it was a risk you had to take. You wouldn’t ever get an opportunity like this again.

“Do you promise…that I’ll really go back to normal after this? That I won’t be involved in this mess anymore?”

“I can only promise that if you also promise to do your part. You see, I strongly believe you are the one that can put an end to this all. All you have to do is join us, and soon it’ll feel like this nightmare never happened at all. You’ll be free from Naoya Zen’in and Gojo Satoru before you realize it.”

You stared at his coin harder. Death before dishonor. This Organization he was a part of obviously didn’t fuck around, and it seemed scarier because they had their eyes on you for a while now. What were the odds they offered a deal instead of outright killing you, even going as far as to provide you a second chance at life, one that you genuinely wanted to enjoy? It would be a shame to say no, and even if the chances of this turning out well were low, you would damn well take it. A small chance was better than nothing.

“What do I have to do?”

Nanami grinned and pocketed his coin. “A very wise decision, Mrs. Zen’in,” he congratulated, “Please, meet me at my office tomorrow, eight on the dot. Oh, and remember, the Organization will now be watching you wherever you go. You’re one of us now.”

The next day, Nanami had cut your palm.

He spilled your blood into an empty metal casing with engraved letters, mori quam foedari, the phrase both comforting and ominous. Soon, you came home with your blood solidified into a coin to prove your membership and loyalty, that they quite owned you in more ways than one. Your blood meant your loyalty, and the coin felt heavy in your pocket with the implication it was also your blood they wouldn’t hesitate to spill should you betray them.

Mori quam foedari.

Death before dishonor.

Your life over Naoya’s, your future over Gojo’s.

The next few days had been tense. After telling Satoru everything down from the smallest detail, things had shifted between you. Quite frankly, you expected that maybe he’d kill you right then and there after explicitly stating that just because you couldn’t kill him, didn’t mean you wouldn’t turn him in.

“Angel,” he begged, “Will you never really give me the chance to do everything right this time around?”

However, you were too firm on your plans. You originally wanted to leave and go to the island yourself; it was easier to leave Satoru open and vulnerable for the Organization to attack him in your absence. He loved you, that was much clear, and if he looked for you, he’d make himself vulnerable to the Organization, but recent plans had to be altered now that he wasn’t willing to let go of you. Though no matter what he said, you valued your life and future more than you could ever love him.

It was an act of kindness to yourself.

“I don’t want this life anymore, Satoru. Either way, I don’t have a choice, not when I could die literally anytime before I could even say goodbye.”

It had been hours since ‘that’ talk and now you were on a plane back to Tokyo. You had to pull out some archives from Naoya’s files to know more about the island before you could visit it, and it was important for Satoru to know details such as security measures over there.

You’d long fallen asleep from exhaustion, bundled up in a fleece blanket while Geto glared at you.

“Are you sure about this, Sir? I think we should just keep her with us even if she doesn’t want to. The Gojo clan is powerful enough that no one would dare cross us. Not even this Organization she speaks of has ever done anything to us. Without her, they stand no chance against us,” he sat in front his boss and kept sending wary glances your way. “Letting her go like you did before wasn’t a good idea. She knows too much about everyone to live normally now. Do you really believe the Organization will protect her?”

“Knowing the strings the government could pull – and add on to the fact Nanami Kento, one of the richest men in this country works for them that it’s safe to assume each figure in them is a powerhouse – I don’t doubt their promise one bit.”

“But you’ll go to jail if you let her surrender you. Or worse, they’ll destroy the clan from the bottom up.”

“I know that, Geto.”

Geto groaned, brushing his hands through his hair from how indifferent his boss was being, drinking champagne as if he wasn’t willingly walking into his own death. “Then why aren’t you thinking more clearly about this? I understand you love her and you want to make it up to her, but we can’t let her do whatever she pleases! In order to keep herself safe, she’s going to sacrifice you! She’s dangerous, Sir, she’s been lying to her husband the whole time and who’s to say she isn’t capable of doing something worse to a stranger like you?”

“I told you already, Geto,” Satoru swirled the pink liquid in his flute, his face empty and unreadable. “I know.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t agree with your decision. The clan would fall without you and you don’t have siblings or an heir. No one is powerful to hold the clan together aside from you so if you leave – there’s no more hope for us,” he sighed when Satoru didn’t budge. “I at least want you to reconsider your actions. She’s just a woman, Sir. It’s either we kill her or we imprison her. You let her go before because you believed she would be your downfall, and quite frankly, it’s happening all over again.”

Satoru gazed out the window, bringing the flute to his lips with a dark glint in his eye that Geto recognized meant trouble, or worse, an actual solution to this hellish situation.

“Which is why we’re going to pay an old friend a visit, Geto. There’s only one person who could turn the tables around.”

ADDITIONAL NOTE: TOJI IS COMING SOON!!! what are your theories on what might be on that island and *drum roll* WHO IS GOJO’S OLD FRIEND?! 

taglist open:

@tete027 @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby​ @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch @riri-marley​ | bolded users cannot be tagged

[ghostiewriter]

summary: Hermione Granger might be the only person able to save Draco from lifetime imprisonment. Or, day seventeen of ghostie's spooktober spectacular.

read here on ao3.

.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“There’s no point—”

“I am going to get you out of here, Draco,” her voice was strong and assured, and held much more belief than he ever could. “I promise you.” 

It was ironic, really. The whole situation was so twisted and unbelievable that ironic was truly the only word Draco Malfoy could use to describe his situation. 

It had been over eighteen months since the war ended. It had been over eighteen months since Voldemort was defeated and good had triumphed. It had been over eighteen months since the world could finally know peace. 

And it had been over eighteen months since he had been thrown into this fucking cell in Azkaban. 

It was all so fucking ironic because no matter what he said or did, they would never believe him and they would never let him see the world outside those stone walls until his body was rotting in this very prison. 

It was a twisted fate that led him here. 

His family was threatened. His friends were torn away from him. His home was invaded. His school felt more like a minefield. And now he was the one trapped behind bars. 

He was a child. He was clueless in the world. He was naive and scared and so fucking lost, and yet he was the one locked away in a cell to rot until the day he dies. 

Draco Malfoy found the whole situation just too fucking ironic. 

But the cherry on top of the situation was that he never assumed his once chance of freedom would be sitting across from him. 

And that it would be Hermione Granger. 

He didn’t believe it the day he heard the guard’s footsteps shuffling against the concrete floors, the unmistakable rattle of keys as his door lock clicked and a wand was in his face before he could even blink. 

The rough set of hands on him as they shoved him through the corridors, each one as dark and dreary as the last until they led him into a small room. It had one table, two chairs and a very familiar face sitting with her hands firmly planted on the surface of the metal table like she was about to give a presentation. 

He would’ve laughed if every ounce of joy hadn’t been sucked out of him. 

“Granger.” 

“Malfoy.” 

He couldn’t deny that the meeting felt like a blur. Once she started, it was hard to get Hermione to stop talking and considering it had been the first semblance of human interaction in over a year, he had a bit of difficulty keeping up. 

Draco gripped on to bits and pieces of her rambles. That she was now working in a special division of the Ministry, that she was working on righting the wrongs of the war and the people that it affected. That the second she read his file, she took on his case without a second of hesitation. 

His court hearing was a joke. There was nothing but a few half-hearted hours spent fucking around and torturing him for more info he didn’t have before they sentenced him away without second thought. 

No witnesses. No testaments. No plea deal. 

Just a lifetime imprisonment to a hellhole that drained the life out of you, slowly and painfully. 

Over the last six months, Hermione’s visits hadn’t become uncommon. He wasn’t sure how she was getting the clearance to visit him so often but he reckoned it had to do with the funny little fact she saved the whole Wizarding World. 

Not that he really cared, if he was being honest. He didn’t give two shits on how she was weaselling her way to visit him, as long as she came. 

“You might not want to admit it to yourself but there is a highly probable chance this will completely backfire,” he said, his voice low and hoarse and empty. “You’re ambitious but you cannot predict the future.” 

“I am confident in my own abilities, Draco,” she said his name with such feeling that it made his throat close up. “And I am confident in our case. They can’t deny you, it would be wrong.” 

He snorted but the noise held no humour. “The Ministry don’t know right and wrong when it comes to people like me.” 

“There are no people like you,” she shot back defiantly. “You are not a monster. You are not a villain. You were a victim of a war and despicable adults.” 

Draco raised his brows. “Is that in your testimony?” 

Hermione shot him a blank look. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he glanced down at the leather-bound clasps around his wrists and the heavy chain that laid on the table. “If this goes wrong, you go back to your little office and cosy apartment and pick the next battle to fight.”

Hermione didn’t say a thing. 

“I’m still stuck here, Hermione,” his voice broke a little and her heart all but shattered with it. “Not for six more months, for the rest of my fucking life. I can’t do false hopes. I can’t do promises. If I let myself hope and it all fucking fails, it will break me.”

In the months she had visited, they had always sat on opposite sides of the table. The conversations sometimes divulged into more tame topics, to the ones that almost sounded like a conversation between friends. But they had always stayed on their side of the table, within their boundary and the invisible line they had created. 

Until today. 

The only way Draco could describe the touch of another human was that it was overwhelming. It downright engulfed his body’s nerves when he felt her soft hand against his rougher skin, the touch so gentle and reassuring that he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. 

It felt nice. It felt so fucking nice and he didn’t want her to let go. 

“You are getting out of here, Draco, even if it is the last thing I do,” she stated with no space for argument. 

“You really are a Gryffindor,” he commented lamely, he didn’t quite trust himself to look at her. Instead his eyes stayed firmly on where they touched. “Always so fucking stubborn.”

Her lips twitched. “And you’re such a Slytherin. Always so cynical.” 

“I’m realistic.” 

“You’re a pessimist on a good day.” 

Draco pressed his lips together, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Do you really think it will be enough?” 

“Harry’s testimony alone will influence the jury a great amount,” Hermione said in that voice she used when reiterating facts in class. “Along with mine, Ron’s and a handful of students who have first hand witness to seeing you leave the battlefield.” 

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Students? I didn’t know you were contacting students.” 

“I didn’t,” Hermione said and there was a soft smile on her lips. “Theodore Nott seems to be as eager to get you out of here as I am.” 

His lips twitched a little. Not enough for a smile but it was something. “I guess I should thank him.” 

“You can,” Hermione said and squeezed his hand. “When you’re a free man and can tell him in person yourself.” 

His throat felt tight and dry but it didn’t stop the sincere words being choked out, emotions thick and heavy on his tongue. 

“Thank you, Hermione. For everything you’ve done.” 

“You can thank me with a drink when I get you out of here, Draco.” 

That image alone almost made him smile, and he let it simmer in his chest like a beacon, like a reminder for what waited for him outside those stone walls. 

.

[quirklessbunny]

Puppy Love

Leon Kennedy x Ji-Woon Hak (The Trickster)

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Domestic Fluff / Fluff / Dogboys / Implied/Referenced Character Death / Tooth Rotting Fluff

Summary: Leon takes a case home and works on it for too long without taking a break, completely forgetting about getting his house ready for his boyfriend. Luckily for him, his boyfriend has a key and lets himself in and reminds him to take better care of himself.

Words: 472

Ao3 Link

Leon sighs softly as he leans over his desk. He can’t remember when he sat down but his back and head are killing him. He should probably take a break…but the longer he works, the closer he feels to solving this and finally bringing peace of mind to the families of the victims.

Up until a few months ago, Raccoon City had been relatively peaceful, a violent crime here or there but nothing compared to this. A violent serial killer has been dismembering people and leaving a recording of their tortured screams at the scene like some kind of fucked up memento. They’ve requested the help of the FBI, but after weeks of no response, they’ve resigned themselves to solving it inhouse. So far, they have no leads, just bodies and recordings as evidence. The killer is methodical as he is messy, the scenes are downright horror shows, but there’s no physical evidence to lead to a killer.

A quiet creak on the hardwood behind him breaks him from his thoughts, his ears immediately snapping to an alert position. His hand rests on his gun beside him on the desk as he cautiously tips his head back to hear better. His office door clicks open, and a familiar cologne scent washes over him.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that, I almost shot you,” Leon says, voice flat as he takes his hand off his gun. Despite his words and tone, his tail starts wagging, betraying his true emotion. He’s excitedly by his boyfriend’s sudden appearance. “I thought you weren’t coming over til later?”

“It is later, puppy,” Ji-Woon’s voice is silky soft, sending shivers down Leon’s spine. He hears more creaks on the floor, then his tail is impacting something with a soft ‘thwap thwap’.

“Shit…I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I’m sorry, Ji, I meant to clean up and start dinner before you got here.” Leon leans his head back, finally smiling softly when his head bumps his boyfriend’s chest. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, staring up at him with adoration.

“It’s okay, I know how you are when you’re working. My little workaholic~ you really push yourself too hard.” Ji-Woon smiles softly as he leans down to kiss him. “I think it’s time for a break. Why don’t you take the night off with me?”

“Mhm, sounds amazing. Let me put this away and I’ll be right down.”

“I’ll order your favourite and get a movie set up.” Ji-Woon kisses him again and Leon can’t help but pull him down to keep him there longer. Ji finally laughs softly as he pulls away, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you downstairs, puppy,” he whispers.

Leon watches him go, then stands up quickly, tail wagging excitedly as he puts his files away.

[nuttynutcycle]

I just discovered your blog, and I'm in LOVE with your writing! I'm completely obsessed with Familiar, so if it's not to much to ask, could you write a continuation? Thank you so much, your snippets and prompts are greatly appreciated!!

Familiar - Pt 2

First part here

On a scale of one to ten, this was either a -2 or a 12 on the good idea scale. Hero double-checked the address Villain had sent her before looking back at the tiny house. The paint was peeling, steps were rotting and that roof was definitely of the leaking sort. Somehow, she had expected Villain to live on the rich side of town.

When he had invited her over to work on their assignment, her thoughts had been torn between screaming trap and find some evidence. The second side won. If there wasn’t anything in there to prove who Villain really was… Well, she’d have to find another way of getting proof to show the authorities. She knocked and noted the cracked windows to her side. After a few seconds, Villain opened the door.

“Hey, I’m glad you could make it. Come on in.” He led her down the musty hall towards a suspiciously normal bedroom. “Thanks again for making the trek all the way over here. My mom hasn’t been doing too well recently, and I’m trying not to leave her alone for too long.”

“Of course, I get it.” Hero let her eyes trail over the spartan room. The only furniture was a bed and two chairs beside a fold-up table covered with books and scribblers. Funny, the number of times Villain escaped from her with stolen cash made her think he’d at least have better furniture. Or a safe to put the money in. Maybe it was hiding in the closet? Although in this neighbourhood, keeping money lying around might not be the brightest idea. “It’s good that you’re taking care of her.”

He nodded, avoiding her gaze and moving his stuff from the table to the floor. “Hopefully, this next surgery will be the one that works.”

“Yeah, it’s tough watching people you love go through painful things. My sister has a heart problem right now, and it’s terrifying to watch her energy come and go.” Shut up! Stop telling him personal things. “Yeah.” She finished lamely.

Their gazes locked in understanding. Hero was the first to break away. “Ready to start the pain?”

They worked on the assignment in silence for a while. Honestly, there was probably a special punishment designed for whoever invented assignments over ten pages long. This just wasn’t fair. Hero sat back, running a hand through her hair. “I think this is karma's way of punishing me for not reading the textbook.”

His lips quirked. “There’s a textbook for this class? That would’ve been helpful to know at the start of the semester.”

“Want to know how tired I was at the beginning of the semester? I can’t even remember choosing my classes,” she pulled a hand down her face. “I think I just closed my eyes and pointed at the screen.”

“You could have been in differential calculus. Or worse, accounting.”

“Or Phys Ed. Did you know our university has a course devoted to badminton?”

Villain laughed. “What a racket. To think, I could have spent time swinging my arm around and gotten credit for it.”

“But then you’d be missing out on the glories of this assignment.”

“And a friend.”

Oh nope. Big nope. Wait, Hero reconsidered. Were they friends?  They did chat after class and had studied a few times together, but that didn’t mean- wait. Huh. Time to deflect with awkward humour and process these feelings later. “I thought you saw me as a role model, but that’s cool too. I’ll just have to find a new lackey.”

“And here I thought you were friends with me for my brilliance and good looks.”

She felt her cheeks begin to burn. “Yep, it’s all for your looks. If you seduce our professor, then we don’t have to do this assignment anymore.”

Villain rubbed his chin. “I’ve never seduced a professor before. Would I have to wear a sweater vest?”

“And a tweed jacket. It’s the only way.” Her fingers twitched, and she was suddenly very aware of him. The light hitting his hair, the way his lips curled when he was amused… Bad, very bad. This is your official ABORT MISSION alert. Find some evidence on the dangerous criminal and get out of there. She cleared her throat. “I’m parched. Could I get some water?”

Villain nodded, standing and leaving the room. Hero leapt out of the chair the moment the door shut behind him.  Her eyes latched on the only place one could hide anything in the sparse room - the closet. She yanked it open, feeling her heart speed up at the sound of Villain opening a cupboard in the kitchen and turning on the tap.

The closet was small and impressively dull. Clothes and boxes littered the tiny  shelves, with no signs of the files or weapons she was looking for. A flap of a familiar fabric dangling from one of the top boxes caught her eye. Bingo. Hero gingerly reached to feel the consistency, making sure she wasn’t wrong before bringing the authorities in, and accidentally bumped an elbow against the side of the closet. The box plummeted from its precarious placement and met the ground with a thump. No! She scrambled to pick up the box and the spilled-out uniform when a movement behind made her pause.

Villain stood in the doorway, hand clenched around a glass of water. His eyes darted to the clothes on the ground. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Hero’s throat went dry. She tightened her grip on the clothes and tried to look surprised. “S-something fell in your closet, so I opened it to check what it was.”

“Huh,” Villain said. “That’s unfortunate.”

He knelt, gently taking his outfit from her hands and placing it back in the box. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“Clearly.”  Hero swallowed and prepared to run if he attacked. Worst case scenario, she had beat him before and could do it again. Theoretically. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know.” A familiar calculation crept across his face, making her hands shake. Villain sat across from her and blocked the only exit, placing the cup of water between them. She felt trapped against the closet.

“You know, if this had happened a month ago, I would have killed you without a second thought,” he said mildly. “Guess you’re lucky.”

A horrifying reminder that she was not dealing with her awkward classmate anymore. “What are you going to do instead?”

Villain shrugged, seeming far too calm for the situation. “I don’t know yet. Talk, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Hero said, lying through her teeth.

“Unfortunately, I’m too old to believe the promises of others so easily.” He trailed his fingers through the thin carpet, tracing patterns through the material. “Even yours. The stakes are just too high.”

“What’s even worth all the stealing and destruction?” she asked quietly. “Why do you do it? “

The  fingers paused. “It started out as one job. My mom needed treatment, and we didn’t have the money to pay for it. Then one treatment turned into two.” He shook his head. “Before I knew it, I was on the city’s most-wanted list.”

Her shoulders tensed. “Will you stop when the treatments are finished?”

“There have been other benefits to criminal activity.” Villain ducked his head, cheeks turning pink. “Lots of amazing people to meet. I haven’t decided yet.”

She leaned against the wall beside the closet, feeling safer with something solid against her back. “I don’t know if meeting people through crime is worth a lifetime in jail.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

Hero picked up the forgotten water sitting between them and drank, if nothing else than for the excuse to avoid responding.

His fingers trailed larger patterns in the carpet. “I never wanted you to find out- this is one of the first friendships I’ve made since I started university. I don’t want to lose that. And I don’t want you getting hurt, but this does put me in a tight position. I won’t let you inform the authorities.”

Hero pressed her back further against the wall.

Villain took one look at her wide eyes and softened his tone. “Just don’t tell. If I get one inkling that you’re about to turn me in, then..." he sighed. "Please don’t make me choose between you and my mom.”

He would know it was her. Hero didn’t think she could after this. Or fight him, knowing it was for his mom’s medical bills. She pursed her lips, making a highly regrettable split-second decision. “Alright. But only on one condition: you stop once her treatments are done.”

He twitched. “I told you, I haven’t decided yet-”

“I’m making the decision for you.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. "Deals are much easier to trust than promises.”

“No. I’d miss-” Villain stopped, clenching his jaw. “I can’t let certain people from that life go yet.”

Something clicked. The girl he liked was from his criminal life… Oh gosh, Hero probably knew her. The brunette villain from the southside? The redheaded weapons supplier? Stop getting distracted.

“I trust you. Give it up as soon as you can.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. “For me.” That was even worse. Was it possible to die from a foot in your mouth?

Villain relaxed his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s a deal.” He stuck out a hand and Hero grasped it, shaking firmly and ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest. So like, a 5 on the good idea scale.

@revrevrew-personal @spruceandpine @sailor-cat2 @literally-just-kirby @emerqlds @chaoticgoodandu @notsocharmingmagician @flying-paperboat @touchedbyanerdyotaku

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Chapter 7

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1   Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

The grey man was dead.

The grey man looked like he had been dead for some time.

What little skin he had remaining hung loosely from the bone. The eye sockets were empty, the patches of remaining hair were stringy and dirty. The skull had caved in around the crossbow bolt, revealing an awful wriggling mass of maggots on the inside. The stench of rotting flesh, which Roman had only been able to smell up close before, now filed the room, making him gag.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately for whatever glamour had made it so hard to see the details of the grey man’s face to return. He griped Mittens’ soft fur tightly with his good hand, earning him a disgruntled meow.

“What the fuck.” A voice muttered.

Unseen by Roman, a figure emerged from the doorway. One with skin bleached white under the lamp light and eyes that seemed to glow an unnatural shade of violet. Most of him was hidden under a dark cloak, save for the fearsome looking crossbow he held at his hip.

Had there been anyone left to see, Virgil would no doubt have made an intimidating sight. At least until he reached out one foot to poke at the grey man's body and recoiled with an undignified ‘eeeeeew!’ when the flesh gave way easily under the pressure.

Virgil had served more years then he cared to remember in the Finaley’ed army. He had seen many dead bodies. That did not make it any better to hear one squelch.

“Okay.” He called, “Okay, the coast is clear and I shot a dead guy.”

Roman heard a second pair of footsteps approaching before a new voice asked: “Did you retrieve the bolt?”

“The bolt that is covered in maggots? No. No I did not.”

“That’s a waste of resources.”

“That is not my main problem with the corpse in the basement Loga- no don’t touch it!”

“This looks like several months of decay- but there’s no surrounding detritus – do you think they moved it here? For what purpose?”

“I don’t care! Maybe it’s just…some, some unlucky bath house guy that got left down here. Who knows! Just help me find the damm cat.”

“Ah yes,” Roman could hear the disdain in Logan’s voice, “The magic cat.”

On the ground, obscured from their view by the network of pipes, Roman kept his eyes firmly shut. So long as his eyes were shut, he was listening to Logan and Virgil’s bickering and was seconds away from rescue.

But what if he opened his eyes and they weren’t there?

Julius had been found of testing his curses’ limits in this area. He would order Romulus to ‘see’ imaginary monsters in the shadows and then have him describe them. Or to recount conversations that never happened. Or to forget ones that had. None of this research had ever been particularly successful - he couldn’t be ordered to alter reality, even in the privacy of his own head – but Julius had never quite given up on it.

What if he had found a way to make it work?

Roman could hear his own heartbeat, the fast paced thump melding with the rush of water in the pipes that surrounded him, making his head throb and his whole body tremble.

What if it wasn’t Virgil and Logan there at all? What if it was Niki and Marcus back again, or Lucius himself, or no one at all?

What if it wasn’t even Julius doing it, just his own pain-addled mind playing tricks on him?

Romulus bit back a whimper, squeezing his arms tight around his middle.

This was too much for Mittens, who let out a yowl of protest and wriggled out of Roman’s grip.

“Oh!” He gasped, eyes flying open “Sorry!”

Mittens ignored his apology, scampering away through the open door and disappearing into the gloom of the corridor. There was a shout, a sudden rush of footsteps and a loud clang followed by a short curse as someone tripped on one of the pipes running along the floor.

And then two men were standing over him. Twin expression of relief morphing quickly into concern.

Virgil swallowed hard, the healers eyes flicking rapidly over each visible injury before meeting Roman’s own.

“Hey there Princy.” Virgil said softly.

***

The journey back through the corridors was a lot slower than their journey in. At least Logan had managed to retrieve one of the lanterns from the maintenance room so he was no longer relying on clinging to the back of Virgil’s cape to navigate.

When they had initially followed the….cat….to the bathhouse they’d thought their luck was beginning to change. It was coronation day, all businesses were closed; it should have been an easy matter to sneak in. When Virgil had scaled the opposing buildings for some roof top reconnaissance however he had come back grim faced – the upper floors were full of soldiers.

The design on their uniform matched the symbol Lucy had drawn the night before, and that Logan had identified in the library that morning. It belonged to the house of Orenlla in Notaleveale. It was not three ‘Vs’ as Lucy had thought, but a stylised version of the three largest peaks on the Sarindu mountain range, which marked the border between Notaleveale and the middle kingdoms. The man she had seen had apparently been wearing his clasp upside down.

Despite his success, Logan had left the library disappointed. Ornella was a noble house in Notaleveale but not one significant enough to warrant a permanent residence in the middle kingdom city of Steveange. It was surely possible to find out where the contingent were staying – the townsfolk seemingly obsessed with the movement of the visiting nobility- but the librarians he spoke to all gave different suggestions, if any at all. Checking every possible address was going to take days.

As desperate as Logan had been feeling, at least he didn’t return to the meeting point with a cat.

Patton had gone to see the crone – or ‘Mama Tay’, as she apparently insisted Patton call her - who had no new information as to where Roman had gone or why he had left, but who had offered to help find him anyway.

Using her cat.

(“I don’t like it.” Virgil said.

“Thank you Virgil.” Logan said, relived to find at least one of his companions hadn’t lost their minds.

“It’s blood magic”

“It’s a CAT!”)

Apparently, when Mittens had scratched Roman at the crone’s – Mama Tay’s – house, it had collected enough blood for a simple locator spell. And Patton, bless him, had agreed to swap a bushel of fresh food from the market for an hours use of the magical bard seeking cat.

Logan had despaired.

Logan wasn’t quite ready to eat his words (dogs could be trained to track blood scents couldn’t they? Why not a cat? There was a reasonable explanation somewhere, surely) but even he had to admit, Mittens had been a lot more successful than any of them.

After Virgil had returned from the rooftop shaking his head, Mittens had meowed piteously until they followed him to a side street, where thin slits set at ground level vented hot air from the bathhouse basement. The cat had slipped in easily, and after a few minutes debate, Logan and Virgil had wiggled their way in after.

They’d used a rope to reach the ground, finding themselves at the base of a set of stairs. There was a soft glow at the top, presumably the main floor of the house, enough to illuminate Mittens’ tail as he trotted off deeper into the basement.

It was only Virgil’s night vision that prevented them from breaking their necks on the next set of stairs, but eventually they had made their way to the a well-lit and uncomfortably warm maintenance room.

And to Roman.

An injured Roman. A glassy-eyed Roman who could barely stand and started shivering as soon as they left the heat of the room.

“He’s going into shock.” Virgil muttered, fixing his cape around Roman’s shoulders. He pulled it tight, wrapping the ends securely, but making Roman whimper in pain. Not knowing what to do, Logan just held the lantern higher. It illuminated the cut on Roman’s sallow face, and the bruises that surrounded it. Bruises which continued over his shoulders and no doubt down his back. Logan had seen the stick, lying next to the corpse, it’s end strained with blood from where the skin had split.

Stupidly, he wished he’d taken the time to break it into a hundred little pieces.

When they reached the first set of stairs, they paused to let Roman catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and he slumped heavily against Logan’s side.

Logan had once watched Roman hop on one foot for almost a mile rather than swallow his pride and admit he needed help. Logan exchanged a glance with Virgil, not bothering to keep the panic from his face.

Virgil let out a long exhale an reached over to squeeze Logan’s shoulder reassuringly, shifting himself to take some of the bard’s weight.

“He’s not going to be able to climb out the way we came in.” Virgil murmured.

“Obviously.” Logan nodded.

That was okay. They had a plan B.

As if on cue, a distant roar rang out above them, followed by quite a lot of screaming.

“Issat Patton?” Roman asked, staring into the darkness with unfocused eyes.

“Mmhmm”, Virgil leaned over and pushed some of Roman’s damp hair away from his face. “He was meant to come get us if we weren’t out in twenty minutes. I think he’s early.”

“There’s at les’ a dozen of ‘em.” Roman slurred “Niki said.”

“Patton can handle it.” Virgil said firmly, though his eyes flickered to the ceiling, betraying his nervousness. “Can you walk?”

Roman nodded, though he needed both their help to actually manage it. It was painfully slow going, with Roman unsuccessfully trying to hide a wince of pain with each step.

The first flight of stairs was relatively short, but by the time they had reached the top Roman’s shaking was so bad it was making Logan’s own teeth rattle. Still, they pressed on, almost dragging the bard between them to the base of the much larger set of stairs that would take them to street level.

Here the noises from the floor above were much louder – the clash of steel on steel reverberating down the stairs.

Logan stared at the next obstacle, uncertain. There were what amounted to five flights, with a small flat platform at each turning point. There was a banister running each side of the stairs, but it was missing in several places. What was there didn’t look like it would hold much weight.

Above them, there was an enormous crash followed by a bellow of almost inhuman rage.

“Frog mode?” Roman asked drowsily.

“Frog mode.” Virgil said grimly.

The berserkers of Krutova painted their faces with the green and blue mud from the rivers and swamps that saturated their forest home. Legend said they could lie in wait for hours, hidden under the water, using hollow reeds to breath before leaping out on unsuspecting enemies with a monstrous frenzied rage, dragging their opponents to a watery grave – assuming they didn’t, quite literally, rip them apart first.

Logan had never seen Patton paint his face. And the big man did not like to talk about his time at war. But Logan had seen him fight off more than a dozen men in a bar brawl without breaking a sweat. He’d once seen him wrestle a wild boar just for fun.

Still. The men upstairs were trained guardsmen, not drunks. And they were armed. And it had only been a small boar.

Virgil was clearly having similar thoughts, his fingers twitching against his side, his eyes constantly flickering up and then back towards Logan and Roman. .

“Go.” Logan said, “We’ll follow you.”

Virgil hesitated, but Roman nodded, straightening up as much as he could “We’ll be righ’ behin’ you. Go help dad.”

Virgil dithered a moment more and then let out all his breath in a rush, reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Okay just. Go slow. We’ll come get you when the coast is clear.” he waited until they both nodded before turning and all but leaping up the stairs. Roman held his pose until he was out of sight and then collapsed once more against Logan’s side.

The scholar adjusted his grp on the lantern, and hooked his other arm over Roman’s back. With a grunt of effort, the bard managed to sling his left arm over Logan’s shoulder, leaving his uninjured hand free to grip the rickety banister. Logan squeezed, holding him tightly. Roman groaned as he pressed against the bruises and welts that coated his back but Logan held firm.

“One step at a time.” the younger man said softly. “Okay?”

Panting, Roman nodded, giving Logan a sickly lopsided grin.

The staircase spiralled five times before reaching the top floor. They made it round twice before trouble found them.

“You.” The man growled.

The man standing between them and freedom was generically handsome, with large eyes and a strong jaw. He had a passing resemblance to Roman; with the same dark reddish brown hair and tanned skin. He wore a doublet of pink and navy, with the three peaked mountains embroidered in gold thread.

“Luc’-“ Roman gasped out, “don’t-“

“Shut up!” the Marquis de Orenlla snapped. He held a wicked looking dagger in one hand, eyes ablaze. “Is there no end to your duplicity? You foul traitor, I should have you hanged!“

Also like Roman, he seemed to favour being loud over being coherent.

With a grunt, Roman removed his injured arm from Logan’s shoulder and clung to the banister.

“Go!” he shouted to Logan.

Logan spared him an exasperated glance and threw the lantern at the Marquis head.

He went down with a screech, rolling back and forth on the small platform to put the flames dancing on his embroidery. The dagger skirted away and over the edge of the platform.

“You go.” Logan snapped at Roman, pulling out his sword and stepping between the two men.

Technically it was Roman’s sword, the one he had left behind in the inn. But Logan has been taking their training sessions seriously and it felt comfortable in his hands. He pointed the blade a the Marquis throat, effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Wow!” Roman laughed and lent to the side to grin at the flabbergasted noble “I trained him.” he said smugly.

“Hurry up!” Logan hissed and to his great relief, Roman did so, inching his way behind Logan and starting up the next flight of stairs.

“Stop.” The Marquis croaked out.

Roman stopped.

Logan turned towards him, frustrated “Roman, I’ve got this – just keep-“

Later, Logan would blame the stress of the situation for just why he chose to turn away from his prisoner at that precise moment.

Before he had chance to process what was happening, he was falling. Pain rippling through his ankle from a well placed kick from the Marquis. He dropped the heavy sword almost immediately, only for it to be snatched up by the larger man.

Logan felt himself being dragged through the air, and all at once he was pinned against the Marquis chest, sword now held at his own neck.

He saw Roman start back down the stairs towards them and felt the Marquis’ hot breath against his ear as he shouted: “Stop!”

Roman stopped. One foot frozen in the air, he lost his balance almost immediately and toppled to the side, reaching out instinctively to grab the banister with his injured hand, letting out a howl of pain.

The Marquis shuffled backwards, dragging Logan with him, dangerously close to the edge of the platform.

“I’m serious, Romulus.” the Marquis growled. “Not one more step. Or your friend here is going to be even shorter.”

“I'm average height.” Logan muttered sullenly.

The Marquis snorted in his ear. “Where? In the Dwarf kingdom?”

“Lucius!” Roman whimpered, he was hunched over, cradling his bad arm to his chest. “Please – he’s just a kid!”

“I am only three years younger than you!” Logan cried indignantly.

“Oh right.” Roman muttered. “My bad.” And then Roman straightened up. He hadn’t been cradling his arm at all – he’d been working something out of his tunic.

Roman’s dagger, a dull pointless object in desperate need of replacement, came hurtling towards them.

The Marquis let out a shout and instinctively raised the sword to bat the dagger away. Logan took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip, blindly kicking out behind him as he did so.

His foot made satisfying contact with the Marquis’ knee, sending him toppling off the platform, a resounding series of crashes and shouts echoing through the chamber as he bounced down the stairs.

Logan hurried towards Roman as fast as he could, not bothering to turn around and see how far the Marquis had fallen.

“Can you move?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t think so.” Roman admitted from his prone position at the base of the steps. Logan bit back a wail of frustration. Roman truly looked done in, his eyes battling to stay open, and there was no way Logan was going to be able to carry him up the-

“Logan? Roman?”

Logan hadn’t been to a city temple since he left his apprenticeship. He had no particular interest in the Gods or their silly squabbles. But the sight of Patton - working his way towards them with his clothing torn and face splattered with blood that wasn’t his own – well. Logan was fairly certain he could pass for an angel.

“You’re safe now.” Logan whispered, although he had no proof of the long term truth of that statement, “go to sleep Roman.”

Roman did as he was told.

Part 8

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It And I’m Yours- Ch. 3

Summary: You and Steve are growing closer even inviting Bucky to your weekly pizza night, but when something happens at work you need their help before something bad happens.

Warnings: Mentions of Domestic violence, violence, cursing

A/N: Special thanks to @river-soul​ for betaing this for me. As with all of my work, if you are under 18 DNI please. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

It’s been one month since you started the job with the prosecutor's office, and although your caseload kept you busy Steve always made sure Friday nights were pizza nights. He told you he took your advice and put in for a leave of absence from The Avengers to get his head on straight. You swelled with pride knowing that a break would only help him come back a better person. On this particular Friday night, you were working late finishing up some paperwork on a domestic violence case that was going to court on Monday. You had set the victim up in a safehouse and gave her a burner cell to contact you if anything happened. It wasn’t a typical protocol for victim advocates to be that involved, but you couldn’t help feeling like something wasn’t right. As you were getting ready to leave there was a knock at your door.

“Come in,” you said while you packed up your desk.

Connor Pierce meandered into your office.

“Hey, there darling I was hoping to catch you.” 

“Connor, I told you not to call me that,” you huffed. “What can I do for you?”

“Just thought I would let you know that my client made bail,” Connor said carefully.

You stopped breathing. Connor was representing the person who left your client for dead on the sidewalk outside their apartment after she ran late with his dinner. 

“He was supposed to be in jail until the hearing. How did he make bail?” You seethed.

Connor sat in the chair in front of your desk and sighed. “I really have no idea. Off the record, I was kind of hoping he would rot in there for a few days, but I guess he has more pull than he led me to believe.”

You looked at Connor with your mouth agape. “Aren’t you supposed to be providing your clients the best representation?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like them,” Connor smirked at you.

“Well, thanks for the heads up. Now, if you don’t mind I have to make a phone call.” 

You pulled out your phone and started to call the safehouse. Connor stood up and placed a hand over your phone. 

“It’s late, and there isn’t anything you can do. Why don’t I take you out to dinner? My treat.”

You pulled away from Connor and smiled. “It’s 5 o’clock, so not too late. Besides, I have plans tonight, which you know seeing as you ask me out every Friday and every Friday I tell you the same thing.”

He laughed and nodded his head. “You’ll go out with me eventually. I’m very persistent.”

“I’m sure you are sweetie, now if you’ll excuse me I have a phone call to make and plans to keep.”

You gestured for Connor to leave your office. Once he was gone you sent a text to your client to let her know about her husband making bail. When you left your office without a response you decided to call the safehouse.

“Hi, I’m calling about Ava Hendrix codeword: Sparrow. Her husband was released on bail and I am trying to get a hold of her.”

“Hello yes, Mrs. Hendrix left a few hours before curfew and hasn’t returned. We have been trying to get a hold of her too.”

Your stomach jumped into your throat. “Thank you. I’ll contact the authorities.”

You hung up with the safehouse and reached out to the police. Unfortunately, since there was no order of protection and Ava was an adult they were ‘unable to provide any assistance unless there was immediate danger.’ You called bullshit.

You took the steps to Steve’s apartment two at a time. When you got to his door you knocked frantically until he opened it. 

“Jeeze, doll I know you love pizza but cool it with the knocking,” Steve teased before he saw your face and his smile dropped, “What’s going on?”

You pushed past Steve into his apartment. “I can’t find one of my clients and her dickbag husband made bail.” 

You looked up and saw Bucky hovering around the counter next to the pizza. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a small curse. You had forgotten that you invited Bucky to pizza night this week to help him relax after a particularly difficult mission. Shaking your head, you turned back to Steve.

“I need to find her Steve, he almost killed her.” You started shaking and Steve pulled you into a hug, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“Okay, we’ll find her. Buck, can you call whoever isn’t on a mission for a personal favor?”

“Sure thing Stevie,” Bucky pulled out his phone and started making calls.

“I’m ruining pizza night. I forgot I invited Bucky this week. He was supposed to be relaxing after the mission, not be thrust into a new one.” You put your head in your hands as Steve chuckled.

“Don't worry about Bucky sweetheart, he's tough he'll manage.” Steve placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, “Why don’t we take the pizza to go and drive around for a bit to see if we can spot her.”

“I would really like that Steve, thank you.”

You, Steve, and Bucky piled into Steve’s car. You had to admit you were shocked when you saw the clown car Steve drove. After effectively getting Bucky to agree to the backseat, you had to have a good view since you knew what Ava looked like, you gave Steve her old address thinking to start there. 

“Could you move your seat up?” Bucky asked as he shifted around uncomfortably.

You whipped your head around, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, “We are in the middle of searching for a woman who is in serious danger and you're worried about leg room?”

Bucky stared at you for a minute before sliding over into the middle of the backseat. You turned around and caught his smirk in the rearview mirror. Your phone chirped and you saw a text from Ava’s burner phone. You sucked in a deep breath before opening it.

“Hi, sorry to worry you. I’m fine. I’m home and Derek is going to take care of me. Thanks for your help, see you on Monday.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Steve, drive faster. He has her.”

You heard the whirring of Bucky’s metal arm and saw the tick in Steve’s jaw as he slammed on the gas. When you got to the apartment you could hear Ava screaming and things crashing. You whipped open the car door and bolted to the apartment before Steve fully stopped the car. You jiggled the handle but it was locked. You checked under the welcome mat to see if they kept a spare key and let out a breath of relief when you saw the copper key. Quickly opening the door you saw Ava huddled on the floor bleeding over shattered glass and Derek wielding a bat.

“Hey, asshole drop the bat!” You rushed at him and Derek took a swing at you, narrowly missing your head as you ducked.

“You’re that bitch who tried to hide my wife from me. This doesn’t concern you.” He lifted the bat over his head and you braced your arms over your face before you heard the bat drop and Derek cry out in pain.

You looked up and saw him clutching his shoulder where a knife was sticking out. Turning around you saw Bucky pull another knife from his holster and Steve stalking toward Derek with fire in his eyes. You crawled over to Ava who was thankfully still awake and called 911. 

“You think it’s fun to hit women? Think it makes you a man?” Steve threw a punch and cracked Derek's nose, “How do you like getting his? Huh? Not so much fun when they’re not afraid of you?”

“Steve, stop, the police are coming and I don’t need him filing a report on you.”

Steve turned around and met your pleading eyes. He softened a bit before throwing Derek back on the ground. He came over to check you for any injuries before turning his attention to Ava. Bucky waited by the door as the sirens grew louder, twirling his knife as if to silently dare Derek to try something. Aside from a few cuts and bruises, Ava was fine. 

When the police got there they put Derek in handcuffs as his attorney arrived. You glared at Connor as you waited with Ava who was being checked out by the paramedics. After telling her you would be right back to ride with her to the hospital, you made your way over to Connor.

“Don’t think he’s making bail this time,” you spat.

“Well since he broke the conditions of his release he’s being remanded until the trial,” Connor sighed. “I told you he made bail not only because it’s my job but because I thought something bad might happen.”

You glared at Connor who gave you a soft look.“Well, I think I’d like you more if you didn’t represent such complete scum.”

“I think I’d like me more too,” Connor admitted before walking away.

You felt a hand on your shoulder as you turned around to see Steve. 

“Hey, doll, you okay?”

“I’m fine Steve. I’m really happy you and Bucky were here, who knows what would have happened if it wasn’t for you guys.” You gave him a shy smile.

“I’m glad for the opportunity for some target practice,” Bucky joked.

You laughed and gave him a hug that he tentatively returned. “You have perfect aim and you know it, Buck. I have to go get Ava to the hospital and finish my reports. Go enjoy your pizza, I’ll see you tomorrow for coffee Steve.”

You placed a kiss on Steve’s cheek and jogged back over to the ambulance. Before you were out of earshot you caught Bucky talking to Steve.

“I like her, Stevie. She reminds me of you.”

“Yeah, I like her too,” Steve said wistfully.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “I Have Seen.”

Wrote something easy and more similar to my original stories today. I hope you like it. 

I have been thinking about taking a couple days off from writing these stories, since I have been working non stop on this and the book for over a year now, so I am considering taking a break for about a week so I don’t burn out. I haven’t decided yet, so we shall see, but I hope you all have a great day.

I have a job no one knows about.

I don’t think anyone would be surprised if they heard about my job. I don’t even think they would care all that much.

None of this explains why my work station is in the basement of a nondescript government bunker on a death planet…. A!36. I can’t explain why I need three codes to get into my office, or why I go through five locked doors, or why I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do on pain of termination and imprisonment. 

You would assume, perhaps that I am a spy, and involved in some covert cloak and dagger espionage against other species and nations: you would be wrong.

You might assume I am a weapons developer, but you would also be wrong.

Perhaps you think I spend my time wire-tapping on important calls between species and recording important information.

None of this is really the case.

In fact, what I do is quite safe and relatively simple, plenty of other non-humans are doing it of their own accord and plenty more humans do it on a regular basis. What I do is not illegal, it is not espionage, it wouldn’t even phase you.

If that is the case.

Why do so many of my coworkers go missing?

Why are there absent desks every few months?

Why can I not make any lasting friends?

Management always give excuses to those of us who are left.

They left for mental health reasons.

THey moved on to a different job.

They are moving up in the company.

They had to be let go.

All things generic and all things that wouldn’t generally raise suspicion… unless they happen so frequently as us.

You may be wondering at this point, what it is I do for a job.

Perhaps, you think, it is very boring and unfulfilling that I would go insane from sheer boredom.

No, I actually find my job quite interesting.

Perhaps you think my job forces me to watch very disturbing and violent things…. And I suppose that could be close to the truth, though no one forces us to watch the videos if we don’t want, and no one makes us read the material if we cannot handle it. In fact, there are those of us who specialize in that sort of thing.

I do.

I am a specialist in historical xenopsychology.

I study human history.

When I say that I study human history, I do not mean as in a passing fancy. I do not simply read their school children’s textbooks and accept everything I see as truth, no, every day , I come into work and it is my job, to learn about everything that has ever happened in human history, to the best of my ability.

It is my job to know the good, the bad, the ugly, and the monstrous.

I work from day to night, cataloguing and filling my brain with all the information I can before recording it as a lecture on aura drives, which are then stored away for future use in a deep backup system under the surface of this planet.

I have followed human history since the beginning of time.

And I have marveled at it.

Much of my research is flawed, I know. Human history has always been biased, history being shaped and molded by the winners of conflict. Much of what else I know stems primarily from scholarly work humans have done on their own species, looking back the centuries and making assumptions about what they were doing.

While this is a good insite -- humans trying to explain the behavior of other humans-- it isn’t necessarily correct.

For this reason, it is my job to study every piece of information that comes across my desk.

Due to a government agreement between the galactic assembly and the United Nations of Earth, I was given access to the rebuilt library of Alexandria and all of its electronic files which include photos and information on the original documents that they keep in sealed vaults below the library.

I have read every account of human history, and every second hand interpretation of human history that I could possibly find in my time working here.

I have read Darwin and his early theory regarding evolution. I have examined his evidence, which include images and diagrams of the human body spanning centuries. My determinations were made just the same as the rest of them. Humanity was a tree-living species that found its evolutionary niche through walking and the use of opposable thumbs.

This ability to walk, in tandem with the use of hands eventually gave rise to the slow swelling of the brain in comparison to other animals. Human evolved primitive tools, and even more primitive religions, societies and rules.

They developed art early on, painting on the walls of their caves, in the darkness of night surrounded by their fires.

I have read about their befriending of animals in that same darkness. Man’s slow molding of the wolf into the dog - a species designed specifically for the needs of man.

I have attempted to read every account of every atrocity ever inflicted on humanity.

I have read of wars, and battles, Marathon, Thermopylae, Kadesh, D-day, Vietnam, Korea, Russo-Japanese, World wars I, II, III,  and IV and the Panasian War. 

I have witnessed in images and first hand accounts the chilling discoveries of natural disasters gone back thousands of years. Pompeii, Mt. St Helens, Katrina, Tsunamis, earthquakes, the fire of london, 1887 yellow river flood, the 3130 California earthquake, and Haiti earthquakes. 

And I have studied and witnessed every atrocity man has ever committed on its own people. The Mongol hordes, the crusades, Mayan and Aztec sacrifices, The Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, mustard gas, 9/11, slavery in the America, the Trail of Tears, The Bataan Death March, the Berlin wall, Civil war, the French revolution, Nanjing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I tore a hole in humanity and looked inside to see your rot. 

I study the maggots that crawl under your skin.

Don’t confuse me with someone who fears you, or is even disgusted by you. You have committed thousands of horrors, yes this is true. But humanity is not a polished gem, it is an uncut stone marred by dirt and debris, but beautiful in a way that can hardly be explained.

You scrub away the rot only to find more underneath, yet you continue to scrub, in a futile attempt to better yourselves.

It is a beautiful thing if not in vain.

I do not judge you for your crimes because I have also seen your achievements. I watched you survive  the dark ages, I learned your philosophy from the greek world which brought the beauty of democracy and equity in later forms. I watched the enlightenment of the Renaissance, and have seen your beautiful artwork from each period of time. 

I have witnessed your great nations and empires rise and fall, Assyria, Byzantine, Rome, Britain, Egypt, Mongole, Aztek, Soviet Union, The chinese Dynasties and the Communist parties. The United States, and the Asian Co-Prosperity Collective

I have seen your bravery and your loss.

I have learned about the good that walks your earth.

Humans who stood up to tyrants.

I have even examined your stories of creation, of deities who molded humans from clay or dust, watched your world come into form in seven days, or ride on the backs of giant animals. I have seen the gods gift you with fire and learned the teaching of your martyrs over the centuries. Men and women slain and stoned or pulled away by spirits. I have learned of crucifixion, death and rebirth as well as reincarnation and a return to the very fabric of the universe itself.

I see everything.

I see everything. I see it all in my dreams laid out before me like a tapestry following each woven thread through the ages. I thought if I looked back, I could know as much as I possibly could. If I dug deep enough, I would be able to see your secrets.

And I have discovered you.

I see you hiding in there.

I know what you are.

Come out, come out.

And I won’t stop until it is all over and your cities crumbled into dust and bone.

…

…

I am being called into my manager’s office. Perhaps I too am ready to go up in the company.

...

I will be back soon…

Deus 

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Dress Up (Ethan x MC)

Summary: On Halloween night, Ethan gets a big surprise

A/N: Okay so this was the tooth rotting fluff I was talking about earlier this week. 

A/N 2: I haven’t written something this short in years. Issa miracle

A/N 3: Happy Halloween! Enjoy!

~v~

The words on the paper in front of Ethan start to blur together the longer he stares at the page. He’s been at the hospital for nearly 18 hours and it’s finally starting to have an effect on him, the exhaustion finally creeping in.

It’s been a long shift. He put in some hours in the free clinic on top of helping with his patient for the diagnostics team, and dealt with a particularly exhausting meeting with a few other department heads. On top of the usual business, it’s Halloween, and the holiday has never bode well for the hospital. By the time midnight rolls around, the ER is typically packed with college students and other young 20-somethings that have gotten way too drunk, started fights, and injured themselves.

His cell phone rings and he reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve it. His mood instantly perks up when he sees ‘Naomi R’ flash across the screen accompanied by a picture of his wife’s smiling face.

It takes him mere seconds to answer the phone, balancing it delicately between his shoulder and ear. “Hello?”

“Hi handsome,” Naomi greets back.

The cheeriness in her voice cheers him up slightly. While it’s been less than a day, he’s missed the sound of her voice. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“My job,” Ethan deadpans.

“Obviously smarty-pants. Are you working hard or hardly working?”

“I'm always working hard,” Ethan insists. “I’m trying to prepare myself for how busy the ER is going to be once the sun goes down. I hate Halloween.”

“You hate everything.”

“I hate pointless consumer holidays,” Ethan says. “Especially ones that promote candy and alcohol consumption.”

“Oh, so all the fun ones,” Naomi teases. “Where are you? Are you in the office?”

“Yes, I’m taking a break right now.”

“Perfect. Open the door.”

“Open the–” Ethan looks up, intrigued. He can’t make out any figures on the other side of the door, the frosted glass not doing him any favors. Either his lovely wife had food delivered for him, or she’s pulling some sort of Halloween trick on him. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise, so open the door.”

Deciding to play along, Ethan gets up from his huge leather chair and in a few quick strides, he’s on the other side of the room, opening the door. Looking straight ahead he doesn’t immediately see anyone standing outside. He should’ve known this was some prank of hers.

“Hi, daddy!”

The tiny voice cuts through the otherwise silent hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan sees a tiny blur practically flying towards him. The small figure collides with him with a soft thud, wrapping around him tightly.

“Oof!”

Chuckling to himself, Ethan glances down at the 3 year old clutching his pant legs like a life raft. “You are very strong for a toddler.”

“Valentina Marie Ramsey, what have I told you about running away from me!” Naomi’s voice is what captures Ethan’s attention as she speed-walks down the hall in an effort to make it to the office.

Ethan looks her up and down, confused. She’s wearing her work clothes, a simple blouse, pencil skirt and her white coat, as well as her purse and a plastic bag from CVS hanging off of her shoulder. Naomi isn’t supposed to be working today and she never dresses this formally in their casual life outside of work. “Did you take a shift?”

“Daddy, look, we're doctors because it’s Halloween!” Valentina says, garnering her dad’s attention. 

The couple had given up on picking a costume for Valentina over a week ago, as the precocious toddler wasn’t good at picking one thing and sticking to it. In the past month, she’s wanted to be a pirate, a bear, a fairy, a princess, a princess fairy, and Baby Shark.

Ethan looks down at her and sees she has on a white coat of her own, one that is entirely too big for her which only makes her look that much more adorable. He smiles at her. “You make a very cute doctor, my darling.”

“Mommy says doctors are supposed to be very smart, not cute,” Valentina corrects, and while she’s already the spitting image of her mother, she sounds just like her too. She’s just as stubborn and argumentative.

“You’re the smartest 3 year old I know,” Ethan says honestly. As if a child born to him and Naomi would be anything but.

“You promise?”

“I pinky promise.”

“We were just coming by to show off our costumes, and to grab my doctor’s bag,” Naomi says. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss onto Ethan’s lips, one he doesn’t let end to quickly. Wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, he pulls her in closer to deepen the kiss. 18 hours is far too long to go without her.

The kiss is broken up by Valentina aggressively wedging herself between the two of them. “No kissing.”

Naomi pulls away with an eye roll. “Okay, okay.” Leaving the doorway, Ethan moves backwards and allows them inside the office. Naomi instantly goes behind Ethan’s desk and grabs her physician’s bag. She usually doesn’t carry it unless the diagnostics team has to make a house call, and she empties it, making it easier for Valentina to carry around and use it as a candy bag. Before she hands it over, she empties the plastic bag she’s holding, a box of pink band-aids, popsicle sticks (aka tongue depressors), a roll of stickers, and a pair of small reading glasses fall onto the table.

Ethan watches as Naomi puts the final touches on Valentina’s costume. “Why the glasses?”

“Because you wear glasses,” Valentina answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ethan raises an eyebrow in question, not understanding the point Valentina is trying to make. He turns to Naomi for further clarification.

“Val didn’t want to be any old doctor,” Naomi says. “She wanted to be...you.”

“Mommy said I can wear your big doctor coat!” Valentina exclaims.

And that’s when Ethan notices she is in fact wearing his spare white coat; Dr. Ethan Ramsey, M.D., F.A.C.P., stitched into it underneath Edenbrook’s logo.

While he already thought his three year old dressing up as a doctor was a sight to behold, something inside his chest warms as the thought of her wanting to be dressed up as him. Her entire world is comprised of doctors, but she wants to be a mini him.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been silent until Valentina tugs on his hand. “Are you okay, daddy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Ethan assures her with a smile. He crouches down so they’re able to look each other eye-to-eye. “Daddy is just very happy that you want to wear my coat, that’s all.” Valentina does a spin for him, spurred on by the positive affirmation and Ethan looks up, catching Naomi’s eye. “She wants to be me, not you.”

“Whatever. She looks like me, so when people see us together, she’ll automatically assume she’s dressed up as me.”

“But you and I both know the real intent. You know, I think your costume is missing something.” Reaching around his neck, Ethan takes off his stethoscope and drapes it around her instead. “There. Now you make a perfect Ethan Ramsey.”

“So now I have to make you feel better,” Valentina says. Dramatically, she places her hand on Ethan’s forehead, as if she’s taking his temperature. “Uh-oh.”

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Ethan asks.

“You have a boo-boo,” she replies matter-of-factly. “But I can make it all better.” With some help from her mother, Valentina manages to open the box of band-aids. She sticks one on her dad’s cheek, just above his mustache, and follows that up by kissing his cheek. “There! How do you feel?”

“I feel much better,” Ethan says. “Thank you for being such a good doctor.”

“You’re welcome.” She then shoves a big Hello Kitty sticker into the palm of Ethan’s hand. “And you get a sticker for being good.”

“Even better.” Ethan tugs on one of Valentina’s curls, earning a giggle.

A few more minutes pass, with Naomi and Ethan snapping as many pictures as they possibly can and Valentina putting a few more band-aids on her parents.

The door opens and Baz comes in this time, eyes downcast as he’s staring at a file. “Hey Ethan, Dr. Banerji wanted to–” he stops short, laughing as he zeroes in on the bright pink band-aids covering Ethan. “That is quite the look you got going for yourself, Ethan.”

“I’ll have you know that my lovely doctor here put these bandages on me.”

Baz’s grin turns into a wide smile as he takes in Valentina’s appearance. “Well aren’t you the cutest doctor I’ve ever seen, Teeny!”

“I’m not a cute doctor, I’m a smart doctor, Uncle Baz,” Valentina practically growls.

“I apologize for the mistake.”

Naomi glances at the large clock hanging behind Ethan’s desk. “Okay, Val, we have to go so we can get some candy before it gets too dark. Say bye-bye to daddy.”

Valentina wraps her tiny arms around Ethan’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Bye daddy. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

As Naomi gathers up all of their things, Valentina tells him all about how she can’t wait to show off her costume and get candy. It was her first time trick-or-treating, as Naomi and Ethan decided it was better to wait until she was a bit older before participating in the holiday. 

Her excitement is palpable and Ethan can’t help but to feel excited too. And while it’s true he’s no fan of Halloween, the thought of not witnessing it through his daughter’s eyes makes his chest tight. “How long do you plan on taking her around?”

“An hour,” Naomi answers. “I think that appropriate enough time for a 3 year old, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Ethan turns to Baz. “Do you think you can hold down the fort for an hour?”

Baz shrugs. “Sure. But only if you bring me back a Reese’s peanut butter cup.”

“That can be arranged.” Ethan stands up, his arms still firmly secured around Valentina. “Come on, Dr. and Dr Ramsey, we have some trick or treating to do.

~v~

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