#They work in their own different ways i guess...

[mrsjjongstby]

Overruled - p.js

P: Lawyer!Jay x Intern!Reader Synopsis: You weren’t supposed to get this close. Park Jay is your boss — calm, calculating, and impossible to read. You’re the associate with sharp instincts and a habit of calling things like they are. Together, you're a flawless legal team. Working with him was never supposed to feel personal. But late nights blur boundaries. Silence fills with meaning. And somewhere between case files and courtroom wins, something unspoken begins to shift. Warning: Slow-burn tension, jealousy, power imbalance (addressed respectfully), slight possessiveness (non toxic), kiss, physical touch.

Your heels click against the marble floor as you step into the conference room. Nerves sit tight in your stomach — new job, new firm, and everyone here looks like they eat lawsuits for breakfast. You barely sit down before someone enters behind you. 

A man. 

Sharp black suit. Loosened tie. Hair combed back so perfectly it almost feels unfair. He’s not just good-looking. He’s composed. Lethal. Dangerous in the way that makes judges lean forward and opposing counsel lose track of their arguments. 

“New blood?” he asks, not even looking up from the folder in his hands. 

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

He finally glances at you. His eyes are sharp. Observant. He’s already read too much about you, and you haven’t even introduced yourself yet. 

“I meant you,” he says, voice like calm steel. “You’re the one they brought in from the prosecutor’s office.” 

You nod. “And you’re…?” 

He closes the folder, lips twitching. “Jay Park. Senior counsel. And unfortunately for you, your supervisor.” 

Your smile stays polite. Barely. 

“Unfortunate for who exactly?” 

A pause. Then a low chuckle. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “This might be fun.” 

He walks past you, but not before his arm brushes yours — deliberate or not, you can’t tell. And somehow, even after he’s gone, the air still smells like his cologne and quiet challenge. 

That’s your first warning:  Jay Park doesn’t just play the game. 

He is the game.  

And whether you like it or not, you’re already playing. 

Jay slides the case file across the table to you, sharp and quiet, as the client settles in. He's all smooth charm — buttoned suit, elegant posture, expression carved from polished restraint. You’re seated beside him, back straight, fingers laced. Listening. Watching. 

Jay glances your way once before the client begins. Just one look. Subtle, like a warning. 

Let me handle it. Don’t speak out of turn. You almost smile. 

The client talks — loud, confident, a mess of contradictions about what they did and didn’t do in a contractual breach. Jay nods, listens, asks sharp, narrow questions like a scalpel. 

But they’re missing something. You lean forward slightly, your voice clean, sure. 

“Sorry—just to clarify. You told opposing counsel you never saw Clause 9. But you initialed it, correct?” 

The room goes still for a beat. Even Jay’s pen stops moving. The client shifts. “Well… yeah, but I didn’t read it—” 

“That won’t hold. The clause was visible, initialed, and dated. It won't matter what you meant. It matters what the court sees. We need a different angle.” 

You feel Jay’s gaze hit the side of your face, sharp as a blade. But he doesn’t interrupt. And when the client turns to Jay, a little stunned, Jay leans back slowly. 

“What she said,” he says simply, a tiny glint in his eyes. 

The client clears his throat, suddenly less smug.  “Well... I mean, yeah, I did sign it. I guess I didn’t realize it’d be used against me like that—” 

“You didn’t read your own contract,” you say, not unkindly, but not gently either. “That’s not going to make a judge sympathetic. But if we position the timeline a certain way, we can shift the narrative from negligent to pressured. Which is significantly more defensible.” 

Jay stays silent, watching you. The kind of silence that’s measured. Assessing. The client nods slowly, a little dazed. “Right. Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.” 

“I’ll draft a statement by morning,” you add. 

This time, Jay does smile. It’s subtle, barely there — just the curve of his lips and a flicker in his eyes. But it’s there. And when he finally speaks again, it’s directed to the client. 

“You’re in good hands,” he says. “We’ll get started on damage control. You’ll hear from us soon.” 

The meeting wraps quickly after that. The client leaves, mumbling some half-hearted thanks. Then it’s just you and Jay in the room. You close the file calmly, refusing to look over at him. Not first. He’ll expect that. 

But of course, he speaks first anyway. He walks to the other end of the room, slides his hands into his pockets, then finally turns to face you. “You went off script.” 

You lift your chin. “Your script was incomplete.” 

A pause. 

Then — he smiles. Just a little. But it’s dangerous. 

“You do realize you embarrassed a billion-won client.” 

You shrug. “You do it every other Tuesday.” 

He steps closer. His voice is low, deliberate. "You're smarter than I thought.” 

You smile back. “Then you didn’t think hard enough.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh — the sound surprising even himself. Then he says it like a challenge: 

“Alright. Let’s see what happens when I stop underestimating you.” 

The conference room is quieter than usual, except for the occasional click of your pen and the low hum of Jay’s laptop fan. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows. His tie is gone. His blazer is slung over the back of his chair. 

You glance at the clock on the far wall. 

12:13 a.m. 

You’d forgotten how late it was. Time always bends around Jay. He moves through it like it works for him. You rub at your temples, leaning back in the stiff office chair as your eyes skim over the third draft of the witness outline. The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly. 

Jay’s still typing. 

You glance over your laptop screen at him. His tie’s undone, sleeves rolled up. His hair’s starting to fall out of place. He looks almost… human like this. 

“I think my brain's leaking out of my ears,” you mutter. 

Jay doesn’t look up. “Good. That means you’re almost done.” 

You let out a soft, surprised laugh. “You always this charming at midnight?” 

He finishes typing, hits save, then finally glances up at you. His mouth twitches. “I don’t usually stay this late. I prefer mornings.” 

You sip your water. “You say that like it’s a personality trait.” 

Jay leans back in his chair, stretching one arm behind his head, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like Senior Counsel Jay Park. He just looks like a guy who’s also tired and running on stubbornness. 

“You always this talkative when you’re tired?” he asks. 

You shrug. “I talk more when it’s quiet.” 

He’s quiet for a beat. "Don't stop, then.” 

You glance at him. “I mean,” he says, nodding at the document in your hand, “it’s been productive.” 

You huff. “Smooth recovery.” 

“Didn’t realize I needed one.” He tosses you a pen — yours, the one you’d been chewing the cap of earlier — and it lands lightly beside your hand. 

“Page five has a typo, by the way.” 

You sigh dramatically. “Do you ever not notice everything?” 

Jay gives a dry hum, almost a laugh. “Only when I’m trying not to.” You narrow your eyes at him. He looks too innocent. 

“Were you trying not to notice that typo?” 

“No,” he says. “But I’ve been trying not to look at the stress doodle in the margin since you started drawing it twenty minutes ago.” 

You look down. The tiny, cartoonish angry face you drew on the corner of the page stares up at you. You groan and shove the page into your folder. “Forget you saw that.” 

Jay smiles—not smug, not mocking. Just… genuine. Relaxed. "I'll pretend I didn’t.” 

And you both return to work. No music. No big moment. Just two people, sharing silence. Sharing space. And for the first time since you met him, you realize Jay Park doesn’t always need to be cold to be composed. 

Sometimes, he’s just quiet. 

You don’t mean to listen.  You just stop walking. 

“…She handled that deposition better than anyone expected,” says a familiar voice — Mr. Han, one of the senior partners. “Not bad for someone who’s barely been here a month.” 

You pause mid-step. 

There’s a beat of silence before Jay replies. 

“Better than you expected,” he says smoothly. 

Mr. Han lets out a chuckle. “Come on. You were skeptical too.” 

Another pause. Then— 

Jay, quieter this time:  “I wasn’t skeptical. I was curious.” 

Your heart ticks. 

Mr. Han hums. “You’re not usually this invested in junior associates.” 

Jay’s voice doesn’t shift much, but there’s something careful about the way he says it:  “She thinks fast. She doesn’t scare easy. That’s rare.” 

You don’t mean to stand there, holding your stupid paper, half-hidden behind the doorframe. But then Mr. Han says, “She reminds me of you, you know. Younger. Hungrier.” 

Jay laughs—just once. Dry. 

“She’s smarter than I was at her age.” 

That lands hard. Harder than it should. You step away quietly, back into the hallway, pretending like you didn’t just hear that. Pretending you’re not feeling... something.  

Later that day, you pass him by the elevators. He nods like always. Controlled. Calm. But now you know what he says when you’re not in the room. And maybe that changes something. Just a little. Ok- maybe be bit more. 

And so, after that day something changed- you dont know what but you do know its cause of him. Not because of anything he said to you. But because of what he said when he didn’t think you were listening. 

You start noticing it in the small things. 

The way your files are suddenly reviewed a few hours earlier than usual, with quiet edits that weren’t there before. The way he stops interrupting you in meetings — not because he’s holding back, but because he’s actually listening. The way his gaze lingers for half a second longer when you speak, like he’s measuring something invisible in your words. 

He doesn’t say much. He never does.But you notice the shift in how he hovers near your desk just long enough to ask if you’ve eaten before a court session. How he passes you a printout you didn’t ask for but needed. How he gives you space in rooms where there was never space before. 

And none of it is loud. It’s not a declaration. It’s not romantic. But it’s real. And you don’t know what changed for him either. But you catch him looking at you sometimes — not like he’s judging, not like he’s calculating. Just curious. 

Like he’s still figuring out what made him change, too. 

And maybe thats the reason why you got defensive over him because, it was late afternoon. You’re in the firm’s break room with two other junior associates. Jay’s just stepped out of a meeting nearby.  

“He’s cold,” Kiara says, stirring sugar into her iced Americano. “Jay Park, I mean. Like—yeah, he’s good, but he’s got no people skills.” 

Another scoffs. “No personality either. I heard he once got a settlement offer and didn’t even flinch. Just stared until the guy folded.” 

You don’t mean to jump in. You really don’t. But the way they talk about him like he’s a machine— You close the cabinet, grab your mug, and say, calm but clear: 

“You don’t have to like him. But don’t pretend he doesn’t care.” 

Silence. 

One of them blinks. “Care about what?” 

You shrug, but your voice is firm. “The job. The outcome. Us, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. He notices everything. Half the time we don’t mess up because he already fixed it before we saw the mistake.” 

The other mutters, “Still acts like a robot.” 

You glance over. “He stayed late last Friday to proof my witness outline after I went home. Didn’t take credit. Didn’t say a word about it.” 

They quiet down. Sip their drinks. 

“Maybe being cold isn’t always cruelty. Maybe it’s just... how he protects himself.” 

You say, not knowing jay’s within ear-shot. Standing just around the corner listening. He doesn’t move. His face doesn’t change. But for a second — just a second — he closes his eyes like your words knocked the air out of him. Then he turns and walks away before you ever see him there. 

The office is still, fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead. Your takeout container sits open beside your laptop, steam curling up in the dim workspace. You’re halfway through your last paragraph when you hear the elevator doors open. You glance up just in time to see Jay step out, a case file under one arm, phone in the other. He slows slightly when he sees you. 

You blink. “You’re still here?” 

He lifts his brows. “You’re one to talk.” 

You shrug. “Deadline.” 

Jay walks toward his office but pauses near your desk when he notices the food. 

“Is that—kimchi jjigae?” he asks. 

You glance down. “Yeah. Place across the street.” 

He hesitates. “Did you get extra rice?” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you not eat?” 

He doesn’t answer. Just glances at the time on the corner of your screen. You sigh and hold up the spare container — the one you always order by habit, in case you get hungry later. He looks at it like it’s foreign. 

“I’m not stealing your dinner,” he says. 

“You’re not,” you reply. “I’m offering it.” 

Another pause. Then, with a small shake of his head and a barely-there smile:  “Alright. If you insist.” 

Fifteen minutes later, you're both eating on opposite ends of the long meeting table. Not talking. Not needing to. The silence is… comfortable. 

Jay sets his spoon down and leans back. “You eat fast.” 

You glance up. “You eat like someone who’s trying not to look like he’s enjoying it.” 

He tilts his head. “Do I?” 

“You do,” you say, stabbing your last piece of tofu. “You’re very... composed about stew.” 

He chuckles — actually chuckles. It’s short and dry, but genuine. 

“I don’t usually eat with anyone in this office.” 

“Why not?” 

Jay’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Too many people talk to fill silence. You don’t.” 

You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you — just poking at his rice, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. You smile softly. “I take that as a compliment.” 

Jay finally glances up, meets your eyes.“It is.” 

The moment stretches just enough to make your heart stutter once.Then you both return to your food. No rush. No need to explain anything. You weren’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t either. But somehow, this feels like the most peaceful part of your day. 

A week later. It’s late evening. You’ve been working nonstop for hours — You don’t look up at first — too focused. The knock comes again, sharper. You pause your music, expecting maybe an intern or someone needing notes. 

Instead, it’s Jay. 

You blink, sliding your chair back. “What?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Just walks in and places a small white paper bag on the corner of your desk. 

You stare. “What’s this?” 

“Dinner.” 

Your brow furrows. “I didn’t order anything.” 

“I know.” 

You look from the bag to his face. Jay is completely neutral, like this is just… procedure. 

“You didn’t have to—” 

“You skipped lunch,” he says, cutting you off. “And the last thing you ate was the half granola bar in your drawer. Two bites. Left corner.” 

Your mouth falls slightly open. He doesn’t look proud of himself. Just matter-of-fact. 

You narrow your eyes. “Were you snooping in my drawer?” 

“I was looking for a highlighter. Your snack stash betrayed you.” 

You fight a smile and open the bag. Warm rice. Braised tofu. Just enough spice. It’s from the place he likes — the one you teased him about for being “boring but reliable.” 

“You remembered what I ordered last time,” you murmur. 

Jay shrugs. “You picked around the onions. Figured you wouldn’t want them.” 

Your chest goes still for a moment. He doesn’t linger. 

“You can go back to working,” he says, already halfway to the door. “Just don’t pass out on the keyboard.” You open the container, warmth rising from it. 

“Jay,” you call out. 

He turns, hand on the doorframe. 

“Thanks.” 

He nods once. “Don’t mention it.” 

But just before he leaves, his voice lowers — quiet, not quite teasing. 

“...Seriously. Don’t. People already think I’m getting soft.” 

You chuckle at that and jay leaves with a small smile on his face, glad that he made you chuckle. 

You sit beside Jay at the long wooden table, your notes highlighted and scribbled with last-minute margin thoughts. Across the aisle, the other side’s lead counsel rises for redirect, trying to salvage a messy witness. 

Jay leans in just slightly, murmuring, “He’s rushing. Watch for the contradiction.” 

You nod once, eyes trained on the man stuttering through a weak explanation. And there it is — a misstep. 

“He just gave us the opening,” you whisper. 

Jay slides the paper in front of you, pen underlining a single clause from the original contract. Then he stands. “Your Honor,” he says, calm as ever, “we’d like to request a brief recross.” 

Objection. Overruled. 

Jay gestures toward you — he’s letting you take this one. You rise slowly, already flipping through your documents. The courtroom quiets. You don’t even glance at the witness yet — you stare down the jury. 

“Mr. Hwang, earlier you stated that the deliverables were never received, correct?” 

The witness nods. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

You hold up Exhibit C — the one Jay flagged last night at 1:00 a.m. 

“And yet this invoice,” you continue, voice steady, “signed by your assistant, is dated three days after you claimed the project was terminated.” 

You hear the quiet inhale from opposing counsel. You press forward. “So either the project wasn’t terminated when you claimed, or this invoice was falsified. Which is it?” 

The witness flounders. You don’t smile — you don’t need to. Jay watches silently, his arms folded. You feel his attention on you, steady and quiet.  

The judge clears his throat. “Witness, please answer the question.” 

“I—I need to check the— I didn’t personally—” 

You tilt your head. “You testified under oath that you reviewed these documents yourself. Are you retracting that statement now?” 

Dead silence. 

Jay raises one brow very slightly, the courtroom version of a smirk. 

After the intense session, you’re walking out side by side, the adrenaline still buzzing in your bloodstream. Jay doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds the door for you. 

Then, “You timed that flip of the exhibit perfectly.” 

You glance at him. “You set it up.” 

His lips twitch. “We don’t miss.” 

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. 

“I still can’t believe he said he didn’t actually think that’d work. He lied—on the stand.” 

Jay shrugs. “People lie better when they think they’re smarter than the room. We just made sure he realized he wasn’t.” 

You walk down the courthouse steps, quiet for a moment. 

“You always trust me with those moments?” you ask, not looking at him. 

“I wouldn’t give them to you if I didn’t.” 

And that’s that. You don’t say anything else. But the weight of his words stays with you the rest of the day. 

Its an internal team meeting. A full room — associates, interns, one senior partner (Mr. Cho), and Jay. You’re presenting a quick summary of contract gaps in a client’s case. It's technical, but solid. 

Until Mr. Cho cuts you off. 

“You’ve missed a key clause,” he snaps. “Section 14 clearly overrides the amendment. This isn’t acceptable.” 

Your hand freezes over the page you were highlighting. Heat floods your ears. You’re sure of your read — you double-checked that clause an hour ago. 

Before your voice even finishes forming the sentence— 

“She didn’t miss anything.” 

Jay’s voice slices through the table like ice. 

Everyone turns. 

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t even look at Mr. Cho directly at first — just flips the page of his copy with quiet precision. 

Then, still without looking up:  “Page 9, last line of the amendment. It states that the override applies only to previously executed supplier agreements. This case involves a third-party addendum—different category.” 

Jay glances up now. Eyes locked on Mr. Cho. 

“So maybe check your notes before making assumptions.” 

The room stills. 

Mr. Cho clears his throat. “...Right. My mistake.” 

Jay turns the page again, like he didn’t just defuse a bomb with a single sentence. You sit in stunned silence. No one says a word for the rest of your summary. But suddenly, everyone listens. 

You find Jay near the elevators, loosening his tie with one hand, the other scrolling through his phone. 

“Hey,” you say. 

He looks up. His expression softens — just slightly. “Hm?” 

“Back there. Thanks. You didn’t have to.” 

Jay shrugs. “Wasn’t going to let him walk all over you.” 

You blink. “Even in front of half the department?” 

“Especially then.” 

You stare for a second too long. He avoids your gaze, brushing nonexistent dust from his cuff. 

“I was right though,” you say, voice lighter now. 

Jay smirks. “I know. That’s why I said it.” 

You tilt your head. “You sounded genuinely pissed.” 

He finally meets your eyes, expression unreadable. 

“You work too hard to be talked to like that.” 

And with that, he steps into the elevator. You don’t follow. Not yet. But you stand there for a second, staring at the closed doors. Because the way he said it? That wasn’t just defense. That was personal. 

Jay’s blazer is off. Tie loosened. You’ve kicked your shoes off and pulled your knees up onto the couch. 

“I can’t tell if this case is going to kill me or promote me,” you murmur, staring at the annotated brief in your lap. 

Jay doesn’t respond immediately. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk, long legs stretched, sipping from a paper cup you brought him earlier. 

You glance up. “What?” 

He tilts his head. “You’re still here.” 

You blink. “So are you.” 

“Yeah, but I live in this office. You… don’t.” 

You shrug. “I didn’t want to leave.” 

A beat.  And then, “I don’t think I’ve ever said that about work before.” 

Jay sets the cup down. Crosses his arms, but not in that guarded way. It’s looser now. More tired. More real. 

“You’ve changed a lot since you started,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’ve stopped needing people to like you.” 

You smile, small. “Is that a compliment?” 

“It is.” 

He’s watching you now. Closely. But gently. You shift your weight. Something softer rests between you now, under the silence. Jay speaks again, quieter. 

“You make this place feel… less heavy.” 

You stare at him. Not because it was romantic. But because it wasn’t. Not quite. Just honest. 

You try to joke it off. “Don’t go soft on me now, Park.” 

“I’m not,” he says. Still calm. Still watching. “I’m just saying… I notice.” 

And it’s not the words. It’s the way he says it. Like it cost him something to admit it. Like he's saying: You’ve gotten under my skin and I don’t know when it happened. 

You look away, suddenly too aware of how small the space between you feels. How warm. 

“You always talk this much when you’re tired?” you murmur his dialog. 

Jay leans forward slightly. 

“Only when it’s you.” 

The silence between you tightens. You don’t move. Neither does he. Not yet. But you both feel it — the line between what was and what’s about to be. Fragile. Warm. One breath from breaking. And when you leave his office that night — not touching, not saying anything else — your heart won’t stop replaying the way he said your name. 

Soft. Sure. Different. 

Another case. Another day. Another late night spent in his office.  

The case is over. You won. The pressure’s gone, but neither of you has left yet. The lights are low. The silence is full. 

You’re sitting on the edge of his desk this time, going through the last of the papers. Jay’s on the couch, jacket off, shirt sleeves pushed up, hands steepled under his chin. You slide the final document into the folder and exhale, a quiet, tired breath. “That’s everything.” 

Jay nods. “You should go home.” 

“You too.” 

But neither of you moves. The quiet stretches.You glance up and find him already looking at you. Not the sharp, analytical way he used to. This gaze is softer. Still. Like he's memorizing something. 

“You look different when you’re not thinking,” he says quietly. 

You let out a breath of a laugh. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me intense.” 

He smiles faintly. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

You look down at your hands. Then back up. 

“What is this?” 

Jay doesn’t pretend not to understand. Instead, he rises slowly and walks over until he’s standing in front of you — close enough to touch, but he doesn’t. 

He just says, low, “I think it’s the part where I stop pretending it’s nothing.” 

Your breath catches. 

Neither of you moves. And then — carefully, like asking a question he already knows the answer to — Jay lifts a hand to your face. Fingers just barely brushing your cheek. 

He waits. You don’t speak. Don’t nod. You just lean in — slow, sure — and meet him there. 

The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s quiet. Steady. It doesn’t explode. It lands — like a truth finally spoken. 

His hand slides to the back of your neck, grounding. Yours curls lightly at his shirt collar, anchoring. When you finally pull back, it’s only by an inch. Still close. Still breathing the same air. Neither of you speaks. You don’t have to. Because in the quiet, you both know: It’s not the beginning of something. It’s the moment where you finally admit—it already began. 

The next morning. You walk into the office. Early. Like always. Only now, you kissed your boss last night. And that changes... something. You enter the office kitchen, still a little sleep-fogged. You don’t expect him to be there. But he is. 

Jay’s already making his coffee. Hair slightly damp. Tie perfect. Posture a little too straight. 

He sees you. 

Freezes. 

Just a second. 

“Morning,” you say, casual. Light. 

“Morning,” he echoes—too fast. 

You walk over to the counter beside him. He shifts slightly, like you just stepped too close, even though you’ve stood like this a hundred times before. 

The silence stretches. He stirs his coffee five times. 

You count. 

“You good?” you ask, side-glancing him. 

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Why?” 

You shrug. “You’re just… being weird.” 

Jay blinks. “I’m not.” 

You tilt your head. “You stirred your coffee like it’s a court transcript.” 

“I always do that.” 

“You never do that.” 

Another beat. Then, very quietly: 

“…It’s been less than twelve hours since we kissed. Give me five minutes to recalibrate.” 

You blink. Then smile. 

He glares at his coffee like it personally betrayed him. 

“I’m not usually the awkward one,” he mutters. 

“No,” you agree, picking up your mug. “You’re really not.” 

You nudge your shoulder gently against his. And just like that—he exhales. His stance relaxes. Jay turns to you again, softer now. More himself. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m good.” 

He nods once. “Then we’re good.” 

And just like that, you are. 

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t flirt. But later, when he passes your desk, he places your favorite highlighter on top of your notes. Just like always. 

But this time, he says:  “Let me know if you need help. With anything.” 

His voice is the same. 

But you hear what’s underneath it now. 

A few days later. Right before a big client meeting. Jay’s talking through a last-minute detail. He’s walking through the final talking points. 

“No matter how they spin Clause 12, it’s still a breach. We don’t give them that—” 

You cut him off, stepping forward with a soft, “Hold still.” 

He blinks. “What—?” 

You’re already reaching up, fingers brushing his chest as you tug at the knot of his tie, smooth it flat, center it just right. Your hands move without hesitation, like muscle memory. 

Jay watches you, his voice fading into quiet. When you glance up, he’s looking at you in that way again — the way he only started looking at you after that night. Your fingers pause on the fabric. 

“You’d think someone as precise as you would know how to tie one straight,” you murmur, teasing. 

Jay’s voice is low. Warm.  “I was distracted.” 

You smile without thinking. “By what?” 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Because then — casually, almost absentmindedly — his hand lifts to your jaw. Light, certain. And he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in the softest, most matter-of-fact kiss you’ve ever had. 

Like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like this is just another part of getting ready. 

He pulls back just enough to whisper: 

“Thanks.” 

You’re still half breathless. “For fixing your tie?” 

“For staying.” 

And then — like it’s nothing, like it’s everything — he turns, straightens his cuffs, and walks toward the door. 

“Coming?” he calls over his shoulder. 

You touch your lips once, still smiling.“Yeah.” And follow. 

You hand the junior associate a file with a smile. “Don’t screw it up this time.” 

He grins. “Can’t promise, but if I do, I’ll just say you trained me.” 

You laugh. “Bold of you to assume I’d admit to that.” 

Jay approaches then, silently. The younger associate gives him a polite nod and scurries off with suspicious speed. You turn, still smiling, but Jay’s expression makes the edges of it flicker. He doesn’t speak. Just… looks at you. 

You tilt your head. “What?” 

“Who was that?” 

You blink. “Jun from M&A.” 

Jay’s voice is flat. “You seemed close.” 

You narrow your eyes. “We’re not. He’s just new.” 

“Mm.” 

You raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jay doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes his glasses up with one finger — slower than usual. Too composed. 

“That the same guy who left you that iced coffee last week?” 

You pause. “Yes. So?” 

Jay’s jaw flexes. 

You take a step closer, arms crossed. “Oh my god. Are you jealous?” 

Jay holds your gaze. “No.” 

“Jay—” 

“I’m not jealous,” he says again, perfectly calm. “I’m just observant. And territorial.” 

You blink. “That’s— That’s literally the definition of jealous.” 

He shrugs. “Fine. Then yes. I’m jealous.” 

You stare at him. He stares back. And then his voice drops, quieter. Just for you. 

“Because he gets to talk to you like that in the open. I don’t.” 

The fire behind his eyes isn’t rage — it’s restraint. The kind that only happens when someone wants something too much to risk mishandling it. You move a little closer, dropping your voice to match his. 

“You could. If you wanted to.” 

He doesn’t answer. 

He just looks at you for a long, long second. Then — without a word — he tugs you gently by the wrist into a quiet hallway just out of view. Presses you against the wall with nothing but intention in his eyes. 

“I want to.” 

And when he kisses you this time? It’s not soft. It’s not patient. It’s the kind of kiss that says: 

You’re mine, and I’m not saying it out loud yet, but I will. Soon. 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie @jwyoceans @jaylaxies (lmk if u wanna be added!)

A/N: OK GUYS. HEAR ME OUT. im literally soooo exhausted im even surprised i was able to get this out. this is not at all my best work. i wanted to write more for this. this was supposed to be a 10k plus words fic but......... i just wanted this to be out asap cause its sunday and ik i wont be able to write due to the busy week. im so sorry, i hope ill come back better because im literally on the verge of hitting writer's block. (ALSO I LEFT SOME EASTER EGGS IN THE FIC. ULL KNOW IF UVE READ MY PREVIOUS WORK.)

[philosophicalparadox]

Agreed. Though actually confident characters are quite rare in my neck of the woods lollll

Storytelling at large doesn’t tend to include them (anymore) as primary characters because of the view above. That they lack depth or more so because it removes an element of conflict in their character.

But they do exist. And sometimes you do gotta hit it from a different angle because yeah, reducing them to the same old same old does get a little bit boring at times.

That said. There’s different kinds of confidence.

My Fiancé is actually a perfect example of that. He’s very secure in many respects; certainly he’s secure in his masculinity and personhood, and knows exactly what he’s worth without hubris. To most people, he comes off like a confident and put-together guy. Which never fails to impress because he’s only 25.

But he still has struggles. He’s got an IQ of 165, and it makes communication difficult with most normal people sometimes. He can do it, but it’s exhausting. He’s a supervisor and therefore in charge of other people, which is a position he never wanted but is well suited for. It tires him out, having everyone rely on him, which extends into home because he’s the main breadwinner to a household of disabled adults.

He cries if you yell at him. He’s exceptionally emotionally intelligent (EQ) as well as being problem-solving smart (IQ) and that scares him. He’s a confident person, yes, knows who he is and what he wants, etc. But he’s still terrible at boundaries because he’s always been the guy to respect other people’s, without ever being taught he was allowed to have his own. It’s not a source of insecurity for him, nor caused by it, it was simply an oversight in his social education, which was well rounded, but kinda forgot to include him in the discussion.

His mom is physically and mentally disabled, and they can’t communicate effectively hardly at all. They get along fine, and on the surface have a good relationship. But their IQ are too far apart to have meaningful conversations where everyone understands each other, and that lead to a lot of misinterpretation on his part about…a lot, of things. Left to its own devices his brain came up with some fascinating explanations for how things worked lol 🤣 it’s a good thing he wasn’t raised religious

The point I’m making is that yes, he is by all accounts a secure and confident person, in his personhood, but he definitely has things that can create conflict and story beats. Like the fact he was quite literally never made to do chores, ever. Which you would never guess meeting him because he’s a very respectable and responsible person. He just doesn’t know how to do chores. He’s very much the opposite of your run of the mill manchild, mind, he just literally was never made to do domestic stuff. And I had to fight with his mother to let him do them. I’ve taught him how to: vaccuum, sweep properly, how to use a towel to clean up spills, how to mix batter, how to do his own laundry, and how to walk a dog without getting his shoulder dislocated lol. Among other small things, like how germs work and why there’s a difference between washing and sanitising, etc.

So yes. There’s many more ways to make a confident person multidimensional. Most writers don’t really go there, though. I’m not one to insert insecurities where there aren’t any (unless I’m doing it for a specific reason, obv, sometimes the Barbies need to get chewed on by a dog 🤷‍♀️) in the canon character, but frequently there is in fact profound insecurity there, or a type of insecurity anyway. You can be insecure as a person in your personhood or insecure about a specific thing, or particular character traits, etc. The fundamental nature of insecurity is itself multifaceted, so there’s a lot of grey area, and everyone has something.

hello tumblr user. in front of you stands a confident and outspoken character. your challenge today & forever is to consider the possibility they may simply have self-confidence and are not just faking to secretly cover up massive insecurities. good luck

[yamumsyadadd]

first of many

More here: End of the road , 4 times you meet.

The firsts of anything were nerve wracking but this? Your first date with Alexia Putellas, made you want to vomit. 

Miriam had already helped you buy an outfit but as you stood in your walk in wardrobe you couldn’t help but feel incredibly uncomfortable in your own skin. 

Your body was different now. You had birthed and breast fed two babies. You had survived the breakdown of your marriage and the public humiliation that came along with it. But this? This seemed so incredibly daunting. 

You didn’t have many friends. The one you would’ve called about this was Miriam, but you hoped she was busy dealing with alexia’s nerves (which she was, you just didn’t actually know that.) 

You arrived early, sat in your car for half an hour practicing deep breaths and trying not to throw up. It was fine, everything was fine. 

Expect it wasn’t. 

In terms of first dates, it was probably the worst in history. Firstly, you walked into the glass door, the entire restaurant stopping and looking at you. You could feel the bump growing already. 

Alexia was already at the table, she didn’t say anything about seeing you walk into the door but you knew she saw. She, of course, looked ethereal. Dressed in tan dress pants and a white shirt, her skin golden and her blonde with some faded pink strips. 

Originally you decided not to drink. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself but since you already did that, you ordered a wine. The conversation was fine, a bit awkward but it followed naturally. 

She spoke about her family, her friends and football. You talked about your kids, your papa and the foundation. It was nice, until it wasn’t. 

“I googled you.” She said over her wine glass. You raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to carry on. “You’re worth a lot of money, seemed to have worked hard. But I also saw the hate from Leah’s fans. How’d you deal with that?” 

It was a question you were expecting. At no point did you think that your soon to be ex wife about be bought up in conversation. 

“Uh, fine I guess. I had a lot going on, still do. So I don’t pay attention to it. In the end, she broke our family not me and that’s something she has to live with.” Alexia nodded, then you quickly changed the subject. 

It got less awkward as the night went on, but then disaster struck. Another patron knocked the waiter who just happened to be carrying a tray full of red wine. And where did it land? All over you of course. 

Alexia’s eyes went wide as she watched the waiter apologise profusely. You couldn’t do anything but nod. Slowly, you got up. For you, this was the final straw. You didn’t even bother to say goodbye, just walking out the door. 

The entire way home you cried. You imagined this would be perfect, the happy ending you so desperately wanted but it was anything but that. You continued to cry while you were showering, then later in bed. You were embarrassed, so incredibly embarrassed and you thought alexia felt the same way. 

Alexia had sat there in shock. She didn’t realise the internal battle that you were having. She thought the date was going perfectly. Sure, she had seen you walk into the door but she chose to ignore it so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed. 

She quickly helped the waiter clean up, then went to pay but they waived the entire bill. As soon as you got outside, you were gone. She tried to ring you, unsuccessfully, and texted a bunch of times but they also went unread and unanswered. 

In a moment of desperation she rang Miriam, explaining everything that happened and how you took off. Miriam assured alexia that she would handle it.

Miriam knew you best. She knew you would’ve had a whole plan for how you wanted this night to go, and when that plan failed, you bolted. You were an incredibly organised person and when things didn’t go the way you planned, you panicked. 

The lights were all off in your house when she turned up. Her knocks went unanswered but she knew the laundry door was always unlocked, you did that so the doggy door would be able to be used by your two dogs. 

She found you crying in bed. She didn’t say anything, just flicked her shoes off and climbed in with you. Miriam stayed with you all night. She didn’t care that she slept in her jeans or that you stole all the blanket. She especially didn’t care when your dogs woke her up by licking her face. She was there for you and you were glad. 

The following morning, you saw the missed texts and calls from Alexia but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t reply. It was too embarrassing and as much as you liked alexia, you thought it would be better to cut your loses. 

When alexia turned up at your office late at night four days later you were confused. She was holding flowers and dinner. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I thought that since our first date didn’t go to plan, we could have a do over. Right here, no pressure, no people watching us, or waiters to spill wine on us.” She smiled at the end of her statement, placing the Chinese takeaway and flowers on the coffee table in the middle. 

You couldn’t say no to her. Not with the way she had a smug smile on her face that made you fold, or the way she carried herself. Her laugh is what got you though. It made goosebumps appear on your skin and you wished it could be bottled up forever. 

From that redo first date, it seemed to change something in the both of you. There was no offical asking to be girlfriends, it just happened. Alexia introduced you to her teammates as such, you met her family and she met yours. 

You were both wrapped in a bubble that would surely pop soon. 

It only took two months of your relationship before the secret was out. Some fan saw you and alexia in downtown Barcelona at a fancy restaurant eating dinner and then holding hands. 

Alexia didn’t mind too badly. She was a private person but she knew she loved you so she didn’t say much. Leah, however, turned into a horrible person. 

The vile texts started quickly. Telling you she always knew you used her, that all you wanted was her money. Which to you, was funny considering you were the one with the money. You paid for the house, for the lifestyle, you were the one that needed to prenup at the start of your relationship not her. It took Leah years to have money, you never wanted her money but now that you had moved on she would run that narrative. 

Unfortunately, the fight didn’t just affect you. She refused to come to Spain to see your children, which was apart of the court order. So once a month, you would fly to England with Oscars and Amelia, cop the abuse from Leah and fly home. 

You didn’t tell your kids you were in a relationship with Alexia and she hasn’t seen them since you started dating. You wanted to be sure, really sure but Leah decided to throw it back in your face. 

“Mama? Is alexia your new girlfriend?” Oscar asked as you tucked him into bed. You froze for a moment. 

“She is. You like alexia right?” 

He nodded his head but then frowned, “mummy says alexia is going to replace her and that I can’t like her. I have to be mean so it doesn’t happen.” 

“No babe that’s not true. Alexia isn’t going to replace mummy. No matter what happens, I’m still your mama and mummy is still your mummy okay?” 

“Okay but don’t tell mummy I like her. She’ll be mad at me.” You did your best not to show your sweet, innocent little boy how angry you were. 

It was one thing for Leah to abuse you, but it was another thing for her to try and alienate your children. 

That night, as you sat on the phone to your own papa, you did something you knew would cause problems and would became public very quickly. 

You emailed your lawyer, the same woman you had used for the last ten months, and asked her to apply for full custody with no visitation. At no point did you want to stop your children from seeing their other mother but this was just the start of a shit storm. 

[mandalhoerian]

❥⼺ still wakes the drowned god

⸻ summary: Your life as the Witch of the Abyssal Rift is turned upside down when the Kraken God awakens from his cursed slumber deep within the Abyssal Trench and seeks you out with one simple request: "Come to me."

The subsequent seduction and beckoning that follow will either lead you into a trap, or bind you in a deal you can't back out of. But it's too late now. You're already a reef fish curling into the silk of an anemone, thinking it found a bed, not teeth.

⸻ warnings: dream sex (consent is there but i will still add dubious consent just in case), ritual sex, tentacle sex (consentacles), he is AN OCTOPUS WAIST DOWN, freak shit, monsterfucking i guess, badly depicted witchcraft and deity work im so sorry if any witch or pagan reads this pls it's fictional 😭

⸻ before you read: this is based on the 4-star fragrant dream card and that one line in forgotten sea about lemurians turning into monsters without light. you don't have to read fragrant dream to understand this, though. the rafayel depicted here is also the sea god rafayel in his myth(s) and not current canon rafayel, so he might read differently. I took liberties with the sea cursing them both, so it's technically alternate universe canon divergence. the majority of this was written before tears of romirro dropped, so any similarities (such as rafayel being chained in the trench 😭) are NOT intentional. seriously, check my blog.

also, i would like you to shut your brain off if you're somehow knowledgable about the ocean and sea animals and ecology in any way shape or form. magical kelp grows where i say it grows and fantasy animals exist at which depth i deem they can exist. this is a tentacle monsterfucking fic don't look to me for scientific accuracy. if i see one person go "an anglerfish can't go that deep" i will delete my entire blog. thank you.

⸻ author's note: this fic absolutely DEVOURED my life to the point i went mia on my own blog. i damn near lost my mind writing it like this is my first time prewriting and publishing a work this long.

because of this, you will find the entirety of the work chapter by chapter on ao3, published at the same time. i really can't be bothered with posting them here one by one because the interaction drops dramatically and only the chapter(s) with smut get traction. so. boom. get cozy, get some snacks. or don't and pace yourself and finish it slowly, but i hope you enjoy!

please please let me know what you thought! i dont know when this'll go live and if it'll come out around his new myth but happy late mermay i guess LMAOOOOOOO (note to myself: yes this is dropping after the myth. look up at the fuckass banner you had to make so rafayel's tits wouldnt get sent to superhell by tumblr.) divider modified from here.

⸻ word count: 97K

❥⼺ READ ON AO3

[blank-potato]

Summer Days, Summer Nights

Pairing: Cowboy!John Walker x Reader

Summary:

John Walker has put you on yet another horse after the last one tried to take you to heaven. Maybe he did want to kill you.  “It’s not that hard,” he says, maddeningly calm, walking alongside Otis like this is just another lazy Sunday. “I’m on a fucking horse!” you shout, voice pitched with panic as Otis lets out a loud neigh and jostles beneath you. “Stop yelling and squirming,” John says firmly, stepping in closer, one hand brushing Otis’s neck to calm him, “or you’ll be on the fucking ground.” “I’m going to die on this horse,” you proclaim, and you mean it. Death may not have gotten you the first time, but you were sure it was coming back. Why did you move here? There are so many ways to die on a ranch.  Or You're his new ranchhand for the summer, a city girl through and through, and he's the typical cowboy. Despite logic, you fall for one another.

Tags/Warnings: Implied smut, fluff, angst, attempts at horseback riding, John taking care of you, John is an ex-rodeo star, words left unsaid, tension, rodeo date, teaching you to ride a horse

WC: 9.5k

A/N: I saw Wyatt Russell in a cowboy hat and my hands started typing on their own. Finally finished it, it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks. Hope you enjoy!

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Dragging yourself up the steps with the copious amounts of bags and the sweat already slicking your back, Georgia, in the blistering sun and red clay dust sticking to your boots with every step. You were here for a few months, just the summer, but it already felt like a different world.

You let out three raps on the door, standing on the porch and taking in the scenery around you. You weren’t used to the quiet, the stillness…so much open land and clean air. It would be good to get out of the city for a while, let your mind rest.

You’re brought back by the creak of the screen door, turning to see it now open, and standing there, a very handsome cowboy. A blonde-haired dream with sun-kissed skin and a jaw that could cut glass.

“You lost?” he asks, his brows lifting slightly as he gives you a once-over.

You bet you looked like absolute hell, clothes sticking to you from the heat, eyes tired with travel and zero sleep.

“No, I’m uh…” You fumble with the strap of your bag and wrestle a hand free for a handshake. “...your new ranch hand for the summer.”

“You?” He eyes you up and down, clearly trying to reconcile the image.

“Yes,” you say, voice a little firmer. “I mean… I have the right ranch, right? You’re John Walker?”

A pause. Then, the faintest curve of a smile.

“I didn’t expect a city girl, that’s all,” he says, finally taking your hand.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he pushes, voice low but firm, like he's used to being in charge.

“I know I am.”

“It’s not a vacation. Hard work, long hours—”

“I said I’m up to it,” you snap, gritting your teeth. You didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with your boss, but he was pushing it.

He lifts a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused. “If you say so.”

His gaze shifts to your bags. “I’ll help you with those,” he offers, scooping them up effortlessly like you hadn’t just nearly faceplanted three times getting them to the porch.

“It’s just us living in the house,” he says, turning and nodding for you to follow him inside. “There are some hands that come in, part-time, but it’s been a hard season, so I can’t afford to keep 'em around full-time.”

You let the screen door shut behind you, boots echoing on the wooden floor. “So more work for me?”

He glances over his shoulder with a dry smile. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “Not unless you plan on working me into the ground.”

He chuckles again, deeper this time. “Guess we’ll see what you’re made of, city girl.”

You square your shoulders, determined not to let him see the nerves fluttering under your skin.

“Guess we will.”

He drops your bags off in your room, setting them down without a word. You take a moment, looking around. The space is bigger than your room back in the apartment, by a lot. It’s simple, a little worn, but warm. The wooden floors creak softly under your boots, and the sunlight filters in through the linen curtains, casting golden streaks across the bedspread. It feels… homey. You know you can make it yours, at least for the next few months.

“Service out here is spotty,” John says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Wi-Fi’s basically nonexistent. If you need to make calls, best time’s early morning or if you climb the hill behind the barn.”

You nod, but shrug. “No one to call… but thanks.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. He can tell there’s something in that answer, something heavy, but he doesn’t push. You’re just his ranch hand. Not his business.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty,” he says, straightening up.

You blink. “I just arrived—”

He smirks. “Giving up on me already?”

You exhale sharply through your nose, “Not a chance.”

He grins, clearly pleased with your answer, and disappears down the hall. You take a deep breath, glance once more around your new room, and start to unpack.

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

You made it downstairs with 2 minutes to spare, and John is pleasantly surprised. If nothing else, at least you were punctual. 

“The ranch is about 150 acres,” John says as you walk beside him. “Not too big, but not too small either. You’ll be working the barns, feeding, mucking stalls, and mostly around the south pasture. But sometimes you’ll have to come with me to the upper fields, for fencing, herding, that sort of stuff.”

You nod along, trying to take it all in, committing every detail to memory. The land, the layout, the quiet rhythm of it all, it’s a world away from what you’re used to. You walk through the house together. It’s charming in that worn, lived-in way, wooden beams overhead, old photos on the walls, the faint scent of cedar from the floorboards.

He leads you through to the back, and as you step out onto the porch, your breath catches. The view stretches out endlessly, rolling green pastures, a line of trees in the distance, golden light pouring over the land like it’s been painted there.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” you whisper, almost afraid to break the moment.

He leads you around and over to the stables. 

“And this here is Otis,” John says, walking up to the horse in the stables. He reaches out with a practised ease, running his hand down Otis’s neck, who leans into the touch with a quiet huff, clearly trusting him.

You hang back a few feet, arms crossed, trying not to look as uneasy as you feel. You’ve never been this close to a horse before, and honestly, you’re intimidated. They’re bigger in person. Way bigger. Like ‘trample you to death in 2 seconds’ big. 

“What’s with the look?” John asks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

Unfortunately, John is very perceptive. He tilts his head, smirking. “Pet him. He won’t bite.”

“Yeah, but he might kick,” you mutter.

John just chuckles, continuing to stroke Otis’s mane. “Only if you sneak up on him or act like you don’t belong here.”

You shift your weight, then slowly take a step forward.

“You’ll need to get used to being around them,” he says, voice more serious now. “I’m gonna have you cleaning out their stalls, feeding them, checking their hooves. Whole nine yards.”

You glance at Otis, then at John. “Guess I better make friends with him then.”

You nod, but you’re not moving; your legs feel like they’re cemented to the ground. Every instinct says nope.

John steps behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your back. “Come on,” he says softly.

Then, he laces his hands with yours and begins to guide you forward, step by step, toward the horse.

“We’ll pet him together.”

You let him, your hands trembling slightly in his as you close the distance.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, leaning close to your ear. “He can sense it.”

“Oh wow, that makes me feel so much better,” you deadpan, and he laughs, the sound vibrating right through you.

You feel it in his chest against your back, in the way his hands stay firm on yours. And you have to admit…it’s soothing you a little. Calming your nerves just enough.

To feel his steady hands on yours, guiding, not pushing, is more comforting than you expected. Otis lowers his head slightly, sniffing at your outstretched fingers, and for the first time, the tension in your body begins to ease.

You gasp, then laugh nervously. “He’s... soft.”

“Told you,” John says, his tone lighter again. “Now wait ‘til you meet the cranky one.”

Your eyes widen. “There’s a cranky one?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, already walking toward the next stall. “And she likes to test the new folks.”

You sigh. “Great. Just my luck.”

“You’ll be just fine,” John says, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Plus… one of these horses will be yours.”

You blink. “Sorry? What?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Didn’t you read the job description? Might need to get you on horseback.”

Your mouth opens, then closes again as your brain scrambles to process that bit of information. “You mean riding? Like me, on a horse?”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “That’s usually how horseback works.”

You shake your head, half-laughing, half-terrified. “You’ve seen me try to walk across the barn without tripping. And you want to put me on something with four legs and a mind of its own?”

“Exactly,” he says, completely unbothered. “You’ll learn. You might even like it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

He grins. “Watching you squirm just a little? Maybe.”

You groan, looking over at Otis and the others like they’re already in on the joke. “God help me.”

John tips his hat. “Don’t worry. You’ve got me instead.”

He watches you carefully, eyes scanning your face with that infuriating calm of his. Then, with a half-smirk tugging at his mouth, he says, “Want to get on one today?”

You blink at him like he’s asked you to jump out of a plane. “I was scared to touch it, and now you want me to get on it?”

“I’ll be right there,” he promises, as easy as breathing. “We’ll just walk around the grounds a bit. Get you used to it.”

People must be fearless in Georgia.

Still, something about the way he says it, you find yourself trusting him. Surely he wouldn’t kill one of his ranch hands on their first day.

“Fine,” you huff, eyeing the horse like it might spontaneously explode. “But slow.”

He nods, reins in hand. “Slow,” he repeats.

Next thing you know, you're up on the horse, aptly named Destiny. Your legs stiff, fingers stinging with how tightly you’re holding on as it begins a slow trot.

“John…” your voice rises an octave.

“Calm down, I got you,” he says from beside you, walking along like this is the most normal thing in the world. And somehow, his voice soothes you enough to stop holding your breath. You start to relax, just the tiniest bit, lulled into a false sense of security.

Then it happens.

The horse, your horse, lets out a huff, flicks its ears, and takes off.

“JOHN!”

You scream bloody murder as you’re jolted forward, clutching for anything, everything. The world becomes a blur of movement and wind, and absolute panic.

Where the hell was this horse going?! You bounce in the saddle, legs flailing, heart in your throat, screaming out every expletive you’ve ever known. It can go for a run, but not with you on its back. 

“Take hold of the reins!” you hear John say in the distance.

You let go of the reins. 

“Fuck!” you yell as you try and grab them again but it's no use. 

He continues shouting your name, but he’s getting smaller and smaller as the horse barrels down the path like it’s got somewhere real urgent to be.

You cling to the saddle horn, half-riding, half-hanging on for dear life.

You do not belong up here.

You belong on the ground. Preferably sitting. With iced tea. 

You’re too stunned, too terrified to say anything coherent, just screaming and more screaming, your voice cracking with every wild bounce.

“Hold on!” John’s voice cuts through the chaos, somewhere behind you.

But you can't even process it. The wind is roaring in your ears, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns everything else out. You’ve mentally accepted your fate.

This is it.

This is how you go out. Killed by a horse. You’ve been on the ranch for approximately 2.5 seconds, and now you're about to become a cautionary tale.

Here lies a girl who decided to ride a horse. Went out with a bang, and a buck.

The scenery flashes by in a blur—trees, pasture, barn—and then—

You scream again, louder this time, when a blur of motion comes into your periphery.

It’s John.

Like some kind of cowboy in shining armour, he's thundering up beside you on his own horse, eyes locked on you, jaw set in that determined way of his.

“I got you!” he yells.

And somehow, he does.

In one impossibly smooth move, he reaches over, strong arms wrapping around your waist, and pulls you right off the runaway horse and onto his.

You land against his chest with a thud, breath gone, head spinning, the two of you now moving together on his horse at a much more merciful pace.

He reins the horse in, slowing it to a stop, and your entire body is trembling.

“You okay?” he asks, voice still catching its breath, one arm still tightly around you.

You blink up at him, dazed. “I… think I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was mostly emails and overpriced coffee.”

He chuckles, low and breathless. “Well. Welcome to the ranch.”

You smack his chest, hard enough to make a point but not enough to actually hurt him. “Hey! Is that how you repay your hero?”

“It’s my first day, are you trying to kill me?!”

“There’s not a scratch on you,” he says, that infuriatingly calm tone back in full swing. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

You stare at him, still breathing like you just ran a marathon.

John just laughs, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “You’re fine,” he says, voice softer now as he looks at you. “You did well. Scared shitless, but good.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

“Oh, now I’m handsome?”

“You were more handsome before you practically sentenced me to death!”

He grins. “So dramatic…ready to get back on?”

You look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Absolutely not.”

He just smiles wider. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Your eye twitches as you watch him drink his black coffee, no sugar, no milk—just bitterness in a mug.

“How can you drink it like that?” you ask, genuinely appalled.

He smirks over the rim of his mug, clearly entertained as you feed into the full-blown city girl stereotype. “It’s coffee. It’s not supposed to taste like dessert.”

“I don’t need a whole sugary unicorn frappuccino,” you defend, crossing your arms. “But I must admit… I like a little whipped cream. Maybe a hint of vanilla.”

He sets his mug down, leaning back in his chair with that lazy cowboy confidence. “So basically, you like hot milk with feelings.”

You gasp, but when you really think about it, it was true. “I like comfort.”

He snorts. “You gonna survive out here with no whipped cream and no oat milk?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I survived almost dying on a horse yesterday. I think I can survive black coffee.”

He raises his mug in mock salute. “Touché.”

The rest of the day is brutal, hotter than the day before, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin and soaks your shirt in sweat. You'd been out for hours helping fix and maintain the fences, dust coating your jeans and arms.

When you return to the barn, you stop dead in your tracks.

John is there, shirt off, chest heaving with every breath, arms glistening with sweat as he hauls something heavy into the back of the truck. He’s focused, jaw clenched, muscles taut with the strain of whatever task he’s doing, not that you could focus on the task itself.

It was… a welcome sight. One hell of a sight.

You're so caught up, you don’t realise he’s turned toward you.

“Hey!” he shouts your name, snapping you back to the present. You wipe the non-existent drool from your face and try to look like you weren’t totally checking him out. 

“C’mere, I need to talk to you about something,” John calls out, motioning you over with a wave of his hand.

You jog to him, wiping the sweat from your brow, body already hot from the relentless Georgia heat… though if you were being honest, it wasn’t just the weather. John stood there like something out of a fever dream, shirt clinging to his chest from the work, sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with hay and dirt, those jeans hanging low on his hips, and his back muscles flexing with every move. An Adonis in cowboy boots.

You didn’t know how the hell you were going to survive the summer.

“I need you to muck out the east stalls,” he says, gesturing toward the barn. “The horses need water refilled and fresh hay. And I want you to help me check the fencing by the creek this afternoon.”

You blink. “That’s… a lot.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered.

You exhale hard, hands on your hips. “And here I thought I’d be sipping sweet tea on a porch swing.”

John smirks. ���You can, after the sun goes down and the work’s done. Plus, I’m getting you back on a horse today.”

You nudge his shoulder, “ Not funny.”

You get to work, sneaking glances at his shirtless body whenever you think he’s not looking. The way the sunlight hits his skin makes every muscle stand out, and you start to wonder if it’s the Georgia heat or just him that has you sweating.

“John fucking Walker,” you mutter under your breath, half in awe, half in exasperation.

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The next week, you decide to go into town. You hadn’t had much time to explore since you arrived, and with John graciously giving you the afternoon off. “Don’t make me regret it,” he’d grumbled with a smirk. You figured now was the perfect time.

You spot a charming little diner on the corner of Main Street, the kind that looks like it’s been around for generations. The paint on the window is slightly faded, the neon “Open” sign humming faintly. You step inside, the bell above the door jingling, and are immediately hit with the comforting, mouthwatering scent of peach cobbler and fresh cornbread.

The air is warm, filled with the soft hum of conversation and clinking cutlery. A waitress with a wide smile and a thick Southern accent greets you from behind the counter. “Sit wherever you’d like, hon.”

You slide into a booth by the window, taking it all in.

The woman comes back, looking you over like she’s trying to figure you out. 

“You’re new around here,” the waitress says with a kind but curious smile as she approaches your booth. You lean in a little and catch her name on the tag pinned to her apron, Darlene.

“It’s that obvious?” you ask, offering a sheepish grin.

She chuckles, sliding the coffee pot from her hand. “People around here aren’t so…” she trails off, tilting her head slightly. “Polished. You’ve got that city shine to you.”

“Coffee?” she adds, already reaching for your mug.

“Yeah, thanks,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic as she tops it off.

You introduce yourself, offering a handshake across the small table. Darlene takes your hand, gives it a firm, practised shake, and slides into the conversation like it’s second nature. “What brings you here?” she asks, leaning against the counter. “Don’t usually get tourists around here.”

You laugh softly. “Let’s just say I needed a break from the noise. So I’m working as a ranch hand for the summer, over at the Walker Ranch.”

“Walker Ranch?” Darlene pauses, tilting her head with interest. “How’s John Walker doing? Hardly shows his face around here anymore,” she says, a note of curiosity in her voice.

“He’s…” you hesitate, choosing your words carefully, “a little rough around the edges, but… he’s alright.”

“Yeah,” she says with a soft chuckle, almost wistful. “That sounds like John. Glad to hear he’s doin’ okay. He’s been a bit of a recluse since he stopped ridin’.”

“Hm?” you ask, leaning in slightly.

“You don’t know?” Darlene looks surprised. “He was somethin’ else on the rodeo circuit. A real star, fearless son of a bitch. Folks thought he was gonna go all the way. But then the injury happened… and, well, it took a toll on him. Physically, sure, but more up here.” She taps her temple gently. “Hasn’t really been the same since.”

“I, um…” You swallow, and your mouth suddenly dry. “I had no idea.”

Darlene gives a small nod, pouring coffee for the table beside you. “Not many do. He doesn’t talk about it, and most folks learned not to ask.”

She notices the contemplation on your face and decides to move things along, “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

The whole ride back, all you can think about is John. You wanted to know more, but you didn’t want to overstep. But a rodeo star? Just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The whole next week is spent trying to unravel the mystery of John Walker. The lack of Wi-Fi at home was really shit right about now.

You slink around the house early in the morning, catching sight of him in the kitchen, and try to picture him at a rodeo, his hat pulled low,  the crowd screaming his name.

“Is your staring going to become a habit?” he asks, not looking up from his breakfast.

“I don’t stare,” you protest, even though it’s one of your favourite activities. You walk over slowly and blink in surprise, he’d made you a plate already. Eggs, bacon, toast.

“For me?”

“Yeah, unless you want me to feed it to Otis—”

“No, no… thanks,” you say quickly, sitting down with a sheepish grin.

You go quiet for a moment, then get up again, pouring some fresh coffee from the pot, steam curling from the rim. You open the fridge to grab some milk, not quite ready for the emotional trauma of black coffee just yet.

But when you open the fridge, you see all the usual: fruit, pickles, some leftovers. And then, a can of whipped cream tucked beside the milk. 

The smile that works itself onto your face is bright, so bright John can see it beaming even though you’re turned away from him.

“You bought whipped cream for me?”

He doesn't answer right away, just keeps chewing, but you can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting back a smile.

“You were real dramatic about it,” he mutters eventually. “Didn’t want to listen to you complain every morning.”

You laugh softly, grabbing the can from the fridge and shaking it. “This is dangerously sweet, John Walker. You’re setting a precedent.”

“I’ll survive,” he says dryly, but when you turn back to look at him, he’s watching you, not just a glance, not a passing look. Really watching. 

You sit back across from him, loading up your coffee with so much whipped cream it should be a crime. But with a smile like yours, he doesn’t mind it so much, it’s kind of…endearing. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

“I can’t do this again, John,” you hiss, gripping the saddle like your life depends on it. Because, honestly? It kind of does.

John Walker has put you on yet another horse after the last one tried to take you to heaven. Maybe he did want to kill you. 

“It’s not that hard,” he says, maddeningly calm, walking alongside Otis like this is just another lazy Sunday.

“I’m on a fucking horse!” you shout, voice pitched with panic as Otis lets out a loud neigh and jostles beneath you.

“Stop yelling and squirming,” John says firmly, stepping in closer, one hand brushing Otis’s neck to calm him, “or you’ll be on the fucking ground.”

“I’m going to die on this horse,” you proclaim, and you mean it. Death may not have gotten you the first time, but you were sure it was coming back. Why did you move here? There are so many ways to die on a ranch. 

He chuckles under his breath, seeing your expression wrought with worry, “Otis is basically a golden retriever with hooves.”

You repeat that in your head. Golden retrievers were cool, friendly, and not killing machines. You keep going, and before you know it, you’re trotting on your own. 

“I’m doing it. Am I doing it?” you ask, voice shaky but hopeful.

He’s smiling at you, that quiet, proud kind of smile that makes your chest tighten.

“You’re doing it,” he says simply.

He looks up at you, eyes softening. You’re bright, determined, practically glowing with the stubborn fire that got you this far. Watching you work hard to push past the fear makes something stir in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

You turn the corner and come back to where John is waiting, the sun casting long shadows across the dusty ground. You’re just about to slide off the horse when—

Thud.

You lose your balance and fall, landing hard on your wrist. He rushes over to you, immediately looking you over. 

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. I just—” you start, trying to play it cool.

You attempt to flex your wrist, but a sharp, stinging pain shoots through it, making your vision blur for a second. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes despite your best effort to hold them back.

John’s beside you in an instant, concern flooding his face.

“Let me see that.” His voice is firm but gentle as he carefully takes your wrist in his hands.

“I’m fine—”

You’re interrupted as John swoops in, lifting you off the ground without a word.

For a few seconds, you’re frozen in shock. How did this even happen? Your heart races, cheeks heating from the close proximity. His strong arms hold you steady, and you can’t help but notice the way his shirt stretches over those broad shoulders.

“I hurt my wrist. Not my legs, t-this is wholly unnecessary,” you stammer, flustered.

John says nothing, just carries you steadily until you’re inside the house. He gently sets you down in the dining room chair. You feel a strange mix of gratitude and a little pitiful; the thought of needing someone to take care of you feels foreign.

He sits beside you, placing your wrist carefully on the table. “Your wrist.”

“Did I at least look cool? Like… a little bit?” you ask, wincing slightly as he gets to work. 

“Nope. Not one bit,” John replies, deadpan.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Ruthless.”

He doesn’t look up, focused on the task in front of him. His hands are rough but careful, moving quickly and with a kind of practised ease that makes you pause. You watch him more closely now, and you see how gentle he’s being without even trying.

“You’re good at this,” you say, voice quieter.

He gives a small shrug. “I’m no stranger to injuries.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re in a fight club or something?” you tease, a playful lilt in your voice.

John finally glances up, his mouth twitching at the corner. “Yeah. Rule number one: don’t ask dumb questions.”

Then he pokes your forehead lightly, the gesture more annoying than anything. You hate being poked. Who likes being poked?

You cut in, “How’s it looking?”

“Good as new. But we’ll swing by the clinic to make sure nothing’s broken. You’ll have to take it easy on this hand for a while. I’ll have some of the part-time guys pick up the slack.”

“Alright.”

He fixes you with a serious look. “I mean it. If I so much as catch you trying to lift anything with that hand—”

“I get it.”

You could get used to him fussing over you. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

A few days after falling off the horse, he’s doing things you’re very capable of doing, just for you. It was only a grade 1 sprain on your non-dominant wrist, so you’d be okay in two weeks, but still, he was insistent.

You step into the barns where he’s working, leaning casually against the wall. You know he knows you’re there, but he doesn’t stop moving.

“I work for you, remember?” you say.

He pauses for a beat. “I know.”

“...and cleaning stalls is kind of my thing.”

He turns to you with an easy smile. “I didn’t realise you had a thing.”

You meet his eyes, his smile dimming a little.

His expression, to most, would be unreadable, but you’ve become a master of John-ology, and you know that silence means a lot more than words right now.

He keeps cleaning, eyes fixed on the stall floor, not looking at you.

“John,” you say softly, stepping closer and shaking your head gently. “It’s not your fault.”

He opens his mouth, surely to disagree, but you cut him off, firm this time. “It’s not your fault.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze.

“It could have been worse. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“Well, it wasn’t. And I’m perfectly fine. So I want you to stop blaming yourself.”

You breathe out and come up with an amazing idea. “We should do something fun tonight.” 

John knows that once you’ve got your mind set on something, there’s no dissuading you. “Where are we going?”

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

John didn’t want to be here. It was quite literally the last place he wanted to be, but from the way you were buzzing in the stands, practically glowing with excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Why the rodeo?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the arena.

“I’ve never been. City girl, remember?” you say with a grin, nudging him gently.

The first rider bursts out of the gates, dirt flying as the horse kicks and twists. You gasp, leaning forward, your hand unconsciously resting on his thigh for balance.

“Do you miss it, the rodeo?” you ask, your curiosity finally getting the best of you. You’re honestly surprised it took so long for you to blurt something like this out. 

John glances at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Darlene, at the diner.”

He shakes his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if to say, of course.

“So… do you?”

He lets out a contemplative sigh, staring off toward the pens. “A part of me does, but that part of me makes no damn sense.”

“Then why not get back out there?”

You both watch the horses get ready for the next round, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows.

“That part of my life is long gone,” he says quietly, voice heavy with something unspoken.

You want to ask about the injury, but from the look on his face, you know that would be one step too far tonight. You steal some of his popcorn instead, to ease the tension. 

“I did ask if you wanted your own,” he sighs. 

“It’s more fun to steal yours,” you say with a smile before shovelling another handful into your mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m cute now?” you mumble through the popcorn.

“Without the popcorn in your mouth making you look like a hamster, sure.”

You giggle, and it’s something beautiful to John. It’s not just a laugh, but a whole body thing, your shoulders jostling lightly, the way you lean into his side, your fingers curling slightly, tightening the grip on his thigh.

Again, there it was, that sort of indescribable light you gave off. The kind he couldn’t name but felt all the same. The one he simply couldn’t get enough of. You affected him in ways he didn’t know how to describe. He clears his throat, trying to steady himself, and turns back to the arena.

You wince as the rider gets bucked off the horse in a flurry of dust and muscle. “Think I could do that?” you ask jokingly, nudging him.

“I think I’d die if you did,” he replies, half under his breath, knowing deep down that if you got the slightest bit hurt again, it’d send him into shock.

The wind picks up, tugging gently at strands of your hair, and he glances over at you. You’re sitting even closer now, your arms and legs brushing against his. It’s casual, natural… and yet electric.

You reach for more popcorn, only to realise the bag is empty. You pout exaggeratedly. “Let me go get—”

“I’ll get it. Stay put,” he says, ruffling your hair in that aggravatingly affectionate way that makes your stomach flip. He stands, stretching slightly before heading off toward the concession stand, tossing a quick look over his shoulder like he’s making sure you’re really staying. You smile to yourself, still feeling the warmth of his hand lingering on your head. Maybe you should pout more often. 

While you’re waiting for him to come back, you feel someone sit on the other side of you. He tips his hat at you and says, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Guilty,” you reply. What was it about you that didn’t give off Georgia? Locals could see it immediately. 

“You here alone?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes lingering just a second too long.

“Oh, no, I’m—”

Before you can finish, you feel the warmth of John’s arm slipping around your shoulders, firm and effortless, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. It startles you for a second, how right it feels.

“She’s taken,” John says smoothly, voice steady and just a little too calm. There’s no mistaking the edge behind the words.

The man’s eyebrows lift slightly, caught off guard. “Ah… got it,” he says, clearing his throat with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

John offers a tight smile back. “No harm done.”

He nods and drifts off, and only then does John look down at you, his arm still resting comfortably around you like it belongs there.

“You okay with that?” he asks, quieter now, just for you.

You glance up at him, heart suddenly beating faster than you'd like to admit.

“Yeah…I am.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

When you get home, you're still thinking about him. His warmth beside you, the way his laugh settled into your skin. It has you giggling, kicking your feet and rolling around in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. You couldn’t sleep. Too much on your mind.

So you wander around barefoot, aimless—in the kitchen, in the living room—just twirling around like a Disney princess with a crush. Your quiet night musings are interrupted when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Why are you awake?” a gravelly voice asks.

You turn to see a tired John at the bottom step, shirtless, rubbing his hand through messy hair. He looks like he’s been up for a while, like sleep never really came for him either.

“Was I making noise?”

“I can hear the creaking,” he mutters with a half-smile. “Go to bed.”

You watch as he turns and heads back upstairs. You hesitate, then follow quietly after him, across the landing and to his bedroom door.

“What?” he asks, catching your shadow behind him.

“I can’t sleep. Can I hang out in your room for a while?”

You flash your best puppy dog eyes, real top-tier stuff, and, like always, he sighs and gives in, holding the door open for you. He was way too easy.

“It’s not like you were sleeping either,” you point out as you make yourself at home, crashing onto his bed and pulling the sheets up to your chin.

“Maybe you woke me up,” he says, voice soft.

“Do you snore?” you say, ignoring his answer as you nestle deeper into the comfort of his space, of him.

“You’re planning on sleeping here?” The disbelief—and irritation—in his voice was clear. John didn’t understand half the things you did, and this? Crawling into his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world? This topped the list.

“Just move over.”

You both settle into the silence, the soft hush of the wind brushing against the house. It stretches, long and thoughtful, before he cuts through it.

“I still don’t understand why you’re out here,” John says, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to you. You can feel his eyes on you, illuminated by moonlight.  You were pretty, smart, too smart, for this.  So why were you here, in the Georgia heat, mucking stalls and sweating through your clothes?

“I grew up in a big city,” you begin, your voice soft, eyes fixed on the same ceiling. “Mom and Dad were always busy. Too busy for each other. Too busy for me. But still, I tried. I did everything they asked. But somewhere along the line, I realised… none of it really mattered. 

John turns his head slightly, brow twitching.

“Don’t give me that face,” you say, catching his look of scepticism. 

“I’m not making a face, I swear,” John replies, voice thick with sarcasm as he sinks deeper into his pillow, even though he absolutely is. His eyes, though tired, are sharp, watching you more intently than he lets on.

You exhale. “I didn’t mean it in a nihilistic way. I meant… nothing mattered to me. None of it. Not the job, not the apartment, not the plans I kept telling everyone I had.”

You can feel the weight of his attention shift fully to you. So you keep going, because if you don’t, the silence might swallow you whole.

“I couldn’t find what I needed back there. So yeah… that’s why I showed up on your doorstep all sweaty and gross and lost. And if I was bad at the job… I figured I’d learn how to not be bad at the job.”

John studies you for a long moment. “You’re figuring it out,” he says, “And I think that counts for something.”

He nods slowly, almost to himself. “Plus, you’re not bad at the job.”

You glance over at him, surprised.

“Bit slow with the mucking, and you can’t ride a horse to save your life, but you’re learning,” he adds, a lazy smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You shift, moving a little closer to him, your tone gentler now, curiosity blooming in your chest. “What about you? Are you figuring it out?”

John doesn’t answer right away, just lets out a sigh that seems to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs, something buried under years of grit and silence.

“Something like that,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer a better answer.

You watch him for a moment, then say softly, “So… running, then.”

That hits something. You see the shift, the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders tense, like you’ve pressed a bruise he forgot he still had.

“Wait, wait,” you say quickly, holding your hands up in mock surrender. “Put the claws away. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He turns his head toward you slowly, expression guarded but not angry (yet). “Didn’t realise I had claws.”

“You do,” you say gently. “But whatever that was just now? Felt like they came out.”

He’s quiet again, but the look on his face does the talking for him. You need to catch him before he retreats back into his shell. 

“I’m just saying,” you add, voice softer now, “maybe we’re both a little lost. Or… maybe we’re not lost at all. Just tired of pretending we’re not.”

That earns the tiniest, reluctant tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t get all philosophical on me now,” he mutters.

“You started it,” you say, nudging his arm. “Either way, I’m down for being lost with you.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

After riding hard and herding the cattle with John all afternoon. Hearing him shout commands, whistle sharp through his teeth, and somehow keep the whole chaos in check, you were tired as all hell. Dust in your teeth, sweat at the small of your back, legs aching like they might fall off.

Before you can step inside the house, John holds out a hand. “Wait there,” he says, voice low but firm.

You blink after him as he jogs up the steps and disappears inside.

A minute later, he comes back, holding something behind his back. Then he sets it gently on the table beside you, a new cowboy hat.

“Is this for me?” you ask, lifting it carefully, like it might break, like it mattered. Because it does.

“Figured you should have your own,” John says, giving a slight nod. He looks casual, but he’s watching you closely.

When your smile breaks over your face, it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. You're like a wildflower in bloom. Or a fresh sunrise on a still pasture morning. His heart does that stupid thing again, stutters in his chest, and he’s sure it’s not a heart attack. Just you.

“It’s perfect, John, thank you… really,” you say softly, surprised by how much the gesture lands in your chest.

“Go on then,” he says, pushing off the doorframe. “Try it on.”

You do, adjusting it on your head and glancing up at him for approval.

He studies you for a second longer than he should’ve, trying to keep his cool. “Not bad,” he says finally. “You’re a cowgirl now.”

You … “We have to do something fun to celebrate then. Like go to a hoedown or whatever.”

John shrugs, a slow grin spreading across his face. He’d give you whatever you wanted.

“I, like, don’t know how to line dance though, and I don’t think I could handle the public humiliation. Can you…?”

“Teach you?” he says. He looks at you with that glint in his eye, a thought blossoming behind it, one of those ideas that comes fully formed.

“Go wait upstairs for…” he pauses, calculating. “...10 minutes.”

You squint at him suspiciously but head up anyway, heart fluttering a little at the mystery in his voice.

Ten minutes later, you step downstairs, and candles flicker softly in mason jars leading out toward the back of the house. You follow the trail, barefoot on the warm wooden steps, until you reach the yard.

There’s music playing from his truck. Some old country tune, low and crackling through the speaker, blending perfectly with the chorus of cicadas echoing in the air.

You spot John standing there, the golden light catching the edges of his silhouette, your heart skipping a beat.

“This is so sweet,” you say, smiling softly as you approach.

You dance until the stars come out, the sky a blanket of glitter above. He guides you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, sending a spark through you.

You giggle and squirm. “I’m ticklish there.”

It’s an amateur move on your part, and John wastes no time in using it against you. “John!” you laugh as he tickles you with no mercy. 

“So…” he murmurs, voice low and teasing as the music hums softly around you.

The warm breeze carries the scent of wildflowers and the earth beneath your feet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you.

His hand cups your cheek, fingers gentle but sure, pulling you closer. Your lips meet, tentative at first, soft and searching, before deepening into something hungry and real, like a spark setting off a slow-burning fire.

You pull him inside, pushing him onto the couch. “Feisty, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of the things you love about me,” you claim, as you climb into his lap. In a slow, teasing motion, you take his cowboy hat and place it on your head.

“Fuck…” he breathes.

He had never seen anything so hot.

“You like it?” you ask, a playful glint in your eyes.

He smirks, pulling you underneath him, his voice low and full of heat. “You have no idea.”

Your lips connect again, both of you smiling into the kiss as the world around you melts away. Fingers trace the contours of each other’s skin, and slowly, deliberately, you pull off each other’s clothes.

You ride that cowboy until sunrise… and yes, the hat stays on.

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

By the time you wake up, you find yourself still firmly planted on Cloud 9. Sex with him was perfect. You can still feel his fingers on your hips, his lips on your neck, the filthy whispers as he kisses his way lower and lower and…

You shiver at the thought of it. 

There needed to be a repeat of that as soon as possible.

The morning sun spills through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow as you start making breakfast, only wearing your underwear and John’s oversized shirt, which hangs off one shoulder, wrinkled from where his hands had gripped it the night before. You hum softly to yourself, half-focused on flipping the eggs, when you feel his strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, his body warm against yours.

“Good morning to you too,” you say, smiling as you lean into his touch. John, at this point, was your favourite pillow.

“I’m surprised you’re still able to stand,” he murmurs into your neck, voice husky, equal parts teasing and proud.

“Me and you both,” you reply with a breathy laugh because if you had to be honest, your legs were still feeling a little wobbly.

If someone had told you that this would all come crashing down a mere 8 hours later, you’d laugh.

The door slams shut behind you both, the sound echoing through the quiet entryway. For a moment, neither of you says a word. There’s only the low hum of cicadas outside and the faint ticking of a clock on the wall.

You had made the mistake of going out to a bar with him that night… a few locals had started talking. Low, bitter comments about his rodeo days, about how he washed up early, how he was never as good as the stories made him out to be. And when they said too much, you stepped in.

Then, John’s voice cuts through the stillness. “I didn’t tell you to talk on my behalf.”

You whip around to face him, eyes still burning from the encounter. “I wasn’t about to sit there and listen to them talk smack about you. You’re a legend, John.”

“Was a legend,” he bites back, his jaw clenched. “Now I’m just John Walker, the rancher. And that’s how I like it.”

You scoff, throwing your hands in the air. “Bullshit.”

His eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re content. You walk around here like you’re fine, like you’ve got it all under control, but I see you.”

He shakes his head, pacing now. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” you challenge, stepping into his path. “John, what are you doing out here?”

“What am I doing?” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “I’m surviving.”

“No, you’re hiding.”

His expression hardens, but you press on.

“You got scared and gave up. You left everything, your career, your life, because it was easier than risking failure again.”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“Yes, you did. You still do. But you keep pretending like this place is your safety net when really, it’s just your cage.”

He goes quiet, breathing hard, the storm behind his eyes undeniable now.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to run? I came out here to escape too, John. But at least I’m trying to figure it out instead of burying myself alive.”

“You have no idea—” John says, yanking off his cowboy hat and running his fingers through his hair in frustration. His jaw tightens, and his eyes won’t quite meet yours.

“You were a rodeo star,” you say, quieter but firm. “You had talent. Potential. People still talk about—”

He steps into your space, suddenly too close. His eyes lock onto yours, blazing with something caught between anger and something he doesn’t want to name. Frustration crackles off him like static. You can feel it.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says through clenched teeth. “Rodeo is the reason I wake up every damn day with my knees screaming and my back shot to hell. The reason why I lost myself. Don’t bring that up like you understand. Just because we kissed doesn’t give you the right to dig through things I buried a long time ago.”

His voice drops, and he looks at you with hooded eyes, “You’re not special.”

The words hit harder than they should, sharper than he probably meant. There's a beat of silence where the air thickens, everything unsaid louder than what was.

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The two of you keep your distance for the next few days, but the sting of his words, “You’re not special”, keeps echoing in your mind. It’s haunting you, settling deep beneath your skin like a cold shadow you can’t shake.

You wait the whole day until you hear the front door open — your heart leaps. You're waiting for him in the dining room, sitting at the edge of your seat, bracing. When he sees you there, he immediately turns on his heel like he wants to disappear into another room.

“We need to talk,” you call out.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says without looking back.

You bite back the surge of frustration rising in your chest. That was such a John thing to say. Always shutting down, always holding everything in.

“We’re not going to talk about you pushing me away?”

The air thickens, heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. The mood shifts, suddenly a whole lot more tense.

“You don’t get to push me away,” you say, voice cracking but unwavering. “You don’t get to decide and dictate how I feel about you—”

He stops in his tracks.

You stand now, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m not here because you let me care about you. I care because I do. And yeah, maybe you think you’re protecting me, or protecting yourself, or whatever excuse it is this time, but all you’re doing is hurting both of us.”

Your breath shakes, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears that it’s almost deafening.

“Stop—” John tries, but you barrel past it, driven by something deeper than fear. Your heart speaking for you now.

“You don’t get to tell me that I don’t love you!”

He flinches, like the words physically hit him. You swallow hard, your throat raw.

“All this time I’ve felt like…,” you pause, pressing a hand to your chest like you’re holding yourself together, “like there’s something missing.”

You let out a soft, broken laugh, smiling through the tears. “Is it so crazy to think that maybe you’re it?”

John looks away, jaw clenched, the battle warring behind his eyes. “I’m not the man you’re looking for. I’m not the man you need. I can’t even be that for myself.”

“So say it,” you demand, voice trembling, but firm. “Say that you don’t love me, and I’ll leave right now. You can go back to your silence, your barn, your broken routines for all I care, but I need to hear you say it.”

John doesn’t speak. His jaw tightens, eyes skimming past yours. He’s avoiding you, retreating.

“I’m not worth fighting for,” he mutters, almost like a confession.

You step closer, closing the space between you until there’s nowhere for him to hide. “Tell me,” you whisper. “Look at me and tell me.”

His eyes flick to yours, the air between you charged like lightning in a bottle. You can feel the heat of him, the ache he’s holding in.

“I’m a wreck,” he rasps. “And you know it.”

You reach up, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to stay still, to feel this moment with you. “Tell me, John.”

His hands hover at your sides, unsure. Still afraid.

“You deserve better,” he murmurs, eyes glassy. “I’m not… good enough.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, a tear slipping free. His arms don’t move, but his breathing hitches, like holding you is breaking him and saving him all at once.

Then you look up again, blinking fiercely.

“If you don’t want to be with me… if you mean that, then say it. Right now.”

A long silence.

Then, almost a whisper, ragged and raw: “I don’t—”

He stops. Breath catches.

“I love you,” he says finally. The words punch the air from his lungs. “I love you more than I ever thought I could.”

You barely have time to breathe before he adds, quietly, painfully:

“But I can’t do this.”

Your heart cracks wide open.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you...”

“I can’t give that to you,” he says, almost choking on it. “Look at me, look at us. I break everything I touch. The last thing I’d ever want is to break you too.”

There’s a long pause as you finally let the tears fall down your face. 

“...Too late.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The remaining two weeks, you didn’t talk much… You weren’t angry, just quiet. Confused. And tired, in the way that only comes from trying to hold too many things in your heart at once.

John was tired too. He missed your laughter, your light, the way your presence filled every corner of a room without even trying.

John sits at the worn wooden desk in his dimly lit room, the soft scratch of his pen the only sound breaking the stillness. The letter unfolds like a confession he can’t say out loud.

“I’d trade the endless blue skies and the golden fields, every sunset and every sunny day, if it meant I could see you smile again. From the moment you arrived, something shifted in me. For the first time, this place felt like home. You made it mean something again. I’ve never needed someone the way I need you…”

He keeps writing, pouring the pieces of himself he never dared to say out loud into the folds of paper. 

For the next week, the letter sits in his drawer, untouched, but never far from his thoughts. He wants to give it to you, wants to press it into your palm and watch your eyes scan over every word. But the looks between you are far and few between now, glances that carry too much weight, too much unsaid.

But this night, beneath the quiet moonlight spilling in from the hallway window, he finds himself at your door. Letter in hand.

He raises his fist to knock.

And then stops.

Something holds him back. That same fear has held him for weeks now. The belief that if he gave you this, if he let you in just one step further, you’d stay, and he’d only end up holding you back.

You were brilliant and bright and full of life. You deserved the world, and John Walker wasn’t sure he knew how to give it to you. 

So he stands there, torn and aching, before slowly tucking the letter into his back pocket… and walking away.

⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The day for you to leave had finally come. 

As you stand there, this isn’t quite how you wanted to leave, but your time here was up. It hurt to leave him behind, to leave everything you’d started to feel, knowing he loves you too, but won’t let himself. He loads your stuff into your car and finishes with a sigh. You step up to him, your mind flashing back to the first time you saw him… If only you knew how hard you’d fall.

“Maybe, we’ll see each other again one day,” you whisper, knowing the likelihood was slim, but still clinging to hope.

He smiles. 

It’s quiet and soft; you can see the barely hidden hurt behind his eyes. Then he reaches up slowly and puts his cowboy hat on your head.

“Maybe.”

You didn’t want maybes.

The words catch in your throat as you say, “Bye, John Walker.” You didn’t want to say goodbye. “Bye.”

You start to walk to your car, but then stop, turning back to him. 

Without thinking, you rant softly, then wrap your arms around him tightly… wanting to memorise every beat of his heart and the warmth of his body, how it felt to hold him so you’d never forget. His fingers trail down your back, soothing pats calming your racing heart.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmurs against your hair. You didn’t want to miss him. You look up at him, eyes watery. “I’ll miss you too.”

Reluctantly, you let go. You adjust the cowboy hat and climb into your car, heart heavy as you start the engine, knowing even if you never saw him again, you’d always have those summer days with him.

Masterlist || Marvel (Thunderbolts) Masterlist

[gingerteawrites]

HEADCANONS: JJK MEN WITH A SUPER SMART PARTNER

A/N: Had this thought while watching a random Youtube video so let's all dive down my silly little thoughts. I don't write in this kind of format often, so do let me know if you like it.

Content: Nanami x reader, Gojo x reader, Geto x reader, headcannons, gender neutral.

NANAMI KENTO

I know there's a lot of Nanami x bimbo-ish reader content out there. And while it definitely makes for some delicious delulu fuel, I am so convinced that Kento would prefer to be with someone who at least somewhat challenges him intellectually.

I can just picture it: The first time he heard you passionately go on about a deeply philosophical concept, or that one time you broke down a really hard topic you're super knowledgeable about, he felt his heart skip a beat.

If your area of expertise is not something he's familiar with, he'll find himself researching bits and pieces during his work breaks and then bring them up to you in conversation.

Of course, this absolutely delights you, and he can't decide if he prefers the twinkle in your eyes when you get lost in conversation, or the curve of your lips when they're pulled into a serious frown while you ponder his words.

Nanami, in my opinion, is also a huge "my partner" kind of guy, but in an amazing way. All of his co-workers that know him a bit know two things.

One, he's in a committed relationship. And two, his partner is super smart.

He doesn't even try to bring you up to people, the words just slip out and he finds himself making a comment along the lines of:

"My partner studied this in university, they're so knowledgeable about the field." or "I do not understand much of the topic, but I can ask my partner and get back to you later."

He cherishes your intelligence as in integral part of who you are, and is always rooting for you throughout all of your intellectual endeavors.

GOJO SATORU

Nothing anyone tells me will change my mind. At his core, Satoru is just a happy idiot that's kind of surprised he managed to bag you.

I know it might seem suprising, given that he practically has the confidence of a bigoted white man who thinks he's smart because he makes controversial political opinions (even though we all know our blue-eyed king would never be a bigot).

But trust me, sometimes he sees you locked in your own little world, musing on about some profound topics and he wonders how you even found him interesting at all.

All that to say he thinks you being smart is the best thing ever, and has 100% made comments about your sexy brain before.

As a natural consequence of this, Gojo uses you as his living encyclopedia, even if the questions he has are wildly out of your domain of expertise.

"Say, ____, exactly how much straw would it take to break a camel's back?"

"How much sugar can I eat before risking going into a coma?"

You might think that he's really just trying to mess with you, but no. Satoru genuinely thinks you're the smartest cookie on the planet and you know the answer to everything.

"I mean, shouldn't you be happy I'm asking you instead of that AI bullshit?" he says once, his head buried in your lap while you were reading a book. And you kind of have to concede. Maybe he was right.

I guess you just have to become the world's top expert in every field possible to become your boyfriend's very own AI assistant.

GETO SUGURU

In my opinion, Suguru is one of the smartest characters in the JJK verse. He's an expert in manipulation and has spent a lot of time diving into different philosophical thoughts and things like anthropology and sociology.

So of course, he would be delighted to have a partner who has a high intellect and with whom he can have deep conversations and theorize about life. He's probably huge on Eastern philosophy so after the first conversation you guys have about Buddhism and Shintoism, he's almost ready to go down on one knee.

On the other hand, I feel like if he had a partner who excelled in a more STEM aspect of things, he would be so very eager to listen to you and learn about your interests.

Whether it's sitting down and acting as an audience for when you practice presentations (and actually asking pretty thought-provoking questions), or inquiring about a concept that he knows you understand very well. Suguru will always try to match your energy with the things that you like.

I also feel like he'd be so into study dates, and generally be an amazing study buddy. The kind that brings all the good snacks to the session and keeps side conversations to only when both of your brains are starting to need a break. He would be the type of person you could sit in silence with for hours and both do your own thing, and then go get chocolate treats later because you read somewhere that it improves memory.

All to say he's completely enamored with you and you'd make one killer of an academic duo.

And that's all I have for you today, folks

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[wcnderlnds]

back for you ★ hwang jun-ho

・❥・ summary: now that junho is free from the memories that had plagued him for so long, he's ready to start his life over with you. unfortunately, his brother inho has a habit of trying to ruining that for him. ・❥・word count: 2.1k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. fingering in an elevator, swearing. established relationship. SQUID GAME S3 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. ・❥・authors note: i swear to you this wasn't meant to be smut but i have a lot of junho feelings. im also bad at writing kids so... i'm so sorry in advance for how bad this might be.

Those first few weeks after Junho had finally found the island only to not get the closure from his brother that he had been craving had been eye opening for him. For so long, he had been focused on finding his brother, getting the answers to the questions that had plagued him for years. It had consumed his life, took over every single thing he did but now? Now, he knew he was never going to know and maybe that was okay. He had done his part, he had tried his best. There was nothing more he could do but move on with his life. So, that’s what he did.

It hadn’t been easy at first, it had taken a lot of time for him to find his new purpose but he had you to help him along the way. Being in a relationship with Junho over the last few years hadn’t been easy but through every single thing, you had stuck by him. That had meant more to him than he could even put into words. A future with you – that was his purpose now. You had been together for about five years. Junho had never wanted to commit fully knowing that he couldn’t give himself to you one hundred percent but now he could. That was why two months after everything had happened with the island, he got down on one knee and proposed to you.

Being your fiance was the greatest honour of his life. It was so freeing knowing that he could finally give himself to you so completely, finally.

“I really liked the red velvet one but the strawberry one was so nice, too,” you said excitedly. The two of you walked hand in hand down the street back to your apartment. Wedding planning was in full swing and today you’d been out cake tasting. It had been yours and Junho’s favourite part of the whole planning process so far. Who wouldn’t love sitting down and trying different cakes for an hour?

“I liked the strawberry one, too. Maybe we should book another tasting just to be sure,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulder instead to pull you into his side. You immediately wrapped your arm around his waist, looking up at him with a smile.

“I like the way you think, Hwang.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

You laughed which only made the smile on Junho’s face brighter. There was nothing more precious to you than seeing that smile on his face. For so long, all you had seen was him struggling, a smile a rare oddity as he searched for his brother. Life had taken so much from him but now he seemed so carefree. He seemed like the Junho you had met all those years ago back in high school. The one who laughed at everything, who enjoyed the small things in life. You knew deep down that he still thought about Inho and what could have been. You couldn’t blame him. Inho had been such an important part of his life – he had basically raised Junho but he wasn’t the man that Junho had once known. He was a completely different person now. That was why he had finally decided to move on. The brother he once had was long gone, replaced by a stranger he didn’t know. There would always be a part of Junho that was missing but as long as he had you, he knew he’d be okay.

“Is the elevator actually working today? I don’t want to walk up all the stairs again,” you scanned the lobby of your apartment building, eyes lighting up when you saw that the elevator was actually working. 

“Guess they fixed it while we were out,” Junho pressed the button, the elevator doors opening. He guided you inside, pressing the button to the sixth floor where your shared apartment was. As you rested your back against the cool metal wall of the elevator, Junho grabbed you by the waist, his hot breath fanning over your face as he gazed down at you with adoring eyes. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?”

“Maybe once or twice but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again,” you rested your hands on the plane of his chest, feeling his muscles tense through his shirt. Junho leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

It didn’t take long for things to heat up. Junho’s tongue traced along the seam of your lips, asking for entrance. The second you parted your lips, his tongue met yours in a heated dance. Each time you kissed, it felt like the first time. The sparks ever present like you couldn’t get enough of each other. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him as close to you as humanly possible.

Junho’s hand danced along the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open and dipping inside. His fingers slowly, teasingly ran along your panties, already feeling the damp spot forming there. It made him groan into the kiss. It never ceased to amaze him how your body reacted to him, just one simple touch made you a complete mess. Intimacy had been far and few over the years but now he was making up for lost time. Any opportunity he could take to show you how much he loved you, he was going to grasp. His fingers rubbed slow circles against your core, a breathy whine falling from your lips. A smirk adorned his face; he had you right where he wanted you.

“Junho, please,” you said breathlessly. You bucked your hips into his hand trying to seek more friction. There were only a few more floors before you’d reach yours and you so badly needed him to finish what he was starting.

As if sensing your desperation, he slipped his fingers inside your panties, his long digits sliding through your folds with ease. Your slick coated his fingers, making him groan, aching for more. He circled your entrance with one of his fingers, easing a finger inside you which caused you to gasp, throwing your head back in ecstasy. He began moving it slowly, his thumb finding your clit. His eyes glanced over seeing you were at the third floor. He had to speed this up so he moved faster, pumping his finger into you with increasing speed. The hand that was on your hip, held you in place, stilling your movements. When he slipped another finger inside you, the moan you let out was louder than you expected. You had never been more thankful that nobody else was in the elevator with you. Junho added more pressure with his thumb, circling your clit as his fingers drove into you. He knew your body better than anyone, he could tell that you were getting close. You just needed that push. So, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that spot that made you see stars.

“Oh my god, right there, baby, I’m so close,” you panted. The moans falling from your lips paired with how wet you were against his fingers was making his cock throb in his jeans. He couldn’t wait to get you back to your apartment so he could really show you just how much he loved you.

“Come on, baby. Come for me,” he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “We’re almost at our floor. We don’t want anyone catching us, do we?”

It took one more hard thrust of his fingers before your orgasm came crashing over you. A moan of his name echoed through the elevator. He kept his fingers moving, working you through your orgasm. He could feel your release on his fingers, the sensation making him harder than before. When he was sure you were completely spent, he pulled his fingers from you. Just in time because the elevator dinged letting you know you were at your destination.

You took a moment to take a steady breath in. You needed a moment to collect yourself before you could even think about walking. Junho brought his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing delicately against your skin. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” you said with a dazed smile. “Can’t wait to return the favour.”

Junho just laughed, guiding you out of the elevator and down the hall to your apartment. Before he unlocked the door, you leaned up on your tiptoes, kissing him. He tangled his fingers in your hair, savouring the feeling of your lips against his. It was a miracle that he managed to somehow open the door from behind while you were entangled with each other. He stepped back into the apartment, tearing his lips from yours momentarily. Just as he was about to speak, something caught his eye.

“What…?” He made his way over to the small bundle of blankets. His face paled as he laid eyes upon the last thing he thought he’d ever see in his apartment.

A baby.

“Junho, what’s wr-”

You were stopped in your tracks when you heard the cry of the baby. In his hands, Junho held a small card, the words ‘Player 222, winner’ written on it. Then, he pulled out a debit card, his eyes widening. “....Inho…”

It was almost on instinct that you picked the baby up, holding it against you to soothe it’s crying. You were no expert with kids but you couldn’t leave the poor thing laying there crying. It had been left here for a reason. The sound of his brother's name caught your attention, your confused eyes looking at your fiance with question. “...Inho did this?”

“I… yeah, I think so.” He paused. Never had he felt his heart hammering against his chest so hard before. A sense of panic washing over him. He may not be a detective anymore but it didn’t take one to figure out what this meant.  “I need to… uh, I need to go to an ATM.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re kidding me?!” You exclaimed loudly, the baby safely in your arms as you looked over Junho’s shoulder to see the balance on the ATM.

45.6 billion won.

Junho looked like he’d seen a ghost, all the memories of everything he’d witnessed on the island rushing back to him. He knew what this money was, what it meant. It was dirty money but… it was money that could help. Somehow, some way, he knew that Inho knew he needed this. He had a wedding to pay for and now… a baby to care and look after. Children had been a topic of discussion between the both of you but you had decided that you didn’t want to start trying for a few years yet, opting to enjoy just being together first before you brought a child into the world. Now, thanks to Inho, you had no choice.

Junho leaned against the wall beside the ATM. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, letting him know you were there. He wasn’t alone – he never would be again. You spoke softly, trying to reassure him. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I… we can do this. I know we’re not ready but you and me, we can do anything, yeah? We’ve been through worse.”

Junho nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“This baby has nobody, Junho. We have to give it the life it deserves. We don’t want everything that happened to be in vain.”

“I just wish he’d have.. come to me in person. Why won’t he just talk to me?” He sounded so defeated. Of course Inho had a way of ruining everything, setting Junho back just as life had gotten good for him.

“Fuck him,” you said. “What matters now is you, me and this baby. Nothing else. We’re in this together, okay? Inho is a thing of a past. It’s his loss that he’s cut you out, not yours. That is not your burden to bear. You tried, baby. You tried so hard and don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay,” Junho nodded. His eyes landed on the baby. “I saw her. All those months ago on the island. She won the games. I don’t know how, I don’t want to know how or why she was even involved in them but… we can’t ever tell her, okay? I don’t want her to ever know where she came from. Not from that place. She doesn’t deserve to live with that.”

“She won’t. She’ll have a good life with us. Now, come on. We have 45.6 billion and a baby to cater for now. We better go shopping.”

Junho had never been more thankful to have you. The way you could lighten a situation and make him feel like he was going to be okay. It was more than he could ever ask for. Raising this baby wasn’t going to be easy but together, you could do it. You could do anything.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @str8t2video @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib

[sleepyjackets]

squeaky clean 🫧

pairings: toxic se-mi x reader

summary: you enter the squid games after being down on your luck yet you find yourself facing more bad luck when your ex finds you there with her

tags/warnings: smut, some angst, toxic!se-mi, fingering, public sex, p0rn with plot, dirty talk, ex girlfriend, se-mi is high key a manipulator

a/n: i wrote this a while back and revised it since season 3 is out and this fandom is finally alive again 🥳

If there was one person you could trace all your current problems back to it was her.

Some sketchy guy in a suit had offered you money to play dalgona with him on the subway. Which you didn't think twice before saying yes because you'd do anything for money after being down on your luck for the past few months. Whose fault was this?

Se-mi.

You two had dated for almost 3 years and moved in together. She convinced you to quit your job once she proposed. But you later found that she was cheating on you with your own best friend. She's always been a dirtbag but she was a loveable dirtbag whose many flaws you were blind to by choice (atleast for the first 2 years). Besides the cheating she was just not a good partner whatsoever but god was she so good making you feel like this relationship was actually good for you. Se-mi would make jokes about gaslighting you but it never dawned on you that she was doing that exact thing.

After moving out you essentially had no money. Your only option was to pick up 3 different jobs and work yourself to death until you joined these games.

After waking up you looked around trying to figure out how the hell you got here from that cramped bus. When you turn your head the first thing you see is the person you hold the most hate for in your heart.

Oh fuck me.

You run up to her and grab her arm, whispering in her ear harshly.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She turns around and smiles that same enchanting smile that makes you forget how much you want to scream in her handsome face.

"Same reason you're here," She says with a small smile while her eyes drag over your frame with no shame. That's just Se-mi, If there was one word to describe her it would be shameless. While you're stuck in your thoughts you hear a laugh that's way too familiar and immediately snap back.

"You're here, I'm here, we should work together" She steps a little closer

"Did you just forget or something?" You ask with pure disbelief

"No but I'd like to believe that the past is the past you know? Brighter pastures ahead baby" She reaches her hand towards your cheek and you slap it away.

"Don't touch me. Or even speak to me." Your voice is hushed for the most part but towards the end you raise it

"You came up to me, sorry for assuming you were willing to put the past aside" She raises her hands in fake surrender

"That's it that's what you do. You make me feel like shit for not putting up with you and your weird little mind games" You're finally yelling at her the way you've wanted to yell at her for months.

"I'm not trying to fuck with your head baby, I'm not smart enough for that"

Then she just walks away. You know exactly what she is trying to do and you're falling for it in the same way you have many times before. She points out some bullshit insecurity she doesn't even have then makes you feel like an asshole for "enabling" her problems. You know her all too well but still let yourself feel like shit because of her.

*+:｡.｡

That night you're tossing and turning. The first game is tomorrow morning and guilt is eating you alive. Amidst your tossing and turning you spot Se-mi going to the bathroom and jump up running after her.

Once you're in the bathroom you walk up to her grabbing her shoulder and turning her around

"I'm sorry for blowing up on you earlier, how can I make it up to you?"

You blurt out without thinking all too much.

"You're apologizing that's new. But I guess I'd feel better if you agreed to be my partner" She smirks the same smirk you'd have if you won a game of uno not if you manipulated your ex into playing children's games with you.

"Yes of course anything else?" God you feel so pathetic

Se-mi grabs your arm gently tugging you towards her and kissing around your neck and collarbones. In between kisses she mumbles "I want things back how they used to be is all"

You laugh a little bit and let her set you with your back against the wall. Se-mi peppers kisses down your chest until she reaches your titties. She unzips your jackets and throws it aside. Her hands gropes your tit and kisses the other over your shirt. "No bra that's bold even for you"

Her hands lift up your shirt but she doesn't take it off instead opting for just holding it up. Her lips clasp around your nipple and while she's sucking she glances up at you with desperation in her eyes. But not desperation for you, desperation to win. Win what? You're not quite sure.

A moan shudders out of your mouth and you gently run your hand over her hair. Se-mi takes it upon herself to start sliding down your pants while kissing down your stomach. Se-mi's always loved eating you out because it gave her a chance to see you undone and vulnerable. As much of an asshole she was Se-mi always made sure the sex was focused on you. It was her way of reassuring you that she did care to an extent.

Once her lips make their way down her warm breath ghosts over you cilt before she sets her thumb over it and presses down a little.

"That feel good?" She says before blowing a little air over your cilt

"Jesus Se-mi" You look down a little shocked at her rather unique way of teasing you but you're not mad

"That's a yes I assume" She says before shoving her tongue into your folds. She gently presses two fingers up your pussy to keep her hands occupied. Your head tilts back while a strangled moan leaves your lips, all too familiar for you too. One hand slips through her hair pushing her face in deeper while Se-mi just let herself get lost in you.

She ups the speed of her fingers while pulling her mouth away glancing up at you like a teasing puppy. "Cum for me ok?" She says, moving to use her free to gently rub your thigh.

"Yes ok ok" You nod your head knowing you didn't have much control over this to begin with. When Se-mi adds another finger you finally loose all ability to hold back and spew all over Se-mi's fingers. She pulls her digits out and licks them with a sly smile. By the time she's back on her feet you're still a sweaty panting mess, it's pathetic compared to her messy perfection.

She kisses your cheek before turning the water on to wash her hands. You know it's the logical thing to do after fingering someone but you're still a little insulted by the notion that you're something she can just wash off.

Se-mi glances over and knows exactly what's on your mind because you two have had this exact argument about 4 times before. Her hand cradles your cheek while she mutters

"You made it up to me."

[thetrasha]

Hi Tasha! How are you? It's my first time requesting something im nervous husahauhsuahau

I'm here to ask for a request with the boys from One Piece (it can be whoever you want :) ) with an autistic reader. A slice of life fluff (?)?)?) well they're pirates, their life is quite chaotic), little moments where they deal with the struggles the reader has and overcome it in their own way (together). It can be just headcanons too, I don't mind! I'll appreciate anything you can offer, I really like your writing

Also I'm sorry about my english, I tried my best to be clear!

Hello anon ╰(*°▽°*)╯I'm fine... even if I'm being boiled alive in this wretched heat :((

Thank you so much for this request, it’s an honour to fulfil this one for you. Usually, I wouldn’t accept asks like that because I want everybody to feel like they can project themselves onto my works, but this is a bit of a self-indulgent passion project if you will. I saw this and knew I had to write it – I can relate because… guess what 🤡 Yeah…

So I’m sorry if my lived experiences don’t align with yours or anybody reading this.

Everybody’s burdens and strengths manifest in different ways… to make up for the fact that I cannot represent everybody since I’ve been shaped by my own impressions and biases, I’ve chosen a variety of symptoms and comorbidities to make up for that. And btw thanks for letting me choose the characters!!

I really hope you like this one. And your English is great, don’t worry 🫂(●'◡'●)

PS. This will be the only request of its kind I will accept. Thanks for reading! But we’re back to business as usual after this :D

PPS. This also won't be featured in my masterlist to discourage requests that resemble it.

One Piece with an Autistic Reader

feat. LUFFY, ZORO, SANJI, FRANKY, MIHAWK

LUFFY

You struggle with… extreme trust issues.

Interpersonal relationships meant something to you. You wanted and needed friends who would understand you wordlessly, who would be there when you needed them the most – people who genuinely cared. You wanted to truly bond. That depth of care isn’t easily found within the general population. Modern life most often happens in the fast lane… where relationships are disposable and the next experience is just waiting for you. You cannot relate to that side of life at all.

You feel… alone in the middle of a crowd, unseen and forgotten. You watch other people’s friend groups with envy and bitterness, wishing such a thing for yourself. You don’t chase experiences, you just want someone who wouldn’t abandon you.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t believe Luffy when he wanted to recruit you. You couldn’t see your own shine and you thought he was just messing with you… promising the world before he’d grow aware of your strangeness and get rid of you, like all the others before him. When his crewmates talked about their life experience and how little they trusted Luffy in the beginning, you started getting… antsy. Restless. You began overthinking this thing.

So many people cannot be in on the same lie, can they? Someone would eventually cave and confess – until they didn’t. It just… it doesn’t make sense.

You try to push Luffy away from you, but he clings even closer. He actively tries to tear down your walls, even if they’re reinforced with years and years of struggle. Being with him… it’s actually pretty fun. He doesn’t listen much – only to the most important bits… but he’s there. Always. Always! So far, he’s trying so much harder than anybody else before him. He’s there at every waking moment, wanting to help you out and get you to agree to join his group of adventurers.

You don’t have to pretend you’re someone else when he’s near. He accepts you just as you are. It doesn’t matter to him.

It’s the first time you weren’t the one putting in actual effort into a relationship… Luffy was doing all the heavy lifting. He showed up, followed you even when you ignored him – what a useless protective mechanism – and talked to you as if you’d been friends for years already. You didn’t have to earn his trust, it was just there for the taking.

Just before you’re ready to take the plunge and go along with his antics, he’d formally introduce you to his crew… as one of their own.

He’s always viewed you as one of them, you’d suddenly realise.

It... makes you want to cry.

ZORO

You struggle with… feeling like you didn’t accomplish anything.

Zoro is hard to make sense of for you. He’s… kind, in his own ways, but since he doesn’t talk much, you struggle to read him. He’s also just… an intimidating guy – physically and spiritually. Strangers respect him because of his nature, even if he’s just… Zoro to you. You don’t think you need to be scared of him, but you have started walking around on eggshells when he’s nearby. He’s always napping somewhere when he’s not with you… and you don’t want him to perceive you when you try to master your own ambitions. Watching him makes you feel worse about yourself. Zoro is a successful man by any metric… he’s always had a natural talent for swordsmanship and refined it through hard work and steeling his mind, he’s so confident and always shoots for the stars, knowing that he’ll get there eventually. He doesn’t doubt himself, it’s in his instincts to be the best there is.

You cannot claim the same for yourself. You excel in certain niches, but you’re… not as crucial of a member as Zoro is. He’s kind of the backbone of this crew.

You feel small in comparison to him, insignificant even.

Of course he notices. It’s Zoro! He’s not as dense as he seems. He’s frighteningly perceptive and observes everyone silently.

So what does he do? Nothing at first.

He believes in your independence and knows you’re smarter than him, this is just some inexplicable poison corrupting your mind.

When you can’t free yourself from your own insecurity, he starts seeking you out, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Zoro cares about you – maybe more than you realise. He’s glad to have you on this crew, you accept him as he is and you have an unspoken 'friendship' blossoming between you two. Why he’s so affected by you being so distant – he doesn’t know, but he can guess pretty easily… So he started breaching your personal space. There he was, standing beside you once more, looking at you with his unreadable expressions… but then he speaks. Zoro started talking about… his feelings.

What has happened? “I wish we’d spend more time together… like we used to.”, he’d grumble with pink cheeks.

And you could just stand there in shock. Zoro… wanted, no, needed you around? He… liked spending time with you? You’d ask him whether you weren’t too weak for him, ready to feed your soul with more negativity.

Yet all he does is honestly tell you that he believes you’re meant for greatness, that he thinks you’re better than him – he’s always thought highly of you and acknowledged your skills. He’s always been watching you, so of course he’s able to recall moments when you had to save the day.

Zoro doesn’t think you’re less than at all, he reminds you that you’ve always gone above and beyond.

Society's conditioned you into feeling like a failure for not fitting into a mould like he does, but he has a different way of measuring success. You don't have to fulfil expectations, you just have to try your best and hold your head high while doing so.

He's proud of you - and he views you as his equal.

SANJI

You struggle with… being a picky eater.

Certain tastes and texture just make you resent the food you’re eating. It suddenly turns pleasure into anguish.

At the same time, you feel like you cannot reveal these things about you, because Sanji already uses the best ingredients for your meals, just to make sure it’s especially nutritious. And because he likes you the most, secretly.

You appreciate his thoughtful gestures every time, but the fact that certain foods touch each other on your plate makes you inexplicably mad. You try your hardest to hide it from him – Sanji knows what starvation is like, for God’s sake. You’re disrespecting him by being the way you are!

But he’s already picked up on your unusual habits; he subtly watches everyone when they eat and derives a lot of happiness from seeing their faces light up – it validates his pride in cooking – but your eyes are dull, almost pained sometimes. You… cannot enjoy anything.

Sanji also doesn’t want to embarrass you for your preferences, which is why he doesn’t initially ask you about it bluntly. He’s caught glimpses of the way you’ve been socialised and doesn’t want to reignite bad memories for you, so he… just tests different things to try and accommodate you.

And he starts applying these things to everyone just to make you feel included. He’d never single you out.

You seemed a lot happier a few days ago, when he started separating the veggies from the rice and handed everything out on different plates. Nobody even bat an eye at the new way of assorting his dishes, not even you. It makes your dearest chef smile. That’s how he slowly started probing for your likes and dislikes. You suddenly even felt way more comfortable expressing yourself. Maybe you hated bitter tastes, maybe you just really disliked sour foods, maybe you were sensitive to salt – he doesn’t know, but he subtly tries to figure you out by baking zesty, sour rhubarb into a sweet cake instead of a savoury meal… and he noticed that you liked it all of the sudden. You even smiled at him while you stuffed your cheeks.

Sanji absolutely had to pause to deal with his oncoming cardiac arrest. He’s never felt pride like this… people usually liked his cooking, but knowing that someone who’s probably never got to enjoy certain foods love his meals just hit different. It squeezed his heart painfully tight.

You’d never have to feel bad about yourself around him. He would try to make things right either way, but soon you’d gain the courage to tell him about your habits yourself, making him melt on the spot.

He’s the first person who took your strange tastes seriously.

FRANKY

You struggle with… noises.

It would sound crazy if you asked Franky whether he could hear the out-of-sync gears turning within him, you thought quietly. You could even hear fluorescent light because its crackles and sharp hisses annoyed you – so every time you heard a minor squeak coming from inside his chest, you cringed at your rudeness.

You liked Franky, he was an amazing guy, funny without even trying, charismatic, empathetic and he always offered words of encouragement. You actually thought you clicked best with Franky. He was… unconventional like you and made sure you knew that you were fine just the way you were. You were pretty much inseparable. He made you feel confident since he didn’t care about social rules despite very much understanding them and made you feel secure in expressing yourself however you liked. Franky always hyped you up from the sidelines and, if the mood allowed it, provided the intellectually challenging conversations you needed to thrive.

He was naturally complex like that – you adored him.

It’s just that every time he’d invite you to sit by his tinkering station, you were leaving with a massive headache. You felt burnt out just listening to his metal spinal plates scratch against one another… there were so many sounds getting processed in your brain that you had a hard time following the conversation. You often had to ask him to repeat himself, which he always did with a laugh and a cheeky remark.

But after a while, he notices a pattern. He doesn’t know what’s been causing you discomfort, but Franky’s an inventor. Of course he would try to make you something that would help you. At first, he believed that you had trouble with background noise and just had an insane auditory processing ability, which is why he installed panelling inside the walls of the common rooms to block sound waves echoing throughout the ship – and while it helped, you still showed some signs that you weren’t doing well around him.

Naturally, Franky would search for a different solution. Whether it’s as easy as handing you headphones or as difficult as restructuring the springs that replaced his joints, he’s trying it all.

And one day, you sit next to him, watching him put screws into one of his newest projects completely unrelated to you and you commented with wide eyes,

“You’re… silent. It’s quiet. Are you feeling okay?”

All he could do is laugh with pride, his chest pushed out before he struck his signature pose.

Truth be told, all he did was oil the old pistons that pumped cola and oil through his engineered heart – he started getting a clue after you once confessed in passing that you’d suspected a leak near the keel of the ship… and Franky notices these little things and puts them together all by himself.

You could hear everything – all the time.

Even a rhythmic stream of water passing through a crack in a plank at the bottom of the Sunny –

–and that’s when he realised that you could hear when something was awry with him, that it made you anxious. Well, you will never have to worry about that again! But… he’s grateful… so grateful for your care. Franky couldn’t ever go to Chopper for help because the doctor wasn’t equipped to deal with a pile of junk, but… you were, clearly.

MIHAWK

You struggle with… having nobody to talk to.

It was silly, really, to go to your greatest rival for small talk, especially when he was such a lone wolf who desired to be left alone, but despite your own drive towards independence, you wanted someone who would be willing to listen to you.

You’ve never been taken seriously – many people deem your ramblings childish, uninteresting or inappropriate, but Mihawk was a thoroughly serious man whose entire purpose was dipped in devotion. And he knew your worth as a fighter. You’d mastered your rapier, even if you would never be as good as he was. That’s how you met, but you’d never try to actually take his title by aspiring to get even better at it. It wasn’t… something you were interested in; this was just a means to an end, you fought to survive as a fellow pirate. Nothing more, nothing less.

You overperformed in your own interests, so much so that people who were casually interested would leave a conversation with you within minutes. Nobody in the world could relate. Not even Mihawk, you guessed bitterly, but you… trusted him – to listen and, most importantly, to stay.

He was just as much of an autodidact as you were, even if he chose to study the blade and you chose to acquire knowledge about something that truly fulfilled you.

So you wander the halls of his sparsely furnished castle in hopes of finding him.

And find him you did. He was just nonchalantly having dinner all by himself at his desk… it’s truly bizarre that this was one of his most normal moments.

You invited yourself in with a smile, hearing the pleasant ring of his quiet hum upon noticing your presence.

And then you started talking if not info-dumping on Lord Dracule Mihawk. And he just sat there, taking it all in while eating a plate of unseasoned plain pasta…

“So… then me more about this intriguing ‘comic’…”, he murmured, taking a relaxed sip of wine.

He noticed that your eyes shone and that you seemed confused for just a moment before blabbing on with visible excitement, talking a lot faster.

Even though he had trouble following, he sat forward, elbows firmly placed on his spread knees and hands on his chin as if in deep, profound thought all the while nodding at all those random trivia facts you shared about your passion.

At the same time, he shared some random side facts on ranked blades he’s picked up over the years and even let you touch Yoru, explaining in great detail how important the cut of the blade truly was and how maintaining it is his secret to slicing through ships with his brute strength and Haki.

And that’s when you noticed – Mihawk had nobody to talk to about “these things” either. Or maybe he had nobody to talk to in general. Who knows?

But you did have each other.

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Eight (R2) 2 of 2

@paracosmic-sims, @perolesims, @eljeebee, @jonquilyst, @riverofjazzsims, @matchalovertrait - Sim creators and co-writers

Nyami: *sits in disbelief* I won even though I fell?

Devin: You won even though you fell. You have the highest level of skill

Nyami: *runs around doing a little cringy celebratory hip dance*

Devin: I guess the interview is over?

Nyami: Sorry Devin *smiles* I need to find Deanna to give her a big hug

It's a gorgeous sunny day and Nyami has chosen to go to the beach for her date.

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Nyami: One would think considering my family and peoples background and traditions I would believe in such things. Ha-ha and you would ABSOLUTELTY be correct! I've definitely had what I would dub as unlucky moments but I am aware enough to know how lucky I am. Not because of anything that I have done specifically or has happened to me, but more to speak to the roots of the flower in which I grow.

Deanna: *smiles* Beautifully put

Nyami: I am blessed and lucky enough to have been born into a culture that’s rich and grounded in all that’s around them. To have parents that made It their mission to nurture each of the seeds they sowed and made sure that even if the food differed, we were fed and bloomed in an environment that gave space and love

Deanna: *is mesmerized*

Nyami: I'm sorry maybe that was a bit much, but I love my tribe, and family.  I KNOW how much that has shaped me into the woman I am. So no matter my unlucky blips in life, my true luck has always and will always be derived from what's been gained from them

Deanna: *smiles* It wasn't too much for me

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Nyami: I think life, and the experiences had is honestly a combination of all the above mixed in with your own instincts

Deanna: Like a plate at a pot luck dinner

Nyami: *smiles* Yes! I base this off of things my family have passed down through the generations as well as our study of tribes in the region

Deanna: I love how much you know about your family history

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Nyami: I will always choose home BUT I know that my person may very well not live/be from Selvadorada and because there is no place like home I know I would pick someplace unlike where I grew up though made me feel just as much a welcome part of the world as I do currently

Deanna: That makes sense if home will always be the best version of itself. Any other contenders then for a welcoming part of the world?

Nyami: I feel Tomarang will bring that sense of community that I love with just enough city and country side to find appealing

Deanna: I hear they have a good balance of environments there, and a lovely night market

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking

Nyami: Considering I feel somewhat the same in regards to my home world due to family I cant fault you for wanting, hell if like me, needing that sense of belonging that being near your loved ones can cocoon you in 

Deanna: *smiles* Yes, but we only moved here part way through high school for me. I get more attached to people than particular places so Selvadorada or Tomarang could be fun

When everyone is back at the villa it's time to work on their skills. While some challenges are more up to luck, there are some that are influenced a lot by skill.

It seems like Hana felt a little embarrassed by her performance this morning, she has picked rock climbing to study! Everyone else has only one thing on their minds- CHARISMA! The mirrors get a work out from the ladies as they practice.

Devin: You look happy again

Deanna: I'm feeling good. I think the contestants have been upping their game

Devin: The date went well then?

Deanna: *smiles* Very smitten with Nyami. Talking to her is like going on an adventure. She knows so much

Devin: How did you find it at the beach today?

Nyami: I took off my sunglasses so I could focus *laughs* Definitely reaffirmed me feeling smitten with Deanna

Another costume change, are we secretly back in time? Will they all put on tea gowns next? While yesterday Deanna may have been the main target for the Gonk group, Nyami is the one most bombarded by the R2 group. Jealously perhaps?

Apolline is clearly tired from the morning challenge. She doesn't even throw one balloon but uses her dance training to always find herself dry and safe from the others. Isla and Isabella both have a great time, seeming to have taken a pledge to deliberately miss when firing at each other.

Quetzalli mostly sticks close to Deanna but when she finds herself alone she does throw some balloons to distract people. Nyami may be soaked but she doesn't care, this is fun! Hana seems to play fair though, firing at most people and getting a solid hit on Deanna!

Nyami: That was so much fun

Apolline: How can anyone have fun when things are thrown at them?

Deanna: None hit you though? You and your outfit are alright

Apolline: My outfit is better than alright... but I can see your point

Quetzalli: I had fun. I've not had a water balloon fight since I was little

Isla: We have them a lot in Sulani

Isabella: You'd have the weather for it there

Hana: Although the sun did come out here today

Nyami: Wait, the sun is gay? *laughs at own joke*

After dinner autonomy is set to full and Deanna is locked out of all rooms (and away from computers). To start things off though she suggests the group watch a movie. I don't tell her to do anything so the night is very much up to the contestants.

The contestants begin to sob when Marion Crane pulls into the Bates Motel. Even if they haven't seen Psycho before, they can guess what's going to happen.

Isla: *sadly* Why did she have to take that money?

Quetzalli: It was forty thousand, that was a lot back then

Apolline: They would know it was her

Hana: *shrugs* Guess cops were useless even back then if she thought she could get away with it. She was changing states

Nyami: Oh my- the inside of the place is even creepier than the outside

Isabella: No, don't ask for a room!

Nyami: When a man says taxidermy is his hobby, surely that's enough of a clue to run!

Deanna: I couldn't eat with all those dead animals looking at me

Isla: Maybe it's a trick... maybe he really is a sweet guy who just hasn't been around people much

Apolline: Oui. Maybe she will kill him *laughs* no Isla

Isabella: Ugh she's heading to the shower. I have to close my eyes

Quetzalli: I have to admit the musical score is very good

*Psysho music*

*Contestants and Deanna jump and yelp*

Deanna: That wasn't so bad was it

Isabella: So strange how society changed

Hana: What do you mean?

Isabella: It used to be that the men were picked for their acting ability rather than just their looks but it seems like now everyone is picked for looks

Isla: Then how do you explain Will Ferrel?

The group laughed and many of them got up to do other things. Quetzalli wanted to dance.

Nyami? It would seem she wanted to get on the computer. Likely replying to all her family's emails. Apolline and Isabella headed upstairs to the ping pong table.

Apolline: First to three?

Isabella: Alright but I might be rusty

Apolline: Do you want to serve first?

Isabella: Alright

Isabella won with a score of 3 to 2. Apolline got a tense moodlet from losing to the grim reaper? Dramatic much darling? Or does Isabella have a secret?

When your day starts at five you can only stay awake for so long. Nyami and Quetzalli both decide to nap. Hana continues to dance while talking to Isla and Deanna. I see you there Deanna choosing to sit behind Hana's back as she dances. No wonder Hana flirts with her.

No coffee for Deanna tonight, it would seem she has switched to water. Following ping pong Isabella is sensible and heads to sleep in one of the beds. Apolline… chooses to nap on a couch. Once Deanna finishes her water Hana comes over to clean it up for her. Alas we have reached ten o'clock and can't have Deanna thank her.

Gym build by @hashimasims Beach venue found on the gallery by Chellsdi Villa renovation by @paracosmic-sims

[axolotsofluv]

❝𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐨 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞❞ [𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐫. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

a/n: finally managed to scrounge up the motivation to complete this. It ain't much (no beta we die like phainon's friends), but it's honest work. Also, I figured I should mention that the whole phainon hype has compromised my brain by giving it an itch to write for him. I'm afraid I'm slowly caving in (￣﹃￣) taglist: @naenaex0xx, @silvermah, @strawbairicake, @chokifandom, @digitalspool

synopsis — world-renowned genius scholar commits a human error. His significant other comes to his rescue.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

❥ pairing: veritas ratio x reader

❥ tags: humor, romance, fluff, domesticity, established relationship, ratio x reader

❥ word count: 2.6k

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Ratio prides himself on being a man built upon the foundation of logic, acuity, and diligence. Just as he holds others to a high standard, he's not one to abstain from applying that very same principle on himself. Otherwise, he would be no different than the hypocrites and elitists parading around the academia circle bearing no qualms in leering down from their ivory towers, revered not for what they have given for the cause of progression but for their inheritance. The language that Ratio speaks is imbued with truth, a brandished sword equipped to eradicate the nebulous swarm that shrouds the common masses in an illusion of complacency and ignorance.

Veritas Ratio is a man who views deadlines as a challenge and submits his work way before the designated time. 

He's a man who compiles his class notes and personal findings into an organized unit with varying categories; so much so, it looks like something studied in taxonomy. 

He's the man with the capability to actively recall any past knowledge or tasks with crystal clarity, rivalling even those born with eidetic memories. 

And today, just a few hours before an important debate competition, guess what kind of man he decides to be. 

He decides to be all three and disregard a singular focal trait. 

The man who actually remembers to bring what was needed for the debate competition. 

One of their competitors whom Ratio recognized as a fellow acquaintance approaches him after hearing what happened. By the time they open their mouth, Ratio just shakes his head with a grunt that sounds like it carries the disappointment of his past ancestors. It's the fifth time that day someone has come up to him with the mindless gait and foolish expression of a gaping fish, offering no verbal substance except for a breathless “how”. If one more person comes up to him asking him how on earth he could forget the notes he had painstakingly conflated, highlighted, revised, and reorganized for the sake of the competition (and for his teammates to be able to keep up with his rapid fire thoughts), he will absolutely lose it.

Not necessarily the competition, just his sanity and patience. 

Then again, he supposes that his daily habit is culpable to an extent. Pulling all-nighters to not only compile veritable data for the assigned debate topics, but to also engage in discourse with his own teammates over whether or not the data is relevant or still valid. It served as a good training ground for their competition, but that didn't mean it wasn't draining for him to constantly remind them that—“no, we shouldn't pool our money to hire someone to write the script for us. Why would you suggest something preposterous and underhanded to me? If you're looking for people to rally to your oh-so-noble cause, don't consider me. Never consider me.”

Then, there was the occasional “this is not a court. There is no need for you to call the opposing side the defendant nor is it wise for you to refer to the judges as ‘your honor’. Please cease your nonsense this instant.”

You told him once that you started to spot a few gray strands growing among his violet waves; he was only surprised there weren't more. 

All those enervating tasks and responsibilities coupled with his other obligations as a teaching assistant did a number to his overall well-being, pummeling his sharp mind to near exhaustion in a way that left him almost feeling like his brain had regressed to mediocrity. While he was disappointed at his own forgetfulness that caused major inconvenience to his team, he knew this sort of behavior would be exhibited one way or another. Genius as he is, he is still human first and foremost. And although the capacity of his mind inherently breached and exceeded levels of what was deemed normal, that didn't automatically make him immune to fatigue. 

He just wished the exhaustion didn't catch up to him right before an important event. 

“Alright, everyone. We still have time before our team goes on stage.” Ratio procures his laptop and wastes no time booting it up. “Anyone here know the closest printer within the vicinity? The library—can anyone check to see if it's available to use at the moment?”

Nobody makes any effort to move. Ratio raises his eyes and lets his steely gaze sweep over the passive crowd. One clicks his tongue and opens his mouth, his stance argumentative, but another places a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can check.” Another raises their hand sheepishly before scurrying away from the bubbling pot of unspoken tension. 

Ratio was never one to ingratiate himself with his peer group out of his own principle dictating that he doesn't need people to like him to live. This principle spared him the trouble of having to agonize over how to present himself in an approachable manner, and given his own stellar aptitude in the various fields he studied, there was rarely a moment in his life where his inability to connect with others posed a hindrance to his pursuit of knowledge. If anything, people flocked to him, regardless of how they viewed him. 

But in this moment, when the atmosphere previously buzzing with anticipation drops to subzero and hardens into a biting cold, he discovers that perhaps there are merits to maintaining an amicable relationship. He doesn't blame his teammates for bearing a grudge over his mistake considering that their agreement put him in charge over their important documents, and he had taken up the responsibility readily. However, he is aware that some of their sentiments may be magnified due to personal misgivings or past grievances—or simply put, his less than pleasant personality. 

“I… realize that my actions have placed us in an unfortunate situation, and for that, I extend to you all my deepest apologies.” His posture straightens as he faces his body away from his team. “I won't ask for forgiveness, but I do want to ask for your understanding and cooperation. I will take any critique you wish to impart to me after our debate, but until then, I implore—”

The universe must be hellbent on subjecting him to further humiliation seeing that even his own heartfelt speech gets rudely interrupted by a call notification from his own phone. The breath he exhales is sharp, but the expression that he shares with his team is considerably softened. 

“Apologies. I'll take this.”

He picks up his phone, not even bothering to read the contact name. 

He holds back the urge to hiss at the person, but out of common courtesy, he ends up with a curt “please make it brief.”

“Veritas! Where are you now!?”

Said man has to reel back from the sudden loud volume that hit his ear. 

“W- Who…?” He tentatively brings the phone closer to his ear. “[name]?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's me. Look, it's urgent. Where are you right now?”

He scoffs. “Allow me to jog your fickle memory, dear—I have a competition today. Remember?”

“Cut the sass, okay? I know that. AH–” Ratio picks up on the distinct sound of a car horn blaring. “Watch where you're driving, butthead! Ugly, armpit-smelling piece of— oh! Are you in that tall white building near the corner of the block?”

“What was that? Did you almost get run over–”

“No time to talk! I'll see you soon!”

The call closes before he can put a word in. He thinks that was it. That you're simply calling him with that nonsensical tirade out of a sense of comfortability and familiarity that prompted you to behave absurdly. Ratio is fiddling with his phone again, ready to call his teammate to confirm whether the library printer is available or not, when he hears clamorous footfalls ascending the flight of stairs. The noise is disruptive in a way that's not only bothersome, but also intriguing in its nature that's out of place amidst the rigid stillness of the corridor. 

He brushes it aside, pinning his attention back to his previous predicament. 

“Veritas!”

His head whips towards the voice. 

“Veri…” There is a deep intake of breath. “Veritas… !”

His heart stutters at your voice, but it gradually amps up in speed when his gaze lands on the transparent folder bag dangling from my fingers. 

“Your savior…” You heave. “...has arr–” You keel over, succumbing to the fatigue gnawing your legs. The last few steps on the stairs are conquered by you sacrificing your dignity and image as you collapse to your knees, your feet and hands clawing all the way to the top floor. 

You pretend not to notice Ratio's bewildered stare. 

“Yours…” You rasp out, shoving the files he forgot onto his flabbergasted face. 

“You… brought it?” Ratio unclips the flap and rummages through the papers. Tucked within the confines of the folder are his files—neat with no signs of creases and organized the same way it had been the last time he touched them. He's not one prone to excessive sentimentality, but the crisp smell of printed papers wafting from the folder has never felt more cathartic. 

“How did you–”–know, is what Ratio wanted to say, but his words halt on the tip of his tongue when he sees you sliding down to the floor. As if the venue is your own home. 

That's when your out-of-breath state stirs a realization. 

“Look, I get that you're embarrassed of me right now, but please leave me be. I can't breathe.”

He kneels down beside you. “Did you run all the way here?” 

You incline your head towards his hand as it connects with your forehead. “Just… Just from the bus stop.”

“That distance is nothing to scoff at.” He retorts sharply. 

From your peripheral vision, you can make out the expressions of his teammates, their facial muscles going slack and their bodies bursting at the seams with relief the moment the folder bag gets passed around. Your attention only shifts when you feel warmth enveloping your shoulder blades, permeating from Ratio's palms carefully helping you to your feet.

“Where are we going?” You cling to his arm like a crutch while he guides you inside the competition venue. 

Before your hand can grasp the door handle, Ratio intercepts smoothly and pushes it open for you, taking a stance in front of you to pave the path ahead that you won't have to exert anymore energy. You take in the high ceiling, the padded walls, and the scent of expensive furniture, and you briefly ponder over whether your presence here might defile the very essence of the room. Everyone is dressed in attires whose quality seemed on par with the grandiose room—though perhaps, that's an exaggeration on your part seeing as they are only donning their respective vests and uniforms representing their alma mater. The point is that you don't feel like you belong here. At all. 

“Stay put. I'll find something for you to drink.” He cups your cheek and rubs his thumb over it, as if sensing that your mind has begun to float elsewhere. 

“Oh, uh… no need. I brought my own drink.” You adjust your backpack and set it on your lap. The aftermath of bolting all the way to your destination without the athletic constitution to support it and no prior warm-up does a number on your muscles. You can already feel the all too familiar spasms on your thighs giving you a sneak peek of what your upcoming week will be like—discomfort, difficulty walking, and all the other physiological quirks of an elderly woman. 

Ratio doesn't miss the wince that bubbles out of your throat when you attempt to straighten your posture. He's certain that you can compose yourself just fine, and logically, he should leave to reconvene with his team mates, continue his apology, and hold an impromptu briefing before they get called up on stage. But he finds that his feet are unable to move away from you, away from your hunched form voraciously emptying your water bottle in one gulp. He's a man not one easily moved by pitiful sights caused by human folly and recklessness (although your case isn't exactly foolishness) but he can't pretend that seeing you so worn out doesn't prick his conscience. This entire predicament is due to his own negligence; it was hardly fair that the outcome of rectifying his mistakes came at the cost of your comfort and well-being. 

“Veritas…” Those amber hues flicker to the source of the sound, finding your own gaze brimming with concern. “You look out of it.”

Even in your own less than stellar condition, you still fret over him. 

“Are you nervous about the competition?” You place your bag down beside your chair, emptying your lap in favor of welcoming his hands to be cradled in yours. “Or is it something else?”

He has never grasped at anything as hard as he does with your hands. “Far from it. This debate is a mere child's play to me if I were to be unequivocally candid.”

“Then, why do you look troubled?” 

You watch with mild interest as he unzips your bag without warning and produces a small pack of tissues. Your assumption is that he's going to wipe his own skin with it, but much to your surprise (and everyone else's who lingered close), he presses the thin piece of material onto your forehead. He proceeds to move further, dabbing methodically to ensure that any trace of sweat is dealt with. 

“Veritas… ?”

“You don't know just how monumental your help is to me.” He kneels down in front of you, urging you to lower your head to his height. “More precisely, to everyone here.”

“You're talking as if I just did something miraculous.” A giggle flutters from your lips when he moves to wipe the sweat on your neck. 

“But that's the reality, no? You've saved me from becoming the recipient of scorn from my peers. You've saved them from ending up like you in order to have our papers printed all over again.”

“What do you mean ‘end up like me’?” You murmur with indignation, pulling away from the tissue that is now wiping your forearm. 

“What I mean is that you—” He brings your wrist back to him and resumes drying your skin. “—have spared us from experiencing a catastrophic degree of humiliation on stage. While I still struggle to understand how I could've failed to remember the one most vital task, you, my dear, have unknowingly aided me in atoning for my mistakes.”

“Human error, Veritas.” You take advantage of the position of your hand to graze the tip of his nose with your finger. It takes every ounce of self-restraint in you not to swoon when he leans in to meet your touch halfway. “Even you aren't immune to making mistakes. Have you apologized to your team?”

“It had to be deferred since someone had horrendous timing when they called.”

“Well, my bad for trying to help you.” You reach out in an attempt to brush his nose again, only for him to abruptly tug your fingers to his lips. 

You both hear someone gasp behind you. Along with a muffled squeal. 

“I'll repay you, dear. Handsomely.” Without offering you a chance to respond to his gesture, he stands to his full height. “We can discuss the arrangements after the competition. Until then, promise me you'll stay for the remainder of the event.”

“How bossy…” You shake your head with a tut. “Yeah, yeah. I'll stay for you. Now, go back to your friends and demolish the other team. Give them hell!”

Your overzealous viking cry is silenced by his palm on your mouth. 

“Please don't embarrass me.”

You plant a firm, but chaste kiss on his skin. “No promises. Don't mind me. Go on and wow us all.”

“You best believe I will.” He parts from you with that signature countenance of confidence bordering on smugness. 

His teammates welcome him with nods of acknowledgement, a fearless few displaying pure audacity by smirking at him for his previous interaction. Yet oddly enough, he can't find it in him to care. 

That evening, he walks back home with a golden plaque, a successful reconciliation, and a happily chattering lover beside him gushing over his jaw-dropping debate performance with an ice cream in hand.

Human error has never felt this relieving.

[anythingandeverythingallofthe]

So I live in Ghana and nowhere near the Capital (Accra) and not a whole lot of money to spend on groceries. Long story short: my attempts to eat vegan food has lead me to depend on blak eyed peas and Heinz baked beans for protein. Sometimes I use some vegan protein powder (very sparingly because it’s hard to get - mostly I depend on getting some from my parents when they visit me once in two years from my home country. frankly I’m scared I might be deficient. Am I killing myself?

My nails and skin is fine. My hair has thinned out dramatically, but then again so has my omnivore twins’ hair.

I’m like really dumb and have poor memory. My twin claims to have poor memory too. But sometimes I wonder if mine is just a bit worse. Well I’m in working life and she is home mom so it’s kinda hard to compare as the challenges are different.

My blood results come out good usually. But like they don’t really do very complex tests. I have had full blood count and haemoglobine done. No issues.

My eye sight is ok. They did say it’s a bit borderline and would have to follow up. They say I might get glasses soon. My mom has glasses.

My health is ok. I’m not sick as often as my husband and kids. So I guess my immune system is ok.

My digestive system hates me and pooping is pain at times. Damn high fibre content.

I would never go back to eating land animals and their products because I hate the way they are kept in captivity. It doesn’t just seem natural or kind to keep someone captive their whole life.

But fish is my weak point. Sometimes I think some fish might be ok, provided it’s caught wild. Though I know fish industry has horrible by catch and they pollute oceans. I wish I could live by a lake in Finland and do my own fishing with hook and worm. But then again in Finland vegan products are so easily available I wouldn’t need to rely on killing fish.

I don’t know man. I guess I just miss fried fish.

Am I killing myself? Can human thrive with some beans and occasional protein powder for many years?

[batlcver]

❝Oh, I wanna be a vet tech.❞

Had he not mentioned that before? Probably not, kind of an odd topic to bring up without any leadup.

❝I have my bachelor's in zoology, at the time I thought I'd be working closer not with the animals 'cause you don't wanna disturb wildlife really, but kind of beside them. But, then you find out with a bachelor's your job options are pretty limited, could be a zookeeper, but that wasn't something I was interested in. It did get me my day job, I get to work alongside my favorite animals, but I guess I just wanna be more involved.❞

Could he go back and pursue zoology more? Absolutely, but his interests had shifted over the years. Less of an interest in the wildlife and keeping an eye on them and their daily lives, and more of an interest in helping animals when they're in need.

❝I love animals, always have, so getting to help them just kinda seems like the right course of things. But I'm only going back after I can get my little brother setup in school first, and he's dragging it out. He wants the experience, but he doesn't at the same time. Which, you know, I get it. He's not, umm, what's the word? Neurotypical? I have my own issues, but I can medicate mine, I don't think I fall in that category. His, he just kind of has to live with it. I thought about how he could be...❞

Struggling with remembering the word for a second. Tilting his head to the side as the cogs in his mind turn, he should know it. After a moment it comes to mind again.

❝Autistic, that's it. But I think you have to have a doctor send a referral for testing, that way insurance will cover it, and I don't know what doctor to help him get in with. I don't know if it'd be his primary care, or a therapist, or maybe a psychologist? Psychiatrist? Whatever the difference is there. And I'd like to be there with him, at least waiting in the lobby for him, so that's just another thing to the pile.❞

     “ Jus' make sure ya take care of y'er'self through it all. I have t'remind Ama t' take breaks constantly, or he'll pass out right at his desk. I have t' carry him t' bed! ”

     Maybe it was because he came from a different time – or maybe because he'd had Lorelai all those years ago. To Alexi, no matter how busy he got, he wanted to make sure he had time for other things. To make sure he took care of himself and the people around him. If he worked and worked, he probably wouldn't have even be around this long. Especially after his wife passed – he would've so easily lost himself to his work and everything else. Probably wouldn't have ever even adopted the child that he adored more than words could ever describe, either.

     “ S'part of why I run a clinic and don't work at an actual hospital. S'easier t' run somethin' small like that. I used t' – back when I was younger and th' things ya see there c'n really make or break how y'take th' rest of th' job, y'know? And I love m'work, I love helpin' people but – bein' a big hospital doctor ain't f'er me. A smaller thing s'easier. Makes it easier f'er me. S'definitely hard t' find a balance between those things sometimes. I hope y'c'n figure out what y'really wanna be able t' do. ‘m sure you’ll be great at it regardless of what it is. ”

[clumsypuppy]

act 4 :(

@chipper-smol and i came to a realization

[hplonesomeart]

*guilty sigh* There’s no coming back from this one boys—throwing all my self respect and artistic dignity out of the window right now, oopsie woopsie! Listen the longer we don’t hear any news or updates about him from the SMG4 channel, the more I go stir crazy clawing at my fixation enclosure making Puzzle art to cope. His hold over me is getting stronger every day /j

(flipped/vertical version under the cut)

You could spin the angle/reposition the canvas vertically as well if looking down at him is more your thing. Oh the power I have been granted to manipulate reality as an artist is unmatched >:3

I mostly wanted my hand to guide me into practicing drawing odd angles like this, where the head appears closer to the viewer then legs/lower body. Almost like forced perspective? But I didn’t use any reference images…so you let me know if this works or looks wonky lmao

[starryarchitect]

EXTREMELY rushed doodle of the nerd

(translation of my terrible handwriting under the cut if you're as curious about dragons as he is (and as I am))

The fact that Wolf-fangs don't have wings raises some interesting questions about the history and evolution of dragons. Wolf-fangs still have fire holes and other things that indicate a common ancestor, so did they lose their wings at some point, or did wings evolve in other species later? If wings happened later then that might mean that different dragon species might have evolved wings separately, which would be a fascinating case of convergent evolution--

[Fishlegs made one passing comment about Wolf-fangs. One.]

(we ignore the fact that they wouldn't have known about evolution. Hiccup's a smart cookie and the Hysterics broke all sorts of time flow rules, I think it's fine)