#but my brain is telling me i should do at least one more new print...

[udon-udon]

Mine!

[ihatedtoadmit]

The Windows To My Soul [8]

pairing: OT8 x fem! reader

genre: soulmates, fluff, crack, creeping in angst

warnings: Please read the 'Summary' of this series, all are listed there!

word count: ~3.8k

summary: You make new discoveries about your freshly formed soulmate bonds, something that seems as surreal as the boys' behaviour towards you.

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All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

The car ride back to their hotel was silent. Correction: I was silent, they talked, but even their voices were more hushed than usual. The emotions inside my chest still whirled, like an aimlessly raging storm that calmed down one second, then became worse in the next one. It was confusing, as if the emotions weren't even my own.

Arriving back into their big living room -this was such a rich hotel, i swear-, I looked around for my backpack and sure enough, it was on the coffee table. Quickly opening and searching through it, I found my phone. Shakily unlocking the screen, my complexion paled rapidly as I noticed the countless calls and messages from my friend.

This was what I had been worried about.

You see, we had this whole trip planned out, wanting to go to several places the three or two of us together -depending if her boyfriend wanted to third wheel-. But then I suddenly disappeared and it was almost time for us, well, for them, to go back home.

I couldn't imagine the worry I’d caused my friend, who I cherished dearly.

With worried, pleading eyes, I looked around for anyone near my vicinity, needing an answer to my question immediately.

"What should I tell everyone?"

It was vague, but they had to have understood. And they seemingly did, if their reactions were anything to go by, their bodies around me close and shifting awkwardly.

"I'm….  Sigh  This is such a mess." - I could only agree with Chan as he slid a hand down his face, stretching the skin there in frustration.

Just think about it. I couldn't tell anyone the truth, not yet at the very least, not until JYP made an official statement that SKZ found their soulmate. But saying anything other than the truth would make my friend suspicious; she was rightfully protective of me, and would be able to spot my lies right away. What could I tell her? If I said I was injured, she would postpone her flight just to check up on me. If I said the truth, the company would have my head instead.

Nothing seemed proper, and the boys knew it too.

They all just kept silent, pondering with complicated expressions. It was painful to watch them all silently think, guilt so clear on some of their faces that I could feel it in my soul.

But then my phone vibrated, and we were out of time.

I hesitantly picked it up, holding the device up to my ear with uncertain hands. A shaky hello left my lips, only to be met with silence.

A silence that lasted for a mere second, if that at all.

As if empowered by the gods themselves, my friend started loudly speaking, my poor ear suffering from it. Her words were all over the place, fast and in several languages, my exhausted brain having a hard time keeping up and translating for myself. She went on for a few more minutes, asking more and more questions in a worried tone, not even leaving me a chance to answer them.

So I let her go on, until it was finally silent again.

"Hey, I'm okay now. Listen, you know you can trust me, yeah?" - my quiet voice asked her. "Uhm, yeah, of course. Why? You're scaring me. Tell me, what happened?" "Know that I will tell you and everyone else everything when I can. I am fine, will be fine, don't worry about me. Just please, trust me. I'll tell you when I get the chance, okay? I'll keep in touch, don't worry about that, ye?" "... why does this sound like a goodbye in those shitty bl manhwas?"

A small laughter broke free from my chest at that.

"It isn't, I swear. Now promise me. Please." "... alright. But if you lied, I will not hesitate to print and put up Chan and Jisung pics into your room!" "Jesus christ, no, naur, please, not that, anything but that! Holy fucking shit!”

A loud groan left my lips as I dragged my other hand down my face, unable to resist the urge to lightly slam my head into the table right before me. The furniture gave out a small noise as I collided with it, as if reprimanding me itself.

“Anyway, you two go, have fun on the remainder of your trip, then go home. If anyone asks, tell them I got an irrefusable job offer. I mean, that is half true, so, yea. Anyway, really, have fun, take pics cuz I wanna know. Talk to you later, bye-bye." "Ah, alright, okay. Wait, you're not coming with us?" "Uuuhhh… yeaaa, naah." "What the fuck do you mean yea nah?! What did you get yourself into?" "... just know that I'm okay. We'll meet again someday, don't worry, I'm not kidnapped." - I lightly laughed, knowing that I was, in fact, being actually kidnapped.

"Fine. My threat still stands. If you don't text me frequently, I will also hunt you down with Jisung pics." - she answered after a few beats of thinly stretched silence. "Girl, shush, really, stop with the pics! You're gonna be the death of me!"

She only laughed at that, all the while I cursed her out with probably red cheeks. Eventually, we said our goodbyes, allowing me to let out a big sigh and drop my head onto the table once again.

"Everything good?" - Felix's voice asked from somewhere behind me, reminding me that they were still there.

Oh god they were still there.

Mortified, I twisted my torso around and looked at them.

"You didn't hear what she said, did you?" "Nah, at one point you took the volume down so much we heard no sound coming from your phone." - Jisung answered, confusion clearly seen on his face. "Why?" "Nothing, Seungmin, really, no reason. I mean, yes reason, but none for you. You guys shall never know." "Eeh? C'moooon!" "Puppy eyes don't work on me, Felix!" "Oh I bet it was about her bias." - Changbin butted in, that signature smirk on his face.

My eyes widened as I stared at him, my lips drawing into a thin line as I was just frozen there, becoming a statue of embarrassment.

"Wait, I'm right?"

Chaos ensued, giving me no chance to deny his statement. Even if it wasn't true, the boys would've believed it no matter what, now that the situation had escalated like this. Curse you and your sixth sense, dwaekki.

Even after several minutes of me just silently sitting there, they kept nagging me, no matter what I did. They didn’t stop at all, not even when I turned back around, my back now facing them, my head once again comfortably resting on the cool surface of the table.

Gosh, they didn't let up, did they?

But eventually, they slowly calmed down and left to their rooms, probably to pack their things. They did speak amongst themselves and a bit to me, but I was too drained to catch what words left their mouths. But now their lack of presence gave me some breathing room, to get my brain to work and to focus on those uncomfortable, swirling feelings inside my chest.

It was as if they tightly wrapped themselves around my heart, squeezing it in demand. With each passing second they were becoming significantly brighter, more positive than they had been the past few hours. It confused me, but also tickled my fanfic-lover brain.

I had a sneaking suspicion that not all these emotions were my own, so I focused on one and tried to analyse it.

This one was the most prominent feeling, so obviously not stemming from me. It was too bright and nice for that; just the mere presence of it lifted my depressed spirits.

Tracing it back slowly, step-by-step, imagining the emotion as a ribbon, woven together by endless, bright strings of light. A certain warmth filled up my whole heart, washing over it like a tidal wave and letting it drown inside. My breath got stuck in my throat, even if only for a second, but I couldn’t let it stop me. No, I couldn’t give up so easily, so I focused harder, the strings becoming clearer and the warmth turning nearly scorching. The golden ribbon of light that I fought so hard for to appear led me to a petite form, his aura just like the emotion itself.

It was the sunshine incarnate himself.

Happy that my theory seemed to be correct, I opened my eyes and rested my chin on the table, instead of my forehead. A silent, yet heavy breath left my being, the scorching feeling leaving my lightly scorched form. The room felt hot, but thankfully it was feeling cooler and cooler by each passing second.

"Why so happy, but tired so sudden?"

Oh, I didn't even realise Changbin was still here, his question catching me off-guard. I just shook my head as an answer after sitting up properly -my hood falling down-, facing the man sitting on the couch behind me.

He seemed to let the topic go as he pocketed his phone and slid down next to me, not caring that he was now sitting on hard floorboards, even if carpeted. His expression was uncharacteristically soft, no hint of teasing or anything on his face. I couldn't help but stare at him, not even flinching as his hand gently brushed against my mask, the digit hovering above it, uncertain.

"I told you you're cute under there. No need for mask." - his voice was equally gentle, causing my eyes to widen in surprise.

The man before man wasn’t his usual loud, brash self, all those sharp edges now hidden, allowing me to catch a glimpse at the softness hiding inside. I nearly leaned into his hand, those dark nebulas of his so alluring and gentle that for a moment, just for a single moment, I had forgotten who I was speaking with.

But the moment was gone and I forced myself to look away from him, a task I never had so much trouble with prior to this moment. My head nearly moved on its own, silently denying his claims with the smallest of movements. How couldn't I? Even if I was the most confident person about my own looks, these people all saw me bedridden, in a hospital. Not exactly your prettiest moments in life.

"But you are. I no lie." - he confidently whispered, running a thumb under my eye.

I couldn't help but lightly laugh at that, unable to believe his claims.

"If no believe, then I say it so much you will."

Changbin seemed to have made up his mind, giving my tired self no choice but to silently accept it. He looked proud at that, satisfied as I didn't protest against it. With one final movement, he tucked a stray hair strand behind one of my ears, something on his arm catching my eye.

It was his soulmate tattoo, peeking out from his short sleeve and racing down towards his lower arm.

The ink lines were fine strands, ribbons snaking around his arm, weaving together playfully, always finding the others, even after splitting up countless times. Their surface glistened in the artificial warm light, the black ink sometimes seeming like the night sky, sparkling with stars.

He probably caught me staring, because he lifted his arm into my view, his other hand reaching for mine and holding it there after tucking up my sleeve.

"I know it's scary, but we here for you. Pretty tattoos are proof of our love."

How could he say such a thing so lightly?

I could only look back at him, taking his hand in mine and tracing the shapes over with the gentlest of touches. I didn't know what to do, especially with feelings, never really did. I was bad at them, usually pushing them away and bottling them up, something that never failed to lead to a disaster. So I hoped this, this little action of mine would let him know that I cared.

Because I truly did.

Footsteps were soon heard, several other members joining us in the living room with their luggages.

"Hyung, you can go pack." - Felix said, taking the short male's place next to me.

But only after Changbin sent me the brightest of smiles, causing warmth to take root inside my chest.

"Did Hyung do anything while we were away? Nothing happened?" - the young aussie's voice was warm and gentle, a teasing lilt grappling onto its edges.

I shook my head, watching as Chan made his way to my other side, walking around the couch to get there. He promptly sat down, his eyes set on us with a small smile resting on his face.

God damn it, not the dimples, not my weakness. But next to them was something new, something that I was sure wasn't on Chan before. It was at the edge of his face, running down over his jawbone and neck, disappearing into his shirt.

Thin, matte black lines littered his skin, converging and breaking away, as if a cracked surface. Around them were countless little stars, glinting when the light hit them just right.

It fit him painfully well, his ambitious self always shooting for the stars, despite everything.

I found myself raising a hand towards it, carefully hovering nearby. His smile only softened, placing his head in my hand, startling me. I quickly looked up into his eyes, scared, but I was only met with endless kindness and warmth.

So I focused back on the dark lines, tracing my thumb over them.

It was beautiful.

All their tattoos I had seen so far were. I didn't see myself in them, not understanding how I had a part in creating these beautiful creations, my mind having already denied Jisung’s prior words in the hospital. It just all seemed impossible in my eyes.

As if sensing my thoughts, Chan raised a hand towards my own neck, gently running a finger over the skin resting there.

"You have it too, y'kno'. Pretty, like you are."

I could only make a quiet, confused sound at that, caught by surprise and disbelief.

Did just two 3racha members compliment me in the last few minutes?? Was I somehow transported into a weird dating game?!?

Chan's laughter rang through the air, followed by the others' who were in the room. Right, they were here too, right. Fuck.

"You're so flustered already. Did Bin say something similar?"

I nodded at him, pulling my hand away and facing the table again, a furniture I was starting to take a liking to with how familiar I was becoming with it. Looking at those unchanging lines in the wood was still a much better choice than facing these teasing men.

"Hyung, don't fluster her already, you're gonna scare her off!" - Felix reprimanded the leader, like a mom would her child. "Hey, I was just stating the obvious! As if you wouldn't say something like that to her too!" "Don't try to put the blame on me mate!" "I wasn't, and you kn–"

Before Chan had a chance to finish his sentence, Minho chucked a pillow at them both and amusedly pointed at me.

Me, who was halfway through crawling under the table. Sending a quick glare at him, I quickly slipped under the furniture, laying on my side and facing away from the boys, tugging the hoodie that sat on my head further down, if that was possible. Ah, yes, the sight of the slightly dusty floor and the lower half of the cabinets was much better.

"Hey, Eevee, come out please."

I just made disagreeing hums at Felix's request, feeling my whole face burning up. Even in my current confused and tired state, I was flustered as hell. And no matter how much they tried to coax me out, I didn't budge, no, I instead curled up into a smaller ball, if anything.

Just as one of them changed positions to try and face me, others came into the room, if their loud footsteps were anything to go by.

"Hey, uh… What's going on?" - Jisung's voice rang throughout the place, making me hide into my palms even more.

Minho answered him in korean, something I didn’t understand, besides the amused tone of it all. The betrayal, I bet he outed me. And I was right, as the new arrivals soon started laughing as well, Jisung joining the aussies at the table, while Jeongin and Seungmin sat with the cat. I thought so at least, based on the noises and voices I had heard.

"Come on Eevee, don't hide. If you get this flustered from only this much, you won't last long."

What was that supposed to mean, you lil quokka?!

I just stared at his face with wide eyes through my fingers, only seeing him laugh even harder at my reaction, nearly falling onto his back from the force. He spoke with the others in korean after calming down, their conversation letting me calm myself a bit as well.

I felt like the embodiment of a keyboard smash.

My thoughts and feelings were all over the place, the fact that I apparently felt the others' emotions not helping in the slightest. If I wasn’t in a public place, I would have let out a low whine, my pounding head and hurting joints silently screaming in agreement.

But just as I was calming down and detangling these feelings, a loud dwaekki arrived back into the room. I had no idea what any of the boys saying, but soon enough, the table from above me disappeared. I could merely stare at a very smug and slightly offended Changbean, as he just put the table away and picked me up.

Like, straight up just plucked me from the ground, as if I was a ripe vegetable ready to be harvested.

Acting as if I weighed nothing at all, even though with my height, that was impossible. The man simply moved me around in his arms and sat down facing the others, plopping me into his lap. His arms were around me as I sat there, my legs against my chest, as if it was his silent message towards me: you cannot escape, don’t even try.

"What the fuck just happened?" "She speaks!"

I shot an unamused glare at Felix, immediately shutting him up as he shot his hands up into the air in defence. Changbin just amusedly huffed behind me, his head now firmly placed onto my shoulder, something he couldn’t exactly do when we were standing, thanks to my giraffe-like height.

He seemed content to just hold me there, so I put my own head on top of my knees and watched as the others bickered. I seemed to have become a silent spectator of the group once again, although I didn’t mind it, used to it all. The mere thought of being an active participant of this liveliness exhausted me, making me relax more into the idol’s unbreakable hold. And yet, even with all that, the boys tried to speak in english. I could tell even in my tired state and I appreciated it, but since not all of them were fluent in it, they switched back to korean a lot.

I really had to learn korean or something…

“Right, right, whatcha wanna eat, Eevee?” - Jisung excitedly asked, drawing everyone’s attention to me. “Mh, he’s right. We can order it, so don’t worry, choose anything.” - Chan added in, his hand already fishing out his phone that was tucked away safely into his pocket.

Just as I was about to say that no, I wasn’t feeling hungry -probably from all the stress-, I caught Minho’s glare and my jaw tightly shut itself together. I knew he was the mom of the group, feeding the others being part of his love language, but this was just straight up frightening.

“Minho hyung, stare into her soul longer and she will dig a hole to hide in.” - Seungmin said as he slapped the mentioned cat on the shoulder, annoyance clear in his voice. “But eating important.” “That, I cannot argue with.”

Great, I still had no choice, but at least my soul wasn’t being stared down at.

…

What was I supposed to eat??? As a recovering patient, it had to be something more on the light side, but I wasn’t familiar enough with the japanese kitchen to know which dishes would fit into that category.

“... will you guys eat too?”

They collectively nodded, affirmative answers leaving their lips after a quick glance was shared between them. Changbin lightly squeezed my middle he was still holding onto, the hum that left his throat comfortably tickling my back.

Good, I wouldn’t feel weird and a big burden then, ‘making’ them order just for me.

“Do they have something light, like onigiri?” - I asked, my voice sounding way too vulnerable and quiet. “Mhm, good. You’re allowed to eat that as well, so I’m glad you chose this.” - Chan replied with a gentle smile painted onto his lips.

The leader then proceeded to list off the different fillings it could have and made me choose several, just in case. He said if I wouldn’t be able to eat it, they would, so I shouldn’t worry. I appreciated the gesture, really, but me being me, I did just that: worry.

Although I’d realised as I watched them bicker around while ordering, that this particular feeling wasn’t only mine. No, it stemmed from several people, all seeping towards me through the bond, although I wasn’t sure who else it also belonged to. These new, otherworldly powers were still very much fresh to me, after all.

But something else kept nagging at the back of my mind: worry wasn’t the only negative feeling wrapped around my heart. No, there was also excitement, fear, anger, happiness and displeasure, just to name a few that I tried my best to identify. It was truly a cacophony of chaos, a big tangled ball of mess that I just didn’t have the energy to detangle right now, to see what belonged to me and the others.

What I was certain about though was the worry I felt about this displeasure, a feeling that I could easily see stem from those around me as well. And somehow, I understood why they would feel that towards me, a stranger in their life.

My existence was probably the cause of it, someone who was supposedly their soulmate, their perfect other half just appearing out of nowhere in front of them. Most of them seemed to be happy to meet me, but that didn’t mean everyone had to feel that way.

No, some of them probably hated me being there, hated my very existence, hated how I’d met them and how now they had to deal with my useless self.

Next chapter

Taglist: @stayatinykatsy @vampcharxter @linlinaert @yoongibelike @ihrtlix @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @braveangel777 @michelle4eve @5starluvr @palindrome969

If I left you out, feel free to remind me to add you in!

[cuubism]

13 books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Tagged by @softest-punk. whoops. this is from April 😅

1) The Last book I read:

I've been rereading Narnia and I recently finished book 3, almost finished book 4 too. It's honestly delightful. I hadn't read them since I was 10. I've got portal fantasies spinning in my mind now though. Prince Caspian was giving me thoughts. There's a universe where there will be a Dreamling portal fantasy, if I get to it.

2) A book I recommend:

A recent read I really enjoyed was Journey by Moonlight by Antal Szerb. It kinda called me out on all my worst impulses though.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

Entire Stormlight Archive series. It fed my poor, starving, "needs excessive levels of enrichment" brain. I'm on the last one, I don't know what I'll do when I finish the series. Wait for the next one? Goddammit.

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

I don't reread books that often, other than Narnia I guess, but with that one it's been so long it's not really rereading anymore. I don't have a huge amount of time for reading so I'm more often reading new things.

5) A book on my TBR:

Recently I've been thinking that I want to read more Borges... I even had a dream about it last night 😂 wherein I was back in university taking a class on South American literature, except the class was in Spanish and I don't speak Spanish so really not sure what that was trying to tell me.

6) A book I’ve put down:

I dropped Wolf Hall halfway through although I'm hoping my brain will come back to it. I just got kind of mired in it and lost track of what was happening like 15 times 😂 maybe audiobook-while-doing-manual-labor wasn't the medium for this one... though the audiobook narration is great.

7) A book on my wish list:

I've been moving around at least every few years since college so I'm not really "collecting" books atm and don't have a wishlist of ones to own... The closest thing would be like niche media studies books from university that are barely in print that I want copies of XD considering how often I'm looking it up I should track down a copy of Jerome Christensen's book on studio authorship which was actually foundational to my conception of the systems and structures that mold storytelling, especially in the US.

8) A favorite book from childhood:

I was a Warrior Cats kid 😎

9) A book you would give to a friend:

Normally if I'm trying to pawn a book off on someone else it's because it's super cursed and I want them to experience it too 😂 an example: this published Obama & Biden fanfiction that I actually own

one of my weirder possessions to be sure

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own:

There are many, but the one I'll always keep is my signed copy of Night Sky With Exit Wounds, even though it took me like 7 years to read it, because I'm slow at reading sometimes.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

They are mostly all media studies--a great one is Listening In by Susan Douglas which is a history of radio in the US.

12) What are you currently reading:

I always have a ton of books laying around the house that I'm "currently reading." When I remember they're there. Primarily right now it's Rhythm of War (Stormlight Archive 4) and House of Leaves. And Narnia of course.

13) What are you planning on reading next?

I should probably finish The Tatami Galaxy which I started a while back and then forgot about 😂 it's just sitting there neglected. More generally want to read all the random books I already own so I don't have to lug them all with me the next time I move.

woof, this thing is actually so long no wonder it took me 4 months to fill out. tagging @magnusbae, @arialerendeair, @beatnikfreakiswriting if you even want to do this many questions 😂

[blood-orange-juice]

Now that everyone is also in awe of that twitter thread about Childe being Smart I want to rebutt half of it.

Personally, I think he's perfectly average/a bit smarter than average, or rather good at some things and bad at others.

He's a quick thinker, proven by his character stories (people are indeed not assigned into vanguard just for dumb strength) and by how he used Traveler to check whether the forged sigil worked and sow some discord in the process (obviously his own plan and a good one at that. and he came up with it in a matter of minutes). Being able to lie through omission is no easy feat either.

He's quite poetic and it's usually a sign of intelligent person. (modern AU untraumatized Childe would 100% be a literature major, don't @ me. he'd also like Manowar)

However, he is also young, had no proper mentor and no formal education. Also brash and too self-confident at times. You *need* to be comfortable with doubting youself to be smart, it's thinking 101.

*

For starters, not suspecting Zhongli to be Rex Lapis was... an accomplishment in and by itself. The city breathes of this story. There are at least three books on the topic, it's told in every tea house, the traveler learns it through a single conversation with a trader in port. A golden-eyed person with excellent taste is always Rex Lapis or at least should be suspected to be him.

Childe somehow missed it, while being able to analyze intricacies of Qixing politics. This is bizarre and means that either he's extremely narrowinded (he doesn't show signs of that, quite the opposite), or that he was simply repeating someone else's ideas. His subordinates obviously bring him news and reports. So… how do we know his ability for political analysis is his and not someone else's?

He does look like the type who would repeat another person's good idea as his own (I'm imagining that's exactly how Zhongli tricked him into that whole sigil of permission thing).

Having said that, being able to listen to information brought by your subordinates is a rare and precious trait, I wish some of my bosses were more like that, haha.

(alternative option: that is in fact his own skill and one of the few skills where he did get actual mentorship. Pulcinella drilled attention to politics into his brain because otherwise things always got too messy when Childe got involved

it would also mean that nothing can drill attention to cultural stuff into Childe's brain because fuck it we ball)

*

Being able to copy sigils well enough? First, it's the job for the r&d team (can we have some appreciation for the Fatui r&d team, please)? Second, I'm not sure anyone truly copied those. Maybe Zhongli just enchanted every single one.

I they were actually succesfully copied, we have a problem of fatui being able to mass-print them and I don't want to think of the consequences. I hope Zhongli didn't let that happen.

*

Manipulating Traveler to do what he wanted in the Liyue arc? It's not like the Traveler had a lot of options or any personal loyalty to the Qixing. Did anyone really trust him to be our friend? What other choice did we have though but to follow his lead.

That's 10/10 for opportunistic thinking but it's not really a showcase of his manipulation skills (I'll keep thinking his social skills are abysmal until proven otherwise).

*

Being able to tell you just came from the blacksmith? Please, it's not him being observant, he just had you followed.

*

So, yeah... he's smart but he's also, what, 19? 20? (I hc him on the younger side because it helps me overlook his bad traits). It's amazing he got this far and he'll become smart one day but that day hasn't happened yet.

In other words he is far from dumb but the fatui do treat him as dumb muscle because what do you expect.

[lisatelramor]

Crossing Borders Ch1

Earlier in the year I gave the hypothetical question of "If I were to write something, what would you want me to write?" and someone mentioned a crossover of Untamed(or MDZS) and Detective Conan, and my brain went "HMMMM." Months and months later, I finally have something to show for it haha. I could have put this out a month earlier if only I'd sit down and edit >_>;; Anyway, whoever requested this, I hope you like it! It's complete and I'll be posting one chapter a week til it's done. Thanks to Meridiangrimm for bouncing ideas with me in the early planning of this story!

+-+-+

If there was an ideal way to visit China for the first time, Conan was absolutely sure that this was not it. For one, they’d only come because of a sketchy prize trip Kogoro got for some mountain getaway. A trip for three, so lucky him, he’d been dragged along. Which was a problem considering ‘Conan’ didn’t have a passport. Plane shenanigans and a new extra-short-term antidote had been the answer there, so Conan—or Shinichi, rather—got into China in one piece, but it turned out that this mountain getaway was in the middle of nowhere.

And their rental car was… kind of terrible.

It had broken down two kilometers from the parking lot for this place, only for them to find that the only way to reach it was to literally walk up the mountain with hundreds of stairs and gravel pathways like it had been designed by some person who thought cardio was the only way to live life. It had taken a phone call to get the car replaced, an hour of exhausting climbing, and Kogoro swearing under his breath as they dragged their suitcases to reach the gates. Gates that looked like they’d be more fitting in a monastic setting than a resort.

Honestly, at this point Conan had started to wonder if the resort existed at all, except there had been several cars in the parking lot, and there were people wandering around that weren’t in old-fashioned robes with cellphones and cameras in hand, so clearly this place was famous for something. Definitely not for its logistics as a tourist place though.

That was about the point where a …monk?... of some sort came up and greeted them, triple checked the tickets, and led them to the plainest looking guest rooms he’d ever seen.

Honestly, there were no electric outlets, a basic overhead light, a working bathroom, and beds with mattresses so thin that they barely qualified as such.

“What the hell?” Mouri fumed after their guide had left them with a time for dinner in stilted Japanese and a handful of English pamphlets. “What is this, a hotel or a monastery? There’d better at least be good food and booze up here.”

“Actually,” Conan said, picking up one of the pamphlets that seemed to be made up of things guests were not allowed to do, “it looks like alcohol is forbidden here. As is smoking and other recreational drugs.”

“You’re shitting me.” The pamphlet was ripped from his hands as Kogoro squinted at the English and Mandarin printed on the page. “What kind of shitty resort is this?!”

“It’s not a resort,” Ran said, looking at a brochure with pictures of the mountain and the compound’s buildings. “It’s a place for people to retreat from the modern world and reconnect with their inner selves—or something. My English isn’t that great.” Ran looked at her father. “What kind of contest did you enter?”

“One of those ball lotto thingies. There’s a little old Chinese lady by the racetracks with a food shop and she had a drawing going…”

Sketchy. Very very sketchy, Conan thought, side-eying Mouri. What small shop would have a prize be an over-seas trip? “Please tell me there are return tickets,” Conan said.

“Oi, of course there are, brat!” Mouri growled, swiping at him. Conan ducked away with the remaining brochure in hand. “Ugh. Should have known this was too good to be true.”

“Well,” Ran said, always trying to put a bright side to things, “At least we get a few days to see China. And it’s really nice up here. Maybe this is still a good chance to relax. The brochure says they have tea ceremonies and meditation and music that you can take part in.”

“Let me guess, flirting with guests is also forbidden,” Mouri grumbled. “Please tell me there’s at least a hot spring here.”

“Nope, but there’s a cold spring,” Conan said, eying the map. A cold spring, flower and rock gardens, a dozen or so buildings, and, weirdly, an area just labeled ‘animals.’ Was it a petting zoo? Farm animals? Dogs?

“Who the hell would want to swim in cold water?” Mouri asked. He heaved a sigh and sat on one of the dubious-looking beds. “Ugh. Maybe I’ll just hole up here and catch up on my sleep.”

“But… We should take the opportunity,” Ran said. “You like music.”

“I like Pop music. With a place like this, it’s probably all traditional stuff. Maybe I’ll just hike down to the nearest town and stay there while you two enjoy the monastic life.”

“Otou-san,” Ran complained.

Honestly, Conan wouldn’t mind not having Mouri around for a while. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to endure his snoring. There had to be something here that would catch his interest, so it wasn’t like he’d get bored. If nothing else, there were probably some trails with a great view considering they were on a mountain. Maybe he’d go find some pretty sights and take photos for souvenirs. The Detective Boys would probably like that.

“Well, whatever we do, we should probably eat dinner here,” Conan said. “The timing seems pretty strict according to the notes.” The map had a bullet list of different numbers with descriptions. Each meal wasn’t more than an hour long, and breakfast was held at six in the morning. Conan hoped there would be coffee or having to get up that early was going to be hell.

Mouri huffed a sigh. “Fine, but if it’s miserable after a day, we’re leaving.”

Ran smiled and started unpacking their bags into the provided clothing chest. Conan took another look at the map. The trails looked like a nice enough way to pass some time. Although after all that climbing, he would prefer someplace to relax.

Well, there was a library listed. Even if they didn’t have a large selection of books in other languages, he could probably find something interesting there until it was time to eat.

“Ran-neesan, I’m going to go to the library for a bit.”

“On your own?” Ran asked, looking up from arranging socks to one side of the chest.

“It should be fine. If I get lost, I can ask for help. There’s a lot of people here.”

“Be careful then!” Ran said, letting him go like he knew she would. “It’s only an hour until dinner so don’t stay too long!” Mouri didn’t even look up from where he was flopped on one of the beds, an arm thrown over his eyes.

Conan smiled as he shut the door behind him. Now he could explore.

*o*o*

Wei Ying couldn’t say that the Cloud Recesses were his favorite place in the world. There were hundreds of nit-picky rules, it was literally in the middle of nowhere up a mountain, and the cell reception and internet speed both sucked. But it was also where his boyfriend lived, and between that and the fact that he’d brokered a deal to use their library for research even after his controversial theories on cultivation got him more or less excommunicated from the rest of the cultivating world went a long way toward making up for the drawbacks. The Lan had the biggest collection of cultivation texts, probably even bigger than Qishan Wen, not that they ever shared their knowledge with other sects. Wei Ying was willing to put up with rules, and working with tourists or clients so that he could keep working on his theories.

Did those theories have to get looked over by a council to determine if he could move on to practical testing? Yes. But most of them actually got approved, and the talismans alone were earning him a permanent place in the Lan’s stuffy academic hierarchy.

Talisman research was why Wei Ying was in the back corner of the library today, crowded in by tall shelves of stupidly old books and scrolls. The sort of books that were old enough that most of them were hand-written and bound in traditional styles. Only cultivators bothered to go back this far. Visitors, when they chose to go in the library at all, tended to stick with the more modern, mass-printed sections of the library.

Which was why it was noticeable when soft footsteps lingered near his aisle.

Wei Ying looked up from a text on the evolution of warding talismans in the last three hundred years to spy a child frowning up at the labels on the shelves. Probably wondering why there were so many shelves dedicated to occult and religious things. Or maybe not, Wei Ying thought, as the child muttered something that definitely wasn’t Mandarin or any other dialect that Wei Ying knew. So, foreign guest maybe?

“Are you lost?” Wei Ying asked in English, figuring that was the safest bet with a foreigner.

The child twitched in a way that would have been a jump-scare if he hadn’t clearly stopped the motion before it could fully start. Wide eyes framed with thick-rimmed glasses looked his direction. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. Accented English, but not Chinese accented, and not completely American either. Wei Ying had watched enough English television to hear that much, but like heck if he could place where in the world the rest of the accent came from. Being Asian didn’t necessarily have to mean he was from Asia.

Wei Ying shoved the musings of linguistics aside to size the kid up. Kinda scrawny, in shorts and a button-up that would fit in with the preppie civilian clothes some of the Lan wore. Definitely needed new glasses because those were so big they didn’t look like they were made for his face. “Just looking around?” Wei Ying asked since his first question hadn’t been answered.

“Uh…” The kid sized him up right back, lingering on Wei Ying’s long, messy hair, and the black ripped jeans he kept because they were so comfortable. “Yes. I was hoping to find something to read.”

“English?” Wei Ying asked. He pushed his research aside; nothing that wouldn’t keep for a bit.

“Mm, or Japanese.”

Ah, Japanese. That solved the linguistic mystery. “There is an English section, but I don’t know how much of it is children’s books.” If anything, the section was full of self-help books, meditation and spirituality guides, and a rag-tag collection of fiction books left by guests over the decades. The Mandarin language books had a whole section for kids in comparison.

The child wrinkled his nose a bit, like Wei Ying had given him an insult. “I can read adult books.”

“Uh. Okay.” In English? Wei Ying eyed the kid. Maybe he was just…a bilingual prodigy or something because most kids that little weren’t reading proper chapter books yet. Well, he could roll with that. “Follow me then, I guess.”

There was something unnerving about this child that Wei Ying couldn’t put his finger on. Not the requesting adult books; kids wanted to act older than they were all the time. It was more the way he moved, like someone aware of his body in the way kids weren’t, and how he looked around. There were a lot of children who’d visited—or lived at—the Cloud Recesses, and while the Lan kids were mostly polite and quiet, even they got easily distracted and fidgeted and all those other things kids did before adults trained it out of them. This kid looked more like someone who’d been on a few too many night hunts gone wrong, which wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that indicated a safe childhood.

Maybe that was why he was here though. Maybe someone had sent him along for the Lan’s special brand of ‘therapy.’

The little corner of foreign books was probably the most comfortable area in the library, in part due to it being the area that tourists used most often. There were chairs with actual cushions and Western style desks in contrast to the traditional seating in the deeper parts of the library. The lighting was brighter and it looked like a place someone could relax in instead of someplace only fit for hours of private study.

Wei Ying waved a hand at the shelves. “There isn’t many, but this is it.”

“Thanks,” the boy said, zeroing in on the nearest shelf like Wei Ying’s troublesome donkey would go for an apple. He skipped straight past the self-help, meditation guides, and art books, straight to the sad collection of fiction.

This kid was definitely looking at those books and judging them.

“…is this really it?” He wrinkled his nose at the spine of a paperback novel that Wei Ying had found very… evocative. Provocative? Hell, his English wasn’t good enough for the kind of prose in there. There was only so many times someone said the word ‘cock’ before he figured out that a chicken wasn’t involved.

“That’s really it,” Wei Ying said.

The boy sighed and picked out a well-read novel that looked like some kind of cheesy, themed mystery.

“You know, there are other things to do.”

“But only an hour until dinner,” the kid said, pulling himself and the book onto one of the chairs.

Oh yeah. Food. Hmm. Wei Ying could go to the dining hall tonight. Or he could skip and Lan Zhan would probably sneak food to him later. Eh, he was pretty sure he was getting to the interesting part in the book, where people truly started innovating with talismans. “Happy reading then,” Wei Ying said, waving as he turned back toward his study nook. The boy hummed distractedly, apparently already engaged with the novel. Good on him then.

Wei Ying went back to taking notes.

*o*o*

The library was huge, and it wasn’t what Conan had hoped. Between not knowing Chinese beyond a few words and phrases, the different meanings of similar characters, and not knowing how the classification system worked to even begin sorting out how things were organized, he was left with only a shelf’s worth of books to leaf through. Well, no, two shelves. But the other shelf was non-fiction, and even if Conan’s English was good enough to read novels, it wasn’t good enough for the sort of technical terms he’d be finding in most of those books.

For such a big library, it was honestly surprising how few people were in it. Conan had passed a few people near the entrance, and a few more tucked away in the stacks, but they had all been dead silent as they worked, making the library feel like a cartoonish stereotype where if he so much as spoke, someone would appear to shush him.

Thankfully, one person looked a bit more approachable in the back of the stacks.

The books there were older, some hand-bound and clearly showing signs of years of use. Not that Conan could tell what they were about. The man in the corner was young, with ripped jeans and dark clothing and paper strewn around him, standing out like a sore thumb in the pale neutrality of their surroundings. Not wearing the robes that some of the people were, or the modest dress of many of the guests, but clearly comfortable here from the way he sprawled in the chair and the number of books piled on his desk.

He'd looked up and met Conan’s eyes, spoken English first, and that was the only reason he felt he could interrupt. It felt wrong to interrupt the silent studiers, but not if he was being addressed first.

Conan was lucky that he spoke English—actually pretty good English, though maybe it wasn’t surprising considering that there were tourists here, and enough of them spoke English for there to even be a collection of English books.

No Japanese though. A few in French, or Russian, a fantasy novel in Spanish, and a couple that Conan didn’t immediately recognize the language, but no Japanese. At least he was proficient enough in English to enjoy a mystery novel, even if it looked predictable and had a tacky pun in its title.

Conan almost lost track of the time reading. The hush of the library was surprisingly peaceful, and the actual contents of the novel weren’t terrible. If the story was going where he thought it was, it might be a nice twist to the usual tropes. But the clock was ticking, and meals were only available for an hour. Resolving to finish the book later, Conan returned it to its place and stretched.

It was kind of nice to have a minute to just read. No cases, no homework, no small children at his heels or being self-conscious of how he acted for a bit.

Back to being a grade schooler, then. Ugh.

It was a few minutes past time to eat already, and Ran was probably starting to wonder where he was. Conan paused before he left, though, because the man that showed him the books hadn’t left yet either, and if he’d immersed himself in books again, he might not remember to eat. Not that it was Conan’s business whether people took care of themselves or not, but this person had been kind enough to spare a moment. Conan could spare one back.

The man was back to being hunched over the desk, frowning down at what looked like an arcane diagram in the book closest to him. The notes on the table had similar scrawlings with little offshoots of characters around it like they were commentary or something. What on earth was he studying?

Conan cleared his throat. The man twitched, leaving a streak of ink on his notes. Why write with a brush when there were perfectly useful pens or pencils? “Excuse me,” Conan said. “It’s dinner time. If you wanted to eat, you should probably go soon.”

“Mm?” The man messed his hair up even more as he ran a hand through it, strands pulling free of a messy bun. He blinked at Conan with a distracted frown. “What about dinner?”

“It’s the time the brochure says they’re serving it.”

The man looked at a backwards wrist watch. “Oh. Huh. Time flies.” He stretched, back popping like popcorn, and offered Conan a grin. “Thanks, kid, but I was going to skip it and have my boyfriend sneak me illicit food later.” He winked, like this was a secret, but considering Conan had just met him, he probably just told this sort of thing to anyone. “You should go though, since guests don’t have that option.” Ah, not a guest confirmed. “I recommend heavy use of any condiments on the table; the food here is bland as hell.”

With that, he gave a friendly wave and Conan was left pausing for a moment before leaving. Well then. Not a guest, allowed to access anything in the library from the look of it, and dating someone who had access to the kitchens, or at least a kitchen. If that person was a native to this place, it had to have been interesting circumstances that led to him dating a man that looked like the opposite of this place’s aesthetics.

*o*o*

The food was just as bland as he was warned. Conan picked at vegetarian fare with little enthusiasm as Mouri glowered down at his food like it personally insulted him. Besides the clack of bowls and chopsticks, it’s dead quiet too, because everyone was discouraged from speaking. Ran, at the start of the meal, had tried a positive “It looks very nutritious,” but even she looked like she was wishing for some kind of spices. The food would be perfect for a monk or someone recovering from starvation. Not so much for people tired and hungry after a long day getting there.

“Is this a prison or a monastery?” Mouri grumbled under his breath, pushing tofu and cooked greens around the thin-broth soup.

Ran gave him a warning look. One of the guests had already been stared into silence for breaking that particular rule and she clearly didn’t want the negative attention directed their way.

Conan gave up on the bitter greens and focused on his rice. That, at least, was cooked to perfection even if it hadn’t been cooked with anything to add a bit of flavor. The silence was boring, and with nothing to hold his attention—the food certainly wasn’t managing that—Conan turned to people watching.

The guests looked to be from varied walks of life, and from around the world. Surprisingly, only about half appeared to be Asian. How people from Europe, Africa, or the Americas had even heard of this place was beyond his understanding; Mouri hadn’t even found a web page for it. And yet there almost thirty visitors from the looks of it, not including Conan’s group. There didn’t seem to be anything obvious about why they were here, but Conan could guess that it involved a need for some kind of retreat from the modern world, or maybe some form of therapy considering some of the books in the library.

Which only raised questions for why Mouri had ended up with tickets to this place. This wasn’t exactly the sort of thing anyone pictured when they won a ‘getaway’ in a foreign country.

The guests closest to him were around college age, toeing the line of no conversation at meals by elbow nudges and exaggerated facial expressions that had each other biting lips to hold in giggles.

All except for one of them.

Conan forgot about his food entirely, focused on a girl at the edge of the group that kept glancing toward the door like she was waiting for someone to enter. One of her friends nudged her and she gave a grimace-like smile before going back to door-watching. She’d barely touched her food.

Conan narrowed his eyes as the girl’s neighbor whispered something to her, a response back, shared frowns and a glance at the door before a shrug and the soft hum of a dismissal. The cold stare of the permanent residents turned their direction. The girl didn’t even seem to notice, her worry now joined with frustration.

Something was wrong.

Of course something was wrong. When had he last been able to enjoy a trip without something going wrong? Conan sighed and started paying closer attention to the group and anyone looking at them. Statistically speaking, if someone was dead—it was practically a foregone conclusion with how his luck seemed to run these days—then they probably were done in by someone in the friend group. Barring the odd habits of serial killers, most murders were done by people who knew the victim. Sure, there was the odd random shooting or stabbing from a mugging gone wrong, an occasional hit and run car accident, or other accidental murders, but premeditated murder tended to be personal.

Conan really hoped that their friend was just running late.

*o*o*

Wei Ying finally had a breakthrough about a half hour later, finally finding a source that actually brushed on his research without condemning it wholesale. He was furiously scrawling notes and theories and ping-ponging ideas as fast as they came to him when the dull clang of a bell started somewhere on the premises. Not, he realized, the same bell for meal call or wakeup and curfew. This, resonating and repetitive, was some sort of alarm.

In the year or so that Wei Ying had been at the Cloud Recesses, he had never heard this particular bell. There had been incidents with visitors, an escaped ghost, and a bunch of cattle somehow getting all the way up the mountain, but none of them had ever triggered that bell.

Wei Ying put down his writing and left the deep stacks for the nearest window.

Outside, the distinctive white robes of Lan cultivators moved with impressive speed—considering running was forbidden—in pairs in all directions. Patrols. And coming up the path was a cultivator with a body, red staining white. Shit.

From this distance, it wasn’t clear if the body belonged to a resident or a guest, but the fact that they were being carried in someone’s arms instead of a stretcher probably meant that whoever it was had died. …He really hoped it wasn’t a resident. No offense to the guests, but he’d grown a bit attached to some of the people here.

This was probably way outside his allowed duties, but really, who could sit back when someone was dead? Wei Ying abandoned his work and headed toward the body. He could help. Surely someone was going to play Inquiry to figure out what had killed the person, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t find out more at the site. No one here might like the fact that Wei Ying wasn’t squeamish about sensing and interpreting resentful energy, but no one could argue that he wasn’t good at it.

He could feel threads of resentment as he got closer. They were taking the body to the clinic, probably to examine it for injuries and cause of death. However this person died, it wasn’t a good death.

“Hey,” he said to one of the power-walking cultivators moving his direction. “What happened?”

The man—Wei Ying really should know people’s names by now and yet—grimaced. “A guest fell off a cliff. One of the junior disciples spotted him while on patrol.”

“On one of the walking trails?”

“No.” The man gave a quick shake of his head. “A good ways off them, closer to the ward boundaries. Guests aren’t even allowed in that area.”

“An accident?” Wei Ying asked, already knowing it wasn’t with that kind of resentment lingering already.

“Yet to be seen. I think they’re planning to play Inquiry after everyone is escorted to their lodgings.” The cultivator shifted, eyes darting in the direction he was headed. “We’re doing a sweep on the off chance something got through the wards. Lan Qiren will direct you where you’d be useful.”

Without a goodbye, the man hurried away. Wei Ying frowned after him. Well, he wouldn’t be reporting to Lan Qiren. That would only get him stuck doing something boring and tedious like babysitting the rest of the guests when he could be actually useful investigating. Wei Ying cast a look at the path toward the clinic. Look at the body first, or the cliff? Hmm. The body wasn’t going anywhere unless it woke up as a fierce corpse and fought its way out. The cliff, on the other hand, was outdoors and subject to the whims of nature—or tampering.

Wei Ying wasn’t the least bit surprised when he found Lan Zhan heading the same direction. Alone, but who would order around the current Lan heir if he didn’t want to take a partner? Naturally, Wei Ying could fill that role just fine. They’d done night hunts together enough that it’s easy to fall into step.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said.

“Mm.” Lan Zhan tilted his head toward an area of the mountain that Wei Ying had never explored—it was a large mountain, and for all he liked to slip in and out of the wards sometimes on his own, it wasn’t like he’d explored everywhere.

“Inquiry?” Wei Ying asked as they stepped off the path.

“I will perform it on site. My brother will play to the body.”

“Ah, because the spirit could be either place.” Some souls stuck with their corpse. Others, especially people with violent deaths, frequently haunted the place they’d died in. Rarely, there were lingering traces in both places, resentful energy talking whatever path it could as it leeched into the environment.

Whoever retrieved the body left a marker charged with spiritual energy, and the closer they get, the more Wei Ying could feel the tingling pulse of it. The marker, he would admit with no little pride, was one of the talismans he’d made in recent years to aid night hunts. Yeah, there was always flare talismans, and modern tech was great for communication, but sometimes a hunt got interrupted or there were details that needed double checked at a later time. Having a marker made things so much easier to find.

There was the chill of resentful energy underneath the hum of the marker, subtle enough that most cultivators probably wouldn’t notice. Something so fresh, the spirit often hadn’t fully regrouped yet, hadn’t even had a chance to fully feel the impact of their unjust death. It made it less of a haunting here, and more of an echo, the malicious energy of whoever did the act twining in with the growing resentment of a spirit piecing itself toward consciousness. Wei Ying came to a stop by the marker talisman with Lan Zhan at his side.

“Bet you a bottle of Emperor’s Smile that it was murder,” Wei Ying said, looking at the sharp drop ahead. In spring, it might be a small waterfall, but without snowmelt, it was nothing more than a patch of rocky ground with a nice view—unless someone were to fall off the ledge and onto the jagged rocks below. The body had to have been flown out; this wasn’t a spot to easily climb from any direction.

“No bet,” Lan Zhan said. He pulled out his guqin and settled on a nearby boulder.

“But it would be such an easy win,” Wei Ying said wistfully even as he crouched down to examine the ground. Footprints, but it was hard to tell if they belonged to more than one person; they were all approximately the same size.

“I will buy you some later, no bet needed.”

“Ah, breaking the rules for me. It’s no wonder your uncle thinks I’ve thoroughly corrupted you.” Wei Ying snorted as Lan Zhan kept a perfectly unimpressed look on his face. “You love me.”

“I do.”

Wei Ying almost tripped over his feet as he stood up, sputtering. “You can’t just say things like that! There’s a maybe murder scene right there!”

“Hm.” The tiniest smile flickered at the corners of Lan Zhan’s mouth before his fingers touched his instrument’s strings. Then it was pushed away, Lan Zhan’s whole bearing shifting to his task.

Wei Ying only knew a few phrases of the musical language, but he could appreciate its eerie beauty, the call and answer along the strings.

At any rate, something was answering. Time to do his job. Wei Ying took a breath, centering himself and his energies. People, things, could leave impressions. Resentful energy could gather in a touch, or an object. Here the energy seemed to slip in close to the footprints at the edge, almost like there hadn’t been ill intent until last moment. And yet the energy didn’t retreat with the footsteps away from the cliff either, like it appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

Wei Ying frowned at the scruff in dirt and gravel right at the edge. The slip of a foot. A bit of blood on a sharp rock jutting up near the lip of the cliff—maybe an attempt to catch himself? He’d have to see the body to know for sure. And below—

There was a lot of blood down there. A broken bone through the skin or a head wound. Maybe both. The rubble at the bottom was jagged enough that it could have been a quick death if the victim had fallen at a bad angle. Or maybe a good angle because the other option was a slow, agonizing death as he bled out.

There was resentment down there though, gathered in the blood, so it probably hadn’t been instantaneous. A quick death wouldn’t be this strong this fast. The victim must have had time to think of regrets or anger or the pain.

He pulled his sword out of the qiankun pocket sewn into his pants, stepping on it without bothering to unsheathe it. Suiban carried him down, its blade patient and level as they balanced a handful of centimeters above the blood. Ah. There, the impression of fingers scraped in the patch of sandy pebbles tucked between larger rocks. An attempt to move, maybe, but injuries prevented it.

Wei Ying glanced up at Lan Zhan, the sounds of Inquiry still plucking to life above him. …Technically Wei Ying wasn’t supposed to do what he was about to do. But technically no one explicitly said he couldn’t do it, just implied. Lan Zhan wouldn’t care so long as he was careful though.

It was a bit like Empathy, but not quite. There wasn’t any spirit before him to connect with or to direct the memories he was seeking, but there was blood and resentful energy, and that was imprint enough if someone knew how to access it. Wei Ying was very good at accessing resentful energy.

He touched a finger into the congealing puddle before him. It was already cool, sticky in the way blood could be, and not at all appealing to touch. Maybe five years ago that would have bothered him more. He’d seen worse than a puddle of blood—touched worse than a bit of blood—by this point in his life.

The resentful energy sparked when he reached for it, curling and clinging like an oil-slick mess, coating his finger and up his palm in black wisps of power. It pushed at him and Wei Ying did what good, righteous cultivators were not supposed to do and let it in.

[thots-n-prayrs]

I am depressed and bored and trying something new.

I have never journaled. Ever. I just don’t have the drive, or the ability to do something consistently. My life has been a series of hyperfixations that burn out and are soon replaced by brand new hyperfixations, so consistency is just...not my thing.

But I guess now that I have the itch to write, I will.

The whole point of doing it on Tumblr is that I’m screaming into the abyss and I know it. I don’t need a response. I don’t even need for this to be acknowledged, much less actually read. I just want to write it, but I don’t want to keep a running document on Google and I don’t have my own computer right now to keep shit like this on.

I’ve been in a weird state since at least Sunday. Months ago, my wife printed out the “how s*icidal are you” scale my therapist gave me and put it on the fridge so I could move a magnet up and down as my depression ebbs and flows. This probably happened because of one or two incidents where I was s*icidal and didn’t even tell my wife until it passed, and I freaked out, broke down crying, and told her I what I had been feeling and planning.

Sunday-ish, my mental state jumped from where it hovers, around three (”I wish I was d*ead”) to five (”I want to k*ll myself.”) Five is not yet cause for concern. Six is where you should start to get worried. Seven is where you should be more worried. Eight is where you should probably call my therapist or the hospital, because nine or ten is extremely bad.

Well, it hasn’t gone back down. I’ve hovered right here, unusually high, for days. It’s really strange and kind of awkward being in the stage of ideation where you’re thinking about it but not planning. It’s impossible to honestly answer a “how are you.” And, it’s uncouth to tell your co-workers, “Yeah, so, I’m struggling a lot with x, y and z because I am actively fighting my own brain just to stay alive.”

“Stay alive” meaning I don’t want to move any higher up on the scale. Ideally, we move down.

So the problem is that I don’t really know how to move it down. Historically, I have one big cataclysmic breakdown, and then when it subsides, I’m somewhat better. I drift back down to a three. The problem with whatever this is is that it won’t seem to hit the crescendo and subside like it has before. I’m just...here. Like this. Trying so hard to hold myself together -- which isn’t going great since this particularly bad depressive episode is affecting everything. It’s affecting work quite badly. I’m making mistakes I would have never normally made. I’m forgetting everything, even if I write it down. It’s overall going pretty poorly.

(My therapist, my wife and myself made a crisis plan, by the way. My stupid brain found ways around it.)

And all I can really do is remind myself that my wife doesn’t deserve to be widowed. Papa doesn’t deserve to bury another family member way too young -- least of all his own child. Nobody deserves the ridiculously high expenses of a funeral and a burial or cremation.

The other thing I keep reminding myself is that this bad haircut is going to grow out. My hair grows fast. It will be worth watching it grow back to a length I like. It will be worth having cut and styled in a way I actually like it.

My health goals are worth pursuing. I gained weight again when I stopped working a physical job. It’s totally worth learning to exercise without accidentally injuring myself. It’s worth watching myself get slim again, and maybe trying to build muscle like I always wanted to. The only issue with all this is my body, because, well. Chronic pain and fatigue. But one of the ways people deal with fibromyalgia is exercise and changing to a healthier diet.

It’s all worth pursuing, and I can sort of see it in some moments, but then it vanishes and I get lost in the now. Well, right now I’m overweight. Now I’m tired and in pain. Now my hair is ugly (to me).

I’ll be fine in the end. It’s just hard right now. I’m not going to k*ll myself, don’t worry. If I were planning that, I wouldn’t be writing this -- I would be planning or executing...horrible, horrible joke, yikes.

[seasonsbloom]

dime store cowboy 2 . (hangman)

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule. (part two of dime store cowboy, but can probably be read separately.)

wc ; 6.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, sex while under the influence, p in v, fingering, riding, dirty talk, lil tiny bit of degradation maybe?, almost getting caught)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS………. i hate this so much, but hey i finished! that's the only positive about this goodbe.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i’m gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

It’s a small town, so news travels like wildfire - soon, all the kitchens are burning.

When you walked into work on Monday, three of your co-workers told you not to get too involved with Jake. On a trip to the local mom-and-pop shops for nails to hang your newest art print with, the older woman at the register frowned, called you by name even though you don’t remember ever introducing yourself to her, and said, Jake Seresin is bad news, honey. At a diner, a whole table of mid-twenties girls glared actual daggers at you.

With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.

“You’re like… a local legend,” you tell him, toying with the straw in your margarita. Jake ordered it for you before you even walked through the doors, and you don’t know how to feel about him remembering your drink order.

Jake raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a pale blue button-down tonight that seems more formal than the flannel you met him in, but the hat and obnoxious belt remain the same.

“Am I?” he asks and sounds a little too pleased for your liking.

You nod. “I got advised not to show up tonight by….” You count them off on your fingers. “... four people. And that’s not counting any of the girls who I think are planning my murder as we speak.”

It punches a chuckle out of him, but something about the sound is almost sad.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, waving it off. “I may have a bit of a reputation.”

“What sort of reputation?” you ask, watching as your straw paints swirls into the pink slush of your drink.

Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.

“A bad one,” he says.

It’s ridiculous, and judging by the fake deep voice he puts on, he knows it too. So you laugh, duck your head, and wonder if you even want to know the real answer.

From what you’ve gathered, Jake is a bit of a ladies man. (Your co-worker’s description had been somewhat less flattering. At least you don’t think town mattress is going to show up on his CV any time soon.) Usually, that fact alone would have been enough to have you running for the hills, but you can’t forget the night you met him - his hand on your thigh and the easy banter and feeling sexy, carefree, grown-up in a way not even doing your taxes can duplicate.

Still. The uncertainty remains.

“You think I should listen to them?” you ask. The leather of the booth clings to your sweaty thighs. It’s a hundred degrees in this stupid bar.

Jake hums and shrugs his shoulders. “What I want you to do and what you should do are two entirely separate things, sugar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.

“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”

That’s not exactly an answer, and it doesn’t escape your notice.

Jake sets his glass back down, braces his elbows on the table’s edge, and leans forward, leans into your space, a conspiratorial grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and says, “If you’re asking me, though… I think you’ve already made your choice.”

You’re not exactly sure what you’re talking about anymore, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying what.

“How so?” you ask.

“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You can’t argue with that. A new song comes on, and a group of girls near the bar yell in excitement. You watch them for a second.

“What made you come anyway?” He has his arms folded on the tabletop, clearly trying to pull you back from whatever train of thought you’ve boarded and sailed away on.

That’s a good question, and it’s one you’re not too sure how to answer. Because, truth be told, you almost didn’t. Without the liquid courage of three strawberry margaritas coursing through your bloodstream, without him so close you could barely think of anything but his stubble between your thighs, your nerves caught up with you. You’ve agonized over this, even twenty minutes ago, sitting in your car and staring at the twinkling neon of the bar, your heart beating an erratic pattern that echoed in your words like the same question repeated again and again: Should I?

You shrug. “Curiosity.”

He grins, his teeth gleaming between the pink of his lips. You wonder if he uses Crest white strips or if he gets them professionally bleached. They’re almost too white.

“Curiosity about what, exactly?”

You take a sip of your cocktail to bide your time, to collect your thoughts. Then you say, “I’ve never been on a date with a cowboy.”

Casually, Jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable. “Oh, so is that what this is? A date?”

Your heart drops to the vicinity of your kneecaps. Could it really be that you’ve misjudged this situation so completely? Could it really be that you’re so inexperienced, so out of tune with the signs and signals of the chase, that you can’t even recognize when somebody’s flirting with you?

And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.

Back home, your friends used to call you romantically challenged, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

“Oh,” you say, and your cheeks feel warm as you shift your weight in your seat, as you pull your shoulders up like you’re trying to disappear between the blades, “I’m sorry, I just….”

Jake is shaking his head before you can finish the sentence you had no idea where to end anyway. “I’m only messing with you, sugar,” he says, his laughter warm even as he teases you, and for a split second, his fingers graze over your knuckles on the tabletop. “I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.”

That line has no business making your heart race the way it does. Where his fingers touched yours, the skin tingles.

Because you don’t know what to say, you down the last of your cocktail. 

For a while, the two of you chat about nothing and everything. Your new job, the adjustment to the countryside. His work on his parent’s ranch and his family. He names all of their seven dogs, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Seven?” you repeat, a note of awe sneaking into your voice. “You guys have seven dogs?”

Jake laughs. “I take it you like dogs?”

“Like is like… the understatement of the century.”

“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”

That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that.

Jake orders you another cocktail from a waitress that does very little to conceal the glare she throws in your direction. When she comes back to deliver your drink and the beer that Jake has switched to, she leans so low both he and you get a good, thorough glance into her cleavage.

As she saunters away, hips swinging, you blink, caught between confusion and a tiny bit of annoyance, and Jake just snorts into the sweating neck of his beer bottle.

By then, the sugar and the alcohol are beginning to work their way into your bloodstream, and you feel just the right side of tipsy. Where your senses are dulled enough the bar fades away to a steady chatter of background noise, tuned out by the gleam of Jake’s smile and his eyes and his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wood of the table. You feel loose and swaying and unsteady in a way that is funny, thrilling, instead of scary.

It’s strange to be so far from him, all the space of the booth stretching and elongating. Later, you’ll blame the liquid courage, but something (it’s definitely not jealous, nope, not at all) propels you to slide along the leather of the seat, feeling the sweat collecting in your kneecaps, heart in your throat, until you’re on his side, your legs just an inch or two from his.

Jake watches your migration with a faint smile on his face.

“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.

“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”

You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.”

As soon as the words are out, you cringe at yourself, mouth already opening around an apology, but Jake’s hand on your waist silences you. Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jake says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Pretty girl like you all on her lonesome.”

It has you grinning involuntarily. His arm goes from your waist to drape across your shoulder instead, heavy against you, and you set a tentative, searching hand on his thigh. The denim of his jeans feels rough against your palm.

“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.

You nod. “Much.”

From your perch against his chest, you watch as he takes a sip of his beer. The bottle comes away, mouth wet just like his lips. His tongue pokes out just a little as he chases the flavor, chases a drop, and it’s like an intrusive thought, something planted in your mind by someone else, something…

“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”

You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.

You shrug, his arm moving with your gesture, and say, aiming for nonchalance, “Maybe I could be.”

He chuckles but hands you the bottle without further protest. It’s ridiculous, but something about the thought that you’re putting your lips where his have been moments ago excites you, sets your heart racing. Maybe you’re childish. If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?

So instead, you bring the bottle to your lips, take a single, tiny sip, and then, because you can’t help yourself, because apparently, this has become a habit in his presence, you lick the rim. 

Then you cringe. “Nah,” you say. “Still not a beer girl.”

Jake snorts, but his eyes stay fixed on your mouth for just a moment too long. “Can I try your margarita, then?”

You nod, lean forward out of the crescent of his arm for just a moment to pluck the glass you left abandoned across the table.

Jake takes a sip and, to your disappointment, does not copy your moves. There’s no licking off the sugar for him.

He grimaces. “Jeez,” he says, “this is like ninety-five percent sugar.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That’s why I like it.”

“Well, sugar,” Jake says, his grin turning just a touch devious, “I bet you taste even sweeter.”

Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.

It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.

“You want to find out?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper, and wonder where the hell that came from.

Jake’s mouth lifts into a grin at one corner. “You’d let me have a taste, sugar?”

I’d let you have anything you want. That’s what you want to say, but when you open your mouth, somebody else’s voice cuts over yours.

“Jake.”

It’s the waitress from earlier. She’s gotten rid of her apron and notepad and is smiling at Jake in a way that makes her intention crystal clear. This girl is definitely here on a mission.

“Hi,” Jake greets back. “We’re still good on drinks, thank you.”

She laughs, and the sound is almost musical. “That’s not why I’m here. My shift just ended.”

For the first time, you really take her in. She’s beautiful, tanned skin, full lips, long hair the color of butterscotch that seems to dance in the light breeze from a ceiling fan. If it hadn’t been for Jake’s arm around you, you would have tried to melt back into the cushions of the booth. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate.

But Jake just says, “Good for you.”

The girl casts a furtive glance at you, a furrow etching itself between her eyebrows as if she cannot understand what Jake is doing with someone like you.

Welcome to the club, you think and startle at how bitter that sounds. It’s not like you to pity yourself like this.

“You remember when you asked me out on that date?”

Jake takes a moment to think about that. When he speaks again, he somehow manages not to sound like an absolute douchebag, and you’ll take that as a testament to his immense charm. “Vaguely.”

The girl’s mouth twists like she’s just bit into a lemon. “How about it then?”

One of Jake’s eyebrows rises so high it almost touches his hairline. He says, “I’m a tad busy.”

You watch the whole exchange like somebody watching a tennis match. Sort of like you forgot you’re at all involved in this and not just an innocent bystander watching a girl’s romantic advances crash and burn. Then she sends a truly withering look at you, and you’re reminded that you’re smack dab in the middle of this thing.

“Alright,” she says, trying not to let the note of hurt in her voice show too much. Honestly, you feel sort of bad for her. “Give me a ring whenever.”

Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.

There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.

You don’t even know if the waitress is still standing by the table or if she’s left. You don’t care.

“Did you drive here?” you ask.

Jake, preoccupied with adjusting the hat on you, glances down at your face and answers, “I did.”

Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk. 

But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You expected Jake to be surprised. Instead, he just smiles, something like amusement crossing his face, and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“Sure,” he says. “Wait by the door for me, yeah, sugar?”

You agree. As he goes to pay, you idle by the entrance, acting like you don’t feel any of the eyes on you. Without his touch on you, you feel almost forlorn. A little sheepishly, you take off the hat and hold it to your chest, turn it over and over to stare at that label inside.

“Property of J. Seresin,” you read out in a whisper, running a finger along the thin leather of the hat band.

“You really like that hat, don’t you?”

Jake’s voice startles you. He’s smiling, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d call the expression on his face affectionate.

“It’s that cowgirl fantasy,” you say and watch as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket.

“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.

He takes the hat from you and plants a warm palm at the small of your back, steering you confidently toward the door.

And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.

You don’t really care, not when you’re the one Jake is ushering toward his truck with something like urgency in his step.

Jake parked his car towards the end of the lot, where the lights of the bar turn into shadows, where the music and the voices are drowned out almost entirely by the chirping of cicadas. The air smells of gasoline and green things, growing things you never really knew back in the city with all its traffic jams and construction work.

When you tilt your head back, you see the stars like glowing pins stuck in the velvet of the night.

“Earlier,” you tell him, slowing your steps as you get closer to the truck, “you asked what I was curious about.”

Jake hums in agreement. He’s rounded the car with you, clearly intent on opening the passenger door for you, but now he stops when you do. You’re still in sync.

“I think,” you say, and wonder how your voice sounds so firm when you feel like you’re floating off into the stratosphere, “I was wondering what it might be like.”

In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”

You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.”

He’s on you within seconds. 

One of his hands tangle in your hair, the other falls once more to that spot at the small of your back, pulling you towards you with enough that you go careening, that you crush into him. The alcohol still has you a little off balance, so you steady yourself with both palms flat on his chest, then make a sound against his lips when you feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart.

It’s all so sudden that it takes you a moment to get used to it. I can’t believe this is happening, you think distantly as Jake opens his mouth against yours, as his tongue traces over the seam of your mouth. You react on instinct, letting him in, melting in his arms. It’s all hot and wet, and god, he’s warm. You know the backs of your thighs and knees are still damp with sweat, with the sweltering heat of the bar, and now, surrounded by the furnace of Jake’s body, not even the night breeze can do anything to cool you down.

Jake walks you backward until your back connects with the metal of his truck, and then he presses you against the door. The hand on your back wanders down, down, down, over the curve of your ass, and then he’s pinching the skin there, and you yelp.

The curve of his smile presses against your own mouth for a moment, and then he’s drawing back at the exact moment that he pulls your hips forward. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans, his cock an insistent pressure against your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hips instinctively bucking forward and into him. The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, his tone so easy, so unaffected, has something inside of you clenching.

“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”

His voice is husky when he says, “Good.”

Then he’s leaning back in, his tongue sliding into your mouth, his feet kicking your legs apart so he can slot himself between them. His thigh nudges against your clit just once, the contact almost has you keening, and then he’s angling it away, holding your hips back so you can’t rut against him.

Jake is a good kisser. He’s probably had enough practice, you think, and then immediately abandon that train of thought. There’s nothing good down that line. It’s not difficult anyway, not when he does something with his tongue, when his hand slides from your hair to the back of your neck and your brain melts into a puddle anyway, all coherent thoughts shriveling up with it.

When you lick into his mouth, you find traces of the whiskey he had earlier, of honey and oak and smoke. His stubble scrapes against your cheeks, your neck when he leaves a trail of open-mouthed, lingering kisses along the edge of your jaw. Part of you imagines him leaving a mark, imagines the rasp of that bear along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches.

The hand has wandered from your ass to the very top of your thighs, where your skin is so tender and sensitive that you bounce up onto your tip toes when he lets the pads of his fingers stroke a figure-eight pattern against you. His answering chuckle vibrates somewhere low in your throat, tickles in an exhale of warm air against your collarbone.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

And that’s just about the only answer you give because then he’s inching your panties to the side, and one finger dips between your lips, and you have no air left in your lungs to form words with.

“Jesus,” Jake rasps. “You’re fucking soaked, doll. Have you been like this the whole time?”

You make a soaked noise at the back of your throat. Truth be told, you may have been wet since you walked into this stupid bar. It’s not your fault you’ve been wound tighter than clockwork since that night you first met him, it’s not your fault he’s so unfairly hot, not your fault he kept looking at you like he was mentally undressing you, not your fault he…

His finger finds your clit, applies a steady kind of pressure, and you throw your head back and moan so loudly you’re glad the parking lot is abandoned.

He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then he’s kissing you again, his finger rubbing circles against you. You can barely keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take what he’s giving you. The metal of the car is cold against your back, your head.

“Hold this,” he mutters without breaking the kiss, bunching the fabric of your dress up around your stomach and shoving it into one of your hands.

You do as he says, giving him better access to you. His mouth trails from your lips to your jugular, where your pulse is jumping so quickly it’s making you dizzy, as he slides your panties down your legs, taps the side of your thigh to signal you to step out of them. You go one foot at a time, knees feeling like jelly, but Jake steadies you. Bending down to retrieve the underwear, he presses a kiss to your kneecap on his way and mutters, “Good girl.”

Then he’s back up, your panties a crumpled up piece of fabric in his hand, and he presses his face right into the lace. Inhales deeply.

You’re going to pass out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “can’t wait till I get that taste, sugar. You really are just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

It’s not really a question, but you still think it warrants some kind of answer. Your brain won’t cooperate, though. It’s completely and utterly blank.

You think he’s going to chuck the panties into the truck or something, but instead, he shoves them into one of his pockets, a bit of the pink lace peeking over the denim, and you swear you get even wetter.

“Souvenir,” he says, winks at you, and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.

If Jake is at all surprised by your sudden initiative, he doesn’t let it on. He takes as well as you give (if not better), fingers digging into your bare ass, your thighs, one sliding through your wetness and then inside of you. You whimper against his mouth as he fucks that finger in steadily, as he thumbs at your clit. Cling to him with both arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

The sound of gravel crunching beneath feet reaches you as if through a fog. Thankfully, Jake is quicker on his feet than you are, pulling his fingers out of you, tugging your dress down to cover you, and angling his body to shield you from whoever is approaching their car. 

You can’t believe this is happening to you.

“Seresin,” the man calls as he unlocks his car door. Most of your vision is blocked by Jake’s shoulder, but you see the silhouette of someone raising their hand in a wave.

Jake tips his hat in response, arms protective and reassuring around you. He greets, “Hal,” then stays just as he is until the sound of the engine has died away in the buzz of the cicadas and the faraway traffic of the highway.

“Shit,” he curses, but there’s a chuckle to his voice. “You alright, sweetheart?”

The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…

This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Can we… can we get in your car, maybe?”

Jake nods immediately. “Sure thing, sugar.” He unlocks the car door and opens it for you. “You want me to drive you home? I can…”

But you don’t let him finish. For the second time that night, you pull him by the collar, shove him down into the passenger seat and then climb after, clambering into his lap with your knees pressing into the cushion by his hips. Behind you, you pull the door closed with a resounding thud.

Jake’s truck smells like the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, but you barely take note of that. He throws his hat in the general direction of the driver’s seat. His face is just inches from yours, his hands immediately settling on your ass, his eyes wide and blown, and his lip curling in a surprised, pleased smile.

“Sure you don’t wanna do this in a bed?” he asks, but his fingers are already shoving beneath the fabric of your dress again.

You shake your head, lower yourself down until you feel his cock against you, until you both exhale in shaky unison. “Owe you that ride,” you mutter and lean in to kiss him.

It’s torture after that. Jake kisses you like he’s trying to climb into your body, tugs at your hair until you feel each pull like sparks of electricity down to your clit. He pulls your dress down your shoulders, lets it pool around your stomach to get his mouth on your nipples even over the fabric of your bra, the lace soaked through with his spit and your skin aching. All the while, you grind against him, spread your wetness all over his denim as Jake ruts up into the movement, the friction almost unbearable. On every hitch of your hips forward, the obnoxious belt buckle nudges against your clit, and it almost undoes you - the cold of the metal against your heat enough to have your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth opening around moans of Jake’s name.

Finally, he seems to crack, reaching around you to prop open the glove compartment and get out a condom. You watch as he finally unzips his jeans, gets out his cock, and hisses as he rolls the rubber down. Your heart is in your throat with the anticipation of it all.

And then you spot it.

In a split-second decision, propelled by something that must border on madness, you stretch across the middle console, reaching for the driver’s seat.

Jake frowns. “Where you going, sugar?”

“Just…” You strain until you can finally get your hands on the soft fabric, and then you’re sinking back down into his lap, your cunt rubbing over him, and a long, languid moan escaping you before you place his hat on your head.

Jake blinks at you for a moment, eyes glassy, mouth open, the fingers on your hips tightening.

“Jesus,” he whispers, “you gonna wear that, sweetheart?”

You can’t read his face, can’t read the expression, and the uncertainty slams into your chest like an iron-clad fist. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Jake groans, says, “You gonna wear my hat as you ride my cock, sugar? That’s how you wanna play this thing?”

And shit. Okay, then.

“Yeah,” you breathe, plant both hands on his shoulders. “Can I?”

In answer, he surges forward to kiss you at the same time that he pulls you down on his cock. It’s a stretch, and it’s a slow slide down, but it feels so good, it makes you go a little crazy. You cling to him, let him kiss you, let him dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, pant into his mouth.

When he finally bottoms out, you can’t tell how long it’s been. Your legs are already shaking, your head spinning, your words failing.

Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.”

You whimper and obey, move yourself up and down on him slowly at first. The slide of his cock in and out, the clench of your cunt around him each time, as if your body doesn’t want to relinquish its hold on you. His fingers on you as he finally slides your bra off. His lips on your collarbone, then on your breasts, his teeth grazing a nipple, his tongue soothing the sting… It’s almost too much, all of it.

The cubicle is filled with your sounds, the quiet gasps and the loud whines, with Jake’s moans muffled against your skin.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “god, you feel so fucking good, sugar.”

You just nod in answer, the hat almost slipping over your eyes again, and up the pace. You’re all but slamming yourself down on his cock now, the sounds obscene. It’s the wet squelch of your pussy every time he spears into you, the frantic slap of skin on skin as your thighs meet his, the noise of his mouth on your tits.

It goes on forever, something that spirals higher and higher and never reaches the pinnacle. The windows fog up. Your thighs ache. You chase a high that eludes you, time and again.

And all through it, Jake’s hands remain infuriatingly stagnant on your hips.

Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….”

You can barely keep up the bouncing, your thighs trembling with the pent-up desire, the strain of the movement. In fact, you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even control your own muscles anymore. Sweat drips in steady tracks down your back.

“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much. 

“I can’t….” You slump against him, the fatigue catching up with you, pant into the place where his collarbone dips in.

“You tired, doll?”

Without lifting your head, you nod.

His laughter brushes over your hair on an exhale. If you had any strength left in you, you might feel insulted at the fact that he’s laughing at your plight. But the alcohol and the exhaustion and the night in total have finally caught up with you, and you can’t think of anything but your dizzying, deafening, debilitating need to cum.

“That’s too bad,” he says, “You promised me a ride, didn’t you?”

And, like… fuck him, honestly.

“I’m too tired,” you whine, and you’re not too ashamed to admit it. Haven’t you been doing all the work for long enough?

Jake clicks his tongue and pats along the length of your spine. In a voice like melting honey, he says, “You want to come, don’t you, doll?”

You nod, words drifting far away from you like letting go of a balloon.

“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?”

That’s the breaking point for you.

“Jake,” you say, pushing yourself into an upright position with both palms balanced on his pecs and glare down at his stupid, evil grin, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll go back into that bar and find another cowboy to do it properly.”

You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.

But Jake doesn’t know that.

The shift is almost immediate.

His eyebrows furrow, his hands tighten on your hips. Something dark crosses his face.

“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.

You shrug, motioning to take off his hat. “I will if you can’t fuck me pr….”

Your words trail off into a squeak as Jake fucks his hips up, as his cock plunges into you with more force. Then he’s sitting up straight, wrapping one arm around your waist as he sets a quick, hard rhythm, as he plants a firm hand on the hat and pushes it back down.

“Don’t even say it,” he whispers into your neck as he licks at a drop of sweat, as he sinks his teeth gently into your skin. “You should know better than that, sugar.”

He’s fucking you for real now, hips pistoning in and out with abandon. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, your hands scrabbling for purchase among the curve of his shoulder, the leather of the headrest.

Into your ear, between pants, he’s pouring buckets of filth, saying, “They couldn’t fuck you like this anyway, sugar, and you know it. Nobody but me could give it to you like this, get that pretty pussy this wet, give you the ride of your life….”

Your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that could put most porn actresses to shame. When Jake’s fingers find your clit, you have to muffle a full-on scream into his neck.

“Jake,” you whimper, and it’s almost scary how big it is, looming just in the distance. So close now, you’re so goddamn close.

“Yeah,” he’s saying into your hair, planting his feet firmly on the ground and fucking up into your pussy, his cock plunging so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, “fucking take it. You better not forget who’s fucking cock you’re taking, sugar, who’s hat you’re wearing, who….”

You don’t hear the rest of it. All you can think of is the weight of the hat on your head. All you can think of is that label on the inside of it.

Property of J. Seresin.

You cum with a strangled shout, with your cunt clamping down so hard on Jake’s cock he grunts, with a gush of wetness, with your back arching far enough the hat tips backward off your head, with your fingers and toes numb, with your head somewhere in the clouds, with your blood rushing in your ears, and your heart like a sledgehammer and your arms around his neck. And then you sob, gasp for breath, wriggle like a fish on land.

“That’s my girl,” Jake is saying into your ear when you regain enough presence of mind to tap back into your hearing. “Look so pretty when you come on my cock, Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, sugar, God….”

He pumps his hips a few more times before the rhythm stutters, before he groans and tenses and empties into the condom. His cock twitches inside of you, and you moan weakly, slumped against his chest as you are.

Jake’s arms wrap around you as he hauls you closer to press kisses down the slope of your shoulder.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. God, you could fall asleep right here - completely sated, completely exhausted, completely full.

“Jake?” you whisper, and as your lips move against his skin, you taste the salt of sweat.

“Yeah, sugar?”

“Can I keep your hat?”

It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.

But just for now, you get to keep it. For another minute, for another moment.

Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking and your body moving with it.

“Since I’m keeping the panties,” he says, his voice almost tender. “Sure thing, sugar. It’s all yours.”

You press your smile into his chest, preen as he reaches around you to put the hat back on you, and then you think, Thank God for Carrie Underwood.

[tteokdoroki]

waves that hurt | k.bakugou + i.midoriya.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader x izuku midoriya.

♡ word count: 3.04K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, hurt, angst and comfort.

♡ summary: dark days mean dark waves that crash across your mind, intrusive and mean the waves pull you under— but they are the helping hands that pull you up and let you breathe.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy tw for depression, intrusive thoughts and self depreciation, self doubt and low self-worth. this fic is written mostly from personal experiences and may not be accurate to how everyone feels! mentions of therapy.

♡ author’s note(s):  this is my contribution to @doinmybesthere​ ‘s mental health awareness collab, this is kinda personal to me and something i experienced recently!! i hope it can provide some comfort to anyone out there, please don’t forget to check out everyone else’s works and i hope you’re all safe ‘n well <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“kacchan, it’s much worse this time, i really think you should come home early tonight.”

deku whispers into the phone, his marred hands rub slow and soothing circles into your back from over the duvet— you can feel his warmth, light and airy through it but he feels and sounds much further away. a million miles across a dark ocean that trickles through your thoughts, intrusive and mean, keeping you under and away from clear air.

you wouldn’t want to pull him into this, bother him with the way you drown in dark thoughts— so you pull away from your boyfriend and tuck yourself away into the sheets.

izuku doesn’t retract his hand even as you pull away, listening to katsuki grunt orders down the phone— make sure yn’s eaten, make sure yn’s had water. basic things you should be able to do on your own but can’t, paralysed by the anxiety and depression that clamps down on you like a vice and refuses to let you up so you can just breathe. you want to breathe and not feel like the world is crashing down on you, to have a second to yourself where everything seems like it’s okay.

brushing fingers over the nape of your neck, toying with the coils of your baby hairs, your boyfriend speaks, only gently. “baby,” says quietly, his weight causing the bed to dip. “katsuki will be home soon, do you want to come with me to let him in?” you shrug, a sick feeling twisting in your gut. you see the black tendrils and waves in the back of your mind, bringing forth a new batch of ugly words that force you down. are you really that much of a burden these days that katsuki has to call it quits on work for you? “how are you feeling?”

you don’t know, you don’t know how to tell him that every thought you have hurts and there’s a pain in your chest with every breath you take. “i don’t know, it’s just...bad izu…” you want to explain how you feel deep inside, but the words are trapped like balls of tar in your throat— fear that if you say something he’ll walk away.

“you don’t have to say anything, don’t force yourself to…” he speaks with a soft voice, cotton to your ears in an attempt to soothe you. you can just about feel the clean air flowing through your lungs at the sound— it tells you he loves you, no matter what and you almost believe it before sinking back under. “let’s get you some water okay? wouldn’t want kacchan scolding us would we?”

the joke hangs in the murky and heavy air for a few seconds before you muster a small smile— your green haired boyfriend lets out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed a kiss into your hairline, the affection simmers under your skin and briefly brings light to your dark mind as izuku starts leading you to the kitchen.

you’re curled up in izuku’s lap when the front door pops open with a click— signifying your other boyfriend had arrived home. you flinch, hiding yourself in the blankets keeping you warm and locking away the dark thoughts from the eyes of your lovers.

part of you hated them seeing you this way, that’s why you forced yourself to keep everything away from them— but they knew, they always did and always came to your rescue. you didn’t want them to feel like they had to look after you when the days were bad and draining and your mind took hold of everything that you felt. you didn’t need the weight of your own problems on the shoulders of two pro heroes who had enough to deal with.

in the end, you would destroy them like you did with yourself.

you can hear katsuki shedding his gear by the door, feeling his intense and heated presence flood the room and barely penetrate the barrier you created for yourself even while you lay in izuku’s arms. for as long as you’d known the two— even from back in your U.A days, bakugou had hated self-pity, of course in recent years he’d cooled down a little and spoke less on the actions of others but even still, you weren’t sure if you could handle him looking down on you for looking down on yourself and for feeling this way.

the blanket is suddenly lifted from your head, momentarily blinding you with the overwhelming light that is your boyfriend, katsuki bakugou. a twinkle of concern lines his ruby eyes and you can see traces of his charcoal eyeliner that he usually smudges underneath his mask— he’s so beautiful but you’re afraid of the twitches of worry, afraid that he’s mad at you for being the way you are.

“hey honey,” bakugou hums, crouching to your level to cup your cheeks, stress bleeding from his body when you nuzzle into him.

izuku gives you a squeeze, an encouraging one and you nod. “hi,” is all you can muster, afraid of blurting the intrusive words that crackle across your brain.

katsuki sits back on his haunches, looking between you and his boyfriend before he attempts to kick off his shoes. the room is full of a thick, ugly quietness that you know you’re responsible for— they don’t have to say anything, you know that it’s you. because when you’re like this it’s hard for bakugou and midoriya to talk, afraid that they’ll say something to set you off and you afraid that they’ll leave if they knew how you really felt. how trapped and alone you felt inside, how the twisted darkness added tones to your vibes and dragged you down with every step that you took.

they don’t need to say it because it flows from your body like a rushing river and drowns them, fills their lungs and it’s your fault for infecting them with your own bitter taste of life.

“have you eaten?” the blonde of the two boys asks, looking you dead in the eye. you want to answer, but again the viscous back from earlier starts to flood through your body. you try to take care of yourself of these days where you feel it the hardest, but it’s difficult to move and to breathe— and the drive to complete even the simplest of tasks is barely ever there.

you move to speak, caught up in the thick smog of your own brain when izuku gives your body a squeeze and shakes his head, the forest of his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’ve had water, right?” izuku has no problem answering for you. “but nothing to eat,” he whispers, keeping his voice low as if to hide his worry from you— it’s light in his tone but tremors throughout the number one’s body. you feel sick for making him feel that way.

katsuki’s gaze shifts back from his boyfriend to you, his expression unreadable because he knows how you get if they worry too much about you. you’re thankful, partly for that at least, his blank face prevents your mind from reading too deep into things and blaming yourself for things out of your own control.

“‘m makin’ your favourite for dinner. you’ll eat it, no questions asked.” the explosive pro hero states firmly, rising from his place crouched down by your side, obviously not before thumbing over your cheeks to wipe away evidence of your dried tears. “gonna run you a bath too, damn nerd better get you upstairs and ready by the time it’s done.” deku’s chest rumbles with a light hearted chuckle beneath you, lifting the heavy weight of the air within the room— bakugou had always loved brashly, with a fiery intensity that hardly left room for the answer ‘no’, and while izuku was more tame, they balanced one another out in a way that felt more like a warm hug than a battle. they grounded you, in the best of ways.

true to his disgruntled words, your blonde headed boyfriend runs you a hot bath. you don’t miss the addition of lavender oil to the perfectly warm water, the baking soda which you’re sure he only knew to add because his mother had said it would remove the demon spawn toxins in his body. izuku is the one to help you strip, holds your hands as you kick off gross comfort clothes and folds them away, after pressing kisses to your groggy face and chin.

it’s almost funny to see the two biggest and beefiest pro heroes sit on your bathroom floor crossed legged and beside the tub— both of them taking up the majority of the room. you know for a fact that no one would believe the sight unless they saw it, but they’re there. both of them, izuku midoriya and bakugou katsuki are with you encompassed in the silence while you wash away the ugly words that plague your mind and fill the pores of your skin.

they’re still there.

even as sweet lavender water moves in soft waves over your bare body, while black ink moves in the same way across your brain— tattooing self-depreciating thoughts into every inch. you’re not worth their time, they say, you’re wasting it. because how could their precious time be put to good use if you’re taking it up, they could be saving people but instead your boyfriends are here, drowning in your own darkness.

they’re still fucking here.

when they could be out there saving the people who needed it, who were suffering out there in the world outside of your home.

and the suds against your body, the warm water sloshing over your thighs isn’t enough to get rid of the burning sensation of vile phrases printing themselves against your body and clouding every thought that you think. toxic, mean and nasty things you can’t scrub away— none of it is enough to make you feel like you deserve bakugou tenderly lathering you up with the rose scented soap his mother had sent you for christmas or the sips of cool water midoriya brings to your lips in order to prevent you from overheating in the steam of the bathroom.

deku catches the painful twist in your face, pausing his movements to study you. “whaddya need?” you need it to stop, to find something to replace the pain and doubts that fill you.

“water, hotter,” you croak quietly, tears building up in the base of your throat as katsuki catches on and flicks the tap for a stream of hot water to fill the tub. “please,”

they tell you to let them know when to stop if the heat gets too much, but the scalding water burns away any reminders of the self loathing you feel across every inch of your mind, your body and your soul. it stings at the darkness in a way that’s painfully soothing and maybe if you sink under— it could stop hurting completely. if you could slide deeper into the water, would the waves of darkness not crash so hard?

and then the damn breaks, like a tsunami the guilt and anguish you feel crashes over your body and takes control, leaving you fighting for oxygen in the form of your happiness.

everything that you’d been holding back flows freely in salty tears from tired eyes, scorching a path down the apples of your cheeks and mingling with the contents of the tub below. your boys, they don’t notice at first, how you cry and curl in on yourself until you think the world won’t notice you anymore but then just as they always do, they’re pulling you into their warmth and bubble of light— freeing you from black intrusive tendrils even if it means they have to crawl into the tub and wade their through the ocean you’ve made to set yourselves apart.

“don’t—!” you heave with an uneven voice, signs of you falling apart evident in every way. bakugou and deku pull away from you slowly, with dripping shirts and worry written across freckled faces and red eyes. they’re scared for you, hate seeing you force your feelings down and away from them. “please don’t touch me—you’ll—“

the water in the bathtub sloshes from where you retract from their touch, backing yourself up against the wall and away from your boys. “we’ll what?” izuku presses but only gently, keeping you afloat, stopping you from sinking and bakugou stays put in his place, letting the latter talk you down.

you shake your head, trying to think of the right words but it’s hard to, with the crashing waves heavy against your ears. how do you tell your lovers that everything hurts, to think and to feel, to live day by day. you don’t want to bother them with and an extra stress to their busy lives. but you can’t keep it in any longer, bursting at the seams. “you’ll drown. i-if i touch you, i’ll pull you under, you’ll drown with me and you won’t be able to breathe and all those horrible things that i think about will burn in your lungs until you give up fighting like me,” your tears and hiccups interrupt your words, but they listen. bakugou and deku, they listen and they stay.

“yn—“

“because if you do, then all that i feel will be a burden to you— i’ll break in ways that can’t be fixed and you’ll be forced to pick up the pieces and i’ll just be a burden,” you continue, not even pausing to take a breath while you continue to cry. “if you stay to pick up the pieces, you’ll be taken away from people who need you, who are worth saving, and can be helped and—“

you can’t recount how many nights, similar to this in which you wondered why and how two pro heroes could want and love you, why they dealt with your down days that sometimes outnumbered the ups— even if they’d shown you how much they cared, you couldn’t help but feel guilty as if your sadness took up their time to save someone else.

“you can be helped, yn. you don’t have to go what you’re going through alone, you’re worth the time and the effort of helping, no one deserves to suffer,” the green haired of your two boyfriends cuts through the tail ends of your words, still keeping distance until he knows it’s safe to touch you again. there is no look of condescending pity on his face, no sign to show you’ve pulled him into the dark of your mind. it’s just izuku, trying to help you pull through.

you look to katsuki hesitantly, he hasn’t said a word. “but i don’t want to be seen as...as weak, or to worry you because i can’t get out of my own head—“

“y’not fuckin’ weak, we’d never think that of you. we see you try to hide your pain, pretend things don’t get to you when they do. but fuckin’ handlin’ things on ya own can make y’stronger than any two heroes combined,” a look of anger flashes across his features, finer with age and tired with work. but bakugou isn’t angry with you, but with himself for leading you to believe that you were an extra weight on his shoulders. both of their shoulders. “yer not gonna get rid of us or scare us away, we love ya, we’re here for ya ‘n if it’s help that you need or think yer not worthy of, we’ll find some. it’s okay t’ask for help.”

maybe it’s hearing it from someone else, that your pain and your depression is valid, that you’re not an extra weight on the people you love that allows you to come up from a tar-like ocean for fresh air in your lungs, for the waves to calm and the storm raging in your mind to soothe. maybe it’s the two of your boyfriends being there for you despite the fear that you’d scare them away with not being okay that washes away some of the awful things you think.

you know that their support won’t make things go away over night, that it will take time for you to heal but for now you can keep your head above the water just long enough to breathe.

“can i touch you now? is it okay?” deku asks, feeling less distant from you than at the start of the day, but as your body shakes with the last of your tears all you manage is a nod before the number one hero is pulling you into his chest from the tub and the number two is wrapping a towel and his arms around you.

you sit sandwiched between the two, they keep you at the surface— holding you tight while you let out what you’ve been holding back. “we can get some help if y’want it, the doctors...therapy might be nerve wrackin’...scary even, but it can help and we’ll be there every single step of the fuckin’ way,” katsuki reasures you with pets to your head, rocking you back and forth on your bathroom floor, steam clinging to the air that you can finally breathe.

izuku nods along in agreement, pressing kisses to your wet hairline. “we’ll be here. you won’t be alone.”

the murkiness of the water in your mind starts to clear, but only just— their warmth starts to push through the clouds like sunshine brushing against your skin. a light to the dark that's plagued your every waking moment, the waves no longer crash and destroy but instead lap comfortingly at your painful thoughts and tame them just enough for you to have a moment of clarity.

you don’t have to be alone or millions of miles away, you deserve the hands of your loved ones that offer you help instead of pushing them away. the process of healing and things like therapy or meds will be hard sometimes, but katsuki and izuku will be here by your side, to help you manage days where darkness rolls in waves that hurt and help you breathe once again.

[luimagines]

oooh i have an idea, how would dear reader reacts to the chain's secrets? they could be canon like wolfie being twi, or something you headcanon!

Masterlist

I procrastinated on this one admittedly because I had no idea where to take it but after writing out a list and appointing a secret to each boy. I have it done.

Some things are definitely headcanons.

Part one will include Hyrule, Sky, Warrior, Four and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

The battle wasn’t necessarily hard to deal with- the monsters weren’t difficult to deal with and there weren’t a lot of them to begin with.

You slashed, dashed and kicked every enemy away from you and watched as they fell to your blade. Every new step revealed a new purple cloud as you danced around the battle field.

You saw Wild and Twilight fighting back to back with practiced ease and handling it as well as you were. Warrior and Sky was side by side closer to Time and Legend than the rest of the group was and Four and Wind were up in the trees striking the enemy down at a distance and no doubt scheming something while the going was easy.

The only one you had no idea where he was, was Hyrule.

And that didn’t take a lot to dive into your brain and wriggle uncomfortably until your own insecure thoughts pushed you to go look for him.

Between the monsters and the land mines of purple smoke, it was a little difficult to find him.

But when you do- he does something you don’t fully understand at first.

You manage to run into him in a clearing, but he doesn’t notice you at first. Instead, you see him take his sword and run it through his palm. His blood coats the length of his blade, and it drips down his hand onto the grass below.

He watches the monsters in front of him and dances for a minute around them before he takes a breath and kills them effortlessly.

You frown and step toward him. “Why did you do that?”

Hyrule jumps higher than should be physically possible and doesn’t catch himself on the way down. He falls flat on his butt and looks up at you with wide and startled eyes.

“Are you ok?” You kneels next to him and go to take his injured hand. “What on earth were you trying to do?

Hyrule jerks his hand back like you’ve burned him and you see the magic flow through the air around his wound- closing it like it never happened.

“Link?” You frown again and slowly place your hand in your lap. You’re confused and a little afraid for him. You know that blood magic is taboo for a reason and is typically avoided more often than not because of its’s dark nature- but you never thought Hyrule of all people would dabble in it.

“I’m fine.”

“Link.” You stress a little more. “What were you trying to do? I didn’t think you were capable of blood magic... At least you don’t usually use those kind of spells. Is that why you fight on your own for a while each time?”

“I’m not using blood magic.” Hyrule frowns and stands abruptly. 

“Then why-?”

“It’s not important.”

“Hyrule, you’re hurting yourself. I’d say that that’s pretty important.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t make me get Time.” You threaten. “I’ll get Legend too. I bet they’ll get some answers out of you.”

“You won’t just drop it, will you?” He sneers

“Nope.” You stand and cross your arms. “What were you trying to do?”

“I was just checking something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like if a curse would work or something?”

Hyrule tenses and he crosses his arms- instantly looking away from you.

“WERE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO CAST A CURSE?!” You screech.

“THE CURSE WAS CAST ON ME!” He yells back.

You both still for a moment and wait for the forest to show any signs that others might have heard you.

The sounds of distant fighting continues and after a minute of waiting some more, no one shows up to check on either of you, so you’re safe.

You turn back to your companion and furrows your eyebrows. You lower your voice just above a whisper just in case someone might be on the way but now you need answers. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He scowls- a face you’re not used to seeing on him and throws his arms down his sides in anger. “Back home, Ganon cast a curse on me. The monsters need my blood in order to resurrect him and I can’t risk letting any monsters from my time getting to me. I need to check if the other monsters will follow suit.”

You blink, not expecting that answer but your anger flares up regardless. “So you go out on your own to check this curse because your blood is needed to resurrect hatred incarnate? What if you’re overpowered? What if they do react to it? How are we supposed to help you if you’re alone?”

“It’s my problem to deal with. I don’t need-”

“Shut up.” You scowl and grab him by the shoulders. You shake him roughly for as long as you speak. “We are your friends! We care about you! We don’t want to see you hurt! We’re going to help you! Whether you want it or not- we’re not to let you deal with this alone. Not while we’re here.”

“Stop shaking me.”

You let him go.

“I won’t tell the others because I know you wouldn’t like that.” You say. “But this stops today. You hear me? None of us are just going to let these freaks near you and this is not necessary while you have a whole team of heroes just as pissed about the situation as you are. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“How clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

Sky 

Sky wakes up one day with a far away look in his eye which immediately puts you on edge.

Not only that but to make it worse, he doesn’t stop looking at you.

He looks scared.

Every five minutes you swear you catch him looking in your direction only to look away in haste when you look back at him.

No one is saying anything and it doesn’t help your paranoia.

With some people walking ahead you, you step back and take a spot next to Sky. You notice that he’s tense and walking robotically, and trying to match your pace. “Dude, what’s up? You’re freaking me out.”

Sky trips over himself and finally looks you in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“You woke up like you saw a ghost. You’ve been looking over to me every five minutes and even now you look like you want to sprint away from me. Did I do something?”

“I.. Ummm...” Sky stutters for a minute before swallowing whatever lump was in his throat. “I just had a dream... is all.... I’ll get over it.”

“I’m assuming it had something to do with me then.”

“No, not exactly.” Sky’s quick to speak even if you can see the beginning’s of sweat collect on his brow. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Want to talk about it?” You tilt your head. “It looks like it really shook you up.”

“Oh, um, I-”

“Maybe you died and Sky freaked out.” Legend pushes you forward and away from Sky. “He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.”

“Ok, my god, Legend slow down! Not everyone is as emotionally constipated as you! Talking about things is healthy and important!” You shout over your shoulder, trying to dig your heels into the dirt with little to no luck.

Legend seems a bit stronger right now that he usually is, you bet it’s his power bracelet.

If Sky actually looks a bit paler at Legend’s claim than neither of you notice.

The day passes a little calmer after that, Sky seeming to have calmed down enough to not be so weird and it something you’re quick to forget about.

By the time the afternoon hits, a bunch of dark and foreboding storm clouds roll in.

Somehow, Sky manages to find it in himself to walk next to you again and does his best to stay close.

You don’t mind it and even jokingly pull his sail cloth over your head when it begins to rain on your group. It’s not particularly strong and there’s not a lot of options to rest and take cover, so you bare with it. Sky lets you keep the sail cloth over your head surprisingly.

But then there’s thunder and you see lightning in the distance and bite your lip. “Maybe we should hunker down or something?”

The rain goes from gentle drops to a down pour within seconds and the group runs a bit to gain as much cover as you can in the nearby tree line.

Sky pushes himself in front of you and shoves you behind him with enough force that you’re fully knocked over. In one fluid motion he lifts the Master Sword skyward and charges the blade, tossing it away from the group in a glowing blue arc. It cuts through the grass and even splits the first tree it strikes in half before dissipated into the air. 

You would have been struck by lightning if he didn’t do that.

“Sky?” You get up and try to wipe as much mud off of your pants as you can. “Are you ok? How did you know that would happen?”

Sky gulps and takes a deep breath as he looks at you with wide eyes and understanding. “I saw it in a dream.”

“Oh...” You gasp and reach out to him shakily, putting your hand on his shoulder. “You have dreams then?”

“Yes.” Sky looks at his sword and hesitantly puts it away. “Sometimes.”

“Ok then...” You nod and look around the group. They’re all in varying stages of shock, surprise and concern.

Everyone is looking at Sky.

“We need to get out of the storm.” You say in lieu of changing the topic. ” Who knows if there’s more lightning on the way and there’s a lot of metal within the group.“

“Right.” Time nods and does a not so subtle double take in his attempt to leave it be. “Let’s go.”

You nod back and nod once more to Sky and wrap your arm around his shoulder. you lead him forward and lean into his space to whisper into his ear. “Thanks.”

“I’m just glad I made in time.”

“We’ll talk later ok?” You smile in hopes of alleviating some of the tension. “I have some questions if you’re willing to indulge me.”

“I suppose it’s only fair.”

Warrior

“He’s a cute kid.” Warrior mentions randomly one day. 

You startle and jump, nearly dropping the image. You scramble to catch it and successfully do so after playing hot potato with yourself.

“Warrior, a little warning please.” You sigh and attempt to clean your finger print smudges on the glass. “But yeah, my little brother is cute. I hope he stays that way.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about.” Warrior shrugs. “He grows up to be a fine and upstanding young man. Good looks run in the family. ”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Thank you, I’m sure they do.”

Warrior comes to stand next to you and gently turns the glass over to see the image better.

“Warrior?”

“Hm?”

“Am I doing the right thing?” You sigh.

“What do you mean? I’d say you are. Sacrificing yourself for the good of a better tomorrow- for your family- for your loved ones- but that’s not what you’re talking about are you?” Warrior lets you take the image back.

“But he’s so young... and I’m supposed to take care of him.” You gulp. “I just want him to be safe and sound and healthy but I can’t really do that from- from... I’m here instead.“

“Well... no said it was going to be easy.” Warrior offers lamely.

“What if he grows up to hate me?” You clench the glass tighter at the thought. “I just abandoned him, didn’t I? Oh my god-”

“Hey. He loves you.” Warrior takes your shoulders in his hands and shakes you somewhat. “He admires you greatly. You’re his hero. He looks up to you even now. He’ll understand when the time comes.”

“Even now?” You sniff. “What does that mean?”

“Years have passed and he hasn’t stopped looking up to you and how you did everything you could for him, for Zelda and he’s trying to make you proud-”

“Warrior he’s five, how do you know this?”

His mouth shuts with a click of his teeth.

“Warrior.” 

“Um... I... He...”

“Link.” You pocket the glass and face him head on. “When did you meet my brother?”

He stares at you for a moment and deflates. “During... during the war of my era.”  

“...What?”

Warrior hisses and brings his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “He showed up around the same time that Wind did but he talked about you.... and I guess you talk to him about me because he wasn’t really surprised at what was happening.”

“How old was he?” You bite your lip, already dreading the news.

“Older than me actually.” He offers with a tight smile. “I never asked him but if I had to guess I would have put him in his mid twenties. The oldest Link to start his adventure compared to the rest of us...”

“But he still...” You deflate as well and hug your arms around yourself. “He still has to go doesn’t he? I can’t save him from it. Even now, I... I can’t- I fail him in the end then.” 

“He doesn’t see it that way at all.” Warrior catches you before you fall to your knees in despair. “He admires everything you’ve done for him, everything you’re currently doing. You kept him from danger for as long as you could- until he was old enough to take on his destiny. That’s more than any of us could say.”

“I don’t want him to go through any of it though.” You sob and lean into Warrior for support. “That’s my baby brother Warrior- how am I supposed to be ok with this?”

“I don’t think there is a way.” He admits. “Nor do I think you should be.”

“I can’t keep him from it.”

“But you can and have been postponing it.” Warrior rubs circles into your shoulder as you cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you even more.”

“I miss him.”

“You’ll see him again.” Warrior grips you tightly. “He also did very well all things considered. He became an older brother to me and to Sprite and Wind... I don’t think Wind has figured it out yet that your brother and Lucky are the same Link though.”

You sniffle and calm down slightly. “Was he awesome?”

A laugh is startled out of him and he chokes on the snort and cough that tries to leave him at the same time. “I’d say he was better than me... And he claims to have never held a sword until then.”

“Good.” You nod. “He’s the best brother in the whole world.”

“Yeah, he was.”

Four

You’re walking on a random trail as the day dies down and you’re partner is Four for the hour.

The sun rests behind you comfortably and you talk about the different weapons from each others Hyrule. You’re no smith- but you do think it’s an interesting process and try to take notes where you can.

As you trade your notes and laugh at the more ridiculous stories from one another, you look down and notice something weird with Four’s shadow.

It almost looked like it was laughing along too... in the opposite direction that Four was looking in. But you blink and it’s as if it never there.

Maybe you’re tired.

You have been walking all day and perhaps it was a trick of the light.

You don’t think on it too much and go back to talking with your friend.

Hours later-you’d think that it would be the end of it but it isn’t.

In fact, you can’t sleep. And the way it moved was different than it should have been and the more you look into the memory there more obscurities than there should be. Not to mention that Four gets weird around shadows or whenever they are mentioned.

You stare up at the star filled sky as you think about the incident.

“I’m telling you I think they saw me.” A new voice says.

You’re thrust into the moment and attune your hearing to the direction it came from.

“I think you’re thinking too much into it. How could they have seen you?” It’s Four.

You close your eyes and roll over in the same direction, pretending to still be asleep.

The voices take a minute to pick up again when you do that.

They were watching you.

“They stared at me for a solid minute- how did you miss that?” New voices hisses.

“They were laughing-”

“You were laughing, you love sick fool. They looked at me. They saw me. I’m going to blow the secret and you’re not even listening to my warning.”

Your eyes snap open and you push yourself up as quickly as you can.

You instantly spot Four sitting by the fire, but you’re not surprised by that. What really takes your attention is the new person next to him- who looks uncannily like your friend.

But with purple hair...

And red eyes...

And darker skin...

“Four what the hell?” You blurt.

Four responds quickly and as intelligently as he can manage.  “Uhhhh...”

The person next to him curses and runs a hand through his hair. “I told you. I told you. I told you.”

You lock eyes with the new guy and introduce yourself.

He huffs and crosses his arms, his face darkening slightly- or again- maybe it was a trick of the light. “I’m Four’s shadow.”

“His... shadow...?”

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

You nod, wide eyed before turning to Four with a million questions in your eyes. He can see it and holds his hand up to his mouth, pressing his knuckles harshly against his teeth as he waits for them to start flowing out of your mouth.

“Love sick fool?”

“Shadow you snitch!” Four screeches and takes a swing at him.

His cry is loud enough rouse some of the others but only really wakes up two of them. You stare tensely as Time and Legend sit up fast enough to nearly throw themselves into the fire as they turn to Four.

“Sorry.” You whisper yell to save his honor.

Shadow is nowhere to be found.

Time and Legend turn to you as the only other one awake and each raise an eyebrow in tandem.

“Ni-nightmare. I yelled. I’m sorry.” You try to act like you just woke up as well and try to hunker down into your blankets.

Time sighs and wipes his eyes. “You ok?”

“I will be.” You try to smile but you’re too nervous and it comes out more forced than it should- but perhaps that helps you sell your little fib.

Legend for his part glares at you before he sits down with a solid thump and throws himself dramatically back into his bedroll. 

No words are exchanged between you two.

“Everything alright Four?” Time yawns as he also begins to lie down again.

“Yeah. All good here.” Four laugh nervously and waves him away.

Time nods, no longer paying attention and slowly... nearly half an hour later, you see that the two of them have fallen asleep again. Thankfully neither of them seem to realize that it didn’t sound like your voice at all.

Shadow appears again from somewhere and takes his spot next to Four. “Nice going.”

“Shut up.”

“Four, I have questions.” You sit up and make your way over to the two of them.

Shadow raises an eyebrow. “What’s there to explain?”

“Everything?”

“Ok. Ok. Both of you, don’t start. You caught us fair and square. Sit down.” Four sighs and gestures to the other spot next to him. “It’ll take a while.”

“Done.” You grin and nearly run over a sleeping Sky in the process. “Tell me everything.”

Wild

“Has anyone seen Mr. Champion?” You glance up after doing a supply check through your bag. You’re running a little low on rations and know the resident cook usually has some to spare.

But you haven’t seen him in a while.

“Didn’t he go to get fire wood?” Wind tilts his head.

“Wasn’t that at least an hour ago?” You respond, furrowing your eyebrows as you think about it more. Where did Wild go?

“He hasn’t come back yet?” Warrior sits up straighter. Now the rest of the group is a little more aware of their missing member and each start subconsciously checking the tree line as if he were about to come back that very second.

“I can go look for him.” You offer, standing up. “Maybe he got distracted. We are in a new area.”

“Oh great, he could be miles away and we’d never know.” Legend groans and throws his head back. “Just what we needed.”

“Have a little faith Vet.” You snort. With a quick jump and skip over the supplies, you begin to leave the camp behind. “Try calling him Wind, I’ll see if I can go find our missing chef before dinner.”

“Please do.” Time nods. “We’ll start a full search party if you’re not back within the next hour though. It’s getting too dark.”

“Noted.”

“I could find him faster.” You hear Twilight say but you’re already too far away to back down now.

Truthfully, you have no idea where to start- but you imagine that to find Wild- one must think like Wild.

You pick a direction and stick with it.

At some point maybe fifteen minutes in you reach a small creek and begin to follow to stream upwards.

It’s really more like you’re taking a hike than searching for your friend and you begin to feel a little stupid even if realistically there’s no other way for this to be done.

That is- until you see him anyway.

He’s seems to be frozen in place, staring off into the distance with his hands still held mid air, gripping the canteen he appears to have been filling up.

It confuses you and you stand there staring at him to move- to blink- to do something. But he doesn’t. “Wild?”

No response.

“Champion?” You call a little louder and begin to tip toe a little closer to him. You’re afraid that even the slightest snapping of a twig would break whatever spell he’s under and you don’t fancy a violent reaction out the man who can easily blow the whole area up with little to nothing.

But still no response.

“Link!” You hiss and eventually reach his side. He hasn’t once turned in your direction or even acknowledged your presence and you begin to doubt that he’s even conscious.

His eyes are open and he’s knelt beside the creek but maybe he got hit with some magic or something- you don’t know.

You gulp and place a hand on his shoulder. You shake him lightly but when that also proves to not do anything you begin to shake him more and more until you nearly throw him over-but he does not react at all.

“Oh boy... What on earth happened to you?” You bite you lip and begin to look around. He’s too heavy for you to carry on your own and also too far away to yell for help or assistance.

You should have dragged Twilight with you.

Suddenly he takes a deep breath and blinks rapidly, shaking himself back into the present. 

You freeze and tense up considerably as you watch him come back to himself.

Wild stretches and looks up at the sky before standing up. “Twilight’s not going to like this.”

“No. I don’t think so.” You reply.

He freezes as well and looks at you by only shifting his eyes. “How long were you here for?”

“A while...” You admit. “Maybe fifteen minutes. You were gone for over an hour. I got worried.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad then.”

“You ok?” You gulp and slowly drop your shoulders from your ears and unclench your fists.

“Yup. Peachy.”

You nod and continue to lower your guard- not trusting this one bit. “May I ask what that was?”

“Just a memory.” He shrugs and tries to walk past you.

“A memory?” You frown and turn on your heel to follow him. “A memory? I shook you head enough to nearly throw you into the water and you claim it was because of a flashback? I’ve heard of disassociation before but I think this is more like astral projection through dimensions. You were completely gone!”

“It happens from time to time. Nothing to worry about.”

“What if something came up behind you and killed you?” You argue. “I’d say that’s something to worry about. Does this happen often?”

“Everyone once in a while. Maybe once every other month. It depends really. It doesn’t happen as often as it did in the beginning though.” Wild admits and gestures for you to follow him.

You do- but you keep asking him questions.

“So this is normal?”

“For me? Yes.”

“For you?”

“I...” Wild hisses slightly as another thought comes to his mind. “I never told you did I?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m going to assume that no, you didn’t.”

“I get memories from my old life from time to time when something triggers them. I used to have amnesia but I’ve got most of the my memories back at this point... By now it’s just filling in little blanks.” Wild shrugs. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh...” Understanding calms you somewhat. At least it’s not a magic spell or anything. “How did you get amnesia? Do you remember that?”

Wild stops in his tracks and looks at the ground momentarily before looking up again and walking forward. “I died.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“I died.”

“Huh?”

“I. Died.”

“WILD!” You tense up again and follow him without hesitation. “What do you mean you died? Did you heart just stop or were you like blow up or something- Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I’m being super insensitive right now, aren’t I? But I don’t understand! I don’t- Wild- Link- you can’t just drop a bomb like that. Are you like a ghost or something? No. Wait. You can bleed and I’ve seen you crash into more walls and rocks than I care to admit.”

“This isn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.” Wild frowns and cuts you off. 

“ArE YOu oK?!”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“But that’s not what I mean- How can that even make sense-”

“Where did you think I got my scars from?” Wild cuts you off once more with a barely restrained snort as he bites his lip.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m fine I promise.”

“Wild nooo....” You whine and Wild thinks for a minute that the information upset you so much that you’re going to cry. “Who did it? I’ll kill them with my bare hands. Who hurt you?”

Wild comes to a full stop again and sighs. Deep and tired but he tilts his head and offers you his hand. “Do you want the short story or the long?”

“Long story please.”

For the first time since this conversation started, Wild smiles even if it’s faint and subtle. “Alright, let’s take the scenic route back. This might take a while.”

Part 2

[yuzukult]

acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan​ , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

[jamespotterthefirst]

Your Biggest Fan (AU: Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1K Warning: Language Series: Your Biggest Fan Premise: When he is forced to promote his new book on social media, an insolent stranger points out a mistake in his research.  

Author’s Note: Okay so this idea would not leave me alone and it was inspired by a few things (see end note). It took a life of its own.

In this AU, Ethan is a fellow at Edenbrook while MC is still in Med School (Harvard, even though I HC her originally going to UCLA). Also, Ethan publishes another book. 

“No.” Ethan’s response is cold and unbothered, resounding off the walls of his office. It carries the sense of finality that would have sent anyone else scurrying  away, tripping over their own feet in their desperation to escape his annoyance. Not Sharon, though.

His agent peers at him from the top of her cat-shaped glasses, completely unfazed.

“It’s not a request. It’s part of your contract.”

“Wasting precious time on a useless app while I could be saving lives is in my contract? How did my lawyer miss that? I should fire him.”

Sharon is unaffected by the dry sarcasm.

“Promoting the publication was clearly outlined. You read it, agreed, and signed. Now the least you can do is spend at least an hour interacting with potential readers while you thank your lucky stars I’m not making you go on a book tour.”

Ethan inwardly cringes at the prospect of that but he holds his ground, leveling the older woman with a steady glare. To her credit, Sharon glares right back, also sticking to her guns. The woman’s resolve is unshakeable, even by a self proclaimed pain in the ass as Ethan. He’d probably never tell her as much, but it’s part of the reason he enjoys working with her. The older woman (affectionately known in medical publishing circles as a “dragon lady”) is the only one brave enough to call him on his shit.

“Twenty minutes,” Ethan relents.

“Forty five.”

“Thirty.”

“Fine,” she agrees.

After she downloads the app called “Pictagram” and logs him into his professional account, Sharon leaves him to figure out the inane contraption on his own. It doesn’t take long before his confusion and ever-growing irritation morph into even more confusion and absolute shock.

The latest post-- an innocuous picture of himself-- is flooded with comments that have nothing to do with diagnosing or medicine at all. Most of them contain words that make little sense to Ethan when read at face value. They slowly start to acquire meaning when decoded in context, however, and his horror leaves him speechless for the first time in a long time.

Ethan sits there, in his desolate office, the sounds of the hospital unfurling outside his door. If someone walked in, they would find themselves staring at the most comical expression of shock they had ever seen from anyone, let alone the reticent Doctor Ramsey.

Recovering slightly, he picks up his phone and dials Sharon’s number. She doesn’t pick up.

“Sharon, what the fuck is this?” is all he leaves as a voicemail message.

He returns to the app with hesitation, both lamenting the current state of society and mentally assessing the breach to his contract if he just deleted the goddamn account. He is just deciding the legal repercussions are worth it if no one calls him “daddy” ever again when his eye lands on a recent comment.

The first time he reads the comment, he is too overcome with relief at the sign of intelligent life that his brain doesn’t fully register the meaning of the words. When he rereads it, however, he lingers on the title of his undergrad thesis, convinced the publication that printed it once was long out of print.

By the third time he reads it, he feels himself grow irritated and indignant.

Outdated?

Ethan Ramsey did not publish inaccurate information. Not when he personally ensured every detail in the damn book was accurate. A score of medical interns and researchers can attest to this, though they might refuse to vouch for Ethan after the hell they endured with his demands. Case in point.

Still, Ethan is restless as he rereads this comment by “LV Allende”, whoever the hell that is. Before he can stop himself, he decides to reply. It takes him a few moments to figure how to do that, but when he does, he replies--

That should do it, he thinks to himself.

Feeling extremely appeased, Ethan returns to his actual work, prepared to tell Sharon that he did his part in interacting. He doesn’t make it past the login screen of his computer when his phone dings with a new notification.

The sarcasm basically radiates from the screen. For a second, he feels a small glimmer of admiration for this stranger. Not everyone would have the gall to speak to him that way. Then, belated annoyance at this moronic reaction kicks in and he reminds himself whoever this “LV Allende” is, they’re only brave behind the comfort of a phone screen.

He fires back a response.

A satisfied smirk pulls at his lips as he presses send, convinced this obstinate stranger would have no reply to that beautifully crafted--

Ethan’s jaw clenches as he processes the reply. And what the fuck was that angel face at the end? She was definitely mocking him.

“Who the hell does she think she is?”

Blood rushing through his body, thundering against his eardrums, he paces his office. Despite his better judgement, he takes the stranger up on double checking the research. Furious, he takes a copy of his latest book, finding the indicated pages with ease…

...Only to discover she is absolutely right.

“Fucking hell.”

Ethan is on the phone in seconds, calling his publisher and a long list of individuals who probably had little to do with the error.

“...a fucking med student caught the error and you didn’t? Please do us all a favor and reevaluate your career choices.”

At last, after leaving everyone he could think of on the verge of tears, Ethan looks over her last message. Without thinking, he clicks on the username and is instantly greeted with a public profile.

Even with his little knowledge of the app, he is unsuccessful at finding more information about the stranger other than the fact that she’s a medical student and that her surname is Allende. Even her published pictures are taken at such an odd angle that it’s difficult to see her face. Exasperated, he clicks on an old photo, the one with the most promise.

Ethan tries to zoom in to no avail. The only detail he can make out clearly is her smile. Though rather pleasant, he is irked that he has little information to go by.

 What the hell was there to be so happy about in the backseat of a car anyway?

Before he closes the picture down, Ethan notices a large, red heart appear in the middle of her picture, disappearing just as quickly.

He freezes.

Even a social illiterate as himself knows he liked the picture, effectively sending her a notification.

Series Masterlist

A/N: The moment when you are cyber stalking someone and like one of their old pics from years ago lol

This was completely inspired by @headoverheelsforramsey​, who said my interaction with DG on Instagram is total Lilac vibes. It is also inspired by this anon. Finally, I’m pretty sure another anon suggested something like this a long time ago when DG replied to a comment of me making fun of him. 

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

Oh wait shit okay one more one more

20. very special package goes to the wrong address please explain everything they cannot rest until they understand and blupjeans pleeeeaaaasssseeee 🙏🏽

From this prompt list! (Still accepting!)

--

Lup’s normally not one to snoop through another person’s mail. Federal crime aside, it’s just not her thing. But it seems the packages at her apartment building are simply meant to never arrive to their intended participant. She’s gotten three-month supplies of protein powder meant for her burly neighbor down the hall, her art prints have gone to the stoner old man on the floor above her, and she’s even gotten the off package meant for a completely different apartment complex. But she never just tears into the mail with reckless abandon; she’s not an animal. This afternoon, though, she does just tear into the box with reckless abandon because she’s expecting a care package from Taako; she doesn’t even think about checking the address this time. She quickly realizes that she should have. Instead of being greeted with a box chock full of cheesy “someone who loves me went to Goldcliff and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” caliber items, she unwraps something far more unsettling. A quick glance at the address and she determines the recipient is the dude across the hallway from her. He’s fairly new to the building; she recalls tripping over a number of boxes last month when she was running late to work. The rational part of her brain tells her to just handle this mail mistake the same way she usually does. Normally she just drops the misaddressed mail outside the door and dips but what she just unwrapped will haunt her unless she gets some answers.

In an act some would likely and rightfully call unwise, she hastily pushes the flaps of the box closed and decides to hand deliver it; with any hope, she can get some much-needed supplementary information. She stands outside her neighbor’s door and sincerely hopes he isn’t some kind of ax murderer because she has a feeling this could easily become a motive. Before she can talk herself out of it, she tucks the box under her harm and raps four times on the door. She bounces a little on her toes as she hears at least six locks on the other side of the door. She respects the dedication to security and safety but part of her has to wonder if this is overkill. The door swings open to reveal someone who decidedly doesn’t look like an ax murderer. Her neighbor is this chubby, handsome, dude who simultaneously dresses like every man from Lup’s hometown and also like a modern Mister Rogers who’s been allowed to trade in his slacks for jeans.

“Uh, can I help you?” He asks as Lup stares at him for a few seconds.

“Yeah, are you some kind of murderer or occultist or something? I’m not one to judge but I got your package and opened it on accident because I was waiting on a different package and I feel like just seeing it is gonna put me on lists or something. Like, no offense but why the fuck do you just have dozens of doll heads in a box? That’s weird behavior,” Lup says, gesturing towards the box.

“You opened my package,” he echoes.

Lup waves her hand dismissively. “Keep up, I said it was an accident. Now,” she shifts the box so it sits comfortably in her hands, “You haven’t answered me about this macabre, Dr. Frankenstein situation you got going on in here.”

The man frowns and reaches for the box. Lup hesitates but decides that keeping his mail hostage after demanding answers isn’t exactly the vibe she’s going for on this fine Thursday afternoon. She hands it over and watches as he opens up the flaps and inspects the contents of the box. “It’s not all doll heads in here,” he says at last.

Lup rolls her eyes. “Oh forgive me for neglecting some of the headless doll bodies in there, too. Please for the love of any god tell me what’s up with that weird as shit box of stuff though.” Lup narrows her eyes as she sees him mentally weighing his options. “Bud, I live right there,” she jerks a thumb across the hall. “If you don’t tell me now, you’ll tell me eventually.”

“I’m a doll restorer.”

“Pardon?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I restore dolls and really any other kind of toy people are looking to get back in shape. These heads are some of the most common dolls I get and sometimes it’s just easier having a new base to work from if the damage is particularly bad. Also works well for when people want specific customizations to their dolls.”

“Doll restoration. And that’s just your job?” Lup asks blankly.

He shakes his head and laughs a little. “Nah, it’s not the most lucrative thing, it’s just a passion of mine. Web development is how I keep the lights on. This is more fun though.”

“Huh. Well, I gotta say, that’s a far more reassuring answer than what I was expecting,” Lup thinks for a moment before a small smile creeps to her face. “So, when you say doll restoration, does this apply to stuffed animals too?”

He nods and smiles warmly. “Yeah! That’s actually slowly becoming my most requested service.”

“Well, I might have to employ your services sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! It might be a little lame but my brother and I both had these mongoose beanie babies when we were younger and mine has definitely seen better days. Don’t have the heart to get rid of it, though. Especially because it has a really funny poem on its tag.”

His eyes widen a little. “Wait, you said a mongoose?”

Lup nods. “Yeah.”

“You have Runner? With the mean poem?”

She grins widely. “That’s the one! You know it?”

“Of course! I uh I actually managed to track down one of my own a few years ago. I try not to collect too much but I just couldn’t resist that dude.”

Lup watches him for a moment before realizing that she’s probably wasting a good deal of his time. “Um, anyway, sorry about the confrontation, I just…it looked real weird.”

“Oh, I get it. Thanks for getting it back to me. And anytime you want me to take a look at Runner, you know where I’m at. I’m Barry, by the way.”

“Lup! Good to meet you, Barry. I ought to let you go. But I’ll be seeing you.”

Barry flushes a little bit and smiles. “Okay. Yeah, awesome. Uh, see ya around.” Almost simultaneously, Barry and Lup return to their apartments. Lup hopes to be seeing her very cute, non-murderer neighbor very soon. Purely for business purposes, of course. No other reason.

[asset35-maya]

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

//

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

//

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

//

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

//

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

//

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

//

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

//

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

//

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

//

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

//

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

//

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

//

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

[flr-house-husband-blog]

2022 Our FLR Took a Turn

I should have said we stepped it up a notch. Goddess A and I have dabbled in FLR for almost three years.

This year is the first that when I fall short of an expectation you will find me nose first in the corner.

I’ve also transitioned full-time to panties amd chastity. Panties are no longer a kink under my work clothes, their all-day, everyday, and I still get embarrassed putting away my clothes from the laundry. Full-time chaste has been enlightening to say the least. I have a few custom cages, but my 99% of the time cage is a 3D printed plastic cage from Oxy-Shop a follower recommended.

This year is the first that she guilt free denied me after sex. I used to be allowed to edge over and over and eventually “earn” an O. Now I’m still edging but her yes’s are a true surprise and a lot less often. If she doesn’t have me stop, I’ll typically give up before she gives in now. The result- me horny much more often, and her satisfied a lot more often.

FLR is different for everyone and this year is a lot different for us too. Recently I changed jobs and have a different schedule. This new schedule has really effected how often I can be home for lunch and that’s typically when I got ahead of my domestic duties. The result- falling short more and finding out the hard way what happens when I do.

I’m expected to get home, change into a dress and heels and clean before Goddess A gets home. I used to be able to do all the chores and never had to be dressed up in front of her unless she had me do so on the weekend (for her entertainment). Me getting home at the same time as her and doing chores is not something either of us are used to. Normally, once she is home it’s us time or family time.

The dillemna- last week I was informed the daily tasks board will be getting done on time and from now on all tasks wether she is home or not will be me dressed up. I’m nervous but agree with her approach.

The fastest turn off besides my lack of attentiveness and affection is me slacking as a house husband and her having to tell or remind me of a normal expectation.

Chasity is relock after sex automatically- this was learned and doesn’t need told.

Panties are all that are allowed and my boy undies disappeared the moment I abused her trust by my packing them while gone for a week for work.

Cleaning has always been mine and she helps when she wants. I understand dressing up gets me focused at hand and me working faster to get undressed and back to normal FLR.

The attitude she deserves and expects is my loving, communitive, and helpful one. The corner quickly reminds me when I’m missing the mark and has replaced spanking (domestic discipline) from last year.

Orgasms have shifted from 1:1; my one to hers and now are granted solely as she sees fit. This has left me exploring pegging and riding toys much more often. It’s quite amazing how after about 30 days denied the brain gets rewired, refocused, and renewed on her.

[kouomi]

Golden Touches

Summary: Everyone is born with marks that turn gold when your soulmate touches you. How could meeting someone for the first time turn into meeting your soulmate? (F!Reader x Tsukishima Kei)

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 1,558

A/N: sorry for getting this out late! I don’t think this is my best work as it’s the first thing I ever wrote for Haikyuu but here it is!

My Masterlist

Posted: March 26 2020, 6:15 PM EST

(Pic that inspired this)

Everyone was painted with colors. Each individual was their own canvas that had splotches of paint splattered across their skin that almost looked random had you not known what they meant. That’s how your parents explained it to you, at least. When you’re born your marks are black which are how most people’s are, but when a specific person touches them they turn gold; this specific person being your soulmate. The marks were where the hands of your soulmate would touch you for the first time. The most common mark people had was small streaks on their hands or arms where their soulmates hand would graze their skin temporarily, some had their palm painted black along with the shadow of fingers on the back of their hand, and some even had a hand print or knuckles painted on their cheek where they’d inevitably be hit. Everyone’s was unique to them, and they each held their own future story.

You stated at your marks everyday, always wondering if today would be the day they’d go from black splotches to lovely sparkles. Your marks were much less generic than most, a large handprint angled with the tips of the fingers towards your shoulder splayed across the front corner of the base of your neck, your collarbone, and the top of your chest. It was rather unusual and the way it was positioned made it seem like they’d be behind you which confused you even more. You were happy to have a unique mark as it made the moment you’d meet them feel more special, but it constantly left you wondering about the conditions of when you’d meet, what situation you’d be in where that would be the first place someone would touch you.

It was a rather warm day as it was nearing summer so you’d left the top buttons of your uniform unbuttoned and let your jacket slip off of your shoulders and hang loosely around your elbows. Your eyes lazily skimmed over the crowds of your classmates, jealously spiking in you every time you saw someone with gold splashed across their skin instead of black. Very few people met their soulmates in high school and you envied those that were so lucky as to do so.

“Y/n!” You look up and find Yachi waving a hand in front of your face. “Can you come with me to the volleyball practice after school?”

“Hm? Why?”

“So we can work on the project after school,” She reminded you and you inwardly cringe at the mention of it, “We still have to finish it before tomorrow.”

“Sure, I’ll be there.” You answer, watching as a wide smile crosses the blondes face.

“Great, see you there!” She waves before heading down the stairs and getting lost in the crowd.

A heavy sigh leaves you as you pull out your phone and put in your earbuds, clicking on your playlist and letting the noise of your favorite song fill your ears. You did your best to ignore the stares of others as you made your way to the cafeteria, though you always knew they were there. You’d gotten used to being stared at by people who were examining your soulmate mark but it never made it any less annoying. You’d had some of these “admirers” come up from behind you and not so graciously lay their hand on your chest trying to match up to your mark, always landing a slap to the face after they did so. You didn’t know how many times you’d had to tell them off that it couldn’t be justified just by what they claimed was curiosity but it never changed anything.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” Hinata asks with a small wave.

“Hi Hinata, Kageyama.” You greet, slowing your pace for a moment so they can catch up to you. “I’m gonna be at your practice today.”

“Why?”

“Yachi and I have a project,” You reply “what, do you not want me there or something?”

“What? No!” Kageyama exclaims making you and Hinata laugh.

“Calm down I was joking.”

The three of you continue to poke fun at each other all the way to the cafeteria, especially you and Hinata making Kageyama mad as it was easy to do so with the quick tempered setter.

“Do you two ever stop fighting?” Another voice says as they approach your table. You turn around and find two boys, one a very tall blond with glasses and an annoyed look on his face and the other a more timid looking boy with green hair and freckles.

“Who’s that?” You ask your friends as the new boys sit down.

“This is Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.” Hinata says, “They’re on the volleyball team.”

“Hi!” Yamaguchi greets with a welcoming smile, “nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You reply with similar smile.

The other boy, Tsukishima, doesn’t say anything, only glances at you before looking back at his food. He seems like to be the quiet type, his silent judging stare would probably warn off anyone else but you found it amusing. Your eyes scanned them for their soulmate marks, finding them after a few moments. Yamaguchis was mostly covered by the sleeve of his shirt but you could slightly make out the edge of a black mark around his wrist and on the back of Tsukishimas hand you could see a smaller black hand print, the mark going around the side of his hand so the thumb was on his palm.

“Do you make a habit of staring?” The blonde asks, making you look up from his hand as he pulls it away, hiding it out of sight under the table.

“Curiosity’s natural.” You shrug in response, smirking when his expression flashes to shock before he covers it with slight disgust. He clicks his tongue, his eyes temporarily flashing down to look at your mark before he looks back to his food.

After lunch your evening classes dragged by, none of your teachers words sticking to your brain as you watched the clocks hands slowly tick by. Finally after what felt like hours the last bell rang and let you out of your final class, filing into the stream of students exiting the school. As everyone else left you stopped at your locker, leaving your books inside before heading towards the gym where volleyball practice was held. You stared down at your phone as you walked so you couldn’t see anything else around you, the world around you practically lost to your senses.

“Watch out!” A voice yells, forcing you to look up and see a volleyball flying towards you.

You freeze up as the ball cuts through the air, your feet planted in the ground though you knew you should move out of the path of the object. You’re suddenly yanked to the side by someone who was behind you, your phone being knocked out of your hand and to the ground by the sudden movement. Their hand was firm on the front of your body as their arm was crossing your body having pulled you into themselves just as the ball slams into where you were standing seconds before. Your hand flies up to grip theirs, your heart pounding at the close encounter.

The person behind you quickly retracts their arm making you turn around, surprise taking on your expression as you see who’d saved you.

“How could you be so stupid as to not move out of the way of the ball flying at your face?” Tsukishima asks with a scoff, leaning down to pick up your phone. You were about to snap back at him, a rebuttal on the tip of your tongue though it’s quickly lost when you see the once black hand that was on his had turned gold.

“Are you just gonna stare at me again?” He scoffs as he reaches out to hand you your phone, his eyes widening when he sees a flash of gold on your chest.

Almost simultaneously you look down at yourself and he looks at his hand before you look back at each other’s marks and finally at each other.

“No fucking way.” You whisper to yourself, seeing the shocked look in his eyes.

It’s dead silent between the two of you for what feels like a lifetime, his hand still holding out your phone as you both try to figure out something to say. How could he be your soulmate when you’d only met this morning? Had the universe somehow made a mistake?

Tsukishimas eyes bare into your from behind his glasses as for once he finds himself at a loss for words, trying to piece together how this was his soulmate. He doesn’t know you. There was nothing forcing him to talk to you or start a relationship solely based off of the marks. Yet,

Yet there was something pulling you towards him. Something in you was drawing closer to him, taking your hand and dragging you along. There was some part of him that had sparked something in you, and whether it was just the surprise of your soulmate marks or it was a genuine feeling, you found yourself giving into it, a smile crossing your face.

“Tsukishima, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He responds, still processing what had happened, “You’re the weirdo duos friend.”

“It’s Y/n. We’re...”

“Soulmates.”

You both smile.

“Soulmates.”