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lovelyhan · 1 year

Text

— hoax ⟢

pairing: joshua x reader

summary: you’re a hostess that’s drowning in debt, and jisoo is a man with too many secrets to keep. making a clean break for it isn’t as easy as you’d hoped.

word count: 18.6k words

tags: mafia!shua, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

warnings: shua smokes cigarettes & has tatts...i think that should be a warning LOL, mentions of shady mafia business but nothing detailed, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: psa that this is a fic i originally wrote for another fandom, but decided to repurpose for svt! in case you find the narration familiar, it's posted on ao3 as a genshin fic, i just did some tweaks to the story to make it fit shua better hehe ++ i loved writing this so much, but it didn't get as much love as i expected back so i've decided to share this w caratblr as well :')

smut tags: dub con in one of the earlier scenes, protected & unprotected sex, shua & reader are both whipped as fuck

svt taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @spk93

joshua taglist: @renjunphile - @potatofrieswithketchup - @pretty-trustme

“Rei, time’s up!”

Your current patron groans with contempt at the manager’s announcement. He was a salaryman that’s probably in his thirties, and has been visiting the bar for about two weeks now. It didn’t take long for him to become one of your regular guests.

“Rei, you’ll be here tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Of course.” You flash him an apologetic smile as you untangle the arm that circles your waist. “I promise we’ll continue where we left off when you get back~”

This is how you normally appeared to your customers – the bubbliest escort in the entire red light district. It’s easy to lull men into a false sense of connection when you act so sweet and lovely; when you smile like the sun is in your eyes even in the middle of the night. In just six months of working in this place, the manager has considerably taken a liking to you, and you intend to keep up that track record just a few weeks more.

Then, you’d be free.

But no matter how much you doll yourself up for the evening; no matter how much money is signed on your paycheck, you can’t help but feel that something’s amiss.

It’s a lingering thought that tickles the back of your head every now and again. Your fellow hostesses once told you that feeling the way you do was all part of the job. So once you start feeling uncomfortable in your own skin – under the gazes of your own lecherous patrons – you pour yourself a drink and throw your head back with a ditzy smile. Despite that steadily growing void in her heart, their beloved Rei will continue to grin and bear it.

“They’re here again.”

You flash the manager a puzzled look once you make it back to the counter. “Who are we talking about?”

She presses her lips into a thin line, gesturing vaguely somewhere behind you. You manage to follow her line of sight discreetly, but when you see a pair of men in rugged suits seated near the entrance, your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach.

“I know you said you’ll deal with them, but they’re starting to unnerve the other girls,” the manager explains quietly. “Is it okay if you take care of this ASAP? I don’t want the bar to get mixed up in something bad.”

Dread sinks its claws into your skin as you mull over a response. The manager has been considerably patient with your dealings involving those loan sharks. But part of you knows that she’s only being this lenient because you were good at your job.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll go talk to them now,” you mumble.

Each stride you took feels like a step closer to your own grave. It’s always these same, two men keeping tabs on you – both with full sleeves of tattoos and a missing finger or two. It would make sense that the other girls didn’t like them lingering around the property. After all, your first instinct is always to steer clear every time you see them.

“How can I help you?” you ask sweetly the moment you arrive at their table.

The first one glares at you through his tinted sunglasses, taking a drag of his cigarette none-too-discreetly. “Cut the crap. You know what we’re here for.”

He says your real name in a way that sounds like two sheets of styrofoam gnashing in your ears. You look around warily, hoping no one heard him.

“I go by Rei in my workplace, so I’d appreciate it if you addressed me as such,” you speak sternly, refusing to take a seat in their company. “What do you want this time? Didn’t we agree that I’ll be paying for the last installment this month?”

The second man snorts before bringing out an envelope from the lapel of his coat. “You sure about that? You got some nerve actin’ all feisty with the people kind enough to loan ya some cash.”

You accept the envelope with trembling hands – brows cinched as you take out the document inside. But the longer you take to scan its contents, the wider your eyes become.

It’s an approval notice for a loan of five million won, signed under your father’s name.

“W-What is this?” you stammer. “We didn’t submit any more loan requests.”

The first man shrugs – wholly unconcerned with your plight. And as he kills his cigarette on a crystalline ashtray, you feel your entire world crumbling before your eyes.

“Your old man specifically told us,” he began, words sounding more and more like a threat with each syllable. “That you’d take care of it all.”

You don’t know how you end up running barefoot in the streets after that. Your heels have long been ditched in an alley when you realized you can’t exactly get that far in them. And now, you’re mindlessly shouldering your way through the late night crowd – tuning out the people yelling your name in harsh voices. Those men came prepared; they even stationed a couple of their goons around the area. You can only evade them now because the streets were so packed, but you know better than push your luck.

Goddammit, you think to yourself – cringing a little when you step on a wet patch of something underfoot. I was almost free…

“Don’t let that bitch get away!”

Your body seizes up when you hear the loan shark’s voice closer than you anticipated. Fuck. They have you surrounded.

In the midst of your momentary distraction though, you fail to see another person who’s also on the run. The same as you. While you did excellently in evading all the other passers-by, you ended up crashing into him in the middle of the busy street anyways – the impact making you stumble to the ground.

“Shit, sorry!”

You look up with misty eyes – staring at the perpetrator with the intent to glare at him, but his doe-like gaze takes you by surprise. He’s adorned with a neatly-pressed suit, dark hair slicked back to perfection as he holds out a hand for you to take; the one not gripping a heavy-looking suitcase.

“I’m okay…” you mumble, getting back to your feet without accepting his help. “If anything, I should be the one who’s –”

“There she is!”

The two of you bristle at the loan shark’s voice, and you’re rooted to the spot – frozen with fear. You don’t notice the way the stranger you just ran into flickers his gaze between your trembling form and the lackeys coming from every direction. And you’re ignorant of how he manages to put two and two together before seizing your wrist.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, tugging you along before you can protest.

You know you should be skeptical of him. The district you work in is the perfect environment for scheming assholes like the men who are after you to use as a stronghold. For all you know, this person is the same breed. But there’s something in his firm yet gentle grip that tells you he means no harm. Even as he makes you run faster, farther, you feel none of the dread that slowly crept on you the moment those loan sharks cornered you at the bar.

Your lungs are burning by the time you make it out of the busy streets – nothing but the chirp of cicadas ringing in your ears. Mystery man makes you sit on a bench just outside a small temple, and you’re not exactly in the position to refuse.

“Ow…” You wince, glancing down only to see that your toes have cuts all over; blood and grime mixing with the wounds.

“Hmm. Wonder what a pretty thing like you got herself into,” the man sighs, raking a gloved hand through his messy black hair. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

You don’t respond. You barely have the energy. The silence only deepens as you train your eyes on the ground. Your throat was parched from all that running, and you belatedly realize that you still haven’t eaten.

What’s worse is that the cuts on your feet sting like a bitch. Mystery man heaves a deep sigh, and you clearly hear the sound of leaves crunching beneath his shoes as he walks away. You try not to feel disappointed.

You didn’t expect him to stay and comfort you or anything like that. He was kind enough to go out of his way and take you somewhere those goons won’t be able to catch up. It would be stupid to ask for more. But still, you feel that hole in your heart rupture itself even wider – leaving you so hollow that you can’t even hope to fill the void anymore.

Your makeup is running. Your pedicure is a mess. These are some of the things that you always cared to pay attention to before timing in for work. But now, with nowhere else to go, none of them seem to matter anymore. Even if you spent a significant amount of time getting ready for tonight, you can’t be assed to give a damn.

This is so fucking pathetic.

You don’t want to live like this – working at a goddamn cabaret club just to pay off the debts your father always keeps racking up. All he ever does these days is drink himself dead before dragging his ass to the nearest pachinko machine. You hate it. You hate him. What did you ever do to deserve all the shit that’s being thrown your way?

Why do you have to deal with all of it alone?

“Here.”

You startle at the sound of your savior’s voice – surprised to see him as he tosses something on the ground in front of you. He came back? But what did he…

Are those sandals?

“I picked out a pair that matches your outfit best. Women are always particular about that kind of stuff, right?” he says nonchalantly, kneeling to the ground as he brings out a pack of wipes from a plastic bag. At that moment, you realize that he’s changed out of his stuffy gray suit in exchange for a pair of jeans and a ratty t-shirt.

Even his hair seems different now, like he'd washed out the wax keeping it in place. Now, it looks just a bit damp as the tips curl at the edges. How he managed to do all that so quickly, you have no clue.

“Hold still. I’m going to clean you up.”

You wince a little when the cool, wet tissue comes into contact with your skin. He doesn’t speak as he wipes off the blood and dirt from your feet, and you’re more mortified than grateful for his kind but uncalled for gesture. Is he trying to get you indebted to him? Are you going to have to pay this back, too?

A few moments later, you spot a general store a few blocks away and the pieces start to fit in your head. That must’ve been where he bought all this stuff. You look around as he continues cleaning you up, and notice that his suitcase is nowhere to be found either. Instead, he has a black knapsack hoisted across one shoulder – a red baseball cap hanging from one of the straps.

How did he manage to buy all this and get changed so quickly? Or were you just sulking about your stupid predicament for that long?

“There we go,” he says, tossing the soiled tissues into a nearby trash can before covering your wounds with…cute band-aids? “I’m not really one to stick my nose into other people’s business, but my mom would never let me hear the end of it if she found out I left a poor woman for dead.”

Mom? “Okay, but you didn’t have to do all of…this.”

Mystery man glances up at you with a lopsided smile – the light of the street lamps somehow accentuating the color of his eyes. He looks so much younger like this; dressed down like a college student in his first semester. Once he’s put all the bandages in place, he even goes the extra mile and slides the newly bought sandals on your now-clean feet.

“You’re right, pretty girl. I don’t have to.” He beams. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart skips a beat. Everything about him is still rightfully suspicious, but you find yourself oddly happy with the care he’s given. This is the first time someone’s been so nice to you in a long while.

“Now that you’re good to go, I best be on my way.”

All of a sudden, that fleeting bliss dissipates in a puff of smoke. “...Wait, what? W-Where are you going?”

The man rises back to his feet, and it occurs to you just how tall he is. You swallow the lump in your throat, instinctively backing away from him on the bench. He’s still wearing that endearing look he showed you earlier, but when he speaks again, his voice holds none of his initial warmth.

“Somewhere that has nothing to do with you.”

The words lance through your heart the moment they leave his lips, and you ask yourself, why do you feel so…sad about parting ways with a complete stranger? You don’t even know his name. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

You don’t say anything as he takes his baseball cap and eases it atop his messy hair. You don’t utter a word when he starts walking away for real. But the moment you recall the fate that awaits you back at the red light district, the ridiculous debt your father had foolishly signed, and the pathetic life you’ve been wanting to escape from for so long…

Your new sandals crunch against the fallen leaves as you run after him. Your heart nearly leaps into your throat from the adrenaline, and before he can go any farther, you catch the mystery man by the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t even flinch. As if he expected you to follow him right from the start. That makes you wonder if he thinks you’re being a nuisance, but at this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Take me with you. Please.”

He stares along with an unreadable look – his doe eyes shining in the dark as he watches you clutch onto the fabric of his shirt.

“If you come with me, you’ll never be able to go back,” he tells you up front. “You okay with that?”

In hindsight, maybe running away with a complete stranger isn’t far up in the best decisions you’ve made in life – god knows you’ve only made a few of those. Just because he showed you an ounce of kindness, doesn’t mean he’s a good person.

Still, the answer comes to you quite easily.

“Yeah,” you say, more confident than you’ve ever been. “Anywhere is better than a dump like this…”

He considers your answer for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “This town must’ve fucked you up pretty badly, huh? Poor thing.” Mystery man holds out his hand again, and you’re a bit too glad that he’s speaking to you nicely again. “The name’s Joshua.”

“Joshua…?”

Well, that was obviously an alias. You consider telling him the one you go by at the bar as well, but when your eyes rivet to the floral sandals he bought for you on a whim, you immediately assume that you should tell him the truth. Even if he was doing the exact opposite.

You give him your real name with little hesitation, face warming at the intensity of his gaze. But at that moment, you don’t really care what happens anymore. All you want is to escape reality without looking back.

If you have to cling to a complete stranger to achieve that, then so be it.

...

“You were just about to ditch me, weren’t you?”

Joshua jolts like a cat dumped with ice-cold water – hand shying away from the doorknob of your hotel room with a sheepish look. “Me? Ditching you? You’re dreaming, princess!”

You let out an irritated noise, but your shoulders relax once you catch him plopping his bag on the mattress either way. He’s the one who told you that you can’t go back once you tagged along. You wanted to say that you’re going to make it his responsibility to take care of you, but your mother brought you up better than that.

Still…this all feels a bit surreal.

All your life, you’ve lived in the small town of Andong. You could never afford to make the trip to Seoul even if you wanted – given that a majority of your salary is dedicated to paying off those shitty loans. Yet now, you’re checked in one of the most beautiful hotels you’ve ever seen, courtesy of your stranger-than-life companion.

Now that you’re in a clearer state of mind, you start to consider the possibility of Joshua being a foreigner; if his name wasn't already a dead giveaway in and of itself.

Another thing you’re left thinking about is how well-off he really is. Not everyone can just book a fancy room at a fancy hotel. But when the two of you showed up at the front desk earlier tonight, he was surprisingly received with warm hospitality. Although, you suppose that all guests are treated the same way in high-end hotels. Not that you would know.

“Well, since we’re stuck together anyways, I’ll be showering first,” he grumbles, tossing his cap on the nightstand as he musses his own hair. “Ahh, I can’t wait to crash into bed.”

“Wait a minute. I thought we agreed I was going to shower first –”

Joshua shuts the door to the en-suite, clicking the lock before you can even finish.

That jerk…!

You angrily sprawl yourself across the mattress as a petty means of getting back at him. Let’s see if he can crash into bed comfortably now! But the abrupt movement makes the bag that Joshua left rustle in place. You shift around until you’re seated on the bed, taking a quick peek at the opened zipper. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you to see thick wads of cash inside. You knew that you were right on the money to think there’s more to him than meets the eye.

The more rational part of you insists that you get out of here while you still can. That man is probably more dangerous than you think, and even if he’s acting all cheeky with you now, there’s no telling when he’ll decide to cut you off. You remember how quickly Joshua's mirthful countenance morphed into something…scarier when you asked where he was going earlier. Long story short, you do not want to mess with that.

“Hey, princess. It’s your turn.”

You scramble on the bed at the sound of his voice as you compose yourself in a way that doesn’t suggest that you’ve been going through his stuff. Joshua emerges from the bathroom with steam billowing from the doorway – a fluffy towel hanging low on his hips. But now that he was liberated from the confines of his clothes, you realize that his body was actually inked.

Twin koi fish curled around both of his pecs – accentuating the contours of his chest better than you’d expect. And when he turns around, there’s a massive caricature of a dragon splayed across his muscular back. You don’t know whether he’s oblivious of your observant stare or he’s just letting you enjoy the show. But either way, Joshua grants you an eyeful of his tattoos for a good amount of time.

He walks over to the table near the windows – grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter you didn’t know he was carrying around. Joshua takes a stick between his teeth, and you can’t peel your eyes away from the way he takes a drag after he lights it. But when his deep brown gaze finally flickers to yours, you’re not quick enough to disengage.

“So how long are you going to stare at me for?” He asks, amused.

Eye twitching with annoyance, you grab one of the pillows on the bed before throwing it right at his face. Joshua manages to catch it before that happens though, much to your dismay.

“None of your business!”

It’s only when you get under the spill of a hot shower that the gravity of your situation finally hits you. You absentmindedly scrub away the grime off your body as you think that you might’ve followed someone you shouldn’t have. Now that your prior amazement from seeing his tattoos had come and went, you realize that he didn’t have them inked on a whim. They were a symbol of status and power.

Working as a hostess means that you get to know a lot more shady guys than you’d otherwise meet under normal circumstances. But apart from those nasty debt collectors, you’ve done a great job at avoiding a lot of them. But now, you willingly waltzed into the den of someone that’s probably ten times worse.

Great.

You put on a bathrobe before heading out of the en-suite, peaking your head out of the door to make sure Joshua isn’t doing anything weird. But all you see is a tall man dozing softly on the bed – his still-wet hair dampening the pillows slightly. You sigh before padding back inside the room. Didn’t he ever learn that sleeping with damp hair is going to make him catch a cold in the morning?

For some reason, you end up grabbing a small, dry towel he left on the table – intent on patting down some of the moisture. Joshua lays still on his side, undisturbed in his slumber. You make sure you’re careful with how you dab the towel across his head; not really wanting him to wake up in the middle of it. But now that you’re close enough to study his face, you can feel yourself growing embarrassed. Joshua's thick lashes lay softly across the skin beneath his eyes, and when you look closer, you can almost see the tiny spots that dot his cheekbones.

You don’t like to admit, but he’s actually pretty…handsome.

A while later, you come to terms that you won’t be able to pat down his hair thoroughly if he’s asleep. That’s when you decide to towel dry your own hair for ten or-so minutes before climbing into bed with him.

The sheets feel smooth against your skin, but that does little to keep your mind off the fact that a gangster (at least, you assumed he was a gangster) is sleeping right next to you. You tell yourself not to sneak any glances, but you end up doing just that anyway – admiring each detail of his tattoos without really meaning to.

Is this really okay? Should I really let my guard down around someone like him?

All these thoughts drift in and out of your head, but in the end, you succumb to the day’s fatigue. Joshua bought dinner for the both of you once you got off the train on the way here, so your hunger was already abated. But you figure that a good night’s sleep is what your body needs to completely recuperate.

…But if he’s kind enough to patch up your wounds and buy you dinner, then gangster or not, maybe he isn’t such a bad person.

Joshua, however, makes you regret even thinking that literally the next second later.

The moment you’ve found a comfortable spot on the bed, the man beside you suddenly pounces – caging you in his strong arms before you can even draw a breath. His lips twitch into a lazy smile that borders on devilish, and you immediately figure out that you’re fucked.

“You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” he laughs, tracing the swell of your lower lip with his finger. “Drying my hair ‘cause you’re worried about me? Princess, I’d be more careful if I were you. After all…”

When Joshua leans closer, you feel his breath fan against your ear – making you hate the way your body shudders from the feel of it.

“I’m not a good man.”

You should push him away – you know you should. But from the hypnotizing strokes of his tattoos to the endless honey brown of his eyes, you find Joshua whittling down your defenses alarmingly fast. When his mouth descends onto yours, you welcome him despite your voice of reason screaming for you to stop – to get away while you still can.

But that’s the thing, you can’t get away. Not when you willingly followed him in the first place.

His body is impossibly warm against yours, and you can’t help but respond to his touch whenever his dexterous fingers graze your skin. But as you let him deepen his tongue-filled kiss, you suddenly recall why you’re even here.

Persistent loan sharks. A never-ending debt.

And you have the gall to be doing all this?

“Joshua,” you plead, mustering the strength to push against his chest. “Please, stop.”

He doesn’t listen. Instead, Joshua nudges the folds of your bathrobe apart, exposing your chest to the cold air of your hotel room. A large hand moves to grope your breast, languidly massaging the supple flesh. But the sensation of his heated palm on your cold skin is enough to snap you back to your senses, and finally, you manage to retaliate.

“I told you to stop!” you shout, folding your knee high enough to kick him in the chest. Joshua obviously doesn’t expect this, and grunts in pain as he stumbles backwards on the mattress. He stares at you with a puzzled look, as if he didn’t try to take advantage of you only a few seconds prior.

“I didn’t come with you to be your fuckdoll, asshole,” you growled, tears stinging your eyes despite the anger in your voice. “Just because I’m a hostess, doesn’t mean I’m easy. Who the hell do you think you are?”

You expect him to lose his temper – to ‘remind you of your place’. Because that’s how gangsters usually operate. Going for the things they want without considering the repercussions on the other people involved. When he reaches out to you, you brace yourself for the oncoming impact. But instead of a hard slap to the face, Joshua caresses the side of your cheek almost apologetically. You startle at his touch – flashing him a perturbed look.

“Sorry, my mom’s always told me that I can be a bit too into the things I do,” he chuckles, thumb grazing the high of your cheekbone. “And that I can be a bit selfish and presumptive. When I did all those nice things for you today, I expected you’ll return the favor by whatever means~”

You don’t even have the time to think about how this man just brought up his mother in a serious conversation. Instead, you scowl at Joshua like he’s just lost his mind. “Doesn’t that just make you a scumbag?”

“When did I ever say I wasn’t?” He laughs. “Didn’t you find it the least bit suspicious that I was being kind to you without asking for anything in return? I’ll have you know that everyone has ulterior motives these days, princess.”

“I did,” you snap. “And I’m glad I didn’t trust you right off the bat.”

“Oh? But you trust me enough to share this room with me?”

You open your mouth, close it, open it again, but alas, no wise retort comes out. He’s right. You knew that Joshua was suspicious from the start, but you still threw everything to the wind and ran away with him. It’s not like you can go back now that everything has gone to shit, though. And you can’t say with confidence that you can find a place for yourself here in the city with no connections nor cash either.

All you have is Joshua, as much as it pains you to admit.

“Come here.”

Joshua eases himself back to his side of the bed and holds out his arms – as if inviting you into his space. You respond with a bizarre look that makes him snort. “You think I’ll come anywhere near you after that stunt you pulled?”

“Hey, you don’t want to have sex. That’s cool. I’m not so much of a scumbag that I’ll force you to do it,” he tells you nonchalantly. “But can we at least cuddle? It’s been quite a while since I’ve felt the warmth of a woman.”

“...You’re really, really strange. You know that?”

“Mhmm. So I've been told.”

Gods, you’re tired. Downright exhausted. You just want to knock yourself out and forget about the misfortune of having landed someone like Joshua as a companion. You appreciate that he isn’t the type to coerce women into sex, but…ugh! This guy’s impossible to figure out.

…Still, you inch closer to his welcoming touch, biting down a sharp retort when you hear him chuckling softly at your surrender. Joshua wraps his strong arms around your frame, and you close your eyes – catching a whiff of a salty breeze in the air. You wonder if the scent is coming from the sheets or his wild, wild hair.

“This isn’t so bad, now is it?” he teases.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Aww, you’re making an awful lot of demands to the person who saved you! I think I liked you better when you were bashful and on the brink of tears, princess.”

You scoff. “So not only are you a scumbag, but you’re also a sadist.”

“Mmm, I don’t have any objections about that, really.”

God, just what have you gotten yourself into?

...

If you thought your first night as Joshua’s unwitting travel companion was a big hassle, you’re certainly in for the ride for the next few days.

He’s always out during the daytime – feeding you excuses like he has to meet up with a couple of friends before leaving you alone and bored in the hotel room. It’s a good thing that the cable service here covered your favorite noontime soap operas, so you could kill time for at least a few hours. Joshua always returns before dinner, and orders room service while engaging you in small talk. He doesn’t tell you about his daytime escapades, nor do you ask.

But when the daily cycle repeats itself for the third time, you decide to put your foot down.

“Are you trying to get me to die of boredom or something?” you ask him once the bellboy takes away your food trays for the night. “I know you’re doing some super shady stuff somewhere out there, but would it kill you to show me around? First time I’ve ever been to Seoul and I’m confined in a hotel room.”

Joshua stares at you dubiously. “Princess, you’re not some inmate I’m keeping locked up in a cell. I never said you weren’t allowed to go sightseeing or whatever.”

You pause. Right, he never did say that explicitly… But you can’t really tell him you were too afraid to go out wandering on your own.

“Have you been behaving like I kidnapped you or something?” Joshua snorts, walking over to the windows to light a cigarette. Your face scrunches up at that. The room’s going to reek of tobacco smoke now. “How about this: let’s walk around the shopping district tomorrow morning. Besides, the spare clothes provided by the hotel are just going to rack up on the checkout bill. Might as well get you some better outfits instead.”

Looking down at your current attire, you can’t help but think he’s right. You couldn’t exactly bring any of your clothes with you on this very impromptu trip, and you refused when Joshua offered to lend you a bunch of his own. For some reason, a whole duffel bag full of men’s clothes arrived a day after you checked in, and when you asked Joshua about it, he simply said that he prides his men for always delivering the necessities for a trip.

His men. Meaning, this asshole is definitely a big shot kingpin of some sketchy organization and he’s just keeping his mouth shut about it. It’s a good thing that the staff offered to give you some hotel-issued clothes for a certain price, though. Like hell you’re going to prance around in a mafia boss’ clothes.

But…did you hear him right? Did Joshua just offer to take you shopping?

“Don’t you dare think you can buy my trust with material things,” you warn him, bringing your knees closer to your chest on the bed. “I’m still on to you.”

“So scary,” your companion chuckles, tilting his chin up before puffing out a cloud of smoke. He looks like he’s just about to follow that up with another jab to get on your nerves, but something seems to catch his gaze.

Then, you realize that Joshua is staring at your feet.

Before you can blurt out some offhand remark about a foot fetish, though, he asks, “You won’t be needing band-aids anymore, right? I can always run to the drugstore and get you some.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to do that. My feet are fine,” you insist before following it up with a softer, “But I might need a new pedicure, though…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. What time are we going out again?”

The next morning, Joshua jostles you out of bed at seven A.M. sharp – much to your utter dismay. Judging by how never stays out too late despite his questionable business ventures in the city, it probably makes sense for him to be a morning person. He tells you that the shopping district doesn’t even open until nine, but the bastard insists that the early morning sun is good for your skin!

As he shows you around the main avenue, though, your initial unwillingness to go out so early in the goddamn morning slowly ebbs – having been replaced with pure, unadulterated awe because wow. The big city really is a sight to see. It’s so different from your hometown that you kind of regret not visiting sooner.

Thankfully, there are some places just outside the shopping district that open much earlier. Joshua escorts you to a nearby restaurant – insisting that you can order to your heart’s content. You receive the offer with equal parts bewilderment and concern, but cooping yourself up in that damn hotel room gives you little time to think about courtesy. If he’s willing to pay for your expenses, who are you to refuse?

Breakfast goes the same way all the other meals you shared with Joshua have gone so far. You try to probe his reasons for visiting Seoul as subtle as you can, but he always skirts around the topic with a face as smooth as butter. It’s obvious that he isn’t going to start talking about whatever undercover mission he’s on, so instead, you ask about his family.

“My family?” he repeats.

You nod. “Yeah. You brought up your mom like...twice already. Kinda made me wonder if a lunatic like you is actually a family man.”

“Hey! While you’re not wrong about me being a lunatic, I’ve yet to show you that side of me. That’s a pretty mean assumption.” Joshua pouts, scooping a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

You’re not even going to ask him to elaborate.

“Hmm… But I guess you could say I’m a family man,” he hums right after swallowing his food. “I’m an only child, but I've always wanted a family of my own, you know? Old suburban home, white picket fence, six kids, and a dog –”

“Six?” you echo. “Were you that lonely growing up?”

Joshua snorts. “Where I'm from, it's completely normal to have a ton of kids.”

“Where are you from anyway?”

“The U.S. Los Angeles, specifically.”

Los Angeles… Well, at least he's honest about that. His answer also proves your hunch about him being a foreigner.

“What are you doing so far away from home then?” you ask. “Won’t your parents miss you or something? Don’t you miss them?”

An emotion you can’t quite identify passes over Joshua's face – something grim and untouchable. You’re about to insist that he doesn’t need to answer or anything, but the look disappears faster than it surfaced and he’s back to flashing you a shit-eating grin like usual.

“Hmm, why are you talking about family when we’re out on a date?” he sulks. “You’re so unromantic. How about you teach me how to use chopsticks instead?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “You…don’t know how to use chopsticks? But your Korean is so fluent.”

He rolls his eyes. “Hasty generalization. Just because I can speak the language, doesn't mean I'm good at the other cultural customs, you know.”

Just like that, Joshua expertly makes you forget about all that talk about his family. He distracts you well enough until you finally arrive at the shopping district, and the first thing he does is drag you to a beauty salon.

“Uh, I thought we were buying clothes,” you tell him dryly.

He hums, already signing the clipboard that the lady behind the reception counter hands to him. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get a pedicure first?”

“...I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” He grins before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll come get you in half an hour. That sound good?”

You can’t even let yourself feel the heat rushing to your face because Joshua is already sliding a black credit card onto the counter – the limitless variant that you can only dream of getting for yourself. What on earth is he doing with that bag of cash back in the hotel room when he had one of those the whole time?

“That’s a gorgeous boyfriend you have, miss.” Your beautician sighs as she massages your feet with moisturizer. “I wonder when I’ll get lucky to land a guy that hot.”

You’re compelled to tell her, no. That potential criminal mastermind is most certainly not your boyfriend. But the way this woman’s gentle hands press down on your toes reminds you of the night you met Joshua. How he went out of his way to clean the dirt off your feet without uttering a single word in complaint. How his eyes appeared so disarmingly brown that you can’t forget their color even if you wanted to.

And not to mention that innocent kiss he gave you before making his leave earlier…

Nope. Get it together, you chide yourself. That is the same douchebag that tried to have sex with you the other night. And are you forgetting the fact that he’s hinted at his own criminal activity several times now?!

But in spite of yourself, you respond to your beautician’s words with a gentle smile.

“I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”

…

“Joshua, this is way too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, thank you for spoiling me rotten, but what the fuck? Who buys a hundred thousand won's worth of clothes for a woman he barely knows?”

“Does it matter? Not to brag, but I’ve got lots of cash to burn, princess.”

“...That’s – That’s not the point!”

It’s not even lunch time but you’re already arguing with Joshua over his irresponsible expenses. Like, sure, this all totally works in your favor, but you still have a shred of decency at least! He’s already bought you three expensive dresses, a nice pair of designer jeans, and some chic-looking heels. He got you the last one from the store the moment Joshua noticed your stare lingering too long on the display window.

You used to joke around with your old college friends about getting a sugar daddy in the past but… Is this really the right way to go about it? Why does it feel like you’re doing something illegal?!

“Don’t you like them?” he asks, lower lip swelling into a pout. “We can always pick out something else. Oh, I forgot to make you choose a swimsuit.”

“...What do I need a swimsuit for?”

He spares you another conniving smile, taking something out from inside his jacket before showing it to you.

“Are those…” You gape at him. “Plane tickets?”

Joshua nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yep. We’re going on vacation to Jeju Island. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

No, it doesn’t! Not in the slightest!! Okay, maybe you’re a bit curious to see what Jeju's famous coastlines have to offer, but… That doesn’t explain why Joshua is so willing to spend unspeakable amounts of money at the drop of a hat. You wonder what’s so damn special about you for him to keep spoiling you like this, but then again, maybe he’s never been frugal to begin with. Unlike yourself – who’s always had to work for every penny just to make ends meet.

The realization dawns on you like a sucker punch to the gut. Sure he’s kind enough (more like, crazy enough) to let you tag along with him, but the fact that the two of you live in completely different worlds only starts to sink in at that moment.

Right now, Joshua is donned with a maroon shirt with the buttons done only up to the middle – giving you a glimpse of those tattoos you’ve never grown tired of looking at. He matched it with a black leather jacket and a nice pair of trousers, looking like a million dollars in every single way. Even if you managed to change into a more stylish fit compared to your hotel clothes, you still feel grossly inferior – not that the two of you were on equal footing in the first place.

This isn’t all that different from that sinking sensation you always felt in the bar – a feeling like you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. Somewhere you don’t belong.

Joshua is a goddamn big shot, and you? You’re just a parasite. You don’t deserve all of this finery. You don’t even deserve his company at all.

If he notices how you’ve gone noticeably silent as he leads you to an athletics store, Joshua doesn’t bring it up. He merely holds up all the bags of unnecessary purchases in one hand, and your own hand in the other. You don’t fault the lady at the salon for thinking this guy was your boyfriend. To an outsider, the two of you must’ve looked like a couple in their mid-twenties.

But even if he practically jumped you last time, you know better than to expect more than what he’s already giving you. Besides, you didn’t run away with Joshua just to get together with him…

Right?

“Does this look okay?”

You come out of the dressing room to show Joshua the swimsuit he picked out for you. He glances up from his phone, and you try not to let the mesmerized look on his face get to your head.

“You’re looking real sexy right now, princess,” he admits – pocketing his phone as he walks to the front of your stall. “I knew it. Blue really suits you.”

“Quit saying weird things,” you mumble, shyly draping your arms over your chest. “Do you want me to get it or not?”

“More importantly, do you want to get it?”

“H-Huh?”

All of a sudden, Joshua pushes you back inside the stall – locking the door behind him before you can utter a protest. There’s a serious look on his face that you don’t get to see a lot, but you don’t get to ponder on it much. He’s quick to place both of his large hands on your shoulders, making you face the full-body mirror inside without any delay.

“Do you not like receiving gifts, gorgeous?” he whispers, and you hate how your skin prickles at the new pet name. “You’ve been so against everything I bought for you all day, even though you’re the one who picked them out yourself.”

“Joshua –”

One of his hands starts to descend, brushing across your arm and onto the curve of your waist. His other hand teases the straps of your bikini top, sending involuntary shivers running down your spine. To make things worse, your breath hitches as you meet Joshua’s gaze in the mirror – piercing doe eyes holding you hostage with a single glance.

“Or maybe you don’t like receiving gifts from me,” he considers. “Well, I am a bad guy. If you want me to cut it out, you can tell me up front. I just hate seeing that look on your face.”

“...What look?” you whisper – trying your best to distract yourself from the heat of his touch.

Joshua sighs as he rubs your exposed skin tenderly. “The look you make when you’re sad. You’ve always been making that look ever since we left for the city. Honestly, I’ve even considered sending you back home a couple of times -”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “D-Don’t send me back. Please. Anywhere but there.”

You don’t even notice that your own hands moved on their own accord – palms placed on top of his much larger ones from where they now rest on your hips. Joshua stares at your reflection with wide eyes before he sighs, burying his face in the hollow of your neck.

This is a dangerous position to be in. He easily covers your body with his own, and you can only do so much to hold back the noises threatening to spill from your lips as Joshua massages your sensitive skin.

“Then why do you keep refusing me?” he murmurs, teeth grazing the column of your throat. “From what I recall, you’re the one who came to me, princess. I thought you’d be more thick-skinned than that. Other women would kill to be in your place, you know.”

“That’s because I don’t get you, Joshua,” you argue, biting your lip when he starts to suck on your skin. “Y-You can be an ass at times, but you still do all these nice things for me anyway. You’re even splurging a shit-ton of money for no good reason. I get that you’re loaded but…why? Why are you being so kind to me?”

He lets out a soft laugh that reverberates sweetly across his chest – you feel the vibrations from where he presses himself behind you, and you have to clench your thighs together to stem your pooling desire. “You’re not used to being treated well by the people around you, huh?”

You scoff – the accusation stinging more than it should. “You think?”

Joshua doesn’t respond immediately – letting himself get a feel of your pliant body for as long as you allowed it first. He tries to familiarize himself with how your skin feels against his fingers; where your erogenous zones are, and the other spots that make you blush like a schoolgirl. It’s a bit selfish of him to delay such an important answer, but Joshua is nothing if he’s not selfish.

“When I was assigned to go to Korea, my…employer gave me an ultimatum – one that involves my family back home,” he tells you quietly. “If I don’t go back to L.A. with substantial results, they’ll be the one to suffer the punishment.”

Suddenly, you could see through the sensual haze that hung between the both of you seconds prior. Shock paints itself raw on your face as you blurt out, “You were blackmailed?” God, no wonder he didn’t want to talk about his family.

“Heh. I’m used to being blackmailed, pretty girl. It’s part of my job,” Joshua speaks nonchalantly. “But…that doesn’t mean I didn’t drag my ass here, nearly overwhelmed with anxiety. I’d kill a man if I was ordered to do it, but if my family’s lives are at stake? Anyone would be terrified.”

You feel your heart sink at the way his expression shifts into something more melancholic. Joshua exchanges his suggestive caresses for a proper embrace. He hugs you from behind, breathing in the scent of cheap shampoo still lingering in your hair.

“What does that have to do with me?” you whisper. “I don’t understand…”

“When you bumped into me at Andong that night, you kind of snapped me out of it,” he chuckles. “I couldn’t think of anything else but my job and my parents, but then you came along. Honestly, I was only supposed to help you get away from the assholes chasing you but…”

“I ran after you…” you continue, feeling more embarrassed than you should.

Oh. You don’t even have the right to feel like shit for being with Joshua because you chose to be here, dammit! Why do you keep forgetting that?

“Exactly.” Joshua hums as he snakes an arm in front of your stomach, pushing your body against his chest. “I’m not always this territorial, you know, but you practically offered yourself up. Do you know what that does to a guy like me?”

You shouldn’t find it so fucking hot when his other hand trails up from your navel, your chest, all the way to your neck – thick fingers pressing down your throat with ample pressure. Your gazes meet in the mirror, and you don’t miss the near-manic glint in his eyes as Joshua holds onto you possessively.

“Now tell me, princess. Do you want the swimsuit or not?”

You can’t help the shuddering sigh that escapes your lips. At this point, you have no choice but to let him buy you the damn thing. You’re pretty sure Joshua’s aggressive display is enough to make you soak through your bottoms, and it’s not like he’s going to take no for an answer either.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as he eases his hand away from your neck. “I’m just…not used to wearing all of this. It’s like I’m not meant to. I’ve always just settled with clothes that go on sale, you know.”

“...Well, how do you feel about the stuff I give you?”

“Um. They’re all pretty, I guess?”

“Do you wanna wear them?”

“O-Of course.”

Finally, Joshua peels himself away – only to twirl you around to face him directly. His tousled black hair is sticking out every which way, but all you can focus on are his rich brown irises, nearly drowning you in those endless pools of honey.

“Then you better wear them unapologetically,” he tells you, tucking a tuft of your hair behind your ear. “A princess needs only the finest garbs. Why do you think I call you that all the time, huh?”

“To get a rise out of me?”

Joshua barks out a laugh. “I guess I can’t say no to that. But anyways, the point still stands: I’ll give you anything and everything in the world. All you have to do is ask.”

After what seems like an eternity inside that damn dressing room, you manage to kick him out of the stall before putting your clothes back on. You end up replaying everything he just told you like a broken record. Anything and everything? This man is a different kind of delusional.

But you can’t really afford to think about it much. Just as you thought, the evidence of your rather…risqué encounter with Joshua is lathered across the inseam of your bottoms, and you shamefully wipe it off with a napkin you nabbed from the restaurant.

When the two of you head back to the cashier to make your nth purchase of the day, you’re vaguely aware of the other sales persons stealing glances at you and Joshua. Well, if you were in their shoes, you’d certainly find it odd why it took almost thirty minutes for you to try on a damn swimsuit. But fortunately, Joshua's reputation precedes him even at a shopping center all the way in Seoul. None of them dare to speak to him, much more raise any complaints.

“Couldn’t you have waited to sit down and have the talk with me back in our hotel room?” you groan once you make it out of the store. “I’m sure those guys think you fucked me in the stall or something.”

“Would you like that?” Joshua teases, and you’re sure he would’ve pulled you close to him if only his hands weren't full of shopping bags. “Does my princess get off on the idea of being fucked silly in a dressing room?”

“Don’t push it, asshole.”

You meant to punctuate the words with a borderline scowl, but all that makes itself known on your face is a sheepish smile that you can’t quite bite down. Joshua notices this, of course, but instead of making you flustered about it like usual, he offers to flag down a taxi on the way back to the hotel instead of walking.

The last thing he needs is to ruin your new pedicure, after all.

...

A week later, you and Joshua arrive at Jeju Island.

You didn’t even consider the possibility of this place having an airport. All this time, you assumed that sea travel was the way to go for them. But you were surprisingly greeted by the sight of a modern-looking terminal as you and Joshua waited for your luggage. He’s been quiet for the whole ride, and you’d be lying if you said that doesn’t concern you even a little. Joshua not running his mouth just to piss you off means something was up.

But when the two of you finally make it outside, he’s back to his usual self.

“So, do you want to sample Jeju's finest mandarin orchards, or do you want to settle down at the hotel first?” he asks with a chipper smile. “Though you do look like you want to take a nap.”

“I do,” you reply, yawning as you lean against his shoulder. “Can’t we just cuddle today?”

“Oh? You’re offering cuddles for free? Who are you and what did you do my princess?”

“...Cringe.”

“Wha – Did you just say I’m cringe?!”

Your banter is interrupted by a man in a suit clearing his throat. You stare at him with thinly veiled confusion, wondering what he needed.

“Sir Joshua. We’ve been anticipating your arrival.”

…Sir Joshua?

“Oh, Chan. I didn’t think you’d be the one stationed here,” your companion greets the man with a smile – plucking your duffel bag from your grasp before handing it to the newcomer. “Tell the driver to bring us to the hotel first.”

Chan nods swiftly. “Understood, sir.”

That’s how you find yourself in the backseat of a high-end limousine – speeding through the scenic roads of Jeju as you and Joshua bask in the silence. He’s busy talking to someone on the phone, but you can’t bring yourself to eavesdrop on their conversation. It feels wrong to do so.

Instead, you let yourself wonder what he has planned. After he fulfills his mission, what then? Is he going to take you back to L.A.? You’re not so deluded to think that he’ll stay here with you when he has a family waiting for him. But the idea of traveling all the way to his homeland makes you a little queasy. You’ve just gotten used to visiting far-away places in Korea. You think you’re going to need a bit more momentum before packing up to the other side of the world.

…Does he work well in the cold? You barely see him sweat even in the humid air of the summer. Maybe Joshua is the type of person who can easily adapt to the current climate. When that train of curiosity starts to pick up, though, you realize that it’s a little hard to stop.

You want to know more about him. About his habits, his quirks, his family, and his work. He obviously likes you enough to keep showering you with gifts. Of course, you’ve tried asking a few questions about those in the past, and Joshua merely brushed them off with a laugh.

But things are different now. Ever since that…fateful encounter in the dressing room, he’s been more open with you. More up front about the things going on inside his head. If you push the right buttons, then you might be able to understand him a bit better.

Joshua pockets his phone about five minutes later, leaning against you before circling his arms around your waist. “Hmph. Can’t believe I’m still forced to think about work.”

“You can always just switch off your phone,” you suggest jokingly.

He only sighs in response, and you pat his head gingerly as a means of comfort. “By the way, I planned on scheduling a trip for Sunrise Peak, but turns out, it's closed to tourists for the weekend.” Joshua looks up at you, pouting. “Sorry, princess. I can only take you to the beach.”

He was planning a visit to Sunrise Peak? Well, you haven’t seen it with your own eyes yet, but the fact that Joshua is intuitive enough to hazard guesses about what you might and might not like…

You want to familiarize yourself with him, the same way he so effortlessly does with you.

Not giving him any leeway to pull back, you grab his face and mesh your lips on top of his. Joshua doesn’t respond for a few seconds – and you can almost imagine him staring at you with wide, brown eyes. But eventually, he laughs into the kiss before pressing his mouth firmly against yours.

“That’s fine by me,” you murmur.

As long as I’m with you.

...

Your hotel room back at Seoul was one of the best you’ve seen, but the one here on Jeju just set the bar even higher.

Once the two of you have settled down in your suite, you gaze around in awe at the interior. Everything is mostly made out of wood, which further adds to the appeal of it all. Seashell curtains, exotic carpets, hand-made wind chimes – they have it all. Not to mention, this room in particular comes with a private pool just by the balcony, along with a view that overlooks the sea. Joshua teases you about how excited you are – just like a kid on a school trip – but you decide to let his impudence slide.

“Aren’t you going to swim with me?”

You gaze at him sulkily by the edge of the pool, watching as Joshua smokes a cigarette on top of a folding chair. He’s already changed into his swimming trunks – having removed his shirt and other accessories. Yet he still refuses to get in the pool with you. Still, Joshua gets up from his chair with a soft laugh, padding closer as he crouches over the edge.

“You should know about the delicate art of having a smoke while watching your girl have fun,” he tells you, taking a drag as if to prove a point.

Your eye twitches. “You’re the one who picked out my swimsuit, so you better have fun with me!”

Despite all his bravado, you don’t miss the look on Joshua's face when you yank on his leg – the forward momentum easily making him topple into the swimming pool. You let out an unflattering laugh as he flounders in the water for a few seconds before Joshua rises back to the surface with an annoyed look on his face.

“Hey, I don’t remember you being this much of a brat, princess,” he grumbles, picking off the doused cigarette floating in the pool before tossing it back on the concrete.

“That’s my way of telling you to quit,” you say, snickering to yourself. “Seriously, it always smells like cigarettes in our old hotel room. The smoke detector must’ve been busted or something… Joshua?”

While you prattled on about the fact that you disliked a habit that he probably formed years before he even met you, Joshua waded through the water and cornered you by the side of the pool. You gulp, observing how the water glistens across his skin as his tattooed chest stands proud for you to see.

“You know, I noticed a little something over the past few days,” he whispers – mouth twitching into a no-good smile as he reaches a hand to cup your jaw. “You really like staring at my chest, don’t you?”

“Wrong. I like staring at your ink.”

“But it’s still staring, isn’t it?” Joshua breathes out an airy laugh before planting a kiss on your forehead – the same way he did that time at the beauty salon. The patch of skin that’s grazed by his lips burns when he pulls away, and you hate how the sensation spreads across the rest of your face.

“How about we get you inked someday?” he offers.

“Me? Getting a tattoo?” You blink. “Uh, I used to think about getting one when I was still in college, but…?!”

All of a sudden, this bastard places his hands on your waist before hoisting you out of the water like you weigh nothing more than a bag of rice. You scowl at him, thrashing around and splashing water everywhere. But Joshua doesn’t seem to be bothered by all your flailing. He even seems to be observing your lower body like he’s trying to figure out how to chop up each part for later.

“Hmm… I think one on your thigh would suit you,” he says, lowering you onto the edge of the pool. “Navel tattoos are pretty hot, too.”

“But what’s the point if no one can see?” you huff.

“Hey, my tatts are always covered,” Joshua reminds you. “That’s because only a select few are deserving to see them.”

His words ignite a surge of heat inside your chest. If you weren’t blushing before, you certainly are now. “...You think I’m deserving, then?”

Your companion spreads your legs wider, easing himself into the space between as he holds your thighs firmly in his hands. Joshua stares into your eyes with a gaze that’s meant to devour. You’ve always found it odd how much self-control he can actually exercise. Apart from the first night he tried to pounce on you, and that little escapade in the dressing room, he never once tried to make any moves on you again. For someone who talks big about how possessive and territorial he can be, Joshua is being awfully ascetic.

“Of course you are,” he murmurs. “Once we’re done here, I’ll bring you to the best tattoo artist in L.A. He’s the one who did both of my pieces.”

Something about the promise in his words makes your heart leap with delight. He’s…going to bring you to Los Angeles?

“Are you going to let me meet your parents, too?” you half-joke, shying away from his intense gaze.

“Why not?” he asks. “My mom loves independent girls. You’ve only been relying on yourself before you met me, right? That’s pretty awesome.”

You shrink away from the compliment, unused to being praised about that segment of your life. “I’m not sure how she’s going to react about me being a hostess, though.”

Joshua shakes his head. “Believe it or not, you’re one of the few people who can put me in my place, sweet girl. I’m convinced that she automatically takes to someone like that.”

“So you’re a problem child, then?”

“Ehh, can’t say I’m not.”

Just when you thought he’ll finally let his self-restraint snap, you and Joshua end up talking about his life in America by the poolside. He tells you about how his father taught him how to fish in the lake the next county over, how to hunt and survive out in the wilderness. He tells you about his mother, and how he’d do anything just to guarantee her safety; even if it comes at the expense of his own. He willingly divulges all his fond memories of his hometown, but not once does Joshua allude to anything involving his work.

You try not to take it so personally. After all, in spite of the drastic development in your…friendship? Relationship? Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re someone he hasn’t really known all that long.

But as the two of you marvel at the twilight sun sinking on the faraway horizon, it seems that Joshua managed to read your mind.

“Can you believe it’s only been two weeks since we met?” he chuckles, hand inching closer to rest on top of yours.

“Nope,” you sigh. “I feel like I’ve known you far longer than that.”

“Heh. Time really flies when you’re having fun, does it?”

You couldn’t have said it better yourself. Honestly, you can’t even recall the last time you had fun. During the past few months, each day passed by painfully slowly. Despite being adored as Rei the hostess, you never had fun back at the bar; nor did you have fun coming home to your alcoholic of a father.

As you glance over at Joshua – whose face is generously lit up by the soft orange light – you wonder if it’s really okay to turn your back on your life and just live the rest of your days by his side. It’s only been two weeks, but there was never a dull moment with him. But can you even afford to be more selfish than you already are?

“You really have a staring problem, you know that?”

“...Do you have a sixth sense or something?”

“I’m a trained fighter, princess. I’m supposed to know when I’m being watched.”

There it is – his first casual mention of his line of work.

You can’t exactly narrow down the possibilities of what exactly it is that Joshua does for a living. You’re pretty sure that he’s in the same type of business as those loan sharks, but on a much larger scale. What’s more is that he’s trained to fight – as if his purpose lies more on confrontation than diplomatic relations. Him being stationed all the way here in Korea gives you a slight clue that he might be trying to settle the score with someone on behalf of his employer, though you can’t really say for sure.

But…you purposely shove all these thoughts in the back of your head as you lace your fingers around his neck – bringing his forehead against yours. Joshua doesn’t resist your advances. He even gazes at you with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, a hint of fondness shining in his vibrant irises.

Before meeting the man in front of you, you’ve always assumed that love takes time. You can’t call it love if you don’t even know the person that well! This is the very same thing you used to tell patrons who wanted to start a serious relationship with you back at the bar. But Joshua?

You don’t know how, but he managed to fill that void that’s long been tearing your heart to shreds. That seemingly ephemeral emptiness; the hollow space resting deep inside your chest – he filled it all up in the span of two weeks. Whether it be with all those expensive gifts and trinkets, or his worthwhile company alone, you don’t feel empty anymore. You feel so blissfully whole that you’d gladly lose yourself in him if it meant you never had to feel alone ever again.

“Shua, can I ask for something?”

“Heh. This is new. You never ask for anything,” he comments, and you still smell traces of tobacco in his breath. “What is it? Anything my princess wants, I’ll give to her in a heartbeat.”

On any other day, you would’ve chided him for saying something so cheesy – as if you haven’t gotten used to the way he speaks to you. But now, with the early evening breeze blowing all around, and the man who reminded you how it feels to be alive sitting so, so close to you…

“Can you make me yours?” you whisper.

Joshua stares at you, a low laugh rumbling in his bare chest. “You were already mine the moment you asked to come with me. Or are you forgetting that?”

Hot. His hands are hot against your hips – going lower and lower as he teases the ridge of your bottoms. God, you just want him to get it over with. You want him to grab your ass and take you by the poolside right here, right now. But you know, all too well, that Joshua isn’t going to let himself fall into the depths of his own depravity like that. Not until you give him a clearer sign.

“No…” you murmur, hoisting your thigh over his hips until you’re straddling his lap. “I want you –” You press your breasts against his lean chest. “To make me –” Your fingers trail up his neck, tangling them in his wild black hair.

“Yours.”

You expect him to tease you like he always does – with that irritatingly handsome smile of his. But Joshua's eyes grow half-lidded as you press yourself closer to him, and you could’ve sworn his grip on your hips only became tighter.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, pretty girl,” he warns you huskily. “I don’t want you to end up being the sore loser after I’m done with you.”

You chuckle, lips grazing his forehead, his eyelids, his nose. When you reach the spot just over his lips, you let your own hover for just a few seconds longer.

“I know,” you tell him. “I know, and I’m ready to lose.”

If it’s you, I won’t ever mind.

Joshua lets out a strangled noise, like he’s barely holding on to what’s left of his own sanity. You’re slightly elated at the information. That just means he’s about to let himself go. To ravage you like you deserved.

You’re not sure if it’s because of his own urgency or he’s just showing off. But Joshua makes a quick display of strength by picking you up while you’re still on his lap and getting back on his feet at the same time. He wastes no time mending your lips together – carnal and hungry and all sorts of impatient. Your legs immediately circle around his hips, and you bemoan all the days you wasted not getting kissed stupid by him.

But you console yourself with the idea that right now, you have all the time in the world.

...

The floorboards are damp with pool water, and so are the sheets. But you hardly notice it as Joshua strips you of the swimsuit he so carefully picked out for you. He tosses the spandex somewhere on the floor, and you even hear the wet plop as it hits.

You feel like you should be cold – fresh out of the swimming pool and all – but the heat of Joshua’s body steadily permeates into yours, and can’t help but lean closer, closer, as close as you can –

“I love you,” you whisper in-between kisses, feeling the evidence of his own arousal grinding against your own. You think the words don’t have as much weight when you’re doing something so openly intimate, but you don’t care.

He laughs, the sound sending tingles straight to your toes. “You sure you’re not just getting caught up in the moment, princess?”

You still have it in you to flash him a sulky pout, bringing his face right in front of yours as you spare him all the adoration you have in a single look. You desperately want him to know just how much you love him. You want him to carve this moment into memory and think of it even when the two of you are apart.

You want to anchor yourself so deep into Joshua that he can’t forget you even if he tries.

“Do you think I’m lying?” you whisper.

He sighs. “No.”

When he mouths the words I love you back in his own lust-fueled kisses, your heart soars; your body heats up – becoming more and more receptive to his lingering touch. Joshua’s lips never stray too far, even as he lathers the slick that’s collected between your thighs. His long fingers tease your entrance with the intention of seeing you squirm, and you hate how much you love it.

“Been waiting for you to come to me…for so long,” he growls, sliding two fingers inside you with embarrassing ease. “Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you? Especially after that time in the dressing room?”

Huh, so even he still thinks about that day. You giggle at the ferociousness of his words, but the wanton look in his eyes softens when you caress the side of his face.

“Two weeks isn’t a long time, Shua,” you tell him.

“It’s long enough if you’re as pent up as I am.”

As he works his fingers between your thighs, you can’t help but sneak a glance at the hard length straining against his abdomen. It’s been a while, so your mouth practically waters at the thought of Joshua sinking his thick cock inside you – fast and hard and everything you’ve ever dreamed.

But your attention is promptly ripped away when he curls his fingers just right, catching on a patch of spongy flesh that has you writhing underneath him. Joshua smirks at that, uncoiling his thick digits as he continues slowly pumping them inside. Your juices are starting to drip on his hand – a testament to just how badly you want him.

When he makes you come, all you see are the vibrant brown of his eyes – like honey in the spring. Joshua looks at you with so much love and longing at the same time, you nearly sob in his embrace.

Despite the implication that he’s no longer going to be patient, Joshua lets you reel your own consciousness back from the throes of pleasure – kissing your forehead tenderly as he caresses your sides.

“Do you want to go all the way?” he asks, but you already see him stroking his own cock from where he lays beside you. “Remember, I won’t force you into anything you don’t like, princess.”

You shake your head, still lightheaded from your orgasm. But still, the clarity of your desire shines through. “I…want you, Shua. Want you inside me.”

He sighs in a way like he just doesn’t know what to do with you. At your request, Joshua reluctantly peels himself away – earning a mewl in protest from you that he appeases with a kiss.

“Stay put, pretty girl,” he murmurs. “I’ll make you feel good in a minute.”

Joshua climbs out of bed and walks over to the dresser buck naked. But you can’t even bring yourself to tease because he’s got such a shapely ass. Not to mention, you get to see the dragon tattoo on his back again. Even if you’ve developed a fondness for the twin koi fish on his chest, there’s just something about this piece in particular that’s always left an impression on you.

True to his word, Joshua comes back to bed with you as he tears a condom open with his teeth. You have half the mind to tell him that opening it like that isn’t very safe, but when he rolls the rubber on top of his throbbing length, you’re suddenly too bashful to speak up.

He spreads your thighs apart, making himself at home in the space in between. You just know he’s getting a kick out of the way your body trembles as he rubs the head of his cock along your glistening seam.

“Shua,” you whine.

“You want this inside you?” Joshua teases, dipping himself into your entrance only to pull away before you can even feel an ounce of satisfaction. “C’mon, talk to me, princess. You know I like it when you’re being honest about the things you want.”

“Please…”

“Hm? What was that?”

You hate him. You hate him so much that the feeling gradually bleeds into love. And if you aren’t already whipped for this jerk, you don’t know what this obsessive feeling inside you is anymore.

“Please fuck me,” you whimper. “Make me come on your cock.”

Joshua breathes sharply through his nose as he leans forward, grabbing both of your wrists as he pins them above your head with one hand. He uses the other to guide his length to where you want him most, and the moment before he finally, finally breaches your entrance, he whispers:

“What the princess wants, the princess gets.”

He muffles the broken moan that catches in your throat with his own lips – his lean arm going around your waist as he presses his hips flush against yours. You’re dripping enough arousal onto the sheets that Joshua doesn’t even have to take it as slow as he expected. You instinctively clench around the hard length inside you, memorizing the way he stretches out your walls, and Joshua responds in earnest with an impertinent groan.

There’s no room for words anymore. All you know is the sound of skin against skin and your mouth almost never parting from his. Joshua fills you until the void you feared might swallow you whole becomes nothing but a tiny speck in your soul. You wonder if it’s enough to be two separate people, and not just one. His touches, his kisses – they aren’t enough. And even when he pushes himself so impossibly deep, you still find yourself wanting, craving, yearning for more.

You’re insatiable. You love Joshua so much that your heart overflows with it. Maybe you’re simply deluded because he’s the first person who’s treated you like you were important; and not just some forgettable girl he met at a bar. But that doesn’t change the fact that you want him to hold you, and touch you, and love you until you forget everything else but the syllables of his name.

He practically folds you into the bed a few moments later as he mouths his professions of love along the curve of your neck. You lock your legs around his waist to keep him as close as possible – not wanting to be apart for even a millisecond. And Joshua seems to share the same sentiments as he embraces so you’d never leave his grasp.

I need you, you wish to tell him. He’s already giving you so much and more, but you still need him. It’s the kind of hankering that nearly scares you because how can you ever live without him now? But the flames of your own, all-consuming desire quickly recede once he captures your lips in a soft, almost sensual kiss.

“I love you,” Joshua tells you aloud.

You know it should be impossible because your lovers from the past have never even tried to get you to orgasm once they were done with you. But the moment he utters those words, and shifts his hips at such a delicious angle, he promptly pushes you over the edge – making you thrash and shudder underneath his weight as you mutter his name like a string of prayers.

You just hope that the gods are generous enough to let you have him forever.

…

The beaches in Seoul and Andong pale in comparison to Jeju's – you promptly realize this when Joshua brings you out to the shore a few days later.

“I’ve never really enjoyed going to beaches until now,” you admit, laughing a bit as Joshua reaches for your hand and twines his fingers with yours. “I’m surprised you even have the time to come all the way here despite being on the job.”

He shrugs casually, and at the same time you care to admire how he looks in a tropical-printed button up that’s completely undone at the front. “Well, my deadline isn’t all that strict, pretty girl. I’m sure I can afford a quick getaway with you.”

You smile at him sweetly while the both of you stroll along the beachfront. Sometimes, the waves reach out to the shore far enough for the water to reach your toes, and you squeal in delight every time you do. You’d be lying if you say you didn’t expect Joshua to tease, but when you look at him, he merely looks back like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Like all lovers spending their morning on the beach, the two of you agreed to collect the prettiest seashells you can find. Though it was a bit hard, since there are a couple of signs indicating which ones you’re allowed to bring home, and which ones you should leave alone. Something about maintaining the ecosystem around the shore.

But about half an hour before lunch time, Joshua calls out to you at the edge of the property.

The sundress he made you wear today flutters around your thighs as you make your way to his side. He’s crouched down on the sand as he picks up a peculiar brown shard.

“Wait,” you start, taking a closer look. “Is that a seashell? A broken seashell?”

“Seems like it,” he replies, retrieving the other pieces he can still salvage from the sand. “This doesn’t look like all the others we’ve seen though”

Joshua takes your hand and pressing the fragments into your palm. When you take a look at them, you realize the pieces are the same color as his eyes.

“Do you…” you begin shyly, “want to make matching necklaces out of them? They’re a bit jagged now, but I know a jeweler back in Andong who –”

“Oh? So you do want to go back,” he jokes.

“Fine, never mind then.”

Joshua’s laughter is slightly muted by the oncoming waves. Once your momentary annoyance fades, the two of you sit on the sand with your legs sprawled – letting the water tickle your toes.

“I know I made a pretty bad joke just now, but can I ask you something?” he wonders.

“What is it?”

“It’s about the loan your dad supposedly took without your knowledge.” Joshua starts tracing idle shapes in the sand as he speaks. “You seemed in deep shit the night I met you, and I just wanted to know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

With his money and influence, you’re sure that Joshua could pull a few strings to get those debt collectors to lay off you. But it won’t really matter if you never go back to Andong, right? Still, you tell him about the five million won that your father suddenly loaned. How those loan sharks told you that he said that you’re going to pay for it all – on top of your remaining balance for the month. Just recalling it was already enough to piss you off all over again.

At the end of your story, though, Joshua ends up snorting with amusement.

“Sounds to me like you’re being tricked, princess,” he chuckles. “No one can rack up a debt that high unless you’re a trusted confidant. I’m sure the Korean mafia has limits to how much they’re willing to loan other people at a certain given time. Those loan sharks probably tricked you and forged the document because you were paying out the previous debt properly.”

Your jaw practically drops to the ground. “They tricked me?”

“Seems like it. And now, you have grounds for a lawsuit! Maybe. I’m not sure, but I can help you pay for a lawyer if it all gets down to it.” Joshua shrugs. “Anyway, now that you know that the loan was probably a scam, why don’t you go back and talk to your old man? Isn’t he the only family you have?”

Your dad… Well, now you feel a bit bad for judging him so harshly. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s an alcoholic and a gambler, but you do see him trying to be better from time to time.

“Yeah. My mom died when I was in high school, and it’s just been us ever since.” You tell him all this without meeting his eyes, unsure of how to react if he gazes at you with pity. But Joshua doesn’t offer his condolences, nor does he try to cheer you up. Instead, he suggests something that you probably should do.

“You should go back to your father,” he whispers. “I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

The waves wash upon the shore again, and this time, you actually turn around to look at him. Is he serious? Is this the same, so-called territorial man you met two weeks ago? If any of the things he’s told you were true, that’s the last thing you expected for Joshua to say to your face.

“If your father isn’t behind that loan fiasco, then you should at least let him know you’re okay, princess,” he tells you sincerely, rubbing your hand with comforting circles. “You’re the last family he has left, and I’m sure you know what loss does to a person.”

You sit there in the silence, letting Joshua’s words simmer inside your mind. You suppose that he’s right about everything. Those assumptions you made about your father are unfair, and you shouldn’t just abandon him now that Joshua helped clear up the misunderstanding. You know all these things, and you recognize them as what’s truthful and right.

But…why does Joshua sound like he’s saying goodbye?

“Okay, I’ll do that,” you say, forcing your voice not to tremble. “But once you finish your mission, promise that you’ll take me to L.A.?”

He stares at you with equal parts surprise and disbelief – his handsome face twisting with a grin so lovely, you wonder why he never smiled at you like this before. Joshua shakes his head before rising back to his feet, hoisting you up by your waist as he spins you around.

You shriek in bewilderment, telling him to put you back down. He doesn’t relent right away, but once Joshua finally heeds your desperate request he sets you down on the sand – placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Alright, princess. What do you want to do there?”

You puff out your cheeks, not liking how it sounds as if he’s teasing you. Nonetheless, you give him the straightest answer you can manage.

“I want to meet your family. Your parents. Your friends. Everyone,” you tell him. “I want to go fishing because you love it so much, and it helps you meditate.”

Joshua hums. “America is leagues different from Korea, though. You sure about that?”

“Hmph. You’ll make a nice tour guide, won't you?”

“Heh.” He moves closer to wrap his arms around your frame, embracing you so firmly that you can’t help but melt into his touch. “Of course I will, pretty girl. But what do you want to do after we do all that?”

You flash him a puzzled look. “What?”

“Since we’re planning so far ahead, we might as well plan until the end, right?” He chuckles, one hand going to the side of your face as he touches you tenderly. “What else does my demanding princess wish for?”

For a moment, you consider his question seriously. What happens after? Well…

“I want to travel,” you say. “I took up an international relations course when I was in college ‘cause I always wanted to see the world.”

Joshua nods. “And?”

You gulp – unsure if what you’re about to say is a bit selfish or not. “Well, getting to see some places around Korea with you was the best time of my life. And I’m sure it’ll be just as fun if we see the world together.”

It sounds like such a juvenile dream, now that you think about it. But sometimes, even the most childish desires can lead to the most unforgettable experiences. You only decided to tag along with Joshua on a whim, and it turned out to be one of the best choices you’ve ever made.

You just hope he feels the same way, too.

He nods again, a pesky smile rooting itself on his face. When Joshua kisses the hand that isn’t clutching shards of broken brown seashells, you can’t help but blush.

“What the princess wants, the princess gets.”

It’s already high noon by the time the two of you conclude your seashell hunting session, and Joshua is already complaining about breakfast not being heavy enough. You let your gaze linger around the beautiful beachfront just a bit longer, wondering if you can visit this place again with him in the future.

“Joshua?”

He pauses mid-way in his rant, gazing at you with curious, brown eyes. “Yeah?”

You crack him a warm smile. “Can you tell me your real name?”

The ocean’s waves reach your ears again in the silence, as Joshua stands in front of you like you’d just unraveled all the secrets of the universe. You don’t miss the way his emotions seemingly conflict in his eyes, but in the end, he spares you the truth anyway.

“Jisoo.”

“Do you love me, Jisoo?”

He crosses the distance between you before you can even breathe, kissing you so deeply that you’re a little concerned that some of the hotel staff might be watching and judging you on the sidelines. But you know better than to give a damn about what others think when you’re with Joshua – no, Jisoo.

When he pulls away, you can almost see the ocean glimmering in your lover’s eyes.

“More than anything in the world.”

...

Despite that romantic morning, you can’t help but feel like something bad’s about to happen. Your mother used to tell you that you should always trust your gut. And right now, your gut is telling you that everything that’s making you unbelievably happy right now is going to disappear right before your eyes.

The anxiousness that comes with all that foreboding does little to help you keep up appearances, too. During dinner, Joshua – because he asked you to keep calling him that in public for your own safety – was telling you about the time he almost got run over as a kid, and you completely spaced out in the middle of it.

Of course, your sharp-eyed lover is keen enough to notice just how distracted you were. You attempted to make excuses for your lack of focus, but one thing led to another, and you ended up spilling wine all over your new sundress.

And now here you are, sulking in your bedroom as Joshua makes the arrangements to have your dress dry-cleaned on the intercom before you have to leave.

“Is something wrong?”

His voice comes out so softly, you nearly miss it. He sits with you at the edge of the bed, reaching out to clasp your hand in his much larger ones. The gesture is comforting, but your unease doesn’t fade away.

Should you tell him about this weird gut feeling? But you don’t want him to worry about you when this is probably just something trivial. Yet, you’ve always been weak to your own emotions. Before you can even cook up another half-baked excuse, the tears have already started streaming down your face.

“Everything’s going so well,” you sniffle, turning to him with misty eyes. “Y-You’re right in front of me but… Why do I feel like you’re already slipping away?”

Joshua's face doesn’t betray any sort of emotion. His honeyed eyes merely flicker down to where your hands are intertwined, and you don’t know if you should take that as a good sign or not.

“I’ll always be with you, you know,” he whispers, letting one of his hands trail up to the new necklace sitting on your throat before the other moves to wipe away your tears. “Always.”

A traveling jeweler offered to fashion a necklace out of the seashell fragments you found once you got back from the beachfront. And while this isn’t the work of your acquaintance from Andong, they managed to carve out the shell to resemble a heart. They even charged you for the labor only, and gave the chain for free. At first, you wanted to refuse, but these pesky feelings were already bothering you at the beach.

Is it so bad for you to want a tangible representation of Joshua’s promises?

The fact that he wears a similar necklace eases your troubles a bit. It makes you think that maybe it’s really all just in your head. Though you know better than to think you’re out of the woods.

That night, he undresses you with unspoken apologies imbued in each kiss. You wonder if he’s sorry for unintentionally making you feel this way or something else. You don’t know. You don’t care. Because when you’re on the verge of collapsing from all these unpleasant feelings, it’s Joshua who holds you together before you can shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet.

That’s right… Joshua – rather, Jisoo always fills you to the brim. He fills you with so much love that you can almost forget what it feels to be void; what it feels to be empty.

But in the midst of it, he pulls away with a regretful sigh. “We already used up the condoms I have, princess. This is as far as we can go.”

“It’s – It’s alright.”

He snaps his head in your direction, beautiful brown eyes rigid with shock. But you don’t give him any leeway to feel guilt nor hesitation. When you pull him down with you to the bed, he doesn’t strain against your touch.

Jisoo is the reason why the life you thought was so dull suddenly has more color to it now. He taught you to have a little more hope for the future. To reevaluate the past for what it actually is. And most of all, he’s the one who taught you how to treasure yourself as you are in the present.

If this is the last night you’ll ever share with him, then you’re going to make the most out of it.

...

“So we hop on a plane to Incheon, a train to Andong, and talk to my dad.” You list down the day’s itinerary before glancing at Joshua for confirmation. “Sounds like a plan, right?”

“I dunno, princess. Meeting the parents always makes me nervous,” he chuckles.

“...So you have met the parents of other girls.”

“Hey, that was only one time!”

You and Joshua managed to head over to the airport fairly quickly the next day – with a lot of time to kill before your plane actually leaves the island. The two of you decide to hang out in the waiting lounge, but this reminds you to not be too early for your flights next time. Apart from those weird negative feelings you had last night, boredom is your greatest enemy.

About thirty minutes before boarding time, you carelessly let slip that you’re craving some coffee right now. Joshua is quick to get on his feet and get you one from a nearby vending machine, of course. But just when he’s about to take a seat right beside you, he blurts out:

“I’m really glad I met you, princess.” He smiles, handing you your drink. “Even if you’re growing more and more bratty as the days go by.”

“You’re the one who made me like this, so deal with it.” You huff, before following it up with a much nicer: “But…I’m glad I met you, too, Jisoo.”

You half-expect him to clamp a hand around your mouth for calling him by his real name, but Joshua simply lets his head rest against your shoulder, holding your hand as tenderly as he always does.

“Hey, I’m just going to go out for a real quick smoke.”

Joshua informs you of his unnecessary need for a cancer stick just when you’ve settled into your seat on the plane. You scowl at him as he places that knapsack full of cash into your arms.

“We’re about to take off, you idiot!” you whisper. “Can’t that wait until we land in Seoul?”

“Nope.” He beams at you. “I won’t be long, don’t worry~”

And then he’s off.

“Goddamn chainsmokers,” you mutter, angrily plopping the damn backpack to the vacant seat right next to you.

As you watch the scenery in the airport unfold from the window to your left, you catch sight of your own reflection despite the bright light outside. Your hands trail up to the modified seashell around your neck, twirling it fondly between your fingers. This is the first solid proof of the time you spent with Joshua. You’re sure that he’s going to spoil you with even more gifts when you get to L.A., but this one is probably going to be your favorite for a long, long time.

After all, this seashell is the same color as his eyes.

Suddenly, you hear a clicking sound coming from above, and when you glance around, you see that the seatbelt sign is lit up. A soft voice flits through the speakers, informing all passengers that the aircraft is ready for takeoff. Frowning deeply, you call the attention of a nearby attendant.

“Excuse me, my boyfriend isn’t here yet.”

She stares at you, puzzled. “I’m sorry, miss. But we confirmed that all paid passengers are already in their seats.”

At that second, your world crumbles. The void begins to rip itself back into your heart. The attendant asks if there’s anything wrong, but you dismiss her with a shake of your head.

Why do I feel like you’re slipping away from my fingers?

As you sit all alone in that plane, you realize that your mother was right all along.

You should’ve trusted your goddamn gut.

...

Joshua smokes through half his pack of cigarettes when he makes it outside the airport – lingering by the parking lot as he watches each plane soar into the sky. He has no idea which one you’re on, or if you’re even still here on Jeju Island. But with each painful drag he forces into his lungs, he finds himself praying.

Praying that you’ll forgive him for what he just did. Praying that you’ll be able to find happiness even without him.

His phone rings before his guilt gets the better of his emotions. The name S.Coups flashes on the encrypted caller ID.

“Took you long enough to pick up,” the informant sighs. “For someone who’s in dire need of intelligence, you’re acting awfully lax, Shua. Let’s see… You’re looking for Jeonghan. Is that right?”

He kills his last cigarette under his heel – all those feelings you effortlessly stirred up inside him dying along with the waning flame.

“Bullseye,” he replies, voice tinged with his usual mirth despite feeling like he’s just lost everything good in his life. “You got anything for me?”

Yeah, that’s right.

You don’t need someone like him to be happy.

…

The hotel room you booked for the night is small and quiet.

When you shut the door behind you, the sound rings in your ears – loud enough to emphasize that you’re all alone. You decide not to pay it any mind before dragging the rest of your luggage further inside.

When you arrived at Incheon Airport a few hours earlier, you couldn’t even muster up the tears. All you felt was that familiar emptiness that never seemed to leave you alone until Joshua came into your life. A dreadful void that was twice as massive now that you got a taste of how it feels like to be whole.

Once you’ve claimed your baggage, you wasted no time ushering yourself out of the terminal. You’ve long decided to stay in Incheon for a while, given that you couldn’t exactly meet your father in such a state. But before making your way to the nearest hotel you could find, you made it a point to stop by a convenience store to buy a lighter and pack of cigarettes.

For someone who’s more loaded than you could ever hope to be, Joshua liked smoking cheap brands. He told you it’s because those things could easily be bought anywhere. But his reasons for the odd preference were the last thing on your mind as you light up the first stick – taking a long drag that ends up making you cough out smoke and brings tears in your eyes.

You fucking hate cigarettes. This is going to be one of the cold hard truths in your life. You hated them when you still worked as a hostess, and you hated them every time Joshua had the gall to smoke one in front of you.

…But this is the only piece of him that you have left to cling to. You like to think that each stick can help fill the void, even if it’s just smoke and ashes and false hopes. You always wondered why Joshua couldn’t bring himself to forego the habit. But maybe – just maybe – there’s also a void inside him. One that can’t easily be filled, the same one you’ve always struggled with.

Before that train of thought can fester any longer, you kill it along with the fifth cancer stick you’ve had for the day. The ashtray is full of cigarettes you could barely smoke past the filter, but you’re not about to give a shit.

In the solitude of your room, you wonder if you can ever forget those sunsets in Jeju. How your toes sank into the sand. How the salty ocean breeze tossed your hair around. If you close your eyes, you can still feel it on your skin.

But most of all, you ask yourself – can you ever forget Jisoo?

His eyes. His hair. His stupid tattoos. You abhorred how he always smelled like cigarettes, yet you’ve locked yourself up in some fancy hotel room to smoke a few just because you’re left with a ridiculous amount of laundered cash. Along with the bags full of those pretentious gifts he gave you, you selfishly kept the money because you deserve the goddamn means to take a real break from it all.

You don’t pay attention to the rest of your luggage – eyes solely focused on the knapsack lying idly on the mattress. Against your better judgment, you force yourself back to your feet, padding towards the bed as you open the zipper.

Cash, cash, another wad of cash. You scoop every single piece out of the bag for no real reason. Is this solving any of your problems? No. Does it help you vent out your feelings? Yes.

Stupid Jisoo, and his stupid fucking promises. Well, he never explicitly promised you anything, but still! What kind of evil maniac lets a hapless maiden fall in love with them, only to leave them hanging? Not all unfortunate ladies who’ve been pathetically led on by a handsome man were left with hundreds of thousands of won as some sort of compensation, sure. But that didn’t change the fact that you were fucking grieving.

You wanted to shout. To break something. To curse Jisoo Whatever-his-last-name-is so he can never find another woman like you. But once you reach the bottom of the knapsack, your anger is quick to go up in smoke.

There’s a red baseball cap inside – the same one Jisoo was wearing the night you met him.

You didn’t cry when you realized the love of your life had left you without saying goodbye. You didn’t cry as you carried your luggage alone in the airport. You didn’t cry either when you marched into this lonely, lonely hotel room.

But somehow, seeing that bright red cap made everything crash over you like a tidal wave.

“I thought you loved me more than anything in the world,” you murmur to yourself, holding that silly hat to your chest like a goddamn lifeline.

“Was that a hoax all along...Jisoo?”

...

The small village near Silverwood Lake is remote yet accessible at the same time. It’s the heart of tourism in the lesser known counties in California, so it comes as no surprise to see a dozen people bustling in and out of the borders.

In that same town, a young boy with big brown eyes wanders around the market – dark tufts peeking from beneath a tattered baseball cap. Though he seems like any other local his age, he doesn't actually know the language. His English is still a bit lacking, but he swears half of the time that his mother teaches him bits and pieces when she has time.

Right now, she’s somewhere by the lakeside, talking with an important political figure in the town as his entourage shows her around the area. The boy wasn’t a fan of all those pleasantries, so he asked her if he could look around in the market instead. Like all mothers, her initial reaction was to tell him no, but eventually, the puppy eyes he’s practiced on her for years made good on their purpose.

Fine. Just don’t wander too far, Shuji. Promise?

As much as he dislikes breaking promises with his mother – he knows how sensitive she is about those, despite her age – the young boy figures that what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. He’s fifteen now. Even if he’s in a foreign country, he’s smart enough not to get lost in unfamiliar places.

So, when he finds nothing interesting in the market, the boy follows a merchant’s route that bypasses a huge forest. This is the road that he and his mother took on the way to the town, so he’s slightly familiar with the terrain. But still, the perspectives are warped when one traverses it on foot.

He follows the route just like he initially planned – admiring the looming pine trees rising everywhere he looked. His mother has taken him to all sorts of places because of her job, but America might make it to the top of his list at this rate. Though, his eyes are quick to spot a fork in the road – one barely visible unless you know what you’re looking for.

The boy glances around, but no one else is in sight.

Ravens caw overhead as he traverses the stray path. Dead leaves and crunch underfoot as the trees seem to grow thicker around him. Anyone else would feel terrified of being in such a place, but the boy has always had a knack for braving the unknown.

His courage is rewarded once he arrives at the end of the road, revealing a magnificent lake that he could never hope to see if he’d stuck to the main route. This one's different from Silverwood Lake. It's much smaller, and less polluted by civilization.

He stares at the scenery with wide eyes, taking out his phone from the pocket of his jacket before snapping a few pictures to show his mother for later.

“Hey, kid. What are you doing here?”

The boy startles at the sound of another voice, and he realizes that there’s another person sharing this view with him. A man, much older than he is, sits on a foldable chair by the edge of the lake – fishing rod in hand as he tosses the reel into the water.

“Just…looking around.” He only replies with broken English because he doesn’t think the stranger is someone sketchy. The boy even notices the sturdy looking crutch propped against his seat. “What are you doing?”

For a moment, the man simply looks at him before surprising the boy with very fluent Korean.

“Fishing. What else do you think it looks like, kid?” the man says a-matter-of-factly as he rakes his fingers through his dark yet graying hair.

He gulps before switching to his mother tongue. “There’s fish underneath?”

“Of course there's fish underneath.” The fisherman rolls his eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you? You lost?”

The boy shakes his head. “I told you, I was just looking around.”

“Okay. Tell your parents to come get you then,” the man tells him – growing slightly annoyed at his peaceful fishing session having been interrupted.

“My mother’s busy. My father’s a scumbag who left her alone.” The young boy shrugs. “I’m pretty much free to do whatever I want, mister.”

A few moments pass by in silence, and he wonders if he said something strange. But either way, the man’s irritation morphs into amusement. “Shitty dad, huh?” he chuckles. “That’s right. Don’t ever forgive the people who’d hurt your mom. What’s your name, kid?”

The stranger jolts his fishing rod before the boy can give an answer, hauling a fish out of the water right before his eyes before dumping his latest catch in a wicker basket.

“Jisoo,” the boy tells him. “But my mom calls me Shuji”

To his surprise, the man simply nods. “Cool name.”

“Aren’t you going to say it’s weird or something?”

“Now you’re just asking too many questions.”

“My mom said it’s common courtesy to exchange names on the first meeting,” the boy huffs. “So are you going to tell me or not?”

The man sighs. “You’re really demanding for a kid. Kinda reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“...I’m leaving.”

“Ah! Wait a sec, lemme just pack up and I’ll head back to the harbor with you. If you wander around, you might just get mauled by the wolves,” the man tuts, already putting away his reel before folding his chair back up. That’s when the boy notices a glint of brown attached to a cord around his neck. He squints.

Has he seen that necklace before?

But there isn’t exactly much room to ponder about that. The man is struggling to tidy up on both feet – clearly unfit to protect anyone from woodland predators. The boy wonders if he’s injured himself so badly before that the aftermath still lingers. But still, he finds it a bit awkward to just stand around, so he walks over to him with a defeated sigh, offering to carry the fish basket and chair in his stead.

“What happened to your leg?” he wonders.

The man brushes the hair out of his face, looking forward as he leans on his crutch. “Got fucked up by a bunch of…gangsters a few years back. Haven’t been the same since.”

“...My mom knows a lot of doctors all over the world,” the boy says. “I’m sure she can find someone who can help you walk normally again.”

“Hm? Aren’t you being too generous to someone you just met, kid?”

He frowns. “I was taught by mom to treat everyone with basic decency.”

“Heh. You really love your mom, don’t you? Does she travel a lot?”

“For work, yeah. She’s a diplomat.”

The boy wonders if this is really okay. His mother might just be mortified at the thought of her only son talking to a stranger like they’ve known each other for years. But there’s just something about this man that he can’t quite pin down. Something that makes it easy to talk to him, even if they only met literally ten minutes earlier.

Well, his mother was looking for fresh catches to have for dinner anyways. Maybe she’ll let his penchant for making friends in unlikely places slide once he introduces her to this strange fisherman with fucked up legs.

⟢ end notes: if you made it this far, congrats UEYRUEF I KNOWWWW i have a shit ton of wips waiting in line, but i've been contemplating abt repurposing this fic for joshua for SOOOOO LONG. after hearing some advice from a few friends, i decided to just go for it and viola! 18k words shua angst was born out of nowhere. i felt so EMPTY the first time i finished writing it, so i hope you feel the same way too :3c

#svthub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt smut #joshua smut #seventeen joshua #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #lovelyhan #🐇 500 #full length fic 📚

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

Note

I'm really sick and Satan's sacrificial waterfall is here AT THE SAME TIME!

I don't know if you do blurbs or headcannons, but if so, would you be willing to write for the boys (either taskforce 141, or singular characters,) taking care of an afab reader who has never had anyone wanting to take care of them?

If not, sorry to bother!

I don't typically take requests but... since I'm in the same boat (sacrificial waterfall is probably going to come over the weekend for me), I'll 100% do it.

A while back I also posted this: "You're feeling ill" and it's also along the same vein, if you'd like an extra little pick me up.

Period woes.

Rating: G Words: 1K~ tags: afab!reader but you/your pronouns, SFW!, fluff, comfort, periods and associated symptoms.

A person’s period might be the most hypocritical moment of their routine. They’re expected to continue moving, working and living their live as normal, all with a smile on their face, while their uterus actively attempts to cut off its own circulation… as if for any other injury or sickness you wouldn’t be expected to lay down and STOP for a moment and allow yourself to heal up, or at least improve enough to not be miserable.

But no. You’re expected to deal with it alone, to not show a reaction, to not be irritable, or groaning and writhing in pain. Take a shower, stock up on painkillers and slap a smile on your face, you’ve gotta go out in the world and act as if you’re not actively dreading every waking moment you spend on your feet.

That’s why you’ve learned to hide it when you’re going through your monthly. Your family, partners… not even your girlfriends know when you’re having it. Ever since you were a young teen, just starting out, it was very much a conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know, sort of moment.

But it’s miserable. You’re always miserable. Everything hurts, the cramps, the headaches, the back pain, hip pain, your sore chest… Plus the blood, the lack of appetite (or increase in appetite), the nausea, the fact you want to cry one moment, or break dishes and scream the next, the way your colleagues annoy you beyond compare, how certain sounds grit your nerves just. enough. to make you feel like you’re losing it… And then you can’t sleep.

And of course… he notices it. How could he not?

Ghost is discreet about it. He doesn’t mention it, doesn’t make a big deal about it… But he’s VERY good at taking care of you without you noticing he’s doing it. His love language is acts of service… So he simply goes around giving you a hand on whatever you might need. Food? Made. Dishes? Done. Laundry? Washed, Dried, Folded and Put Away. He finds you trying to do something? No. Give it here, he’ll do it.

The inevitable day that a leak happens and you find yourself angry at yourself as you strip the bedsheets off the bed, trying to be discreet about it so he doesn’t see it, he silently grabs the sheets off your hands and murmurs a “Go take a shower and change. I’ve got this.” before turning to put the sheets in the washer, clean the mattress and remake the bed so you can lay down again by the time your shower is over. It makes you emotional, sometimes, that such a stoic man will gladly take on every other responsibility to allow you to heal.

Gaz, blessed be him, is an absolute sweetheart… But he’s also a silly boy. He notices and although he’s not going to make a big deal about it, he’s still very… Boyish about it. Uses all the silly names for your period (“The Communists are coming”, “Shark week”, “Satan’s waterfall”, “Carrie”) and affectionately calls you “My little ketchup packet”.

He’s all for ordering takeout and getting you whatever you want when and how you want it. He’ll rub your back and be very careful about where and how he touches you. He’s ginger with touches around your waist and lower stomach, looks at you with those big brown eyes of his, as if checking that he’s not hurting you or crossing a boundary. You find yourself getting emotional when he whispers about how strong you are to deal with this every month… Keeps asking gently if you need anything… It makes you feel so safe.

Price’s older. He’s been in many relationships before. He notices your period is coming before it even does… Notices how you’re acting. Jumpier, grumpier, sadder… Notices how you toss and turn the couple of nights leading up to it. And he’s silently prepared. He’s made a supply run to the grocery store to get what brand of period products you use and some painkillers and puts them where you can see them in the bathroom.

Fills you up with warm herbal tea and food that he knows are easy to digest and help with your state. No fucking chocolate and sugar or potato chips, you’re being pumped full of soups and stews and veggies and cut up fruit. He’ll sit by your side with a paring knife and an apple and slowly peel, core and cut it, before slowly feeding you (and himself) the slices. When you try to resist it, at first, too used to doing things alone, he’ll grab your face with both hands, look into your eyes and tell you. “And why exactly would I let you do that, when you’ve got me here to help you? How does that make sense?”

Soap’s… Well… Soap’s got a bunch of sisters… Each of them dealing with their periods in wildly different ways... So one thing he knows for sure: He’s not about to assume anything. You do what you’ve got to, he’ll adjust to you. He needs to go to the bathroom but you’re in there? Copy that, he’ll go piss in the yard. You’re having a cry in the kitchen because nothing looks good but you’re hungry? Talk it out with him, what do you want to eat? Let’s figure it out together, bonnie. You need to lie down in a dark room because of a migraine or headache or just to catch on sleep you’ve missed? Johnny’s blacked out every window, gathered every stray pillow and blanket in the house and will make you a nest if he’s got to.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with a whine and a stretch because your back hurts and you’ve got cramps and cannot for the life of you get comfortable, Johnny’s hands are rubbing over you, pressing kisses to your temple and murmuring little “I ken, love… It’ll be over soon… I’m sorry you’re going through this…”

#ikea writes 💚#cod fanfic #cod headcanons #reqs #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #feeling sick #sickness #menstruation

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justlemmeadoreyou · 2 months

Text

hopelessly devoted to you - 4

Summary: The divorce battle is here, and Harry has prepared you well. Will it go exactly how you wish it should?

Words: 4.3k+

Warnings: angst, crying, insecurities, a divorce and custody battle in court, a kiss. fluff too!

previous part here | series masterlist

The morning of the custody hearing, the courthouse was tense. . You walked in hand-in-hand with Harry, drawing strength from his reassuring presence. Elliot was already there, stone-faced with his arrogant lawyer in tow. The second you made eye contact, his expression twisted into a sneer, looking at you with so much anger and disgust.

Harry leaned in close as you took your seats. "Don't worry about him, yeah? We've got this in the bag as long as you stick to the truth."

He knew that Elliot still had an impact on you, years of torture doesn’t just slip away in one day. But when he wanted to pull you down, he knew he needed to be the support you could climb on to.

You gave a jerky nod, your stomach tying itself in knots. Despite all the evidence and preparation, a nagging voice whispered that it could all go wrong. That Elliot might somehow slither his way out unscathed like he always did. That he would take your daughter away from you, and you would end up with nothing.

The courtroom quieted as the bailiff's gruff voice rang out. "All rise for the honorable Judge Peterson."

Here we go.

The opening statements set an ominous tone. Elliot's lawyer, an oily shark of a man, wasted no time painting you as a scorned, unstable wife making reckless accusations against his client. He portrayed Elliot as a doting family man being unfairly persecuted. A man who was always devoted to his family, and never showed even the tiniest bit of anger toward you.

What a lie, what a lie, what a lie.

But the facade he was putting on didn’t seem to be working. He kept looking down, at the walls, at the stenographer, but never straight front, like an honest person would

Harry's jaw tensed, but his rebuttal was measured and methodical. Over the next few minutes, he clearly outlined the mountain of evidence against your soon-to-be ex -eyewitness testimonies, the drunken, unhinged video from your mother's home, and most damningly, Ellie's own statement about the threatening "uncle" who accompanied Elliot.

You could see the first fissures of doubt cracking Elliot's cocky veneer when Harry finished. His smug lawyer already looked rattled.

Finally, you were called to the stand. Harry's steadfast gaze assured you as you raised your right hand to be sworn in. This was it - time to confront your demons once and for all.

"In your own words, can you describe the sequence of events that led you to pursue this divorce and custody case against Mr. Harris?" the judge prompted in a neutral tone.

You took a fortifying breath and launched into your well-practiced testimony. Every sickening detail, from the escalating verbal and emotional abuse to Elliot's drunken rampages, poured out in an unstoppable torrent. In front of you, Ellie huddled against your mother's side, her little face pale. You never wanted her to listen to these horrors you had experienced, but her testimony was important for the case too. Plus, it was the hearing for her custody, so she had to be present.

Elliot's lawyer tried to shake you, pelting you with ruthless character attacks about being a negligent mother, a cheating wife, an alcoholic with anger issues.

But, Harry had prepped you well.

"Look him in the eye and don't let his tactics rattle you. He's trying to make you doubt yourself, but we both know your truth."

So you steeled yourself and stared Elliot down, refusing to be cowed any longer. The more you spoke, the more flustered and furious his lawyer became until he finally sputtered to a halt, realizing his tactics weren't landing.

When you finally stepped down, Harry's proud smile was all the reassurance you needed. The evidence was mounting, the cracks in Elliot's case becoming increasingly apparent. You could sense the momentum shifting in your favor.

The final twist came during Elliot's ex-buddy's testimony. His so-called "friend" strode in, flanked by guards, having been detained on an unrelated matter. The guy's sheer size and plethora of vivid tattoos made it instantly clear why Ellie had been so frightened.

Elliot kept shooting venomous glares at the hulking man, until the shocking revelation dropped - Elliot had hired this terrifying figure as hired muscle to muscle you into giving up Ellie during their confrontation at her school. He was going to take Ellie home with him, once he had threatened you when you came to pick her up.

Pandemonium erupted. Elliot was forcibly restrained as he launched himself towards his traitorous former ally, bellowing vile curses and threats, even spitting at him. The judge had to call a recess while order was restored, the courtroom buzzing with shocked murmurs.

When proceedings finally resumed, the flinty-eyed judge stared Elliot down as a broken, bitter man. Any veneer of upstanding family man had been irrevocably shattered, leaving only a twisted bully raging against consequences of his own making.

At long last, Judge Peterson took a fortifying breath and delivered her ruling. "In light of the preponderance of evidence pointing to ongoing domestic abuse, alcoholism, and reckless endangerment of a minor, I am awarding full legal and physical custody of the child to Mrs. Y/N Y/L/N . Mr. Elliot Harris will be granted supervised visitation rights upon completion of court-mandated therapy and rehabilitation, to be re-evaluated quarterly."

You sagged in your seat, all the tension fleeing in a rush of dizzying relief. It was over. You had won. Tears were welling up in your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry. Not right now.

Harry was beside you in an instant, strong arms enveloping you in a fierce hug. "You were incredible, darling," he murmured against your hair, steadying you while happy tears streamed down your cheeks. "You never gave up fighting for your little girl. I'm so damned proud of you."

His warm breath caressed your skin as you tilted your head back to gaze up at him, savoring the admiration and affection blazing in his expression. For weeks you had fought to ignore the deepening feelings simmering between you. There was a connection, an intimacy that went far beyond even close friends.

Now, caught in his tender embrace, everything suddenly felt so complicated. This remarkable man had strode into your life like a soothing balm, sheltering you and Ellie from the ugliness with his steadfast strength and kindness. He had faced down your darkest demons and emerged victorious, like a knight in shining armor.

Surely you couldn't be naive enough to believe he felt anything more for you than loyalty between friends and allies? And even if he did share the growing spark you felt, acting on it would only stir up more upheaval in the wake of this custody battle, wouldn't it?

You almost convinced yourself that Harry sensed your spiraling doubts at that moment. His bright green eyes dimmed ever so slightly, letting you tuck away whatever fragile intimacy had been blooming between you.

Instead, he simply rested his forehead against yours for a heartbeat, offering you a tender smile before releasing you from his arms.

Right, back to being consummate professionals.

"Let's go get your little girl so we can celebrate properly, eh?" he murmured, clearing his throat. "I'll call for a car to take us back to mine. Pizza and a night in watching crappy telly. Think Ellie would like that?"

You had no place to live, and in a moment, he had given you a home and a promise–of keeping you and your daughter safe till you parted ways.

Parted ways.

You managed a shaky laugh, ignoring the dull ache in your heart as the moment passed. "She'd love it. Thank you, Harry...for everything."

So you followed him obediently towards the corridor where your mother was waiting with Ellie. For the time being, you would bask in your hard-won victory and focus on nothing but enjoying this reprieve. As for whatever was simmering between you and Harry...that would have to wait.

Because you couldn't afford more complications right now. Not when you were both still putting the shattered pieces of your respective lives back together. Not when the slightest miscalculation could unravel the fragile peace and security you had fought so hard for.

So you pushed away the nagging awareness of all the lingering glances, the heated charged moments when you gravitate towards one another without thought. The profound sense of being utterly seen and cherished for the first time in your life.

All of that would need to be firmly locked away for now, you decided as Harry swept Ellie up into his arms amid her delighted squeals. The way he blinked rapidly to hold back tears you pretended not to notice. The tender, protective way his free hand found the small of your back as he ushered you both out of the courthouse towards your waiting car.

He was fulfilling something he didn’t have to.

For this little while, you would dwell only on the joy. On reveling in your fresh start, free from the shackles of abuse and toxicity that had haunted you for so long. When the time was right to face your blossoming connection with this man who had become your steadfast champion, you would find the courage to lean into those feelings.

But first, you would savor this night with your daughter and the closest friend you now considered family. You would let Ellie's happy laughter soothe every last ache as you snuggled on Harry's plush sofa watching terrible rom-coms and eating a greasy pizza.

Tomorrow could bring what it may. Tonight, you were simply basking in your own rebirth alongside your two favorite people in the world.

The next few weeks passed in a cozy, domestic blur. True to his word, Harry insisted you and Ellie stay with him to decompress after the emotional turmoil of the custody battle. His spacious flat became your safe haven, a sanctuary where you could begin piecing your little family back together.

With Ellie happily ensconced in the guest room surrounded by plush toys and her favorite books, you found yourself settling into an easy routine with Harry. Mornings were spent enjoying elaborate breakfasts he seemed to delight in whipping up - blueberry pancakes drizzled with sweet lemon curd, thick-cut bacon, and frothy hot chocolates for your girl.

"She barely ate anything for months with all the stress," you admitted one morning, watching Ellie devour her third pancake with unbridled glee. "It's such a relief to see her appetite back."

Harry merely reached over to squeeze your hand, offering you that soul-soothing smile. "She's got her mum back now. And she knows she's finally safe."

You tried not to dwell too much on the way those words settled deep in your bones like a warm caress. How you lived for the casual touches, the reassuring embraces that always seemed to ground you so effortlessly. For the first time in forever, you felt truly seen in a way that transcended the ugliness of your past.

Evenings were spent watching musicals and Disney classics cuddled on the sofa, Ellie snuggled between you both. Her delighted giggles as Harry crooned along to the silliest songs in that rich baritone never failed to make your heart swell. Sometimes you would glance over to find him already watching you with an achingly soft expression, his gaze heated yet tender.

Those were the moments your breath would catch, the awareness of him washing over you with heady intensity before you quickly averted your stare. Falling for your knight in sharply-tailored armor would only lead to catastrophe, you constantly reminded yourself.

Because Harry was planning to request a transfer out of the city once your divorce was finalized.

"Big changes are in order for me too, love," he confessed one evening after Ellie had dozed off between you, her beloved stuffed bunny clutched in her arms. "I've been feeling the need to shake things up for a while now, get out of the big city's toxic rat race. Go to a more quiet place."

You tried not to let your broken expression show, focusing instead on stroking Ellie's soft curls. "That makes sense. You've more than earned a fresh start after...well, everything."

Harry hummed in agreement, lazily tracing patterns on your knee with the pads of his fingertips - an idle gesture that nevertheless sent shivers down your spine and heat lancing through your core.

It was a harmless habit you had gotten yourself, feeling safe with his touch on your body.

You would have to get rid of it soon too.

"Who knows, maybe I'll finally make good on that dream of opening a practice in some sleepy seaside town where the most vicious crimes are petty theft and parking violations," he teased, emerald eyes twinkling mischievously.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't quite banish your looming sense of loss. The thought of this man eventually exiting your life, leaving just another Harry-shaped hole...it was unfathomable after everything you'd been through together. But you would never ask him to derail his aspirations just to assuage your own growing fears of abandonment.

No, you loved him and–

Oh.

Oh shit.

You loved him.

And loving means knowing how to let go.

"Well wherever you end up, I hope a certain little moppet will be welcome to visit her favorite uncle from time to time," you replied, aiming for a lighter tone.

Harry's penetrating gaze flickered over your face, savoring every feature in a way that made you flush with self-consciousness. "Nothing would make me happier," he rasped, his voice thick with an undercurrent of emotion that sent your heart racing.

You cleared your throat and quickly glanced away, cursing your traitorous heart. Allowing yourself to indulge in the growing spark between you would only lead to more pain when he eventually left. It was better to savor these peaceful moments without becoming ensnared by the hope of anything more lasting.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," you said, forcing a smile. "I'm sure Ellie will be heartbroken when you inevitably move on to greener pastures."

Harry's expression faltered, a shadow of hurt flickering across his features before he schooled his face into a neutral mask. "You're right, of course," he murmured, shifting his gaze to Ellie's sleeping form. "I wouldn't want to upset the little one."

An awkward silence fell between you, the air thick with unspoken tension. You hated the way you could practically feel the walls going up around him, the fragile intimacy you'd shared fracturing under the weight of your own doubts and fears.

Desperate to recapture the easy camaraderie you'd found, you reached out and squeezed his hand. "Harry, I...I don't mean to push you away. It's just—" You sighed, struggling to find the right words. "This has all been so overwhelming, and I can't bear the thought of Ellie getting her heart broken when you inevitably leave.” you took a applause, before saying, “Like everyone else does”

And that shattered Harry’s heart.

His grip tightened around your fingers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. "I understand, love. Believe me, I don't want to hurt either of you. But I hope you know that no matter where I end up, you and Ellie will always have a place in my life."

You offered him a watery smile, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection for this incredible man. "Thank you, Harry. That means more to me than you know."

He returned your smile, the warmth in his gaze making your breath catch. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, to let yourself get lost in the comfort and security of his embrace.

But you couldn't. Not when the future was so uncertain, not when your wounds were still so fresh. So you settled for savoring the tender intimacy of the moment, committing every detail to memory.

So you smiled and changed the subject. Because you were the one who chose this path by pursuing divorce, setting into motion the dominos that would ultimately rob you of Harry's steadfast presence. This day had always been coming.

Still, you couldn't regret finally summoning the courage to shed your shackles and start anew, no matter how bittersweet the cost. For the first time in her young life, Ellie could simply revel in being a normal little girl without the specter of her father's anger and demons looming. You had given your daughter the truest gift of all - the freedom to grow up unchained by fear and toxicity.

Looking at Harry cuddling her sleeping form, his handsome face awash in tender adoration, you felt a sudden flare of bone-deep gratitude for this remarkable man despite the pain of his future absence. You would carry the strength and resilience he had shown you for the rest of your days.

So you allowed yourself a fleeting moment of weakness, reaching over to interlace your fingers with his where they rested on Ellie's back. Harry froze at the contact, eyes snapping up to bore into yours with molten intensity. His sharp inhale was clearly audible in the stillness of the room.

But you simply angled your body to face him fully, committing every chiseled plane and nuance of his expression to memory - from those soulful evergreen irises to the dusting of freckles across his proud nose to those ridiculously lush lips you had definitely not imagined kissing more than once.

You didn't speak, though. Somehow you both instinctually understood that words would only taint the profound intimacy thrumming between you in that suspended heartbeat.

Then you released his hand, the moment fracturing before your heart could betray you even further. Harry gulped harshly, his throat bobbing as he visibly steadied himself. The air itself seemed to shiver with all the things you refused to acknowledge aloud.

This connection - this blissful yet transient pas de deux you had stumbled into with your dearest friend and savior - was too profound to be reduced to something as ephemeral as mere words. It simply was, and you would soak in every remaining second before you inevitably drifted apart.

Because people like Harry Styles didn't stick around forever, no matter how desperately you might wish it. He was a brilliant, vital force of nature destined for a grand future full opportunity. While you, well...you were just the broken divorcee still only beginning to rebuild your life from the ashes.

So you would let him go with your blessing, just as he had given you the greatest gift imaginable - your precious Ellie's hand to cling to as you stepped out of the shadows and into the warmth at long last. As you inhaled the gentle citrus notes of his cologne that had become such a source of comfort, you swore to cherish every beautiful memory this extraordinary man had gifted you.

Then tomorrow would come, and the future would wash over you with its inevitable tides of change. But for tonight, you had this: your baby girl secure in Harry's loving embrace, oblivious to the bittersweet poignant permeating the air. The sense of belonging, even if it was only fleeting.

So you smiled and tucked yourself against Ellie's side to bask in their combined warmth, feeling more whole and cherished than you ever dared to dream. The outside world and all its tumult could wait until morning. Here and now in this fragile cocoon, you had finally rediscovered your sense of home.

The next few weeks passed in a cozy, domestic blur. Harry's spacious flat became your safe haven, a sanctuary where you could begin piecing your little family back together. Mornings were spent enjoying elaborate breakfasts he seemed to delight in whipping up, while evenings were spent watching musicals and Disney classics cuddled on the sofa.

And through it all, Harry had been your steadfast champion, your guiding light. Even if the future held the inevitability of his departure, you knew that the indelible mark he'd left on your life would continue to sustain you.

So as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Harry's shoulder, you allowed yourself to savor the fragile beauty of this moment. Tomorrow would come soon enough, with all its uncertainties and challenges. But for now, you were home.

In the days that followed, you found yourself clinging to those precious moments of stillness and contentment. The easy camaraderie you and Harry had built slowly began to mend, the awkwardness of your previous conversation fading into the background.

Ellie's joyful laughter and unbridled enthusiasm were a balm to your soul, and you reveled in watching her blossom under Harry's doting attention. He seemed to have an innate knack for making her feel safe, treasured – qualities you'd long feared your daughter would never experience.

As you observed the two of them together, you couldn't help but find yourself falling deeper under Harry's spell. The way he looked at Ellie, with such pure, unconditional love, made your heart swell with a yearning you dared not give voice to. And when his gaze would shift to you, the tenderness and raw adoration shining in those mesmerizing green eyes left you positively breathless.

Still, you resisted the urge to lean into that budding connection, reminding yourself of the inevitable heartbreak that would follow. Harry's plans to leave the city were a constant presence in the back of your mind, a relentless drumbeat that refused to be silenced.

But as the days turned into weeks, and your divorce was finalized without incident, you found yourself growing bolder. Little by little, you allowed the walls around your heart to crumble, letting Harry's presence seep into the cracks. His unwavering support, his fierce loyalty – it was a lifeline you clung to .

And when he would catch you watching him, that all-too-familiar heat blooming in the depths of his gaze, you didn't look away. Instead, you'd hold his stare, daring him to make the first move, to finally tear down the fragile barriers you'd both erected.

The simmering tension between you was palpable, a living, breathing thing that threatened to consume you both. You knew you were playing with fire, risking the precious friendship you'd forged in the crucible of your darkest moments. You couldn't resist Harry's warmth and devotion.

Harry reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. The simple gesture sent electricity crackling down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

Your heart pounded in your ears as you slowly opened your eyes, drowning in the vulnerability etched across his handsome features. "Harry..." you breathed, your fingers trembling as you covered his hand with your own.

"I know it's complicated, and that I'm planning to leave," he continued, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek. "But I can't deny this any longer. The way I feel about you, it's...it's everything."

You found yourself nodding, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the weight of his confession settled over you. "I feel it too, Harry. God, I've tried so hard to ignore it, but—"

He silenced you with a gentle press of his fingers against your lips, his gaze burning with an intensity that stole your breath away. "Then don't," he murmured, his face inching closer to yours. "Don't ignore it. Let me in, Y/N. Please."

The world seemed to slow to a crawl as you stared into the depths of his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation. But all you found was a fierce, unwavering adoration that threatened to unravel you completely.

Slowly, reverently, you lifted a trembling hand to cup his jaw, marveling at the soft scratch of his stubble against your palm.

"Well, then, I guess one man's trash is another man's treasure," you said, the words slipping out without a second thought. The smile faded from Harry's lips, his brow furrowing.

"Don't ever say that again." His voice was soft yet firm. "You are a treasure. You're my treasure. But you were never anything less than that, not to me."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss. All the unspoken feelings between you ignited, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. You melted into his embrace, your fingers tangling in his soft curls as you surrendered to the passion consuming you both.

His lips moved against yours in a way that had you melting into him. His touch was soft, almost as if trying not to break you.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, you found yourself drowning in the sheer adoration etched across his face. "Bloody hell, you're everything," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. "I didn't mean to fall for you, but I can't imagine my life without you in it."

You chuckled weakly, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I think it's a little late for that, Harry. I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

His answering smile was dazzling, a glimpse of the boundless joy that had been lurking beneath the surface. "Good. That's exactly how I want it."

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you and the sleeping child you both cherished. The future was still very much uncertain for you, but it seemed less uncertain when you knew you had Harry.

You knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, not with Harry's departure coming. But as you curled up against him, Ellie's soft breaths ghosting across your skin, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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asumofwords · 10 months

Text

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Fighting, Aemond being an asshole, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, degradation, hair pulling, spanking, daddy kink.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Okay so, two things. I should preface this by telling you all that Harold Holt was an Australian Prime Minister who went swimming and never came back. It was assumed he drowned, or got eaten by sharks, or if you want to go with the more fun conspiracy theories, got abducted in a submarine. But to do a Harold Holt is basically to do a runner, no show, disappearance with no word, smoke bomb, etc. Hope you get it now lol. Secondly, the song Aemond is listening to is from one of my longtime fav bands who I got to see live! The song is ‘Kletka - Molchat Doma’ and its such a vibe, anyway, thanks for your patience on the update! Its a long ass chapter because I don't know how to stop.... Enjoy <3

Chapter 6: Lapse in Judgement

Waking up the next morning was something that you had dreaded the moment you ran and hid in your room, diving beneath your sheets as your heart raced and your core throbbed.

Your fingers had grazed your lips, sensitive from the bruising kiss he had pulled you into.

Fuck.

You had kissed Aemond.

And Aemond had kissed you.

You had felt the phantom feeling of his fingers on your core and had tossed and turned all night, desperately trying to ignore the heartbeat that settled between your thighs and the mounting anxiety that followed.

What would Helaena say?

When you woke that morning, the turning of your stomach began almost immediately, anxiety winding its way higher and higher, palms sweating, knowing that you would have to face the music and exit your room.

A small headache had formed behind your eyes from the alcohol, but it was barely noticeable in comparison to your racing thoughts. Or perhaps the cause for your headache was the conundrum you now found yourself in.

Note to self, no more Porn Star Martinis if a handsome and brooding man was in your apartment.

You dressed, and ran to the bathroom, noticing Aemond’s door was open.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, there were bags beneath your eyes, and your hair a mess from tossing and turning all night. You paid careful attention to concealing the dark shadows and fixing your hair before you took a steady breath and exited the loo.

You expected Aemond to be gone for his morning run as he usually was, as the creature of habit he seemed to be, door open and all that, but nope, fate had other plans for you. Aemond stood, in his over six foot glory in the kitchen, mug in his hands as he looked out the window. He was dressed in his running gear, grey shirt today and his hair was down, cascading over his shoulders, strands tucked neatly behind his ears.

On your approach, he lifted his head to look at you.

You swallowed dryly, feet stumbling slightly against the floor boards as you made your way over, heat rising in your cheeks. You were mortified, and beyond that, ashamed.

Ashamed of who it was.

Ashamed of how you had acted.

Ashamed that it was Helaena’s brother.

And ashamed that you had liked it.

You had to tear your face away from his gaze, diverting your eyes to the floor as you made your way over, picking up the kettle to make yourself your morning tea. You didn’t greet him verbally, too unsure of what to do, and so you gave him a soft nod.

A sliding sound caught your attention.

You took your eyes from the sink, and beside you on the bench, Aemond had pushed with two knuckles a mug of tea towards you.

It was your favourite mug, and it looked like he had managed to make it perfectly.

You blinked up at him, putting the kettle back in its holder and reaching for the tea. Your fingers grazed over his momentarily, heart racing as you took the mug from him. Warmth spread through your chest and you swallowed.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed, picking up the mug to your lips, “I, uh,” You let out an awkward chuckle, “I think I had one too many martini’s last night.” Another awkward laugh, and then the words didn’t stop, Oh god, “Sara took me to this new bar, and it was so cool, it actually reminded me a bit of you. We had one drink aft-“

“-Don’t worry about it.” Aemond interrupted your anxious rambling, his cool gaze on you, face blank.

You nodded and sipped at the tea.

Your heart raced in your chest.

It was perfect.

“Thanks for the tea. And for dealing with me last night.” Another awkward laugh, you lifted the mug towards him.

Aemond hummed, looking away to sip at his coffee, the strong smell of the beans surrounding you.

You stood together in the quiet of the kitchen, awkward energy surrounding the both of you before he set down his empty mug. He stepped closer, his chest almost bushing yours. Your breath caught in your throat as his hand reached forward.

And then over you to turn on the sink, a small ‘excuse me’ falling from his lips as he rinsed his mug and placed it into the dishwasher.

Your cheeks felt hot and you sucked in a shaky breath.

Aemond didn’t speak another word, and turned away from you, heading towards the front door as he pulled out his AirPods and placed them in his ears. He disappeared down the hall, and the last thing you heard was the keys being pulled out of the dish, and the door opening and closing.

You let the breath you had been holding in out in one big gust. Hand moving to rub at your neck awkwardly.

What the fuck was that?

The day droned on as it would with Larys hovering over your shoulder as usual. It didn’t help that you had not heard a word from Gwayne Hightower, and were swamped with endless calls from investors and clients whom he had meetings with and didn’t show.

“Do you know where Gwayne is?” You leant over your desk, looking to the one next to yours, a solicitor names Jasper Wylde watching at you with steely eyes.

His curly hair shifted as he turned to face you, dark beard trimmed perfectly against his chin, “No clue. He may be at the magistrates office. Got a text from Tyland this morning saying that something went down at the case this morning.”

You sighed loudly, leaning back in your chair, “That’s the last thing we need. How come Tyland texted you and not me? I’ve got calls coming out of my ass from angry and disgruntled clients about Gwayne missing their meetings.”

Jasper shrugged, “You know what Tyland is like, useless at the best of times.”

You snorted and rolled back to your desk.

Jasper was nice, stiff, but nice.

He took his job very seriously, and Tyland Lannister often called him Ironrod as a joke. Though he was older and a complete professional, it didn’t stop him from sending an occasional flirty glance your way, or rise of his dark brows.

Recently divorced.

You knew he had had four wives, all ending in divorce, and multiple kids with each one. You didn’t know how he had the time to support them all, let alone spend time with them. But he did, and you had been surprised when you first started and saw the pictures pinned to his cubicle of all his kids.

There was, at the very least, ten.

Ironrod might be more fitting for something else.

By the time the day ended, you had slumped in your chair, sighing loudly as you packed away your things. You turned to look at Jasper who was still working.

He never followed the clock ‘off at five’ rule you had, and would often stay behind to get everything perfect.

A real stickler for law.

You walked to the train station and jumped on the next one that rolled slowly into the subway. On your way home, your anxiety flared again. You hadn’t even answered Helaena’s texts asking about how you were and how Aemond was. Each time your fingers hovered over the notification a wave of guilt would crash over you.

You didn’t even know how to respond to it. What could you say? ‘Everything is great! It’s super awkward, but so fine. By the way, did I mention that I almost let your brother take me against the kitchen bench? Haha, anyway, how are you?’

You shuddered at even the thought of telling her yet.

Stopping at the grocery store, you decided to pick up some things you knew you were running low on, as well as grabbing the ingredients you needed to make dinner with for the night.

What you hadn’t expected when you arrived home, was the smell of cooking food filling the apartment and the sound of sizzling vegetables coming from the stove, ‘Kletka - Molchat Doma’ streaming out of your speaker. You chucked your keys in the dish atop Aemond’s and kicked off your shoes, shuffling to the kitchen.

He stood facing the stove, hair pulled back in a low and messy bun, shorter strands tucked behind his ears.

The tall man had changed out of his running gear, and was in a black t-shirt and some black dickies cuffed at the bottom, large black Doc Martins tied tightly on his feet.

You watched as his shoulders spread, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he cooked, the smell of spices filling the kitchen and lounge room.

It smelt so good that your mouth watered.

Aemond effortlessly flipped food in a pan, arm tight and tensed, veins visible on his pale skin as he worked. It was almost enchanting watching him cook, and your stomach did a flip as you gazed, warmth spreading into your gut.

“You going to stand and watch the whole time?”

You tensed, and sheepishly cleared your throat, “What are you cooking?” You walked over to stand next to him, his eye slipping to you from the corner of his eye as he continued to flip and stir the food.

“Dinner.”

You snorted, “I can see that.” You turned away and began to put your groceries and things away, opening the fridge to see that it was already full.

Aemond had gone grocery shopping.

“Do you eat meat?” He asked, chucking in some before you answered.

“Yea, I do.”

He hummed, flicking a finger out to turn the speaker down slightly so he could hear you better. He reached above him and pulled down two bowls, stirring the dinner again in the saucepan before he flicked it over into the two bowls.

He spun and gave you one, turning the speaker off.

Aemond made you dinner.

“Oh, thanks.” You uttered, taking the bowl from his hands before digging into the cutlery draw to pull out two forks.

Aemond hummed again, grabbing a fork from your hand as he turned the stove off and grabbed his own bowl, moving to the couch to eat. You followed after him, still in your work clothes and sat on the opposite end of the couch, feeling static energy between you both.

He flicked on the tv and began eating, dropping his phone on the table face down. You followed and began eating, watching some show about dragons and royalty.

The dinner was amazing.

You even groaned audibly as you ate.

Aemond was a good cook.

“This is amazing.” You complimented him, shoving another forkful into your mouth, flavour exploding on your tongue.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement.

“Who taught you to cook like this?”

“Helaena.” He smiled.

“Of course she did.” You chuckled, feeling the tension between you begin to dissolve.

This was fine.

You could pretend nothing happened.

He totally didn't have you pressed against the kitchen bench with his finger on your cunt last night.

“How was work?” He turned his head to you, eye concentrated on your face, watching your reaction.

You groaned, “Shit. Gwayne did a Harold Holt and left me to clean up the mess.”

Aemond’s brows frowned, “Harold Holt?”

You flicked your hand in dismissal, “Australian Prime Minister. Anyway, absolute nightmare of a day, so thanks for dinner. I was thinking after I got groceries I would just come home and make some noodles.”

Aemond smirked, and your stomach fluttered at the sight, “I got groceries too.”

You smirked back, “I saw that. Thanks by the way. Great minds do think alike.”

The coffee table buzzed from Aemond’s phone, once, twice, three times in succession. You watched as a long arm reached out to press the silence button, dropping it back onto the table with a huff.

You polished off your dinner, watching the show together.

“Why doesn’t she just take her dragons to the castle and kill everyone?” You watched the silver haired woman on the screen and couldn’t help but think of the man beside you.

“That would mean she kills innocents and proves a point to her enemies that she is cruel like her father.” Aemond mused.

His phone buzzed again.

“But she’s proven that she’s not. If anything, she’s shown restraint and empathy.” You argued, before a large smirk wound on your face, “Now that I look at her, you guys look similar. You’re more brooding though.”

“Brooding again.” Aemond huffed a laugh and you followed.

“Brooding and a chef. You won’t get any complaints from me.” You paused tilting your head and nodded to the screen, “If I was her I’d just kill everyone.”

“Spoken like a true tyrant.”

“Tyrant of this apartment, and this apartment only. Maybe my office cubicle if my boss is being particularly slimy.”

Aemond hummed, “Larys giving you a hard time?”

You grimaced, “When does he not? I don’t know what your mum sees in him.” Aemond nodded in agreement, “At least I don’t work under Tyland Lannister, he would be a nightmare not even I could survive.”

The thought of working under your ex’s brother made your skin crawl, you didn’t even want to think about it.

The table vibrated again, and then again. Aemond snatched up his phone, pale brows frowning as he looked at the screen. His lips twitched and you watched any inkling of the good mood he had been in disappear.

He threw his phone down on the table with more force than needed, the sound causing you to flinch.

“Who’s that? Don’t tell me Aegon’s stuck in some sorority bathroom again.” You tried to lighten the mood, teasing tone in your voice.

Aemond’s cheek twitched and you watched as his hands flexed, “No one.” His voice came out almost like a growl.

You felt a pang of concern for him, “Are you ok?”

Aemond stood abruptly, grabbing his bowl and shoving his phone into his pocket roughly, “Drop it.”

You blinked up at him as he snatched your finished bowl and made his way to the kitchen.

Over the next two days Aemond avoided you completely, leaving early and coming home late, opting to either eat outside of the house or in his room. His avoidance of the apartment came at a great relief as well as a disappointment.

You were back to square one, and you had a sneaking suspicion that his mood came from either his ex or news of his father.

You had finally replied back to Helaena, shooting her an apology and then calling her after to tell her about work and see how she was doing. She sounded a bit shorter than usual, but she told you that being back with the family had been tense, and that her dad was not doing great.

You wished you could console her, hold her and let her cry, but you were stuck in the house with her brother and unable to go to her with the pile of work that was mounting on your desk.

When she had asked about Aemond, your heart had raced in your chest, anxiety peaking as you lied and told her that he was nice enough but rarely home. You didn’t tell her about your kiss in the kitchen, or how his hand had gone up your dress, and guilt ate away at you because of this.

You told yourself you would tell her, but not now. Not with everything else going on in her life. You couldn’t add another pile of flaming shit to the stress she was going through.

You would reap the consequences later.

After the third day had passed of Aemond avoidance of you, you found him in the kitchen that morning where you had found him on Monday, leant against the bench, coffee in hand, and a steaming mug of tea beside him.

An apology.

Or at least, one in his opinion.

He greeted you with a soft and rumbling ‘morning’ before he left to go on his run, leaving you with the tea. You stood leant against the bench and drank the brew that was perfectly steeped to your liking.

Helaena must have told him how you liked it, or maybe he taken a good guess. Either way, you were gladdened for his shite apology and drank it happily.

You went to work and made sure to politely chew Gwayne out with multiple ‘per my last email’s and flooded him with rebooked meetings that were back to back for him to chase up on. He had come to your desk, leaning against it as he watched you and explained the reason for his absence, all the while Jasper pretended to not be listening in.

Gwayne often tried to ‘connect’ with you on a more personal level, but he annoyed you more than anything. He had this air around him that screamed ‘Trad Wife Fantasy’ and you were definitely not one to entertain that. Misogyny seemed to be ripe in the Hightower circles.

When you had got home that evening, Aemond was not, and so you began to heat up leftovers from the night before.

The apartment had felt cold despite the warmth outside, and you realised that the aircon had been left on for likely the whole day. You turned it off, making a note to check it before you leave in the mornings, chucking on an oversized jumper before sitting down to eat.

You flicked on the tv to put a show on and zone out, needing to let your brain turn to mush after the long day, before finishing your meal and putting your dishes in the washer. You were curled up amongst the pillows with your jumper sleeves tucked over your hands when you heard keys be pushed into the door.

Aemond entered the apartment, long silver hair shifting against his back as he sauntered in. His eye dropped to you on the couch and gave you a small nod. You nodded back, greeting him with a small ‘hey’ before going back to watching the television.

Aemond moved about the kitchen to make himself dinner and you scrolled through your phone, wondering if you should reply to Cregan’s text asking if you wanted to go out drinking with him and the boys that weekend.

The couch dipped beside you, Aemond having sat in the centre of the couch, thigh brushing against yours.

“What’re you watching?” He asked, face turned to the tv.

You turned to look at Aemond’s, who’s attention was locked on the screen.

Everything about him was so severe. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the music he listened to, all way to how he interacted with others, and his features reflected it. His nose was long and sharp, and it matched his chin and jaw, his scar slicing through his eye to his cheek.

But his lips were different. They weren’t sharp like the rest of him, they were soft. So soft, and the way he had held you in the kitchen was softer than you had expected he would have been.

You had expected him to grip your neck roughly, whisper in your ear obscenities, shove you backwards into the shelves, and bend you over the bench to wrench your dress over your ass, and d-

His face turned to you as he asked you again, and you swallowed feeling heat rise in your cheeks, “Some show about a zombie apocalypse.” You answered.

Was it hot in here?

Why was it so hot all of a sudden?

Aemond hummed, lifting a long leg to cross over a knee, his thigh hovering above yours, as warmth from his body spread up through you, travelling straight to your gut.

He smelt good.

Spicy and dark, with a hint of cigarette hanging in the undertones.

Feeling suddenly warm, you gripped the underside of your jumper and lifted, pulling it up and over your head. Cool air met your stomach and chest, and you snapped a hand down to pull the shirt that had gotten caught in your jumper back over your skin.

Shit.

One arm after the other, you took the jumper off in a flustered set of movements, chucking it onto the arm of the couch as you tried to hide the blush of your cheeks.

Ok.

He hadn’t said anything.

Clearly he hadn’t seen otherwise he would have said something. It was Aemond, he would have been snarky and sarcastic or chastising. It’s fine. So fine. Totally fine. Not as if you didn’t just flash him. Not at all.

Everything was fine.

You sat for a moment, adjusting yourself against the couch cushions, suddenly not being able to get comfortable, feeling a shyness spread through your chest. You breathed shallowly. A peak couldn’t hurt. You let your head turn slightly to look at Aemond.

His jaw was clenched, hand against his knee in a tight fist, small blush on his cheeks.

The couch vibrated and Aemond stiffened, this time not reaching to look at his phone.

Okay.

Maybe he had seen.

Fuck.

You stood awkwardly, grabbing the discarded jumper. Aemond looked up, watching you, chest rising and falling slowly beneath his shirt.

“Gonna have a shower,” You blurted, watching his silver lashes blink up at you, “Unless you want first dibs?”

Aemond shook his head and you moved away, walking straight to the bathroom.

Your stomach was full of butterflies as you made your way to the bathroom, stripping quickly to turn on the shower and let the water run cold, trying to cool the rising heat inside of you.

You spent ample time in there, goosebumps erupting on your skin as you attempted to ignore the way the man in your lounge room stoked a fire within you.

But no matter how hard you tried, it didn’t work.

You turned off the shower and stepped out, looking over at the towel rack to grab your towel to dry yourself.

Nothing.

Fuck.

On the back of the door was Helaena’s lilac silk robe, something she always wore when you would do a girls night in, face masks and hair care, and painted nails with your favourite movie, always Pride and Prejudice (2005 version), and a bottle of red. You grabbed the robe off the rack and threw it over your body, the silk clinging to your wet skin.

You swung the door open to run to the linen closet and grab yourself a new towel, running straight into a warm and broad chest. Hands steadied your shoulders as you stumbled backwards, eyes snapping up to meet Aemond’s gaze.

His fingers were tight around your arms, clenched into your flesh as he looked down at you. You swallowed, breathing heavily as your heart raced, the air between you charged.

“You can let go of me now.” You breathed, still in his grip as he looked at you.

His gaze darkened as his eye roamed down your body, and you felt heat brushing against your skin from it. Aemond’s gaze dropped further down still, hovering over your chest as he breathed heavily.

His fingers twitched and then skated down your arms to his side, raising goosebumps along your skin. He took a step back as you moved around him to open the linen cupboard, pulling down a towel.

From behind you could still feel his eye roaming over you, warmth sliding down your spine and into your gut. You gave him a small and shy smile before you stepped back into the bathroom, towel held against your chest.

Why was he staring at you like that?

You turned in the bathroom and caught your reflection in the mirror, you could now see why.

The thin lilac silk had stuck to your wet skin, becoming almost sheer, patches of the wet robe clinging to your curves, whilst the rest was dry and soft. The dark of your nipples were revealed against the soft material, and the curve of your breast was visible.

You blushed deeply, taking off the robe to hang it back the door to dry as you towelled yourself down, dressing into some comfortable pyjamas to get ready for bed.

Anxiety nipped at you again.

Gods.

Had you just flashed him twice in one day?

What was he going to think of you?

He probably thought you were doing it on purpose.

Deciding to go back out to the lounge room and swallow the embarrassment that sat heavily in the back of your throat, you trudged quietly into the room, Aemond sitting stiffly on the couch as he continued to watch the show that was still playing on the screen.

When you sat beside him, his head had turned slightly to look at you, eye taking in your now clothed form, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You tucked your legs beneath you and began to watch it, still feeling his gaze solely on you, and no longer paying attention to whatever was on the screen.

“Did anyone die?” You asked, not daring to turn your head to fully face him, knowing that you would lose all composure once you did.

“Don’t think so.” Aemond’s voice was low and gravelly and it made you shift on the cushion.

You made an awkward sound in the back of your throat, an attempt at a laugh, but it came out more like a whine, “That’s good then, I don’t want to miss anything important.”

Aemond huffed, “You could have paused it.”

His shift in demeanour caught you off guard, “But you were watching it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then how do you know if anyone died?”

“I don’t.”

You turned your face to look at him annoyed, “Then why say no-one died?”

Aemond lifted a brow at you, lips beginning to pull down, “I didn’t say that at all. I said I didn’t think so.”

“That implies you were paying attention.” You argued, feeling annoyed at his snarky attitude again.

Aemond dragged an irritated hand through his hair, “I don’t care about your stupid fucking show. If you didn’t want to miss something, then maybe you should have been smart and paused it.”

Your head reared back as you looked at him, his mood rapidly having soured, “What the fuck is your problem?”

The man let out a hollow laugh, “Fuck off.”

His phone vibrated in the couch cushions.

“No seriously dude. What is your deal? You’ve been on my dick ever since you moved in. I’m doing you a favour here.”

Anger flashed across the Targaryens face, his brows pulling down into a sneer as his scar crinkled across his cheek, “You think you’re doing me a favour?”

You were wrong, his lips could be sharp.

Buzz.

You turned on the couch to face him, “You’re the one who needed change. Who needed to leave Harrenhal and come back here. You took Helaena’s room so you could get settled and start fresh.”

“You don’t know anything about what I need.”

Buzz.

“You need to check your phone for a start, because whoever is messaging you is clearly desperate to get in touch. Maybe it’s Alys.”

The air in the room dropped, and Aemond’s face became stoney, as though he had pushed away all emotions to the back of his mind with cool practice. The way his posture had even changed looked as though he was on guard, ready to fight.

Regret flooded you as you looked at him.

You felt immediately terrible, having crossed a line that should never had been crossed. You knew his break up with Alys was bad, and their relationship was not great, and you had just rubbed that in his face.

“That was uncalled for, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” You apologised quietly, watching as his chest rose and fell jaggedly.

Aemond’s jaw was tensed, lips pursed together in a hard line as his eye narrowed on you, “Do you want to know what my problem is?” He leant forward, voice barely higher than a whisper.

You swallowed.

“My problem is that I live with someone who parades herself half naked around the apartment, and brings home men to fuck her loudly, all night, like a tart.”

You blanched, anger rising up your throat, “A tart? Wow.” Your voice dropped, “That's low. Even for you, Aemond.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” You sneered, standing from the couch to look down at him, “You have this ‘woe is me’ performance down to a T, when in reality you were born into a family of old money, not having to work a single day in your life, yet you still act as though you are downtrodden. You’re a spoilt, narcissistic asshole who looks down his purebred nose at people. You have more in common with Jason Lannister than you’d like to think.” You spun on your heel, anger bursting inside of you as you moved to storm away from the lounge room and into your bedroom.

Aemond’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist tightly as he began to stand, “Is that what you really think?”

“It’s what I know. You’ve so far treated me as lesser than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You’ve got some serious social deficiencies, Aemond. Did Daddy not hug you enough as a child?” You mocked, striking him where you knew it would hurt the most.

Fuck him.

Fuck being nice.

Arrogant, rich, prick.

Aemond straightened to his full height above you, looking down as he silently seethed. The air around you was charged, and the tension continued to mount as he watched you, eye locked on yours.

“Careful, bunny.”

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

“Why?” His voice dropped, “It’s what you like, isn’t it? Being called bunny, being treated rough. I could bend you over this couch right now and I bet you’d be soaked.”

Your eyes widened, breath stilling in your chest.

Aemond took another step forward, dropping your wrist, “I’m right aren’t I? You act out like this because you want to be put in your place. You want to be a brat so daddy will fuck you, don’t you?”

A chill ran down your spine as he loomed above you, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, eyes narrowing, “Fuck you.”

Aemond chuckled, “I bet you’d love that.” His hand moved swiftly, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, tingles rippling down your neck.

His hand kept going, brushing through your hair softly, before he gripped a large chunk harshly at the nape of your neck.

A shocked gasp fell from your lips.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

Defiant until the end.

“No?” His brows raised, “Then if I check, you wouldn’t be dripping right now, would you?”

You raised your head in false bravado, a blush creeping across your skin, standing as impossibly still as you could. Challenging him.

Aemond hummed, spinning you around by the grip on your hair, swiftly bending you over the arm of the couch. A cry fell from your lips as your hips and stomach collided with the edge, hands gripping the side to catch yourself.

Your heart was beating against your ribs as you shifted in anticipation, the heat of Aemond’s body loomed behind you as he bent over you, lips coming to beside your ear.

“Now, if I check, and you are wet, you’re in trouble.” He purred.

You squirmed, his hand tugging on your tendrils sending pleasure down your spine and straight to your core. He chuckled, and you whined again, feeling one of his large palms skate down your side agonisingly slow before he reached your pyjama bottoms.

Aemond’s long fingers dipped beneath the elastic and paused for a moment, as though he was giving you a second to say no. But you said nothing, eyes focused on the cushion in front of you as he tugged the shorts down in one swift yank.

Aemond tutted behind you, dragging one long finger to swipe through your folds. Your back arched as you whined, teasing pleasure rippling up through you.

You could feel how wet you were, and your thighs rubbed together in anticipation of what was to come.

He clicked his tongue at you, “You’re soaked.” Aemond’s hand left your core and you turned your head to look at him, watching as he brought the slick finger up to his lips to suck.

Your lips parted as your watched, his eye sliding shut as he licked his finger clean, humming.

“So sweet.” He cooed, “But I was right.” His voice lowered, and he loomed back over you, looking into your eye as his face hardened, “You’ve been such a brat tonight.”

You shook your head, tilting your hips back towards him, biting your lip as you looked at him. A smirk wound on his face as he watched you, hand moving back between your thighs where they instantly found your bud.

He pressed into it meanly, and a sharp cry fell from your lips.

“Shut up.” He hissed, diving two long fingers into your core with no warning.

Your eyes clenched shut as he immediately began to fuck his digits in and out of you, delicious stretch blooming within as the lewd sound of your wetness was all to be heard over your shallow breaths.

Aemond stayed bent over you, watching your face contort with pleasure as you tried to keep your moans inside, biting your lip roughly.

It was so hard.

Every drag of his fingers found the soft spongey spot within you with practised precision and without mercy, roughly pressing into it with each thrust of his hand, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine and heat to settle in your gut.

“So quiet now.” He teased, “Where’s that attitude gone?”

“Fuck you.” You grit through your teeth panting, eyes half lidded.

Aemond huffed, straightening up to his full height as his other hand pressed down on your lower back, pinning you to the couch arm. His hand began to fuck into you rapidly, slick leaking down your thighs as you writhed beneath his grip, coil beginning to tighten.

A broken moan fell erupted from your lips as the knuckles of his hand beat harshly against your clit, pain and pleasure being pulled through you in equal measure. The pain eventually being overridden by the euphoria that he was pulling from you.

Your walls tightened around his fingers and you felt him shift, the width of his other hand spreading widely across your back as he knelt behind you. You squeaked, trying to move, feeling suddenly shy, which earnt you a particularly harsh swat against the flesh of your ass.

“Stay still.” Aemond growled, and you did, feeling the warm of his breath at your core.

Your legs shook as his fingers were pulled from within, and you heard him lap at his digits once more, humming almost pornagraphically.

“Such a dirty, little girl. So wet and wanting for daddy, aren’t you? Such a slut.”

You mewled, hips shifting upwards, trying to take his fingers back inside of you.

You were so close, so fucking close.

Aemond leant forward, and dragged a wide stripe with his tongue up through your folds, humming as he moved, his sharp nose pressing into your backside.

“Fuck.” You whined, jolting forward.

Aemond’s hands grabbed your cheeks and spread them wide in a bruising grip before he dived between your folds, licking and sucking at your pearl with no abandon, your release coming closer and closer with every swipe of his skilled tongue.

He moaned as he lapped at your arousal, tongue dipping between your folds to collect it straight from the source. Aemond’s fingers dug into your flesh meanly as you whined, hips jerking backwards, chasing your release. He held you still, fucking you with his tongue as your climax hurtled towards you.

“Please.” You begged, fingers gripping the couch for dear life, knuckles going white.

Aemond paused and pulled back, “Please what?” He asked coyly.

You groaned, “Please make me cum.”

“But you don’t deserve that, do you? You’ve been a bitch all night, haven’t you?”

You whined, pushing your hips back as you felt him stand behind you again, “Not true.” You argued pathetically, “You were mean first.”

Aemond’s hand pulled your head back by your hair, eye boring into your own, “You haven’t seen mean at all, princess.”

His fingers pressed back into your walls, head still wrenched back painfully as he fucked his hand into you harder and faster than before, the coil within winding rapidly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Aemond, fuck.”

“Not my name.” He yanked on your hair, pain pulling at your scalp, “What’s my name?”

“Aemond.” You breathed jaggedly, last bit of cheekiness coming through.

His hand stilled inside of you, “No.”

You wriggled and whined, trying to push yourself back to fuck yourself on his fingers. His grip in your hair tightened again, preventing you from making any movements as he kept his fingers still.

A warning.

You swallowed the last of your pride, and whimpered, “Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Aemond cooed, his hand began to fuck into you again, thumb curling beneath to press into your bud and rub with every thrust, “Beg.”

You whined, biting your lips as pleasure began to mount, your release so close you could begin to feel the peak.

“Beg.” He growled again, thrusts getting harder.

“Please,” You sobbed out, “Please let me cum. Please let me cum, daddy.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He mocked, fucking his hand into you as fast as he could go.

The swirling of his thumb combined with his fingers moving rapidly, caused heat to bloom through your gut as your breath held in your chest. It was all too much, and the coil within wound pathetically fast as his skilled hand brought you to your peak.

“There you go.” He cooed from behind, feeling your walls clench around his digits, “Good girl.”

You came with a cry, hips pressing backwards into his hand as he fucked you through your climax, drawing out each and every inch of pleasure that he could. The room was filled with your moans and whines, the wet sound of your heat engulfing his fingers behind you.

Aemond slowed his thrusts down as you slumped against the arm of the couch, mind going fuzzy as pleasure coursed through your veins. Aemond removed his fingers carefully, wiping your slick on the inside of your thighs as you felt him look down at you.

Buzz.

You breathed heavily, lost in bliss as a small smile wound on your cheeks. You heard him chuckle behind you at the sight. Completely fucked out on the couch. And only with his hands and mouth.

Buzz.

“You gonna get that?” You sighed dreamily, pants still pushed down to your knees as lay slumped in a daze.

Buzz.

You turned your head to look at Aemond as he pulled out his phone in agitation, face scowling at the screen. You moved to sit on the arm of the couch, pulling your shorts up as you looked at him scrolling through his notifications.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, feeling concern at seeing his sudden change in nature, “Is it your dad?”

His cool gaze flicked to your face, and you felt the warmth that had once surrounded you grow cold. It was like he had flicked a switch, “How about you mind your own business.” He scowled.

You furrowed your brows at him, “Woah, relax. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Aemond scoffed, shoving his phone back into his back pocket, “Are you always this overbearing?”

You blanched.

What the fuck?

Buzz.

“What?” You said in disbelief, brows furrowing.

“Oh, please.” He growled angrily, “Making me dinner, asking after me all the time. If I had known you were that desperate-“

“-Desperate?”

A flash of regret washed over Aemond’s face. He sighed through his nose and stepped towards you, “Y/n, I-“

“Don’t.” You held a hand up, feeling tears begin to prickle at your eyes standing on shaky legs, “This was a mistake.”

Aemond’s face dropped.

The silver haired man sighed again, “If you would just l-“

“If you treated Alys half as bad as this, it’s no wonder she left you.” You snapped, watching as his jaw tensed, feeling an ache bloom in your chest, “You have no regard for anyone else but yourself, and what we just did was a lapse in my judgement. I thought that you-“ You paused and swallowed, not bothering to finish what you were going to say.

Aemond stood deathly still as you sped past him, not waiting for his response as you fled to your bedroom, slamming your door shut behind you. You crawled immediately into the sheets, tears finally falling from your eyes as you cried softly, turning onto your side to curl in on yourself.

You felt used.

If there was one thing that you knew, it was that Aemond was not a good person, no matter what Helaena said.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

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queenscodex · 1 year

Text

When your on your period

Dorm leaders; Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus

Female reader !

Warnings; mentions of blood, cramps and period stuff under the cut

Headcanons

Notes; a post no one saw coming hshshs. Im not dead :] wrote this before my break, not caught up with story or lore

Riddle Rosehearts

Among all the dorm leaders, Riddle is among the best and dependable when it comes to taking care of his girlfriend during shark week.

He even marks it down on his calendar so he can prepare in advance beforehand :'D

In the beginning he will be inexperienced, confused but determined to help you in any way possible.

The only female figure in his life was his mother who rarely touched upon the topic of periods. But after the first and second times, he becomes really reliable

He has a lot of patience and handles your mood swings fairly well. Though there are times you may catch a glimpse of surprise in his eyes, your mood switches unexpectedly.

Where did all these emotions come from? He can only imagine

Speaking of which, Riddle has come prepared for any and all moods you may be feeling.

Upset? He has some sweets and herbal tea ready for you.

Sad? No matter, he's coming back with some fluffy blankets and promises of snuggles.

Angry? He's taking out the emergency snack box he's got store

Riddle also has tea suited for any pains you may experience! Ginger tea for any cramps, honey lemon tea if you're feeling particularly nauseous, and some lavender tea for headaches.

He has some meds if that's what you prefer though !

He even asks Trey to prepare more sweets than usual, all in hopes to distract you from the pain.

Anyone who touches your tarts are dead

He gets Heartslabyul, mainly Ace and Deuce to tone down their mischievous antics, preventing any other distractions or bothers that may hinder your day.

He's a bit bashful when it comes to buying pads. He'll still do it but avoids eye contact with the nearby people while dawning little blush on his cheeks. He even stocks up on some heating pads if that helps with his girlfriend's pain.

" My rose, is it that time of month? No need to worry, I'll ask Trey to prepare some tarts; would you like it with less sugar or more?"

Leona Kingscholar

Not the best, oofles

Leona, when it comes to taking care of his girlfriend while she's on her period, can be a bit of an ass. Added on that his understanding of such can be limited

But that's not to say he's entirely oblivious, he understands the key aspects to it.

He still makes an effort though, you're his girlfriend after all and seeing you twist and turn in pain only causes him to be in a foul mood.

Makes the argument that you wake him up but that's not entirely the truth

He thought that some teasing may help lighten the mood. But that very much did nothing to mend the situation. If anything his behavior may make you more annoyed at first.

For the most part he leaves you alone unless you explicitly state you want him to be with you and vice versa.

His worst fear? His usually calm(?) gf snapping at him cause you run out of sugar packets

He can't really keep up with your mood swings, if anything the sudden shift in behavior only makes him annoyed as he struggles to understand what you want. Dw he gets better with each month but man doesn't know what you wa n t.

He makes the effort to tone down any teasing and blunt nature(though as nature does it can slip out without warning).

Whatever you need he's spending Ruggie to get it while he keeps you company. This includes pads, need any? Ruggie will get it for you, poor guy

Though Leona isn't opposed to getting you pads and other things himself if ruggie can't do so.

When it comes to sleeping, he resorts to resting on your stomach hoping that his added body heat combined with a heating pad will help soothe you

Prepares some warm foods he thinks would help comfort his girlfriend such as soups and nutritious meats, all cooked to your liking.

He makes sure you eat it too and not skip on any meals. Imagine him over your shoulder tapping his foot impatiently as he nudges the spoon to your lips

keeps a close eye on your body language, picking up any discomfort you may be displaying and when he notices these signs, he is quick to send Ruggie off to pick up medication or heating pad depending on the situation

" I prepared you some soup, I believe it will help with the cramps. Now eat up, I'm not leaving till you're alright."

Azul Ashengrotto

Panics, a lot

His girlfriend will have to explain what periods are

Probably thought you were dying with all the blood leaving your body. And when he found out that was something you had to deal with early in the month? in disbelief and yet still curious about human anatomy

Having to endure terrible pains for extended time? 'Your very strong my dear'

On one hand Azul is dependable; however, he has moments where he is unsure of what to do since periods don't really occur within the Coral Sea(at least that's my hc).

But he very quickly masters what he should do when that time of month draws near

He notes that you should drink plenty of water with some pain killers if need be. He has a glass set beside your bed and that will never be empty, he will be constantly refilling it as needed.

Can't handle your mood swings. He's a patient person but seeing his girlfriend's behavior change every few minutes makes him internally panic and at a loss of what to do.

Especially when you cry. He made be compelled to cry as well :<

Thankfully, he has the entirety of the Monstro Lounge at his aid. He can cook you up some quality meals that will help with your period, both nutritious and easy to the stomach. Along with the many meals, Azul also buys you a lot of snacks, many of your favorite types

He offers some messages whenever his girlfriend gets some cramps. His fingers are nimble on your shoulders, feet, and hands, trying to distract you from the pain.

He really hopes this works because he doesn't know what to do otherwiseeee

He isn't one to become really embarrassed when it comes to buying pads since he isn't really aware of what it is, and seeing as it will help his girlfriend he doesn't give it much of a second thought. Though he does become uneasy at some of the stares he gets.

Although he panics at times, Azul puts aside a lot of time to keep an eye on his girlfriend, his eyes attentive to any of her needs. At some point he even starts to mark it down on his calendar with little reminders to bring you food, water at random intervals throughout the day

" What are they called again? Pads? Alright, I will be back with a pack soon. In the meantime, I have drawn you a bath, I hope that will soothe your aches until I return."

Kalim Al Asim

Clueless boy but still tries his best :D

Though clueless Kalim does have a moderate understanding of periods and what to do. He has many younger siblings, and periods are a normal thing that occurs and one shouldn't be ashamed of it

However, because he has grown used to the aid of servants, when it comes to taking care of his girlfriend he can be a bit lost but gives his best attempt nonetheless

Kalim is going to do everything in his power to make sure his girlfriend is comfortable. He will build a little nest of pillows and stack some blankets of different varieties. Still feels uncomfortable? No need, Kalim will buy a ton more pillows with extra fluff.

Will spoil you so rotten

Is bewildered by your mood swings and comes to understand that there will be times you want to be alone and other times you want to be affectionate. Regardless, he remains calm with a smile on his face, hoping his happy nature will at the very least ease his girlfriends worries

Feeling hungry? Kalim will buy the entire snack section of the store. He doesn't know what to get you so why not buy everything? He has a snack ready for you at any given moment.

You could be sleeping and upon waking up, you'd be met with a pile of your favorite snacks beside, with a little note from Kalim(filled with little doodles <333)

Kalim becomes heart broken when he sees you in pain. Clutches you close to him, resting his head on top of your own. Let's you squeeze his hand whenever the pain becomes overwhelming

He is not even the slightest embarrassed when it comes to buying pads. And like the snacks, he buys many packs since he isn't sure which one will be the best, pick your favorite !

During the process, Kalim becomes more clingy(unless you need space, that's perfectly fine as well !)sticking by your side for as long as he can.

He cuddles with you more and rest against your torso during the night, giving light pecks

Kalim lets you get onto his back if your feet ache or in too much pain to move. He even takes you on a magic carpet ride if the pain becomes too much, using it like as a distraction

Whatever you need he'll get you <3

" The new pillows I ordered came in, wanna switch them out? I read these ones were made specifically for periods."

Vil Schoenheit

Like Riddle, Vil is very dependable during these times and handles the situation with care. He is always preparing a few days before the start of your period(as he marks it on his own calendar), just to be ready for anything his girlfriend may face

Does his own research and looks for the best methods to help someone during this time of month.

He even goes to his agency to let them know he may be busy for the next few days tending and caring for you ♡

Vil will buy the highest quality and most comfortable pads and tampons out there. He carries some on his person in case of an emergency along with a pair of pants or shorts. And with the pads he also carries some medication, making sure you take the medicine at the right hours.

No need to worry about heating pads or tea, he's already got those pre ordered and it's the top of quality and does wonders

Vil becomes very observant to what you're eating, cutting back any caffeine or spicy foods and instead giving you a light meal with fruits.

Will seduce you into healthy eating habits 😙

takes care of any work you need to finish, such as any laundry, cleaning or any school stuff as you rest.

Something he isn't the best at though is when it comes to your mood swings. It can be unnerving sometimes, especially if you're upset. Vil tries to keep a straight face during these moments but his brows furrowed together every so often.

Vil takes his girlfriend to get a message whenever her body starts to ache along with other self-care activities to distract you from the pain.

Meanwhile at home, he is cuddling with you in bed, rubbing shapes on your back, sweet whispers meeting your ears as you fall asleep

" All the pain will be gone soon, sweet potato. Right now focus on the sound of my voice, how what does a luxury spa day with messages sound to you hmm?."

Idia Shroud

Help him, he doesn't know what to do and panics a lot

Idia has zero knowledge on what periods are, with the exceptions of some things mentioned in anime and read online but he's still clueless on what to do.

It's a process of trial and error, noting what works best and what he needs to alter and fix.

Your mood swings make him p a n i c. The look of surprise is easily readable on his face like an open book, his eyes widening in surprise as he arms bunch up to his chest.

From that point he is always anticipating for your mood to change and tries to do anything to prevent you from getting upset, cause let's be real, you're scary when mad.

He even goes through the effort to clean his room a bit so his girlfriend can easily find her things without getting annoyed with the mess(not that you had a problem with it in the first place)

Idia gets you lots of snacks, especially sweets. He has a stash hidden in one of his drawers, it's his 'girlfriend is hungry, panic button' saved for these times of month.

He also buys a weighted blanket, many of them, all with the purpose to provide heat during the night

He tries to give you messages but it can be rough sometimes as his movements become shaky, sometimes pinching you involuntarily.

Idia places a hot towel on top of your stomach when the cramps become too much, changes it occasionally when bringing you a glass of water + medicine

He tries to distract you by gathering all your blankets and pillows and creates a nest around the couch, and puts on a nice anime to watch while you cuddle against him, munching on the many candies he has store away

Idia pefers to buy the pads and tampons online. But since shipping takes a few days, he was forced to exit the den that is his dorm room and go to the store. He runs in quick, grabs a few packs before dashing away- next time he resorts to buying it online in advance

May become a bit of a broken record, asking you daily if there was anything you need.

But feels like the proudest person alive when it all pays out in the end in the form of cuddles and affection from his girlfriend <3

" Do you need anything? I- I have some candies, we can share if you like. Ah… I don't know what I'm doing."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus, as a fae can he probably smell blood and was concerned at first. If you're bleeding does that mean your hurt? Then whoever hurt you will face the wrath of the dragon fae.

Much like Azul, his girlfriend would have to teach Malleus about periods and that it's an normal thing that happens every month.

Malleus' response was to look at your stomach and poke at it a few times, like that's going to stop the blood. Good attempt tho 😗👍

Although not very knowledgeable in what periods are, he becomes a master of taking care of his lover within the first few months- he's also another one who tracks her period and marks it down.

If you thought Kalim was spoiling, Malleus takes it to another level. It's a sea of pillows and blankets with him, always having a new pillow to try out if the last one was too bulky or something.

He tries to make the atmosphere as cheery and light as possible to mask the situation, every morning you wake up with a vase of flowers and a little glass of water.

Malleus holds some medication, heating pads, tampons and any other thing you need on his person while you're both in public, he doesn't want you to worry about a thing.

He buys lots of ice cream during these days among your other favorite snacks and goods. May end up overdoing it and buying more than needed but at least your stock up for next month-!

Gives some of the best messages!! Works out any aches you may have, easily soothing the pain you may have.

Kisses your stomach, he knows it won't help with the cramps but maybe it can help his girlfriend feel even a little bit better. Each kiss is gentle and soft, perhaps a bit feathery to your skin

Malleus handles your mood swings pretty well. He was surprised at first at how quickly you changed moods based on a small little thing but he learns to adapt and change whatever is bothering at you in a given moment

Many dates ! Takes you on panics under the moonlight, walks around the school and other activities that will work to distract you from the cramps and stiff feelings

Compliments. Many many many compliments. With mood swings can come with some undesired thoughts about one's self. Malleus will always voice his love for you and the worth you have. A day will never pass in which he forgets to do so <33.

" My treasure, though you may see yourself as undesirable, I see the most beautiful person in this world. I truly wished I could take away your pain."

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dhorrl · 3 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet-Eijiro Kirishima

Character Aged Up, Minors Do Not Interact. Thank you :)

A = Aftercare

Out of all the men in MHA, this man would excel in providing aftercare. He is full of energy and will do whatever you need - water, snacks, towels; he's got it covered. When you feel ready to move, he'll pick you up effortlessly (your size doesn't matter to him) and setting you on the toilet, (no UTIs on his watch). While you take care of that, he'll get the shower ready for you and assist with washing your hair and scrubbing your body. But let's be honest, he might enjoy it a little too much. Once you're back in bed and snuggled up in his arms, he'll most likely fall asleep quickly from all the activity. You'll feel his gentle hand resting on your stomach or breast as he drifts off into peaceful slumber.

B = Body Part

He takes great pride in his well-defined chest and loves when you caress it or follow its lines with your fingers. His stomach, while not as chiseled, is also a source of pride for him. Shower him with compliments on his body, and he'll be ecstatic; after all, who doesn't love receiving praise? He has learned over time how to properly fuel his body and work out to fully utilize his Quirk, resulting in a slightly softer tummy (think competitive strongmen) that comes from consuming large amounts of food to build muscle. But his focus now isn't on keeping a low body fat percentage; rather, it's on maintaining the physique that you love so much.

As for his partner, he adores thighs and ass, and leaving his little shark teeth marks on them (marking kink, we’ll get there). In fact, he may even have a preference for a little extra cushion (although that could just be wishful thinking). He could spend all day kissing and touching their thighs and wouldn't tire of it. During sex, his lips are attached to your ankles and calves too, nibbling and kissing them while your legs are draped over his shoulders.

C = Cum

Eijiro's cum has a slightly thinner consistency than average, but that's because he produces a lot of it. Luckily though, it doesn't taste bad since he maintains a healthy diet despite his bulking efforts. Swallowing it down and licking it off your fingers and lips is guaranteed to drive him wild. His ultimate preference is to ejaculate inside of you (he has a breeding kink, if you couldn't tell), but he will happily oblige if you ask him to pull out. If not inside, his second choice would be your backside and third would be your breasts.

D = Dirty Secret

I came across a similar headcanon and it just felt so accurate. When he was younger, there was an incident where he accidentally activated his Quirk while masturbating and ended up injuring himself. Ever since then, he's been terrified of touching himself. However, when he couldn't handle the pent-up tension any longer, he purchased a high-quality pocket pussy. He would be mortified if anyone ever found out about it.

E = Experience

Eijiro is not one for casual hookups and one night stands. He gets emotionally invested and doesn’t want to take advantage of someone else. In the past, he has only had 2-3 partners, all in committed relationships. However, this doesn't mean he lacks confidence in his abilities; in fact, his confidence is a big part of how he approaches relationships.

F = Favorite Position

Eijiro is a hopeless romantic, and he needs to see your beautiful face while making love. He doesn't mind taking the lead in any position, but he especially enjoys missionary because it allows you to lay back and relax like the princess you are. However, he also adores cowgirl, with your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands caress your skin. Although he knows he may be too large for you at first, he'll take slow and gentle thrusts while watching the expressions on your face. Eventually, he will sit up and kiss your cheeks and nose before helping you ride him fully.

G = Goofy

This man is always smiling and laughing, a big ball of positive energy. He takes pleasure in making you laugh and seeing the joy in your eyes. And why should sex be serious all the time? In my experience, it's the perfect time to let go and have a good laugh. Oh, some weird sex noises? He'll join in with childish giggles. Accidentally falling while trying to climb on top? He'll tickle your sides and remind you how lucky he feels to have you as his best friend and partner.

H = Hair

Firstly, we all know the carpet and drapes don't match. This leads me to think that he prefers a clean-shaven look. He is quite diligent in keeping it all off, so you'll rarely catch him with any hair. While maintaining an image of masculinity is important to him, he also values being well-groomed. As he ages and becomes less concerned with other's opinions, he may allow some of his roots to grow back, possibly even letting a bit of his happy trail reappear (yum).

I = Intimacy

Eijiro is incredibly passionate and intimate, both in and out of the bedroom. He doesn't waste any time with you; his intense eye contact and tender kisses begin before you even reach the bed. His lips are always on yours, leaving little room for you to catch your breath. During the sex itself, he finds ways to stay connected, often holding your hand tightly as he thrusts. His hands will caress every curve of your body, and his chest will press against yours, a physical reminder that he is yours and you are his. With every fiber of his being, he wants you to know that he is devoted to you.

J = Jack Off

From the onset of puberty, this man's body was overflowing with testosterone. And so, like most teenagers, he would frequently take care of his needs with masturbation. However, as said above, after accidentally injuring himself while using his hand, he opted for a more discreet option - a pocket pussy that he kept hidden from view. Once he experienced actual sex for the first time, his need for masturbation diminished. But as he well knew, there is only so much you could handle of his endless drive, or he’d sometimes have to be away for missions, so he still kept a little toy just for those moments. His preferred position is lying down with his upper body propped up against the headboard, allowing him to watch and pleasure himself at the same time.

K = Kink

We might be here a while. Eijiro is a lot kinkier than I think some people believe.

Praise and Body Worship. Both ways. Tell him how good he’s fucking you, trace his muscles, tell him that he’s gorgeous and an amazing hero, and he will take you like it’s his last day on Earth. He loves complimenting each and every part of your body during sex, and he’ll definitely make a few comments on how well you’re taking him.

Primal Play. Eijiro may not even know the label, but he is definitely into primal kink. It's about embracing natural instincts rather than focusing on specific sexual acts or mutual pleasure. The resulting play can be playful or intense. He enjoys a bit of roughhousing and wrestling, as if he is trying to capture his prey. You can expect to hear growls and feel sharp bites from Eijiro during these moments.

Breeding. Good lord does Eijiro has a massive breeding kink. However, he is also respectful of consent, so if you are not comfortable with him cumming inside you, he won't pressure or question you. But if you give him permission, be prepared to be filled to the brim. It's doubtful even birth control could prevent pregnancy in that situation. Proceed with caution.

Marking. Eijiro loves this going both ways. Not only does he enjoy the sight of hickeys, bites, and handprints that show your desire for him, but he also wants you to leave marks on him. He craves the feeling of your nails scratching his back until it turns red or having big purple hickeys on his chest that make it clear to everyone that the Pro Hero Red Riot is not available.

L = Location

Eijiro's thoughts and actions may not always align with each other. He has a dirty mind, but he also has a respectful disposition. While he may fantasize about taking you in various public places like the back of a car, an alley behind the agency, or even on top of Katsuki's desk, he will ultimately prioritize privacy by sticking to your home for those moments. However, it's safe to say that every surface of your house has had your ass on it.

M = Motivation

Do you exist? Then he's ready to go. The most difficult part is keeping his hands off you, instead of on you. Trying to get dressed for work, standing in just a towel as you search for your clothes? He'll pull the towel and you onto the bed, his face already buried between your thighs. If you bend over to pick up something you dropped on the floor, he'll push you all the way down and tug at your shorts so he can rub his fat cock against you. He's eager and willing to act on his desires without hesitation.

N = No

Eijiro is always up for some rough play, whether it's marking, spanking, or biting. But he would never intentionally harm you to the point of drawing blood or causing permanent damage. He may enjoy a bit of pain and dominance, but he loves you too much to take any risks that could jeopardize your well-being.

O = Oral

This man is a completely munch. He craves being nestled between yours thighs, not just for pleasuring your pussy, but lapping his tongue into your ass. As he focuses on the task at hand, his eyes glisten beneath heavy lids, his mouth agape as he gazes into your soul, and a euphoric moan escapes his lips. He’s doing this for his pleasure.

P = Pace

Just like with everything else, Eijiro is open-minded and ready to go along with whatever you want. Whether it's a slow and sensual experience or a fast and rough one, he's all in. If you choose the latter, just be prepared to hang on tight because he'll make sure you can't walk the next day.

Q = Quickie

Eijiro has a high sex drive and can get quite desperate for you, leading to spontaneous quickies. While he prefers longer, drawn-out sessions, if you show up to his office in the little sundress he loves, be prepared for a steamy afternoon snack bent over his desk.

R = Risk

He's not one to take risks when it comes to sexual activity; his main concern is always keeping you safe and avoiding any potential compromising situations with others. However, if you push him for something more adventurous, he finds it difficult to refuse you. Still, he remains vigilant and cautious in his instincts.

S = Stamina

He’s the sturdy hero, remember? Eijiro has stamina for DAYS. He could easily keep both of you going for at least five rounds a night, but he is always mindful of his partner's limits and won't push them too far. His sessions can last for hours, and you might likely tap out before he’s close to being done. However, if you let him fully release his sexual energy on you, just be prepared to not be able to walk the next day.

T = Toy

As we discussed, he used a pocket pussy to protect his cock before he gained full control over his Quirk. However, he never really considered or explored other types of sex toys. He is open to the idea and would never feel offended or emasculated if you suggested using them. But with all the pleasure he can provide, you probably won't feel the need for anything more than perhaps a vibrator and some light restraints for some playful bondage activities.

U = Unfair

He likes the idea of teasing you, but in reality, he's just too much of a simp with you. The moment you beg for him to give in to you, he folding like a lawn chair. However, when the tables are turned and you tease him, he has no problem with it and will let you edge him long and hard for as long as you want.

V = Volume

Eijiro is definitely a grunter and a whimper-er. He get so lost in your gummy wet cunt he completely loses himself to where he doesn't even care anymore what sounds slip through his lips. At first, he tried to suppress them, but soon realized that these noises only made you even more wet and needy and he never held back again.

W = Wild Card

I wouldn’t say its wild, but when it comes to sex, Eijiro is always a yes man for you. He wants nothing more than to please you and make all your fantasies come true. He’ll happily fulfill any requests or desires you have, no matter how kinky or unconventional they may be. As long as it makes you happy, he’s all for it.

X = X-Ray

This man possesses a beast of a hog, there's no doubt about it. It's not just exceptionally long, but also impressively thick. You couldn't even attempt to wrap your fingers around it; there would be no chance of them touching. And when he's aroused, you can see a visible swirl of veins, and it stands straight up, hard as rock, and a nice heavy set of breeder balls.

Y = Yearning

When he was younger, his sex drive was through the roof, but as he aged, it became more controlled. Despite that, his testosterone levels are still high, and he could easily go multiple times a day. However, he's never one to pressure or push you, and is content with whatever level of intimacy you're comfortable with. As mentioned before, he has a little "friend" to satisfy his needs when feeling tense.

Z = ZZZ

As I mentioned earlier, he has a lot of energy at the start, which he channels into taking care of you and making sure you are comfortable and ready for bed. However, once that burst of energy wears off, he will want to cuddle with you before crashing hard and fast.

#bnha eijiro kirishima #mha eijirou #eijiro kirishima #kirishima smut #kirishima headcanon #eijiro headcanons #aged up characters #my hero academia

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chadillacboseman · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Homelander x F!Reader Warnings: Well, it's Homelander. He's fucked up, he's irredeemable, etc etc. We fuck monsters here. Violence, a little bit of a praise kink and some rough fucking mentioned. Homelander is a bit of a creep.

"What's your name?"

You had dropped the documents you were carrying, sending papers and folders flying in the cramped hallway. A towering figure in dark blue had stopped to help you, had knelt down beside you and swept the documents into his hands before straightening.

Homelander.

You told him your name and he repeated it with a shark-like grin. His canines were just a little too sharp, his eyes just a little too blue.

"How have I never seen you before? You should be front and center here."

You worked for Vought, a low-level secretary and a glorified "gopher" as Stillwell had so often called you.

But suddenly, you were front and center. A promotion came the day after he had stopped to help you. A new desk that overlooked the city awaited you on the 18th floor. "Supe Coordinator" they called you- the person who arranged their press appearances and made sure they were prepared for the media.

Deep, you learned, had a fear of public speaking. Black Noir, despite his silence, loved a good joke.

And Homelander, oh, Homelander. He was every bit as charismatic to you as he appeared on TV. He doted on you, always telling you how wonderful you were, how much better you were than the others at Vought.

"I think he likes you."

A coworker gestures to the Supe in blue and giggles behind her hand like a schoolgirl.

"He looks at you- like a lot."

Oh, does he look. His eyes linger on your every move, watching as your hands touch the other Supes. He thinks of breaking Deep's neck when he makes a crude joke about you.

Homelander isn't used to feeling like this- humans are below him. But he aches for you, wants to make you his. He wants to parade you around like a trophy at his side.

He envisions a perfect life with you at his side- a kid, a dog, a fucking picket fence. The whole works.

A stroke of luck for him comes at your expense.

In the parking lot, a madman rants, holding a sign that decries supes, calls them evil. He's waving a knife. He's blocking your car.

Homelander hears your shriek from the top floor.

He bursts through the window, sending a spray of glass to the pavement below. In an instant, he has the man by the throat, shoving him into a nearby car.

Homelander looks like something from a horror movie, shark teeth bared, eyes glowing red. He snaps the man's neck and drops him to the ground without flinching.

You're shaking, trembling like the helpless, powerless human you are. He scoops you into his arms, holds you tightly against his broad chest and takes flight, delivering you home despite your protests at leaving your car behind.

You don't think to ask him how he knows where you live.

After the parking lot incident, Homelander keeps you close.

"Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"I'll protect you."

An excuse to have you by his side- to fly you home every night and bring you to work in the mornings. He's insidious like that, isolating you from others before they can warn you about him.

One night as he flies you home, you finally ask the question that has been burning in your chest like a coalfire.

"Why do you do this?"

He makes a sound, like a rumble deep in his chest, before glancing down at you. In the darkness, his features are even more striking, his blue eyes boring into yours.

"I like you."

Your stomach does somersaults that have nothing to do with the flight.

After that, you're his before you even realize it.

Headlines abound-

"#1 Supe Settles Down"

"Homelander Finds Love in a Surprising Partner"

He brings you on press tours, keeps a protective gloved hand on your thigh as they ask you questions.

"What's it like being with the most powerful man in the world?"

The hand tightens. He's smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"It's amazing."

The grip loosens once more.

"Say it. Say you're mine," Homelander's hips snap against you and you cry out, head lolling back as he fucks you.

"Say it," he commands between thrusts, his hand coming to your throat in a warning.

"I'm yours!" you wheeze as his hand tightens on your windpipe.

"Good girl," he croons, "Such a good, good girl."

He releases your neck from his grasp and focuses instead on your breasts, hands wandering over them like he's committing them to memory.

There's something about your fragility, something about the way he could so easily hurt you if he felt compelled. It drives him, makes him feel like an animal.

He cums inside you over and over until you're so sore you're almost begging for reprieve. He pulls back to examine his handiwork, eyes hungry as he drips from you.

He isn't always this rough.

There are times when he finds you in your apartment, defeated and longing. Times when all he can do is lie back while you ride him, begging for your praise.

And you give it to him.

You use his real name, run your fingers through his hair while you sink onto his cock.

"John," you whisper and he's putty in your hands, whimpering and burying his face in your chest, "My good boy. My Homelander."

And he is yours- so completely and totally that it frightens him.

You're a target now- a target for not just the media, but for his enemies too.

Billy Butcher smells blood in the water the first time he sees you at the Supe's side.

"We could use this. Use her."

Butcher threatens your life and Homelander sees red. He vows to go scorched earth, to kill him and his "Boys" if they ever lay a finger on you. He's ranting, pacing the floor of your apartment, his cape billowing in his wake.

"I'll crush his fucking skull-"

"John, please," you're pleading, wringing your hands in desperation.

"I'll rip his throat out!"

"John!"

He snaps back to reality and clutches your hands in his, kneeling before you in a stunningly human gesture.

"No one will ever hurt you," he promises, steely blue eyes never wavering from yours, "Ever."

You believe him.

#homelander x reader #ns/fw #homelander #the boys fic #this is all over the place sorry lol

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familyvideostevie · 1 year

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Happy Friday :) Would it be okay to request something where the kids try to play matchmaker for Steve with the reader? Maybe he’s been pretty mopey and Dustin thinks a certain girl he knows can fix that but it’s just absolute chaos between the kids trying to make it happen but ends super fluffy and happy for Steve.

you requested this ages and ages ago, so thank you for your patience! it's less chaos and more the start of something sweet, hope you like! |fem!reader, fluff, 1.7k

"If you sigh one more time I think I'm going to punch you," Dustin groans. "Robin, can't you do something about this?" The boy throws his hands up in the air and Robin laughs. Steve feels his scowl deepen.

"No," she says. "Even though I am by far the smartest person you know, even I don't have a solution for whatever Debby Downer shit Steve's got going on." She flicks his neck as she walks by and Steve half-heartedly swats her away.

"C'mon," he mumbles, chin in his hands on the Family Video counter. The store has been dead, not a single customer in over an hour, and it's given him time to mope about his never-ending problem: He can't get a girl.

It's not just that, though, and he knows it. Robin knows it, too, though she doesn't bring it up. He's lonely. He can't seem to find anyone seriously interested in him beyond a few nights of fun, courtesy of his long-gone high school reputation. But now he's years away from that and he's tired of it. He just wants someone to feel kind of silly over. To laugh with and drive around town with and to love.

"You could date him," Dustin says, snapping Steve back to the dusty air of his reality. Robin makes retching noises.

"No, I could not," she sneers. Steve sighs again.

"There! Again!" Dustin winds up his fist and Steve only raises an eyebrow. Then the kid sighs and rests his own arms on the counter across from Steve. Damn, the kid is getting tall. "Alright, I'm going to speak to you man to man, Harrington," Dustin says.

"Oh, this outta be good," Steve mutters, shaking his head a little. He's had enough advice from 14-year-olds, thanks.

Dustin ignores him but Robin snickers somewhere in the stacks. "You are a sad, single dude," he says. Steve doesn't have the energy to fight it. "You're my friend, and your sad sack attitude is messing up our vibe. Okay?" Steve blinks, oddly touched. "And I don't want you to be sad forever. So I'm going to help you."

"Great," Steve deadpans. But Dustin sports what can only be called his scheming face. "You gonna set me up, or something?"

The kid snaps his fingers. "Exactly, Steve. And you call yourself slow!" Steve rolls his eyes.

"I don't think we have the same taste in girls, dude." Steve rarely allows himself to think about Henderson has snagged and kept a girl better than he ever could.

"Doesn't matter. I already know who we're going to set you up with. You know the girl who works at the arcade?"

Steve's stomach twists. Oh, yeah, he knows. It's you. He feels his cheeks heat and he fights to keep a straight face. He's only seen you a few times, talked to you maybe twice. You always seem to be working when he drops off or picks up the little shits he carts around. You're real pretty and he's almost positive you didn't grow up here, since you don't seem to know him at all.

"Maybe," he says, evenly. Dustin grins like a shark and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet.

"Gotcha! You do know her." Steve straightens and turns away from Dustin to futz with the computer but the kid follows him. "Oh, and you like her."

"I don't know her," Steve mumbles, and he knows he's lost by admitting even that much. He doesn't know you, that's true. He only knows your name because he saw it on your uniform. But he knows you're pretty and you're kind and part of him does want to get to know you. But won't he just fuck that up, too?

But Dustin is like a dog with a bone. "Well, lucky for you, the kids you call shitheads? Well, we know her. And because I know you're not exactly the worst guy in the world --"

"Gee, thanks," Steve says.

"-- I'll get the whole party to help this little operation get off the ground. All you gotta do is, y'know, charm her."

Robin bursts into laughter somewhere in the Horror section. "Knock it off!" Steve calls. "I'm plenty charming. But, sorry Henderson, I'm not letting you set me up."

Dustin crosses his arms. "Don't be a coward, Steve." The flutter he felt at the mention of you sours into the familiar self-loathing he's stewed in for who knows how long. What's the point in trying when he knows he'll just strike out? And humiliate himself in front of everyone and their mother in the arcade, no less?

"I'm not interested, dipshit, do you hear me?" Dustin smacks his palms on the counter. Steve jumps.

"Just fucking come to the arcade, Steve," Dustin says. His tone leaves no room for argument. In fact, Steve isn't sure he's ever heard him this serious.

"I don't think you're allowed to say fuck, dude." Dustin raises his middle finger slowly and mouths Fuck you. Steve sighs.

"When?" he says, and Dustin cheers.

When turns out to be the next night. Steve is on pick-up duty for Dustin, Max, and Lucas. He pulls into the empty parking lot at 9:45 and wonders how the hell he's going to charm you in 15 minutes with three teenagers badgering him to stop at the drive-thru on the way home like they always do.

"This is so stupid," he says to himself as he turns off the car. He tries to see inside the arcade but the combination of the tinted windows and the smattering of lights from the games means he can't really make anything out. Are you there? he wonders. What are you doing right now? Are you tired after a long shift? Will you smile when he walks in?

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and decides he has nothing left to lose. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? Maybe you don't even remember him. Maybe you already have a boyfriend. All of the worrying gets him from his car to the front door and before he knows it he's swinging it open.

It's empty. There is literally no one inside. No cheers or groans of kids, no chatter, no slurping of sodas or running round. Nothing. It's only the flash of the various games and a few artificial sounds and...you.

There you are, leaning on your elbows, inspecting your nails. "Just so you know, we're closing in about 15 minutes," you drone, customer service voice firmly in place as you don't bother looking up.

Steve lets himself look for a few seconds. You're so pretty, even in the dim lighting of the arcade. It makes his chest hurt and his throat dry.

"Uh," he says. Great start, Steve. "I'm looking for some kids?" You look up sharply and once you see him your face sharpens and your mouth stretches into a small smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Oh, hi," you say, somewhat softly, and Steve feels his confidence return from wherever it was hiding. He sticks one hand in his pocket and holds the other out to an approximation of Dustin's height.

"Three of 'em? Bout this high? Mouthy, annoying, loud." You laugh.

"That describes most of the kids who come through here," you tell him. But then your smile turns to a concerned twist. "But I know which ones belong to you. Dustin, Max, and Lucas, right?" Steve nods. Are they hiding somewhere, or something? He's going to give them an earful in the car.

"That's them," he says. "They're probably goofing around somewhere, or something." But your frown doesn't fade.

"No, Steve," you say, and he swears his blood sings when you say his name. You know his name! Why do you know his name? "They left like, an hour ago."

"What?" he says, like an idiot.

"Eddie Munson came to get them, I think. He's the one with the van, right?" Steve nods, mouth open in shock.

"Those fuckers," he says. "They set me up!" You burst into laughter and he realizes that he is being the opposite of charming right now. God, you're pretty, he thinks.

"Why did they do that?" you ask. Steve can feel the tension returning to his temples. He's digging his own grave, yet again. That's why he considers lying, for just a second, but what's he got to lose?

"They uh, wanted us to meet," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He hopes his flush isn't visible.

"But we have met," you tell him. "Kind of." It's you who looks shy, now. "I mean, I know your name because the kids talk about you all the time. And we're talked a few times?" Your voice goes up at the end like you're not sure he even remembers. As if he could forget talking to you.

"You're right," Steve says. He tries his best for a casual grin, which seems to work since you smile back at him. He holds out his hand and you stare at it for a second before shaking it. You have soft hands. "But now it's official." He says your name for the first time and his palm tingles when you release it.

He wonders if you can see what's going on here. That a bunch of punk teenagers are trying to set you guys up like this is a rom com, or something. But you don't ask anymore questions. Steve figures that's a good sign.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asks. "Since you're closing, and all." He didn't see another car in the parking lot.

"I walk," you say. "It's only a few blocks." Steve frowns. It's chilly tonight, and even if you do this all the time, he knows what kind of shit can be hiding in the dark of Hawkins.

"I'll drive you," he says. "Only if you want." You seem to hesitate for a second before nodding.

"Okay, Steve," you say, and smile. Steve doesn't bother to hide his answering grin. It feels like a win. It feels like more than that, really. It feels like the start of something.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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defectivefanboy · 1 year

Note

Hi! I just saw your Crimson HC and you write his character really well! I was wondering if you could write a little sfw something with him, maybe a sort of enemies to lovers kind of thing? You know, since he's so awful I would just love to punch him in the face and he has no right being as attractive as he is, but here I am :,) I think it would be really interesting to see him in a sort of rivalry and totally in denial about his feelings for an enemy. If you don't want to feel free to ignore this, have a nice day/night :)

Oh of course! He needs to be whacked a few times, it would do him some good

I was wondering if you could write a little sfw something with him, maybe a sort of enemies to lovers kind of thing?

Overall notes: Stories written on this blog are GN until specified. While this story uses they/them pronouns, and while I don't mind female readers on my blog/interacting, love my girlies, hey girlies~, but I do not write for y'all, and if you are a fetishizer. fuck off??? ew. How would you even do that on an x reader???

C/W: Soft Angst, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Alcohol

Notes: mmmmmmmm he's not sure what to do when someone has more power over him and he certainly doesn't understand when they show a form of interest in him, interest that may cost him his sanity.... or his street cred.

Power Hungry...

You would think having power meant you could always get what you wanted. No matter the cost, time, or men it took to get it. So, why have you been forced to deal with this pesky thrown in your side?

One that had taken the form of an equally as pesky Imp.

After making it far into Mammon's little group you could say, you ruled a part of the greed ring. One that held a certain Imp and his gang of loan sharks. That's how you ended up in a game of tug and pull with the man. Well, more so like a cat and mouse. Only difference was you actually held power...

And that's something he hated.

It started when you stopped by an infamous amusement park in the greed ring. Simple check ups here and there, a few money disputes with some sticky fingered imps, even a little Jest with the parks main attraction. Though it was cut short when you heard the muffled moans and groans of someone.

Stepping out of the circus tent, you could see a poor soul tied up and blind folded to a broken pole, with a target painted on his stomach.

"Let's try this again, boy. Since that the broad ain't here to ruin it now."

Raising a brow to the statement you turned a bit to the harsh voice of an imp dressed in a pinstripe suit, pushing a rifle into a child's arms. Sighing, you took a deep breath before walking over,

"Now I know this IS hell, gentlemen, but I don't think public executions is a good look for our overall theme here. So if you could take your... dirty laundry out, that would be great."

You could hear a pin drop if it wasn't for the screaming guest on the rollercoasters behind you and the muffled music from inside of the tent. Crimson turned his head with a click of his tongue,

"Do you know who I even am, doll? I operate this part of greed if you know what's good-"

"Stop."

His eyebrow raised as he looked at you with a confused look while you just shook your head at him. A raised hand held out to him as you looked at your phone before glancing back at him.

"I didn't ask for all that. I asked you to take this, somewhere else. Oh, and before I leave you to it"

You stepped towards young Moxxie, poor thing hugging the rifle unsure of what to do until you took it from his hands with a smile. Which went away as quickly as it came as you pushed the rifle into Crimson chest, stepping away.

"Be a real man and do your own dirty work next time, doll."

Moxxie knew that look on his father face, the snarl of his lips, the twitch of his eye, and the dark rumble from his chest. At least they were nice to him, even if it was for a moment. Not that many people can walk away from his father like that, especially healthy and in one piece. One thought was common between father and son,

"They'll wind up dead tomorrow."

If only tomorrow would come quicker. It started with the occasional thug or grunt coming to your office on some terrible assassin improve before they were dealt with by the guards. Then it turned into loan shark showing up at your house trying to get you to sign some god awful contract, just to be met with the slam of a door.

That lasted for months on end until Mammon sent a personal note via a goon asking why he kept insisting on keeping his assistant distracted from their work. That caused the goons and thugs to stop coming, but that didn't stop him all together.

His latest attempt was to send Moxxie himself, and you must say, Moxxie is wonderfully gifted in music. You even started paying for music lessons recently and plan to surprise him for his birthday with them.

Poor thing was nothing like his father, you could proudly say that after the man showed up at your house, gold tooth shining brightly in the light from your home.

"I was starting to think you god cold feet or better yet gave up, doll."

"I swear to satan, call me that shit again and I'll-"

You rolled your eyes, flicking his forehead. You gently grabbed his hand and pull him inside, and swiftly shutting the door. Instructing him to take his shoes off, you walked deeper into the home as Crimson stood there in shock, unconsciously slipping off his shoes and following behind you.

"Is it normal for you to pull mob bosses into your house or is this a special occasion?"

"No, Only the ones I find cute. be happy you meet the minimum standard."

He was about to retaliate, but he was cut off by the soft smile planted on your face as you slid him a glass of whisky,

"Assuming you like your whisky neat, correct? Don't take you for a wine guy."

"I can enjoy a fine wine, I'm surprised you even have this. Never took you for one to have some class."

"I guess we all have our secrets, right?"

You softly clinked your glass with his as he stared at you with a look of indifference which you could only laugh at. The sound bringing him back as he watched you down the glass of whisky and set it down.

"But we could learn all about them on a proper date, yeah? It's getting late and I have a meeting tomorrow"

"Wait, a proper date? What the fuck did you think this was?"

"Only the worst murder attempt I've seen since the amusement park, but I look forward to the next one. Goodnight Crimson"

Before he even knew it he was on the step of the front door as you held a soft smile on your face once again. He was about to speak, but he was cut off when he felt the feeling of a kiss being planted on his cheek and the soft click of a door closing.

"––FOR SATAN'S SAKE!"

He yelled out, which was quickly met with you swinging open the door and hitting him in the stomach, telling him to stop yelling so late. Maybe power could get you everything you wanted, you just didn't think it would show up on your door step....

in the form of a pesky Imp.

#foolish writing #request #request open #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss crimson #helluva boss crimson x reader #helluva boss crimson x male reader #helluva boss crimson x female reader #crimson x reader #crimson x male reader #crimson x female reader #helluva boss #vivziepop #helluva boss season 2

344 notes · View notes

oz00ms2 · 8 months

Note

I bet Shanks in the Firebug au has asked Firebug to come with him at least several times. Since their departure here is on way different terms than canon (even tough getting to Firebug that it was indeed an accident is probably gonna take a while. But I do believe it would be easier to get trough to him than canon as well) Shanks still holds out a little hope that he can set things right. Firebug holds a dagger to the dreaded redhaired pirates troath and snarls at him for any last words, only for his opponent to grab his arm in a flash and violently twist it behind his own back, managing to pin him to the wall behind him.

If Sharks had any mercy he would kill him quickly, slit his troath, run a sword trough his back, even killing him with his own explosives would be less cruel than him leaning in so close that he can feel Shanks breath against his neck. “Buggy…sail with me again. Let’s see the world like we always said we would when we were kids! The whole grand line is gonna know your name! We’ll have our own ship and our own crew like we’d always wanted and they’d adore you! I’ll let you design all the weapons you can think off! Please Buggy, let’s make Rodger prou-“

The elbow to his stomach hits Shanks hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs completly for a second and Firebug screams loud enough for his ears to ring and it makes avoiding Firebugs frantic stabbing towards him with his holdout weapon a bit of a challenge : “I DON’T NEED CHARITY FROM THE LIKES OF YOU! HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE YOU STILL KNOW ME!? HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU STILL KNOW ABOUT WHAT I DREAM ABOUT YOU RAT?!”

If Shanks was a merciful man he would have shouted back at Firebug or at least try to reason with him. If he wasn’t as utterly cruel as Firebug knows him to be he maybe would have looked hurt by those accusations, trying to tell him that this is not true, that he still believes in the young boy he knew years ago. Even just looking slightly remorseful would have been better than this. But Shanks doesn’t yell and he doesn’t try to argue, the smug bastards face instead bearing an expression of complete and utter understanding as he says “I see. You have your own dreams now.” Before the oncoming footsteps alert them to more marines coming and Shanks disappears.

Captain Firebug replays that scene over and over in his head. It’s disgusting. Utterly absurd. Sailing with Shanks again. Trading his secure post for a life of danger and uncertainty. Damn Idiot has lost his marbles. Like their time together as kids meant anything. Like the promises between two dumbass kids in the middle of the night mean shit to the world. Like Shanks hanging down from his Hammock and extending his pinkie towards him was akin to a blood pact when he promised him they would be the greatest pirates who ever lived (“The most amazing.” -“The strongest!” -“ The absolute FLASHIEST and COOLEST” “The most feared pirate captain duo in the world!”). It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t…

In the middle of the night, Buggy smothers his face with a pillow to muffle his anguished screams of rage and frustration.

hey anon, real tears in my eyes. 🥺😭💔💕

#one piece #buggy the clown #captain fire bug #buggy au #shuggy #oz answers

89 notes · View notes

preciouslandmermaid · 8 months

Text

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #happy halloween #battinson imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #dc fic #the batman fic #bruce wayne x you #battinson x you #fic: from above gotham glows #kinktober 2022

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