#because it's so vague it just looks like her throwing a fit over...something

[ingravinoveritas]

Why do I feel like this post just got personal and going in for the attack like she did for the radio one on twitter I'm not shocked or surprised by this cos the behaviour is getting more stranger and nasty and a fan on twitter shared this on her page saying we got ur bk u got a whole army behind u. I'm sorry what army and I'm sure if they spilt the fans wouldn't be behind her them they literally making it worst

What do u think ?

So, I saw/got a whole bunch of DMs over this Insta story this morning, but didn't have a chance to talk about it until now.

My first thought was that this was almost certainly in response to the negative reviews and backlash coming out for The Way in the wake of episode 3. The two biggest culprits in terms of media outlets seem to be the Daily Mail (Fail) and the Telegraph, and while I won't link to them here because I don't want to give either site any traffic, both reviews can easily be found via a Google search. Adding to those were a stream of vicious comments, both in the comments sections on the respective websites and on social media, largely from what seem to be right-wing/leaning accounts and public figures.

Knowing that, it made me think that Michael had to have been aware of what the potential reaction to the show could be. We know he was, actually, because he's talked about it in several interviews over the past few weeks, such as this one. And I think with Michael being who he is, he would be entirely amused at knowing he has pissed off exactly the right people. So while I could certainly see him in private having a reaction like the one in AL's story--more than understandably so, given how nasty some of the reviews and comments were--that doesn't necessarily mean it's a good reaction to have publicly. And I think Michael knows that, too.

What also adds to the disconnect for me is that a few hours later, an article that Michael had written as a rebuttal came out in the New Statesman:

What Michael wrote is a brilliant repudiation of remarks made by a Tory MP--a piece that is intelligent, snarky, direct yet unfailingly eloquent. It wasn't just Michael defending his show, but using it (and Nye) to make a point, to make clear what he believes in, and to stand for the truth. And in much the same way that Michael's acting and oratory skills elevate any piece of work he performs, his writing conveyed that same depth, and it came across as effortless as everything else he does.

Which again left me with that feeling of disconnect when looking at Michael's article side-by-side with Anna's Insta story. It's not even that I disagree with her in this instance, as I do think the reviews were unduly harsh and devolved entirely too quickly into personal attacks in the comments. It's that when it comes to acting/directing, criticisms are part of the job, and whether she intended it or not, an Insta story like AL's conveys a sense of unprofessionalism. And when you put it next to Michael's writing, it looks more like a teenager throwing a fit instead of an adult giving a fierce clapback, which again probably was her intention.

Also keep in mind that everything I just wrote is predicated on the idea that someone seeing this story knows what AL is talking about. But I have to wonder how readily apparent it was, because it's so vague that it would probably be difficult for most people to suss out what she is referencing. So it's confusing to me that she is seemingly charging to Michael's defense...but without actually saying his name or the name of the show. Again, it feels like there is a disconnect/sharp contrast between Anna vague-blogging and how specific and incisive Michael was in that article, and it seems like they're not even close to being on the same page.

Those are my thoughts on Anna's Insta story from this morning. It's definitely a fair bit of whiplash, especially given the drastically different tone of her last few recent posts. But I'm interested as always to hear from my followers with your take, regardless of whether you agree or disagree. Thank you for writing in! x

[userlando]

Oh that made me think of lando and bestie play fighting and he puts his hand around her throat as a joke and then she just thrusts into him and it’s a moment ?? You know… I’m thinking too much brainrot toniight

I hope you don’t mind that I wrote a little something on this because whewwww the way it made me feel 😭

lando norris/female!reader (937 words)

Lando is bored. He’s got your feet in his lap, you’re wiggling your toes and the movement of them under your socks is more entertaining than the movie you’d chosen to watch. It wasn’t that he didn’t like romcoms, he just needed to do something else or he would literally die of boredom.

But still, the wistful sigh that escapes your lips makes him look up and you’re not even looking at him; Eyes trained on the television screen as Sally and Harry interact.

“What?” Lando asks because clearly you’re thinking about something and he’s dying to know what.

You gesture vaguely at the screen without tearing your eyes away, like he’s supposed to know what you’re sighing and fawning over. Lando pinches your big toe and you wiggle them out of his grasp in annoyance.

“He’s so fit.” You say simply and Lando glanced at the Harry character.

He’s sporting a funny looking beard now and there’s clearly been a time jump in the movie that Lando wasn’t paying attention to. He eyes the man dubiously before arching his brows at you.

“This guy?” His voice goes up an octave. “He looks like a nut.”

That makes you look at him, rolling your eyes in fond exasperation and something expands in Lando’s chest when he realises that he finally has your attention. If only for a brief moment. He thinks that it should probably concern him how needy he is to get your attention, but he can’t bring himself to care much.

“He does not!” Your voice goes high too, in indignation and it makes him stifle a smile. “You’re just jealous because he can grow a beard and you can’t.”

Now it’s Lando’s turn to look offended, smacking an open palm against his chest as if your words physically wounded him and it makes you smile despite yourself. You point your foot and jab your toe into his stomach softly.

“How fucking dare you.” He says with no real heat behind it, biting back a smile when you giggle. “My beard is scrumptious.”

“Scrum—“ You guffaw and throw your head back. “You call that a beard.”

“Oh, you better take that back.”

He sits up straighter now, gleeful that you’re not hushing him for speaking over the movie you’d quite literally seen a million times before. You retract your legs from his lap when you realise that he’s flexing his fingers dramatically, and you know what’s coming before he even makes a move.

“No— Oof.” The breath punches out of your lungs in a squeal when he jumps, landing painfully on you and it feels like he’s reached into your throat and pulled out your lungs when he starts tickling you.

The squeals of laughter triggers his giggling, and you know that you must look like a pair of maniacs as you squirm around on his bed with unintelligible words being screamed out between breathless laughter.

“Mercy! Mercy!” You yell, doing your utmost to kick him off but he only fights harder.

He’s clearly fully intent on making you pass out from the lack of oxygen and just when you’re about to buck him off with all your might, he stops.

There’s a moment where you pant, grinning at each other and he looks like an idiot as he looms above you; Hair in disarray and cheeks flushed. But you figure that you’re looking very much like him and the thought of it makes you giggle.

“Do you take it back?” He asks and it takes a second for you to understand what he’s talking about, shaking your head.

“Never.” You reply, as if he hadn’t just tickled you within an inch of your life.

You squirm when he tickles your sides, way more gentle than before and there’s uncontrollable laughter bubbling up your throat when he reaches a hand out to circle it around your neck. He digs his fingers in a little and you swear that the room spins for a moment as he stares down at you.

“Say that I have a better beard.” There’s a threat in his tone that makes you giggle nervously, placing your hands on his forearm in an attempt to keep him from reaching down to tickle your sides. “Say it.”

“I’m not a liar.” You grin up at him when he narrows his eyes playfully, the blues disappearing into slits and it looks so funny that you squirm to stop yourself from laughing.

He puts a little pressure around your throat and the feeling that zips down your spine shocks you, so much so that you buck your hips up in a poor attempt to get him off of you. But it only makes him press right against you and the unexpected hardness you feel makes you both pause.

“Are you…?” You trail off, looking between his eyes as his cheeks slowly turn pink. “Are you hard?”

“No?” He says a little too quickly and you purse your lips to keep the smile from your face. “Piss off.”

He’s quick to scramble off of you, sitting down next to you with a bounce on the mattress and you stare up at the ceiling in silence. Your heart is hammering a little too hard and you chance a glance at Lando to find him already looking at you. He averts his eyes and you smile.

“For the record…” You clear your throat when he inconspicuously grabs the nearest pillow and places it strategically in his lap. “You do have a nice beard.”

“Knew it.” He muttered, but there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun writing a drabble. it’s been a while but we back baby!!

[giuliettagaltieri]

Breath of Spring

Pairing: Young!Gojō x Young!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Emotional constipation was Gojō Satoru's congenital defect.

Warning: angst, unrequited love, suggested misogyny, arranged marriage, age gap

Word Count: 1060

1 of 9

Gojō Satoru has known you even before you knew how to walk.  He attended your naming day, he was already five years old then.  The memory is vague and blurred but he was certain of the strong feeling of dislike he had for you.  How is it that everybody was congratulating him, telling him that he is so lucky to be betrothed to you.  The well anticipated daughter of your family, one long awaited after having birthed with boys alone for nearly a decade.  But that does not have anything to do with him.  All you did was drool and suckle on your tiny fingers.

There was nothing particularly special about you, he comes to realize after you attended his 12th birthday.  It was a day he received many gifts, the wrapped packages piled so neatly in the corner by the handmaidens of the estate house.  He is not to touch any of them, lest some were sent by malevolent individuals who seek to bring harm to him and his family.  Not that he can’t see cursed material from a mile away but the elders of his house insisted.  He cannot complain either, it saved him from wearing fake smiles and throwing away forced gratitude.

It was why he was upset that his annual hunt had to come to a pause just so you could hand him your gift.  He eyed you with his much aggravation.  You are never without your nannies and personal guards, being sheltered from the world like a fragile little flower.  You were nearly half his age but you already act like an adult.  Like you were better than him.  It was as if your back had a rod with how straight it always appears to be, your chin always tilted upwards, and eyeing everyone as beneath you, how haughty.  It brought him great satisfaction to see you shy away from him though, your eyes always finding your dainty shoes whenever he is nearby.

Your handmaiden had to usher you forward so you would have the courage to hand him your gift.  The elders looked at his actions carefully, almost awaiting him to make a mistake just to have something to criticize him over.  He mutters a small “thanks”. And you nod at him and retreat back to the arms of your mother who was watching you with much fondness.

As he previously thought, you’re nothing different.  Just another puppet.

Gojō wasn’t in the mood for hunting afterwards.  Simply kicking rocks by the pond as his servitor accompanied him, standing a few meters behind him, still like a statue.

“The young master appears to be upset.”  The servitor says calmly, his voice even and unprovocative.  But young Gojō Satoru whips at him with so much fervor that the servitor nearly breaks into a smile.

“Upset?  For what reason?”  He scowls as he steps closer to the tall man.  He looks about ready to fight anything that moves, his face contorted to a wild scowl.  “Because of her?  That spoiled shrimp?  You think that pipsqueak is relevant enough to upset me?”

The servitor clears his throat to hide the smile as he closes his eyes.  “Perhaps the young master should be kinder to the young lady.” 

Gojō scoffs and looks at the tiny gift that he had in his clutches, never letting go of it ever since you handed it to him.  “Kinder?  She has done nothing but be a nuisance!”  In a fit of anger, he throws the carefully wrapped item to the ground.  A loud shatter of ceramics startles him, and the servitor flinches upon hearing the sound.  They both stare at the still wrapped gift, its shape no longer preserved and it looks nothing more than a heap of oddly shaped objects covered with the intricate fabric.

“Oh my.”  His servitor sighs, disappointed.  “What a shame, the lady was very excited to know how you liked her gift.”

Upon hearing this, Gojō raises his defenses, his teeth gritting as his cheeks flushed.  “You don’t have to do her biddings!”  Yet despite the outburst, the little boy’s eyes cannot leave the heap of your broken gift on the ground.  They have many talented craftsmen in the estate, it can be fixed, he is certain of it.  But then again, why does he need it fixed?  You’re insignificant, your gift is no different.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

His mood has not been better for the next few days.  He was cranky, snapping at anyone who looked his way for too long.  His father, ever so perceptive, asked young Satoru’s servitor about his dramatic, or at least worse than usual, turn of emotions. 

A day later, Satoru finds another wrapped gift atop his nightstand the moment he opens his eyes.  It was familiar, the shape of it.  When he reached for it, the weight of it was something his hand had known.  A small tag was attached and he read it, his still pouting lips moving as he read the words one by one.

To Gojō-sama.  Wishing you a fine day.

He knew the curve of your handwriting too well.  The frown in his brows deepened and deepened as he pulled the ribbon.  And the wrapping came undone and the ceramics figure of him and you, hands intertwined, stared back at him.

It was beautiful, smooth, and greatly detailed.  Even the clothes were made of the finest material.

But it was useless.  It was good to look at but there was no purpose to it. 

A knock in the door startles him, and he nearly drops the figure but he manages to grab hold of your foot, well the sculpture, he did not expect the dress to flip, showing him your bloomers.

Gojō twists the doll right-side up and pulls your dress down until it covers your ankles.  His face is bright red and warm.  It was simply too much for young Satoru.

“Young master, is everything alright?”  The door slid open a fraction but Gojō yelled for them to close it at once!

“Yes!  Everything is alright.”  His face was still aflamed as he clutched the dress tightly around your tiny body.

By the next day, you receive a bouquet of blue roses littered with baby’s breath accompanied by a poorly scribbled note of ‘Thanks’ from the young master of the Gojō estate.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[enkvyu]

cicadas fill in the summer silence as you sit at your desk, waiting for class to start. you're vaguely aware of your three classmates seated beside you and perhaps it’s because you're caught in the ambiance of a perfect day, but something like sentimentality seeps in.

“today's the kind of day where i’m reminded how important you guys are to me.”

shoko hums, eye trained on her phone. “you’re reminded?”

“you forgot at some point?” gojo adds.

you groan as getou chuckles, the heartfelt speech dying immediately in your mouth. when he lightly presses you to continue, you wave away his feigned interest.

"but i'm curious!”

you jab your finger in shoko and gojo's direction, and the two ignore you as they continue playing multiplayer snake on their nokia 6610s. "blame those two."

getou grins. "if it’s anything, you mean a lot to me too."

you muffle a smile. "i changed my mind, you're the only one that means anything to me."

"fuck, i lost!" gojo exclaims, sliding back into his chair to throw a fit. "but i never lose, how is this possible? you cheated, shoko!"

"don't be a sore loser, that's even worse than being an ordinary loser."

"i wouldn't have lost if you didn't cheat!"

there's a hard glint in shoko's eye. "does that mean what i think it means?"

gojo leans in. "yes. that means another round."

you look over at them unamused. "any second now, yaga is going to walk into this room and complain our ears off for how noisy you two are being."

shoko yawns and you hear beeping as she plunges into another game. "it’s fine, we’ll know when he gets close enough to hear us anyway. he doesn’t walk, that man stomps down the corridor."

"he’s not the only one that’ll complain about the noise. i might join him in a minute if the two of you won’t shut up, it’s too hot for this." getou joins in, but no one pays him any mind.

"you're going down this time, shoko."

"eat my dust."

you catch gojo sparing shoko a quick glimpse before the starting music plays, and watch with interest as they flicker over to her again.

leaning back, you peer at shoko's screen as her desk was closest to yours, and find that she was once again slithering to victory, gobbling every apple she finds in her way. without a doubt, you were sure she would win.

"gojo," getou sighs. "you're really shit at games."

something bumps into shoko's side and she gives it a quick glance to find that it was gojo's elbow.

"sorry, my arm slipped." he says, but the smirk on his face suggests otherwise.

while shoko is not morally-just enough to condemn cheating, she's oddly passionate about games and thus her desire to win fair and square holds back her anger. she lets the action slide without a counterattack although that doesn't stop her from calling gojo trash.

but when gojo kicks the leg of her chair, causing her to fingers to tremble and miss an apple, she glares at him. "you're playing dirty!"

"i have no idea what you mean." gojo sings. "yes, i'm a point ahead! see what happens when you don't cheat, shoko? i guess that's why you have to do it, otherwise you would just lose lose lose all the time!"

you wince.

shoko clenches her phone harder and closes the point difference in a matter of seconds. but that alone is not enough to settle her irritation.

lifting her foot up, she slams her heel down hard on gojo's ankle and he yelps at the pain. "hey! now you're actually cheating!"

"so you admit i wasn't before!"

gojo doesn't answer and blatantly shoves at shoko's chair. she has to use a hand to steady herself, making her lose another apple and mess up her snake's path. in return, shoko hits gojo's face which presses his glasses in.

"hey!"

"you started this." shoko's victorious smile dims when gojo reaches for her phone and she pulls back just in time. "that's not fair!"

"you're only saying that now?" getou observes.

you look at him. "shouldn't we stop them?"

with gojo stretched out, trying to get shoko's phone, it leaves his stomach vulnerable. shoko rams her fingers into his side and he squeals at the sensation.

shoko yells your name over the chaos. "grab him!"

"getou, you have my back, don't you?" gojo says a second later.

the two of you stand instinctively as your names are called, but you both hover around helplessly. it's only when they say your names again, do you move.

gojo makes one more stretch for shoko's phone as you reach for him, only successfully managing to grab onto one of his wrists. it doesn't hold him back though, he still has his other hand after all, and now getou is beside shoko, hands out ready to tickle her.

shoko giggles slightly when getou's fingers meet their target and it might have been an opening if you hadn't clung onto gojo, pulling him back with your entire weight.

"get off me!" he says to you over his shoulder.

you look back, somewhat confused at your own actions. "no?"

shoko pulls back her arm holding her phone, jamming her elbow into getou's chest. though it doesn't hurt, he steps back anyway. "what are we doing?"

the struggle continues for a few seconds more until the classroom door is pulled to the side with a bang and someone steps through.

the shock of the sudden sound makes shoko loosen her grip and gojo catches that weakness. the tips of his fingers barely grazes her phone and with a final push, and an extension of his infinity, he knocks the phone from her hand.

he knocks the phone from her hand, too hard.

you watch in suspended awe as the object flies across the room in a beautiful arc—

"good morning—"

and hits yaga in the face. it rebounds off his cheek and clatters noisily on the ground. shoko ducks down as the three of you freeze in position, picking up her phone and pocketing it safely.

anger makes yaga's head burn bright red. "who did that?"

calmly, you sit back into your chair and hear the sound echo beside you. without saying a word, the three of you point to gojo.

"yaga! in my defence, shoko was cheating!"

you don't need to look to know yaga had crossed the room and landed a solid fist on gojo's head, his quick cry of pain is alone enough.

yaga fixes his sleeves and clears his throat. "are we ready to start class?"

cicadas chirp from outside your window, and the noise drowns into the bustling hum of a familiar routine. yaga picks up a piece of chalk and turns his back to the class, getou tucks away his bangs from getting in his eyes and shoko yawns into her hand. gojo sinks deeper into his chair, sulking, and you know that even without mentioning your appreciation for them, they could feel it just like how you felt theirs.

it surrounds you like the summer humidity.

dialogue prompt taken from going seventeen episode 61. just some quick silly sashisu + reader stuff because i miss them.

[lovelyhan]

— 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

[abiiors]

birthday wish - matty x reader

part 1 of matty's birthday weekend a/n: this is scheduled. by the time this goes up, i will (hopefully🤞🏼) be on a beach somewhere, day drunk 😌 cw: very vague and brief descriptions of a panic attack, alcohol and drinking, mayhem is still with matty here because that's how it should be. also...a smidge of angst, idiots friends to lovers wc: 3.1k

“matty you fucking dick!”

her screech echoes throughout the lower floor of his house and matty bursts out laughing. george stirs on the nearby sofa, huffs something unintelligible and goes back to sleep. 

it’s 9 in the morning the day after they’ve had a late night out, no one should be awake at such an ungodly hour… least of all him. but matty has a mission to accomplish, the fucking childish prank he’s been planning for weeks to see through. 

and this scream—her calling him a “fucking dick”—is the precise reaction he’s been hoping for. 

seconds later she stomps out of his room and matty damn near pisses himself at the sight of her—dripping in water like a wet, angry cat, her t-shirt clinging to her body in all the damp spots and hair as green as an oompa-loompa's. even like this she’s a vision.

“what the fuck did you do?!” she yells again, absolutely fuming. 

between peals of laughter, he somehow manages three words. “happy april fool’s.”

“oh don’t you fucking dare. watch your back healy, i swear to god…”

and then all the yelling wakes george up who takes one look at her and flinches back. he actually flinches back letting out a string of curses in the process until his butt hits the floor. 

matty doubles over, clutching his sides, and wolf-whistles at her just to piss her off a little more. 

“hair dye in a shampoo bottle, how clever,” she huffs, crossing her arms in front of her until the damp  t-shirt sticks to her boobs and the wind gets knocked out of matty’s chest. 

suddenly, nothing is funny—not the green-tinged puddle of water near her feet, not the way her nostrils flare in anger. 

matty’s breath hitches in his throat, and perhaps for the first time he looks at her properly. the damp t-shirt ends halfway down her thighs, bunched up on one side so he can almost see the little group of freckles on the apex of her thigh. the anger makes her eyebrows furrow, makes a small crease appear right between them and matty wishes so desperately he could smooth it with his thumb. his hands tremble at his sides and he tightens them into a fist. 

finally, after what feels like an eternity, george bursts out laughing. 

matty startles—he’d honestly forgotten george was even there, still waking up from sleep and now that he is fully awake, george bursts into a fit of obnoxious cackles. 

“what the fuck happened to you,” he teases to which she just lifts one finger and points it straight at matty. 

matty, despite everything, blushes to the roots of his hair. now that he’s started thinking all these thoughts about her he can’t fucking stop—can’t stop when she bunches the towel in her hands and throws it at him so quick that it makes the t-shirt ride up a bit more. can’t stop when she places her hands on her hips so that the contours of her chest stand out under the damp t-shirt.

he has half a thought to tackle george so he won’t be able to look at her anymore but matty suppresses the urge. barely. 

“i’ll get you back, healy,” she threatens and storms back to his room. 

sure matty was the one who offered to let her have a shower in his bathroom—one, so she could stay over with the rest of their friends for the night, and two, so he could execute the prank. but now he can’t stop imagining it—her under the shower (does she sing?) using his shampoo, his body wash. 

does she smell like him now? he’d die if he got close enough to find out. 

“alright, mate?” george jerks him out of his thoughts. matty turns around to see his friend stretching sleepily, but george’s eyes are still very much trained on matty. his lips are very much pressed into a thin line. 

“you both are insufferable, don’t get why you won’t just tell her,” he mumbles on the way to the kitchen pulling out a mug for himself. 

“don’t know what you’re talking about,” matty shrugs, perhaps a bit too quick and gets another mug out. he puts the kettle on boil, gets the coffee and sugar out.

the whole time george stays quiet but matty can feel his burning stare on the back of his head. 

only when the coffees are done and george takes the first sip does he speak. 

“sure you don’t,” he mutters in a dry tone and takes his phone out (definitely to text charli and gossip about matty’s love life. or the lack thereof.)

in his head he guesses the texts that are being exchanged between them.

he’s chickened out again. 

really? i fucking knew it, he’s never gonna get to it. 

right? she might as well date someone else. 

i should set her up with a friend…

and then shakes his head like that would get rid of the frankly ridiculous thoughts. his friends would never do that to him. they've already meddled and invested too much in his love life by now to give up so easily. besides, he’ll get to it. someday. eventually. 

he’ll get to it when his insides don’t feel like jelly around her. 

he’ll get to it when he feels a bit more brave.

matty’s birthday wish has stayed consistent for the last two years. he wishes he could make a move. he wishes she were single—well, one of those things is true now. he’s no longer pathetic enough to yearn for a girl who’s already with someone else. 

he’ll never admit it to anyone but he did feel a bit of joy when she broke up with her boyfriend earlier that year—okay maybe a lot of joy when he saw how quickly she moved on. 

“we’d been growing distant for some time anyway,” she’d confessed when he checked up on her after the break up. “it was inevitable.”

and now that matty’s birthday gets closer and closer, he thinks of all ways to amend that wish. 

please fucking please give me the courage to just kiss her. 

he doesn’t know who he’s making the wish to. god?? he highly doubts it. the universe?? he scarcely believes in all that new age spirituality crap. the fucking candle company and the cake maker then. 

oh great vanilla bean who sacrificed itself for my cake… give me the courage to finally kiss her. 

he's got like a week still… if he wished every single day starting today, maybe it will come true. cake and candles or not. he's a grown fucking man, he can make a wish before blowing on a fag.

sometime around 5 pm he wakes up to an empty apartment, lingering taste of the sweet vanilla cake that she’d baked for him last year still so fresh on his tongue. 

there’s something else too… there’s the Moment that he’s not quite sure counts as a Moment even though he remembers it vividly—her fingers brushing against his lips while she was wiping away a bit of the frosting, nails grazing against his lips. just a touch too long. all of it—the intense stare, the looking away right after, the refusal to look him in the eye for the rest of the night—all of it feels like a Moment. but the rational part of his brain steers him away from that thought. 

she had a boyfriend at the time. she wouldn’t pine after someone else. least of all him. 

a somewhat humiliating memory resurfaces too—his own lyrics coming to bite him back in the ass—the speaker blaring “she’s got a boyfriend anyway” over and over again while he tries not to punch the dj. 

matty stretches and gets out of bed.

the utter silence feels nice for a change—nicer when half the house is bathed in golden light and he can just stroll through the house in search of some weed and crisps and pop. maybe call his brother and demand that mario kart rematch that’s so so long overdue. 

maybe he should let mayhem out into the backyard first. 

mayhem…

matty freezes in his tracks and slowly turns around, almost like he’s in a horror movie. 

he has not heard the dog bark once! usually mayhem is up and running at him the moment he senses him within a ten feet radius. today however, there’s no patter of paws on the floor. 

matty runs to check the little outdoor area where mayhem usually sits. even before he opens the door though, matty knows what he will find—an empty dog bed, possibly an empty food bowl. 

he lets out a low whistle and twists the door open. there’s an uncharacteristic, loud clatter and a second later he stands at the threshold, doused in hot pink glitter, dog-less, in the middle of his house. 

i’ll get you back, healy!

matty giggles to himself and takes his phone out of his pocket, trying not to get the glitter everywhere. (although by now it’s pretty much settled into his dna, he’s sure of it) 

she picks up on the second ring, followed by a very fake clearing of her throat. 

“did you steal my dog, darling?” matty launches straight into it, trying to hide the smile in his voice.

“no!” and then there’s a faint little yip in the background that sounds suspiciously like the one he hears daily. 

“right…”

“right. that all?”

as gently as he can, matty dusts off the glitter in place and walks back inside in search of a mop or something. he needs to contain the carnage somehow, but on the phone she clears her throat again. 

“did anything else happen?” 

the little giggle in her voice is so obvious to him. matty imagines what she looks like on the other side—on her bed maybe, cuddled up with mayhem who secretly seems to prefer her so much more than matty. on her bed in just a t-shirt maybe… he reigns it in before the thoughts can progress any forward. 

“mayhem seems to have ran away.”

“oh?” then there’s a little silence, which instantly fills with the sound of paws on hard wood. “maybe he’ll come back,” she hedges, “maybe…once the dye in my hair goes away, who knows.”

“is that so?”

“yeah, just a hunch.”

the silence stretches on, none of them willing to hang up first. matty wonders if she’s sat there biting her lip, trying to stifle a laugh. matty wonders what it would be like if he were to bite her lip instead.

“still green?” he tries to tease, voice slightly breathy.

“still sparkly?” she quips back. and well…yes, he is. he’s sure he’s going to be for the rest of time.

“the day’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. where the fuck did that come from? matty runs a shaky hand through his hair and grimaces when it come away hot pink and sparkly. it’s all over his hair too… great.

“is that a threat, darling?” matty almost chokes at the word, his face heats up. fuckin’ hell… if this is what he’s like after one word…

“we’ll see about that tonight.” 

and then like a coward he hangs up before she can shake his composure any further. he closes his eyes and focuses on the birthday wish one more time—it might as well be today, he’s faux-celebrating his birthday later with a few people who can’t be there on the actual day. he just needs to get his shit together and…not fuck up.

he fucks up almost instantly. 

when he walks into the dimly lit pub, he can spot the green-head right from the door. she’s in a flowery blouse and jeans and pulling the hair off so well that he wonders if he should have done this months ago. but matty shakes off his jitters and walks up to his friends. 

several of them are already pretty tipsy, singing and dancing along to the tunes. he is fashionably late after all. they greet him, slapping him on the shoulder as he passes by, drunkenly yelling “happy birthday” even though it’s a week away. graciously, he thanks them all, laughing and joking with his friends before making his way to her. 

turns out the list of tipsy people also includes her.

she beams when she sees him, hurrying to put her cocktail away so she can throw her arms around him. a second later her perfume invades all his senses. matty closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of it. 

“i was waiting for you,” she declares, a few words coming out slurred. “i’ve decided i like the green.”

“yeah? it looks beautiful on you.”

quickly she wrinkles her nose, stepping away from him. “you’re making fun of me!”

“‘m not!” he vehemently defends himself but in the end it’s all in good fun. fondly, she rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, pulling him to the bar. 

“i asked them to set aside this one bottle of wine for you. feel like you’d like it.”

a strange warmth spreads through him—it’s not the most special thing someone’s done for him, it’s just a bottle of wine. but then again nothing is just something when it comes to her. 

she thought about him. she’d been thinking about him. however briefly. 

matty almost leans across and kisses her then but thinks better of it. a crowded pub is no place to do it. 

turns out his first mistake of the night is drinking the wine. well… drinking too much and too fast anyway. 

what starts off as slow sips and savouring the red quickly turns into glasses of wine in a corner while they joke around and giggle uncontrollably. she’s flushed, twinkly-eyed and a bit more than tipsy now. 

matty, on the other hand, might very well be drunk. 

he feels the effects of it—the feeling of his blood being replaced by wine, the buzz in his head, the lack of filter in his words. oh, his head is going to kill him tomorrow.

he doesn’t mind though, anything to be sat here across from her, giggling over an overpriced (but delicious) bottle of wine. matty leans forward, chin on the palm of his hand and watches her laugh at his silly joke. 

“you’re gorgeous, did i tell you that?” for a moment he doesn’t recognise the voice. it’s slurred and deeper than usual and that’s not something he’d ever admit to her so casually. but then she giggles and ruffles his hair, laughing harder when her fingers come back, coated in a bit of glitter. 

“you’re so drunk. but i appreciate it, thank you.”

“no no, i’m not! i mean i am but— i mean it i—” he’s wide-eyed and failing to explain just how much he means it. matty just wants her to understand. this is not some frivolous confession of a wine-addled brain, this is serious. he is serious. 

desperation overrides any sane instinct in his brain. which is his second mistake of the night. 

the words come out faster than he can process them, faster than he can filter them and make them digestible. 

“you– you don’t know how long i’ve waited to say this. every time i get enough courage there’s either a boyfriend or something else. there’s always— fuck, forget all that. that doesn’t matter—”

“matty—”

“no, no listen to me, listen to what i’m trying to tell you.” 

the more he speaks (rambles) the more the smile slips from her face, replaced by something he can’t quite place. she’s not… disgusted by him, is she? he hopes not. that really would be the final nail in the coffin. 

“i’ve been trying—” he chokes, deeply swallowing more wine, “—been trying to tell you, i love you! i love you, i love you, i love you. i have for so long!”

and that’s when she pulls back entirely, leaning back into her chair as if she can’t put enough distance between them. her face shutters into an unreadable mask and matty feels panic bubbling up deep inside his stomach. 

shit shit shit. 

what has he done. 

oh god, he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. this wasn’t how it was meant to go. this wasn’t how any of it wasn’t meant to go. it was meant to be followed by a kiss and maybe more. it was meant to be followed by an “i love you too”. 

not… indifference. 

or worse… disgust. 

which is when he makes his third (and perhaps the worst) mistake of the night. 

matty laughs. it’s hysterical and sharp and verging on cruel. he laughs until he can feel the tears in his eyes and he can only hope they don’t spill down his cheeks. and then he says the words he can never take back. 

“oh god, look at your face. i was joking!”

“what…”

“it’s still the first of april, did you forget?”

each word is like a nail being hammered into his heart. but matty hopes it would be enough. in two seconds she’d roll her eyes and laugh at herself for falling for it. in a minute they will go back to drinking and joking. matty can pretend. he’s become quite good at it. 

instead, she gets up so fast that her chair almost clatters to the ground. 

in the dim lightning of the pub, matty can’t see the tears gathered in her eyes. although that might be because his eyes are still blurry from his own tears. 

“love—”

“you’re a cunt, matty.” she says the words with an eerie calmness, mechanically gathers her bag and phone and walks away. only then does he register the extent of what’s happening. 

the wine bottle falls to the floor and shatters when he drunkenly bumps into the table. red spills everywhere, soaking his shoes, the leg of his jeans. he hurries after her, tripping and falling as the full force of the alcohol hits him once again, calling out her name again and again. the music drowns it out. 

she’s out the door before matty’s even halfway across the pub. 

fuck… how did it go so wrong so quick. 

how did he mess it up so bad… 

he almost retches right there on the floor, grabbing a passer-by to steady himself. he needs to do something, he needs to make this right. he needs to…

he doesn't know what. his heart pounds in his chest and his throat feels so dry and tight he can barely speak, barely even breathe. matty sinks to his knees right there in the middle of the pub, gasping for breath. 

he doesn’t know what happens next, doesn’t remember much after that. all he remembers is the feeling of doom and the loud, odd rhythm of his heart. 

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[satoruoo]

VIA VIA VIA HEAR ME OUT. secret santa b they get u and accidentally spill it / the big reveal…

(NOT SO) SECRET SANTA - aki hayawaka

summary: despite aki's best efforts to keep your gift a secret, his (stupid) roommates somehow manage to spoil the surprise.

genre: fluff, non-devil au, everyone is happy, crack

warnings: swearing, denji, f!reader, suggestive

notes: hope u like it babe !! this is my apology for the recent aki slander 😈🔥

now playing: rockin' around the christmas tree - brenda lee

"for the millionth time, do not tell [name] i got her, understood?"

denji and power sit crossed-legged on the floor, looking only half interested in what aki is saying. they're dressed in christmas gear from head to toe, heads swaying slightly to the christmas music coming from the record player.

power looks awfully happy with the pair of antlers that denji unwillingly brought her from the store after she threatened to throw a fit in the middle of the aisle. they're decorated with little bells, and every time she nods her head, aki can visibly tell how delighted she is from the jingles that they make. she now refuses to take them off.

denji's gone for a more traditional approach, sporting a santa hat with a light up pom pom at the end.

(the hat also says "ho! ho! ho!" if the button on the left is pressed, but denji had overused it so much that aki cut it open and took out the speaker. he then burnt the speaker. denji was told told it must have broken.)

"duh, i ain’t a snitch!" denji claims, saluting his roommate with a shit-eating grin. he would snitch, aki is fully aware of that. bribe him with a lollipop or a tit squeeze? done deal.

"why are we not allowed to tell her?" power asks, fiddling with rudolph's nose on her christmas jumper.

aki audibly groans, fingers working at his temples in exasperation. "because, it’s a secret santa. we aren’t supposed to tell anyone who we got."

power's face twists in mild disgust, "what is the point of that?! just give me my present now!"

aki rolls his eyes, raking his fingers through his dark hair, "because it builds the suspense, power. do you want to have all your gifts now and have none on christmas day?"

she seems to quieten at that, closing her eyes as she mulls over his words. after three agonizing seconds of her silence and aki wondering whether it'd be easier to just throw himself out of the nearest window, power pouts and nods.

denji dramatically sighs before aki can say anything further, slapping her twice on the back in an attempt to comfort her, "i feel ya, powey."

the girl mirrors the sigh, slumping against denji as she flips aki off with a scowl.

"you should thank me, human! i will not go and tell [name] that you have her!" she declares smugly, resting her body weight on the male next to her.

aki vaguely hears "ow, fuck! power, y’re crushin’ me! how the fuck are ya so heavy?!" and a loud slap that probably came from power as he walks away.

• . ✿ ° × . *.

aki really does try his hardest to keep the secret.

he finds himself slapping a hand over denji's mouth when he almost lets it spill, and shoving a piece of food into power's when the topic of the secret santa comes up.

it's only halfway through december. he doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. he can tell you're starting to pick up on something fishy and it's beginning to stress him out.

"and so aki has-"

"what are you doing?"

power freezes up at the sound of aki's voice, head lifting from your lap as she scrambles to defend herself.

"nothing!" she says a pitch higher than usual.

your eyes narrow at aki who sends a subtle glare in power's direction before taking a seat beside you on the couch. you're immediately taking his hand in yours, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his knuckles to soothe his anger.

the man melts so quickly that it should be embarrassing, shoulders relaxing with a simple touch.

"she was telling me about secret santa," you fill in gently, "something about who everyone has."

power wishes she was dead.

the glare that aki gives her makes certain that she'll be banned from chocolates for at least a week. that's practically the same as death.

"was she now?" aki asks, an angry rumble in his throat.

the girl is looking at anything but his face; when had the wall become so interesting? look at that, is that a new vase? what are denji's pornos doing on the floor-

"why don't you tell both of us, power?"

before anything else can be said, she shoots up from her spot on the couch sweating bullets.

"meowy needs to shit!" is all she says before leaving the room at hurricane speeds. (if only she were that quick to close her mouth.)

you smile, turning to look at your boyfriend with a raised eyebrow.

"so?" you question, idly threading your fingers through his.

"so, what?" aki responds.

he can tell from the way a small laugh escapes those pretty lips that playing dumb isn't going to work.

"nothing, just a bad day." he tries, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"you're snapping at power because of a 'bad day'?" you state, scepticism evident in your tone. "righhhht."

aki chuckles into your flesh, placing a chaste kiss there before pulling away. "yeah, that's all."

you press a kiss to his lips, tongue swiping over his. "sure, okay. i'll let you have this one, handsome."

the edges of his mouth tip up at the nickname and silent relief fills his veins at the clarification that you won't push the matter.

"thanks, love."

• . ✿ ° × . *.

aki swears on his life that he tries his hardest to keep the secret.

it's just that denji and power are not good secret keepers. they're a pair of loudmouths who are easily bribed. if not for your presence to keep him sane, aki's sure he would have strangled denji and confiscated power's antlers. actually, he's sure that if the gift he'd gotten you wasn't so important, he'd have let his roommates tell you already.

"makima, c'monnnn! i licked the floor so ya owe me a tit squeeze!" denji whines in a kneeling position on the floor.

going out for christmas lunch with you, his two roommates and makima may be one of the best and worst decisions aki's ever made in his life.

power still has her antlers on with a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, you had to persuade her to wear it, as she makes fun of her friend. there are still remnants of the snowball fight he was forced to engage in on her coat, and her nose is pink from the one denji threw in her face.

denji is as desperate as ever - shame didn't seem to find a place in his vocabulary. his purposefully broken santa hat is still finding a home atop his dirty blonde hair, though the pom pom looks like it's about to give up and fall off.

you on the other hand look ethereal in his eyes, a smile etched into your gorgeous features. with every small giggle that escapes your lips, aki feels his chest constrict almost painfully, heart thumping loudly within his ribcage.

you're still holding his hand; you have been for the past three hours.

"only if you tell me who aki has for secret santa, denji." makima answers, voice silky smooth.

it's meant as a joke 100%. everyone else in the room, even power, understood the joke. curse aki for forgetting denji's inability to read social cues.

"he has [name]!!"

on december 23rd, the day before christmas eve, denji tells makima who he has for secret santa in exchange for a tit squeeze. typical.

there's silence for a while. no one really knows what to say. all eyes are on the dark-haired male who genuinely seems to be in the middle of a breakdown.

denji's all frozen up and fully ready to make a run for it if needs be.

"i already know he has me, though." you say, confused.

comically, multiple heads whip towards you.

"...you do?" aki breathes, annoyance towards denji disappearing as fast as it came.

"well if you didn't already know, you suck at keeping secrets, honey. i've known for ages."

part of him feels relieved. if you already knew, then technically he didn't fuck up. technically, it didn't even count-

"it doesn't take a genius to figure it out, you know."

"for real, bro. i knew ya sucked ass like in general but not at lying as well-"

denji will be dead by morning.

BONUS:

"your secret santa gift was an engagement ring?" power asks, mortified.

"what a shitty gift!" denji pipes up, "it's not even edible- ow!"

you chuckle, fiddling with the ring that fits perfectly around your finger as aki smacks denji's arm.

"really? i think it's a wonderful gift." you muse, "it'll last way longer than food."

"so what?! food stays in your tummy forever!" power argues with her hand pointing at her stomach.

"no the fuck it doesn't! ya shit it out, duh!"

their bickering falls upon deaf ears as aki steals a sneaky kiss from you.

"merry christmas, [name]. i hope we'll spend many more together." his cheeks are definitely not dusted pink as he says that. not at all.

[64yrsold]

WINTERING 4. nightmare before christmas

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist previous (3)

“Hey,” Matty grunted, sitting across from me, all splayed out on the couch. The evening was heavy and he was stoned, trying to pull himself through another get-together with friends. I glanced at him, his lips stained wine-pink. He raised his eyebrows when he caught my attention, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I tucked my feet underneath me, curling deeper into the couch. I tried to listen, or eavesdrop, to friends around me, ignoring the side of my face burning from his stare.

“Hey,” he said again, under his breath. My head snapped to him when something hit my shoulder – a peanut he had thrown.

“What?” I spat, crossing my arms around myself tightly.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, opening his arms. I rolled my eyes. He patted his lap.

“Fuck off,” I whispered, “I don’t want to talk.”

“I want to talk,” he shrugged, buttoning and unbuttoning his sleeve. I sighed, rubbing at my forehead. When I looked up, he was plopping himself on the couch beside me. 

“You reek,” I frowned, and he turned to me, a sleepy smile on his face.

“You think?” he grinned, resting his chin on his palm. 

“Jessica is gonna be pissed,” I noted, “She’s trying to keep the home pure during her pregnancy.”

“Pure,” he slurred, “Pure shit party.”

“Don’t,” I said, steeling my face. I tried not to think of him, younger and with fewer greys, waltzing over to me, tipsy and blushing. Shit party, he had said, interlacing his fingers with mine. I sighed.

“What?” he giggled, “That line worked the first time.”

“Well,” I groaned, “I was very young when that line worked.”

“God,” he sighed, “It wasn’t that long ago.” He cracked a peanut between his fingers, making a mess on his black dress pants.

“Right,” I picked at my nail polish. Anything to avoid his soupy brown eyes, and how soft his hair looked. 

“Wanna go outside?” he smiled, poking at my knee with his knuckle. It felt like a knife.

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon,” he grumbled, dropping his voice low, “I saved you a joint.”

“Matty,” I scolded, then flushed pink. He grinned. “I don’t smoke.”

He coughed through a fit of laughter, “Just a cig, then?”

“Alright!” Jessica interrupted, “Everyone with something for the gift exchange, head into the living room!”

I blinked.

“You don’t have a gift,” Matty smiled.

“Maybe I need a bit of fresh air,” I grumbled, and got up, Matty following me like a puppy. The backyard was dark, deep, and crowded with evergreens. The air was sticky with fog, kissing my cheeks.

“You cold?” He asked, pushing the snow off a bench in a secluded area of the backyard.

“No,” I said, sitting on the bench. He sat beside me, warm shoulder against mine.

“You look cold,” he insisted, taking off his coat and putting it over my shoulders. My throat tightened as his scent covered me, and I banished the thought of sleeping with his tobacco and mint on my skin. 

“I’ll probably head home soon,” I managed, the cold air and wine making my head turn.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, careful not to touch me, “Sure.”

“I have,” I shrugged, gesturing vaguely, “work.”

“On a Saturday?”

I sniffled as he lit the joint between his lips. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“Did you roll that?” I asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” he nodded, voice deep from his throat full of smoke. 

I bit my cheek, “I can fucking tell.”

“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, throwing his head back, “Are you still on this?”

“It’s just,” I smirked, looking up at him, “I can do it so much better.”

He took another drag, “Yes, love.”

“Are you agreeing so we don’t fight,” I reached for the joint, which he put between my lips instead, “Or because I’m right?” He watched me intently as I inhaled, blowing smoke behind his back. I coughed when I breathed in again, making him laugh.

“You alright?” He covered his mouth with his hand, watching me splutter and gasp.

“This is why,” I wheezed, “I quit fucking smoking.”

He moved to rub my back, patting it gently as I calmed down. The joint went out in the corner of his mouth, his attention surrounding me as his hand stilled on my back.

“Better?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” he smiled, “You still mad at me?”

“Of course I’m still mad at you,” I shifted, his closeness making my heart beat out of rhythm.

“I hate it,” he murmured, “when you’re mad at me.”

“Then do something,” I whispered. “Do something to fix it, for once.”

“Like what?” He prodded.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Make it up to me. Show up.”

He hummed, “You mean I shouldn’t get on a plane and wait for you to forgive me?”

“No,” I rolled my eyes.

“I shouldn’t get drunk,” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, “And call you, and beg you to take me back?”

“No.” 

“Should I,” he smirked, “Storm out when you imply I can’t verbalize my feelings?”

“No,” I grumbled, “Obviously not.”

“Just checking,” he brushed his thumb over my cheek, “Hoping to get it right this time.”

“Oh, this time?” I raised my eyebrows. 

He nodded slowly. 

“You must be drunk,” I shook my head, “And high. And delusional.”

“I’m always drunk, high, and delusional,” he grinned, kissing my cheek. 

“I know,” I whispered, “So I’m going home.”

“Oh, please,” he pouted, “We were just getting somewhere.”

“Goodnight, Matty,” I stood, taking off his coat and tossing it onto his lap. I felt giddy walking home, my cheekbone warm where he had touched me. The sheets smelled like mint as I drifted to sleep.

-> next (5)

[scwheeler]

🏹🩰 ˖ ࣪⊹ — i hate love her

pairing: loser!mike wheeler x popular!fem!reader 😉😉

summary: influenced by ‘i hate summer’ monologue from ‘500 days of summer’ // mike wheeler clenched his teeth and mutters he hates you but as much as he tries, he can barely get the words out

warnings: description with crooked teeth, 1960’s haircut, knobby knees, mention of scars and bruises (these are just vague descriptions that fit the monologue & i also look different from this description but it’s just according to the film so please don’t take it personally thank you 🙏🙏)

age of pairing: 14-15

i hate y/n.

mike stared at her from across the classroom, crossed legs and tapping your number two pencil on the wooden desk repeatedly. it bothered him so much, only adding to the mental list of things he hated about you. rather than staring now he was glaring but he sat behind you and a couple rows over which meant you didn’t even notice. continuing to annoy him without a single thought.

he pressed down his pencil into his notebook until the lead snapped, making him also snap out of this trance. he looked down at his empty paper with a dark lead circle in the middle. he ripped out the sheet and crumpled it up, debating whether to throw it at your head or into the trash can. he probably had a better chance shooting it at your head than landing it in the trash can according to his sports record but he refrained because your hair looked nice.

he wasn’t sympathetic especially when the situation included you but he wasn’t an asshole. it must’ve taken you all morning to do that hairstyle and agree that you liked it. he just didn’t want to throw all your hard work away so he kept the crumpled paper and shoved it in his backpack, agreeing he’d either throw it to your head another day or throwing it away at the end of class.

“mike! i asked you a question mr. wheeler, what’s the answer to the question on the board?” the teacher asked in a stern tone, hands on his hips and trying to get mike’s attention. mike looked up and away from you, hoping you didn’t see his eyes hurrying to avoid your eye contact. you turned around from your seat to look at him as did the rest of the class.

mike was out of it. he was thinking about something else, you. he forgot to write down all the notes on the board which contributed to what the answer could be to the question the teach was asking. before he could apologize, a hand rose up in front of him. it was yours. your arm popped up and attracted the teachers attention. “yes, ms. y/n?” he asked now taking his burning eyes away from mike and to you.

“if mike can’t answer it, i’d gladly do it myself,” you replied and not in a sarcastic or rude manner. it was like you wanted to help him. “sure that would be great, go ahead,” the teacher proceeded and let you come up to the board. you took your notebook with you, it was covered in bright stickers and shiny gems matching your appearance. mike watched as you sat up from your desk and almost skipped to the board.

you picked up the small white chalk and wrote down your answer, copying your equation from your notebook. the class watched but mike observed. he thought about how you saved his ass from getting yelled at the teacher. why? after finishing the equation, you turned and returned to your seat, winking and smiling at mike before doing so. he shook his head, whatever. he hated you.

i hate her crooked teeth.

if he hates you so much, why was he up at three in the morning still thinking about your stupid smile. your pearl white teeth almost blinding him in the middle of math class. his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes pierced through the ceiling of his bedroom. what was your problem? you didn’t do this to any other person in the school? let alone the entirety of hawkins! so why did you chose him? was this a punishment?

mike groaned and turned off his bedside table lamp, looking at the alarm clock reading 4:27 now. he spent almost four hours just thinking about you and it infuriated him. he liked girls before, girls in his class, girls on the tv, girls in his favorite movies. but he never stayed up thinking about him until this late hour. so what made you so different?

was it your smile? it wasn’t even that nice! he’s seen better smiles in the newspaper and even his mom may have had a better one. yet you were the only thing on his mind and mike couldn’t stand the feeling.

he turned to sides left and right, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep but it was no help. by the time, his eyelids were finally about to shut, they were disturbed by the bright light of the sun coming up. he hated you so much.

i hate her 1960’s haircut.

the next day at school, mike slung his backpack over his shoulder and got to his locker. he agreed to meet dustin before the hellfire club meeting afterschool and was in a hurry. the most unfortunate thing about going to his locker was that yours was right next to it.

he always avoided you everyday, trying to find a time that would be good for him to approach his locker without you being there. however unlucky for him, you were there most of the day. either taking with your friends, unloading your heavy textbooks, or just leaning against it waiting for the bell to ring.

this forced mike to hide behind the corner, peering over time to time like a creep to wait for you to leave. he was even late once or twice just going to his locker at you finally left when the bell rang. when his teacher asked why his eyes slowly trailed to you, who stared back at him innocently. unknown that you were the reason why he was late and got detention.

he could only shut up and take the yellow slip from his teacher. sliding into his desk in the back and staring out into the window in annoyance. why did he need to avoid you? why wasn’t it the other way around?

today was worse. worse than mike could ever imagine. he headed for his locker, after watching you walk down the hall to your cheer practice as you always did afterschool. it was weird how much mike knew about you. he hurried to his locker and put in his code. opening it quickly and grabbing his books and shoving them into his backpack for homework later.

as soon as mike closed his locker door, he almost had a heart attack. you were standing right there, facing away from him and looking into a small mirror attached to the door of your locker. you were applying another layer of strawberry chapstick, the one you carried everywhere and put on during first period, third period, and right after lunch by your locker.

so he was definitely surprised to see you standing right in front of him, puckering your lips and looking into the mirror. completely oblivious of mike standing behind you with a shocked expression saying ‘what the fuck!’ you didn’t even notice him staring at you for a full on five minutes. mike would never admit it but you weren’t such an eye sore as he tried to convince himself all last night.

you were actually nice to look at. really pretty and your hair was right in front of his face, the scent of strawberry and peach shampoo and conditioner filling up his senses. without him even knowing, mike’s frown became a small smile.

your high ponytail with a white bow made you look like a character from a 60’s cartoon. it was moving side to side putting mike into a trance but he snapped out of it as you put the cap back on of your chapstick, signaling mike to go back into hiding and run away before you freak out and sic the entire basketball team on him for being a creep.

he turned around and rushed down the hall, not looking back and just praying that you didn’t notice his existence like you did for the last ten minutes. how he hated you so much.

i hate her knobby knees.

dustin informed mike that everyone was required to watch the final hawkins basketball game tonight, making the hellfire club meeting postponed which eddie would be furious about but he didn’t want his parents being on his back about getting another detention this month. at least lucas would be glad which made going to the game worth it for him and dustin.

“what if we just slipped out during halftime?” mike suggested to dustin who was climbing up the bleachers to look for an empty seat. “if we get caught our asses are toast and my mom will take away my satellite meani—” dustin was explaining but mike had heard this a hundred times to repeat it, “—meaning no suzie, i know i know,” he grumbled and sat onto the wooden seats.

before the game even started, a girl walked to the middle of the gym and stayed singing the national anthem. or at least what sounded like it kind of. she sounded like a muppet, he and dustin agreed on. after that, a bunch of green uniforms filled up the center stage.

it was the hawkins cheerleaders, including you. his eyes immediately fell upon you, disregarding the other twenty girls and guys wearing the same outfit. you were the only one that caught his eye and he couldn’t tell why. was it cause of the weird interaction earlier today?

you were skipping in with a smile plastered on your face, those stupid pearly whites blinding mike once again. you had pom pom in your hands, waving your arms around and waving to the crowd. you didn’t spare mike a glance even once but he didn’t mind. at least it meant he could stare at you the entire time the cheerleaders introduction was happening.

what surprised mike was that you walked to the center, as everyone got into formation, you were center stage. your smile was warm and could light up an entire room, as it was doing now. you danced in the front with a bunch of other girls, doing a routine you guys probably practiced a million times before. mike could see the nervousness in your face, hiding behind that smile you held so proudly.

he noticed your knees, they were kind of crooked. you also had bruises on them, cuts too. skin tone band-aids trying to cover the scars on your knees. people might’ve thought they were ugly but mike found them nice. not like he was a sadist or anything about scars and bruises but it made you look more real. like you weren’t just another carbon copy of these popular cheerleaders who had perfect lives and appearances like the girls surrounding you.

you were different. something about you gave mike a hint that you wouldn’t make fun of him or laugh at his face if he made a mistake. maybe it was because you helped him yesterday morning or smiled at him a moment after.

either way, he found himself clapping for you after you finished your dance, enjoying your performance and rather disappointed to find it so short. dustin was confused, wasn’t mike just giving suggestions on how to sneak out of here five minutes ago? now he was smiling and clapping like his girlfriend was out there dancing in front of the crowd?

why did you make him feel this weird? this good feeling he had whenever he saw you? he had to force himself to hate you to avoid his true feelings from spilling out. he hated how you made him feel.

i hate her.

i hate love her so much.

[dawn-dream-crusader]

Evening with a thunderstorm (Vergil x reader)

INSPRIRATION FROM @aldryrththerainbowheart (srry for ping)

I don't know what this is supposed to mean, yet whatever

It's basically all the misfortune falling on Vergil's head at Halloween evening, including you and a thunderstorm. Enjoy my first work!

A pinch of hurt/comfort and a bowl of fluff <3

You sighed, staring from a window at soaked, rainy street. The Halloween decided to come and not only give away sweets to little children and some not so little adults, yet just as excited (just as you), but also bring a frightening storm to the streets of Red Grave City. And even if you did hope that the thunderstorm would have already ended by the end of evening, you could throw all your hope away, because it only became stronger and even more fierce with time.

From the office window, it sounded like a tree broke down with a loud crack and fell down, on cold, wet sidewalk. A puddle got splashed all over the ground under a wheel of passing car. For a nice change of pace and not to spend your time pointlessly wandering in your own melancholy, you decided to keep company to Vergil. Your friend (whoever he thought you were to him, you did cherish his presence next to you) was sitting on a couch, reading a book in front of a turned on TV, that Dante probably had forgotten to turn off before setting off to buy special Halloween pizza.

"Are you watching?" You put all of your courage in your fist, and sat next to him, close enough to see what the white-haired half-devil was reading.

Vergil glanced at you, turning his head to have a better look. "No," he calmly replied and started reading again. You noticed that he looked beautiful in his armor vest, yet you knew he'd never bring himself to answer you with something similar. His cold attitude did sadden you sometimes, but it seemed like there was almost no way to get this man out of his shell - especially that the fact of him talking to you, sharing his thoughts was a great achievement.

A sharp growl of chainsaw caught your attention, and you found yourself engaged in a horror movie that the TV was showing. As a sentimental mess you were, you got genuinely worried for the beautiful, but kinda stupid main cast while the villain, a creepy and cold-blooded serial killer in a seemingly 1$-cheap face mask was coming for them and all of their beloved. You didn't even see how Vergil was watching you with confusion on his face as genuine as your engagement in the movie plot.

"I do not understand why you are so interested in this," he noticed, scrunching his brow in an expression somewhere between surprise and slight disgust. Not for you, of course - for the movie.

"No clue, to be honest." You answered, finally noticing his stormy blue eyes scanning your face. "It's Halloween, after all. All the channels now are showing these." You made a vague gesture with your hand, trying to group all of horror films in one.

"These films are aimed on humans like you, willing to be frightened by every rustle you hear..." Vergil grumbled, his eyes on the screen, as if trying to see what possibly could scare him. A man in cheap face mask was approaching a house, where windows were lit, and kid's laugh could be heard. A lightning struck outside of the office, and you shivered unwillingly, storm fitting the movie's atmosphere.

"I mean, I am concerned for these guys - especially the little one..." You watched with growing anxiety how the killer quietly opened the door to the house and stepped in.

"It's not real and everything, but..." The masked person creeped closer to the room where a mother, wearing simple pink dress, was playing with her son - a boy around seven years old. The boy was laughing, as his mother was too, and none of them had noticed a man behind the door.

"...What scares is not the decorations, I think..." The boy ran away to a different room, as his mother slowly turned back, wishing to bake a pie for her little beloved son.

"...But how the film can touch a wound you didn't even know about, or that has already healed... how do you think?" And you turned to see Vergil. "Vergil?"

"...Vergil?!"

At first, you were in shock. Then you panicked.

Vergil was staring at the screen, pale, his eyes never leaving the picture. He watched with eyes wide open, how the killer in mask cruelly murdered the mother in pink dress. He was shaking, you could even see how his lips were slightly trembling, and his hands squeezed the book so harshly that his knuckles turned white, and the book crumpled. It felt like the man was stabbing his, Vergil's chest, and a flash of pain crossed in his eyes: too big to show and too bright to hide. He watched, immersed in a nightmare, how a boy came back, calling for his mother, only to trip on her dead body, covered in blood. In the cold light of television screen, Vergil's pupils narrowed to a tiny dot, and it seemed like he was ready to scream, but his throat was filled by blood, pierced by a devil claw...

The lightning struck again, and with the deafening thunder you finally found the remote controller and shut the TV off, leaving the room in complete darkness. It seemed like the electricity has gone off.

"Dear Lord," you could only say, slowly putting the remote controller down. "That was not what I thought I'd watch."

You turned around, and saw how Vergil blinked. One time. Then another. And then he hid his face in his palms, trying to connect back to reality.

"...Vergil?" You called him cautiously. He didn't answer, but shivered at the sound of your voice. You didn't know what to do in such a situation; yet, you knew you couldn't leave your friend alone. "Vergil..." You checked every word you were about to say. "...how do you feel?"

For a couple of seconds, everything was quiet, except for the roaring thunder outside. And then he let out a whimper. You tiptoed to the couch and very slowly sat next to him. Vergil didn't move at all.

"..." None of you said a word, as the lightning kept lighting up the room. You did know about what had happened with the Sparda twins in their childhood, but you didn't have a chance to talk about this heavy theme with any of brothers (pretty much understandable).

A tiny light bulb lit up in your brain, dim, but still glowing. You stood up and walked to the kitchenette. The water in kettle, luckily, was still hot, so you poured two cups of tea and put one in front of Vergil. It wasn't much, but that was the only thing you could do.

Vergil finally gazed up at you, then at the cup. From his cold blue eyes, you couldn't tell if he was scared, annoyed or just didn't care at all. He had been looking at the cup for a couple of minutes, before finally taking it in his hands. That's when you noticed that his fingers were shaking a bit, and how tea in his cup was shaking too. He took a slow, cautious sip and finally sighed.

"...Does is it feel better?" You asked with a tinge of hope that your effort worked.

As expected, Vergil didn't answer, taking another unhurried sip. Yet, he finally looked at you for a second, and gave you a slight, almost unnoticeable nod. Your heartbeat suddenly accelerated.

The thunder deafened you both for a second: it sounded like Zeus kept dropping metal pots to the ground, in a desperate attempt of cooking. But none of you were talking, so it even created an ambient - weirdly comforting and serene, as the two of you were drinking tea.

You gasped in shock when one of the windows suddenly opened; cold wind flowed into the office, and you, almost dropping your cup (as it seems, to participate with Zeus), ran off to shut it closed. But even when the window was finally closed with big efforts from your side, the temperature in the room got noticeably lower.

"Oh you stupid storm," you grunted under your breath, sitting down next to Vergil once again. He didn't seem to be affected by cold at all, in contrast to you, who were trembling and constantly shaking your head, as if it would make you feel warmer.

Unexpectedly, something heavy and warm laid down on your shoulders. You flinched, not understanding what was happening, and suddenly recognized the material Vergil's coat was made from.

"You don't have to-" you started refusing, but the pressure on your shoulders became heavier, and your resistance faded.

"Take it." You heard Vergil's quiet grunt. For him it, seemingly, wasn't enough, and he couldn't help but pull you closer to himself with his long, lithe arm. Besides, he didn't seem to notice how you squeaked in shock from his sudden move.

It was awkward. And Vergil's arm was heavy. But at least, now you were warm.

"Thank you," you mumbled. He didn't answer anything, so you just relaxed in his hold. It did feel good, to be honest. So peaceful.

You've been sitting like this for a while. Maybe two minutes, maybe ten. Nevertheless, you felt how he slightly pushed you off his arm.

"Come on." He stood up, stretching his muscles.

"Hm? Did something happen?" You asked, a bit worried you did something wrong.

"Cinnamon pie."

You blinked once. Then twice.

"Cinnamon what?"

Vergil's face scrunched in frustration.

"Are you deaf? Do you want a piece of cinnamon pie?"

"Ah. Yeah." You finally stood up, still holding Vergil's coat on your shoulders. "If you invite me.."

"Why else would I say this to you?"

"Fine, fine." You watched as Vergil walked away to the fridge. Deep inside, you couldn't fathom if this all - the coat, the pie - were all as a sign of gratitude to you for alleviating his stress a little. Vergil wasn't a type of person to be so generous... or maybe, he had no special occasion to show it. You couldn't guess, but it wasn't even so important. What was much more important, was a piece of pie. You didn't know but Vergil saved this one specifically for you - in case of your visit, that he waits for. Every day.

P.s. That ended quickly. Eh. Thank you for reading!

Yours, Dawn Dream Crusader

[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

byler prompt: flirting god will and blushing mess mike accidentally switch roles momentarily but once mike realizes what he said and will seizes the opportunity to reciprocate, the roles go right back to normal, except it was just enough to get them to realize their feelings weren't as one sided as they thought.

TY SO MYCH FOR THE ASK WHOEVER YOU ARE

THIS IS SUPER SUPER ROUGH BECAUSE I HAVE NOT WRITTEN IN AGES AND WAS LITERALLY WORD VOMITING SO THIS IS TECHNICALLY A DRAFT SO IM SORRY IF IT DOESNT LIVE UP TO UR EXPECTATIONS

William Byers never used to be this…forward, maybe it was living in Cali, maybe it was because Jane and Mike had broken up, maybe it was Vecna finally being dead, the upside down no longer plaguing him with every movement he’d take, and with everything being over and done with, that creepy crawling feeling was gone and he could breath normally, and with that he finally got the confidence to actually speak like a normal person to his best friend.

Well, maybe more than just a “normal person” but hey, seeing Mike get a bit flustered at his senseless flirting was always a plus, even if it didn’t mean anything in the end.

He’d always known how to get people riled up, in California he’d use the tactic to throw people off when they’d be rude to him or Jane. Throw a comment out there to make them stop in their tracks, blubbering like a fish out of water. It was amusing when it was them. But god with Mike it was different, cus he actually meant the words coming out of his mouth, and loved the flush that would spread over his best friends cheeks as he stared at Will with those wide eyes, looking vaguely like he’d had his first thought in a week, like he’d suddenly gained consciousness. His jaw would drop slightly his lips pursing in that way that made Will want so desperately to kiss him.

…..

He was awful.

He shouldn’t be using Mike like that, but he couldn’t stop himself, flirting with him was fun and easy and everything love should be. So he smiled and quipped and made little gestures and said his full name in that way that. It had gotten to the point he’d take almost every opportunity he could.

Hawkins was awful in the summer, any long fabrics or hair sticking to your skin uncomfortably, too cold in winter and too hot in summer. Too wet in Spring, too dry in Fall.

Ah the Midwest.

He was pulling at his pants as the party sat around him at their lunch table, chatting away about something or another. Mike sat at his side, way closer than he had too, almost the entire bench free to his right, but it’d been like that recently, and. Will definitely wasn’t complaining, he usually liked the contact, Mikes legs and side pressed against his in a way that made his cheeks flare.

“Jane, remind mom we gotta go summer clothes shopping.” He groaned dramatically, pushing Mike’s side. “Mike I know we both love you being in my personal space but please.” He whined, pouting at the boy.

“H-huh?” Mike’s eyes widened, his lips parting, “o-oh yeah of course yeah sorry-“ he stuttered over his words, shimmying away from Will, just enough so that they were no longer touching.

Max snickered in that knowing way of hers, despite her impaired vision, she seemed to read them like an open book. See right through them and the game they were playing. She looked…? between them for a moment. Will suddenly had a very bad feeling.

“Do any of you guys remember those short shorts Will would wear in middle school?” She said, fitting her chin onto her palm. “You should get some of those again,” she suggested.

“The ones from the mall?” Will pulled a face, his lips pursing in not exactly disgust but something close enough. Moving his gaze to Max as she nodded, a knowing look in her eyes.

Traitor.

Lucas made a wolf-whistle sound, “yeah man you looked good in those! I remember girls used to be practically tripping over themselves when you walked by,” he teased. Dustin snickered along with them.

All of them. Traitors.

“It was not like that.” Will huffed, glaring at Max despite the fact she couldn’t see it, she smiled at him widely, mischievous and playful.

Sometimes Will wondered if she was faking being blind.

Mike made a little sound, tilting his head to the side as he shrugged, absentmindedly moving his food around on his plate. “I meannn, a lot of people did stare at you,” he said, almost teasing as he smiled to his friend, “you looked good in them.” He added.

Will’s attention was almost immediately on him, as it so often was, leaning his head to the side, returning the teasing nature, “Micheal Wheeler,” he said playfully, teasing and light with his words. He loved the way Mikes lips twitched up at the use of his name. One of the easiest ways to flirt with Mike Wheeler. “Did you just so happen to be one of the people staring at lil ole me?” He asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes at him, simply searching for a reaction.

Instead of stuttering or blushing like Will had expected, Mike merely looked up, as if recalling the events of that summer. He straightened his posture so that their height difference was more notable. Forcing Will to look up if he wanted to look at his face, which he did, of course.

“Would it be so bad if I was?” He asked, looking back down at Will with a deceivingly neutral expression, his voice sounding light and contemplative in a way. “I did say you looked good in them, didn’t I? It’s obvious people would stare.”

For once, it was Wills turn to blink rapidly, a blush spreading over his cheeks his lips openinghe breathed in the sentiment. Unsure what to make of it, was Mike calling him attractive? It felt like it. Warmth pooled in his stomach and spread throughout his body, all the way down his arms to his fingers and toes.

All he could do for a few long moments was stare, but with the way Mike was looking at him, expectantly, as if waiting for an answer to a question Will had to take a moment to recall. Mike eyes flitted down to the bottom half of his face, letting out a little huffy breath through his lips, impatience.

Right, right, Will needed to respond. “I guess I wouldn’t mind.” He finally said, so quiet he’d be surprised if Mike even heard it. His voice felt fleeting in his throat, like he was scared he’d break whatever bubble was around them if he was too loud, too obnoxious.

Mikes soft contemplative look quickly turned to fluster once more, as if his words and the implication of them finally caught up to him. And they both seemed to notice they’d been staring at each other for too long for it to be considered normal.

Mike quickly looked away from him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the boy gulped, his cheeks still flushed. Will watched him for a moment, the implication of Mike finding his attractive in short shorts kept turning in his head. He looked away then too, trying to focus back in on the conversation their friends had continued without them.

Max huffed loudly at something Lucas said. “We all know Will doesn’t give any of the girls who are into him the time of day.” She said. “He’s too focused on…other things.” Her non-existent stare looked between him and Mike, before shrugging, “like his grades, and college.”

Will was gonna murder her.

[ro-presents-penelopegarciashorts]

NOT REQUESTED

penelope garcia x stud!reader

jus reader and penelope. brief encounter with unnamed florist. brief mention of kevin.

After not having been able to spend quality time with your girlfriend for two weeks, you plan something special to remind her of what she means to you.

Pure Fluff

Established relationship. Mentions of lust and arousal, hints of future smut. Vague mentions of insecurity. No use of Y/N.

2.1k WORDS

You haven't seen your girlfriend, Penelope, for two weeks. Not really. Sure, the two of you shared a bed, but you guys never got home around the same time. Especially not with both of your jobs being kind of hectic right now. When you got home sometimes, Penelope was already soundly asleep. When you woke, she was already gone. Then, there were times where that pattern was reversed, but it all just depended on what was going on at you guys' respective jobs. That said, you two had been in this share a bed only space for a little over a month now, and it was really starting to drive you both crazy.

Things had calmed down at your job a bit. You guys had wrapped up a big project a few days ago, and the post-project chaotic buzz was finally starting to wear off. Penelope had texted you today, informing you that her team had just wrapped their latest case, and that there was a chance she could be home by seven tonight. That was when the gears in your head begin to turn.

Able to leave work early, you had headed straight to the grocery store, bought all the ingredients for her favorite dinner. Now, you were at a flower shop. There was this surprise arrangement that she liked that you did for her. It always consisted of her favorite flower being dominating with other pretty, unfamiliar flowers sprinkled in. She liked to look up the meaning of the flowers later.

"Excuse me, I need flowers," you says and the woman gives you a smile that politely says obviously, and you continue for clarification, "My bad. What I mean is, I need a bouquet that tells a specific emotional story, conveys a message, really."

"Mkay," the woman nods, "And, what would you like your flowers to say?"

"I love you, I've missed you. It's an honor to be with you. I'm so proud of you and the work you do," you say with ease. Never is it hard to pinpoint of verbalize your feelings for your girlfriend. Maybe in the beginning, but after four years, you've gotten more attached to your own emotions and thus, more expressive. "Um, just a giant thank you for being who she is, and for choosing me, choosing us every day, and throw in a good chunk of daffodils because those are her favorites. I also want it to be as colorful as she is, really bright and beautiful."

"Love, longing, pride and admiration and gratitude," she murmurs to herself as she writes in a little notepad. She looks back up at you, "And, as bright, beautiful and colorful as she is, and who is the she in question, for reference?"

Your eyes light up as you pull out your phone. It's easy enough to find a photo of her. Penelope is both your lockscreen and your phone screen, and she happens to take up about 75% percent of your camera roll. You show her a slew of photos, finding yourself sharing the memories behind each. God, did you miss actually spending time with her.

"Beautiful smile," the worker compliments your girlfriend as you pull your phone away.

"I know, huh?" And, your smile is gleaming with pride. She finds it cute, how in love you are. She takes you around the store then. Showing you various flowers that fit all of your requirments. It's hard to choose, to narrow it down. Before you've realized it, your bouquet has turned into an arrangement. But, it's fine. More money than you had anticipated spending, but you want to make her melt when she gets home tonight, and money is but a small sacrifice.

You head straight home afterward. It's difficult, sometimes, to pinpoint when Penelope will be home. The romantic dinner set up has to be done before then, so there's no room in your time schedule to make any other stops. When you get home, you jump straight into the set up, wanting everything to be absolutely perfect for when Penelope comes home.

Which doesn't happen. You're only about a quarter of the way finished with your meal by the time she gets home, but you did set up. So, when she walks through the door of you guys' home, you hear a delighted squeal of awe at how beautiful everything looked. Turning the stove down, you dash out of the kitchen, shouting in a frantic dismay, pleading for her to close her eyes and cover them. When you reach her, her eyes are still open and she's got the most adorable confused expression on her face.

"My surprise," you say, covering her eyes for her as you begin to guide her to you guys' bedroom, "for you is incomplete, and I don't want you to see anything else until I am completely ready so you can't be up here," you inform her, nudging the bedroom door open with your foot. When you've guided her to the bed, you gently push her down. You grab a pin. "Look into the pen."

She giggles, "I'm looking." You click the pen, and playing along, she blinks, mimicking confusion rather well minus the smile in her eyes. "Where am I? How did I get here?" She asks, unable to stop her giggles from escaping her yet again. You smile, loving her a little bit more now for having played along with your mind wiping pen, Men in Black reference without so much as a second thought. You really didn't think it was possible for you to have a better girlfriend.

You lean down and kiss her before dashing out of the room. "I'll come back for you when everything is ready!"

She swoons, watching you sprint back to the front. You were quite possible the sweetest person she's ever known. If not that, you were definitely the sweetest, most kind person she had ever dated. If you were going to go out of your way to surprise her, she would do a little something to surprise you as well. While you work on your preparations, she pulls out your favorite dress of hers. She showers her day away before slipping into it and redoing her hair and make up, wearing your favorite piece of lingrie underneath. She didn't know what you had in store, but she wanted you to fall to your knees the next time you saw her.

After some time, you finished up cooking the meal. Taking your time, you were so careful how you set the table, about making sure you set out the forks and such the correct way. It was never something you personally remembered; you'd had to google. Penelope wouldn't be able to tell, either. If the placements were correct or not. but every time you guys had ever gone to one of those fancy restaraunts that care about placements like that, she always got excited about how nice everything was. She always commented on the silverware, and it was always so precious to you. So, yeah, you made sure to get it right. You were also extremely careful about the presentation of the food as you fix you guys' plates. She liked to take pictures so you wanted it to be picture perfect. When you were satisfied with your efforts, you make good on your promise to go back and get her.

Upon opening your bedroom door, you see Penelope, examining herself in the mirror, wearing that dress that makes your knees go weak. The one that's in your favorite color, the one that hugs her curves and highlights the beauty of her shape in the most heavenly of ways. The one that does absolute wonders for her cleavage. The one that makes you damn near drool, makes you want to drop to your knees and have a different kind of meal. As your eyes trail back upward to meet her eyes, you find her smirking at the unabashed lust in your eyes. You pull yourself together. You want tonight to be so much more than just about sexual intimacy, and you had put so much energy into preparing everything to give her a full experience. You've waited weeks. You could a bit longer. You clench your jaw and clear your throat.

Extending your arm for her to take, "M'lady, your dinner awaits."

Coming forward to you, she takes your hand and kisses your cheek. Continuing to hold her hand, you wrap free arm around her waist and start to guide her down the hall. Eyes uncovered this time, she gasps in wonderment at the bright, white Christmas lights you've hung in arches in the hall way. She loves the face that she's walking on rose petals, even if they are fake ones. She swoons at how you've turned the entire apartment into a romantic wonderland on a random weekday, for no reason at all. The more she takes it all in, the more anxious she finds herself to repay you later on tonight. Reaching the kitchen, the first thing she sees is the arrangement you had made acting as a centerpiece.

She squeezes your hand, "Oh my God," she gushes, "They're so lucious and so so beautiful!"

You feel your heart flutter in your chest at the sound of her joy. Buying her flowers and plants was a big thing for you. You always stressed over it so much because you knew how much she valued plant life and pretty things. You'd yet to gift her a plant, bouquet or flower arrangement that she didn't like, but a part of you still held your breath until she saw it every time.

"I have a card of the names of all the flowers in the arrangement on it." You tell her and she looks at you with the softest eyes. "I know how you like to look up the meanings for yourself later." You add, as the two of you get closer to the table. When you guys are close enough, you let her go so you can pull out her chair. as your doing this, she leans in to smell the arrangement. With her chair pulled out, you help her sit before pushing her chair back in, pouring her a glass of wine before doing the same for yourself at taking your seat.

"Ooh!" she exclaims, "How fancy!" And you smile, not even having to look at her to know she's referencing the silverware placements. "And, dinner smells amazing, baby, thank you."

You shrug, downplaying your efforts, "I just wanted to do a little somethin' for you."

"A little something?" She asks, eyebrows raised, giggling, "Baby, you've turned our home into a five star dining experience." She notes, squinting just a little, "What is all this?"

"Nothing really," you answer, "I've just missed you a lot, and I wanted to do something for you."

Penelope all but melts in her chair. She doesn't think she'll ever say it outloud, because she's ashamed of the thought, but for a while, she thought Kevin was as good as she was ever going to get. Even after they broke up. But, then, she met you, and sometimes, she still feels like you aren't really.

"Where did you come from?"

"I materialized from your sweetest dreams," is your answer with a grin.

She snorts, playfully, "I couldn't have imagined you if I tried. You, my love, are more magical than unicorns."

Your smile widens, "I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

The two of you start in on your meal after that, and she moans at the first bite. You guys talk, really talk for the first time in two weeks, catching up on all things new. You talk about work, but not about any of the dark or boring parts, no. You two keep it light, tell each other about the new gossip updates in your respective offices. You've missed this more than you had realized. For a brief moment, your heartbreaks a little for people who don't get to experience what you two share.

"You know," she says with a light air of casualness, "I have a surprise for you of my own tonight." And, the implication is clear. It hangs heavy in the air as you resort to speechlessness in favor of sputtering your words. Penelope knew exactly what to do to make your brain melt out of your head, to take every bit of intellect in you and wash it away. That statement, in that dress, it takes all your effort to get through dinner. It's hard to focus on anything with your boxers becoming more increasingly soaked in anticipation of what she had in store for you later.

[muirmarie]

[tw: suicidal thoughts, terminal illness, mentions of vomiting]

somehow 3400 words of accidental story???? may edit/rewrite a little and throw up on ao3 idk, but it stands as-is. vaguely mcspirk.

________

my father was a betting man

________

for the world is hollow and i have touched the sky where starfleet sends a cmo replacement before they go to yonada, and mccoy - mccoy goes back home. where else is he going to go? kirk and spock are throwing him away, aren't they - he'd asked jim to let him stay, but instead he'd - well. it doesn't matter.

he goes home. he goes home to joanna. she's sixteen years old. younger than he was when his father -

he goes home to joanna, and he counts out his months, and he makes a plan for how he's going to put the period on his life, because he's not going to put her through what he went through. he's not going to let her watch him die. he's not going to beg her -

well, it doesn't matter, does it.

he looks in the mirror in the mornings, and he sees his father's face, and he looks at her blue eyes and he wonders if he was ever that young. wonders -

he doesn't reply to any messages from kirk and spock, but he keeps in sporadic contact with uhura and scotty. he doesn't ask them not to pass anything along - he won't do that to them - so he just doesn't tell them anything true. never asks them anything real.

it's just, he thinks. he killed his father, after all. it's just and it's fitting that he goes out like this. but he won't let joanna -

she wants to move in with him and take care of him, and he won't let her. he won't let jocelyn be the bad guy, either, even though she'd let him, he knows. she'd let him tell joanna that jocelyn wouldn't let her. they haven't loved each other in years, but she was there when his dad -

jocelyn would let him, if he asked. he doesn't ask. it's his fault.

he won't let joanna take him to the doctor, won't let her pick up his medications, won't let her stay over in case she hears him throwing up at 3am again, won't let her help with all the sundries that come up when you're slowly wasting away.

he knows she wants to help, knows what he's doing isn't fair, either, but what is fairness when it comes to families? what is fairness when it comes to the memories and the regrets and the forked paths you can never, ever backtrack to.

why did you even come home, she asks, if you weren't going to let me help? she's so angry. she reminds him so much of himself.

what can he tell her? the truth, that he had nowhere else to go? the truth, that he is selfish and he couldn't bear never seeing her again? the truth, that it turns out that he really is his father's son?

that she really is her father's daughter?

he has nightmares, some nights, imagining that this is the great curse on the mccoy family tree. imagining her in thirty years right back here, in this moment, right where he is. he knows how many terminal illnesses there are in this universe. any one of them could have her name on it.

i'll be most effective on the job in the time left, if you'll keep this to yourself

the pain...stop the pain...son...release me...

jocelyn chooses to help more than he's comfortable with, but then she's never listened to him when he said he could handle something on his own. that was never their problem, was it. it's 3am and he's throwing up again and he tries to remember what their problems were, tries to remember why she threw him out, why spock and jim threw him out, why everyone he's ever loved has -

it doesn't matter.

it doesn't matter, does it. how many months does he have left? how many people does he have left that can throw him away? if they're not already gone, at least he will be, soon.

he's written his letters and he's arranged his affairs. he won't let it get as bad it he knows it will get. he won't -

he will not ever let anyone hear him -

he wonders, some nights, what it cost his dad to ask him. thinks about what it had cost leonard himself to ask chapel to stay silent, what it had cost him to ask kirk to let him stay, what it had cost -

he's blocked all avenues of communication from kirk and spock, by now. hasn't answered scotty or uhura for weeks. he'd tried to block chapel, but she -

she shows up on his doorstep six months after he leaves the enterprise. tells him she's taking a leave of absence to care for a family member. tells him, with that steady smile and cautious eyes that she's been in contact with jocelyn. shows him the documentation that she's listed as his next of kin.

jocelyn must have forged that, he thinks. wants to laugh. wants to punch a goddamn wall.

go back to the ship, he tells her, you're gonna fuck up your career taking a leave like this.

i only joined the enterprise to find roger, she says. c'mon, leonard. love always comes first. we only have so much time.

he can see it in her eyes, that she knows why he doesn't want her there. not after his father - he's never told her that, and he knows jocelyn never would. but she's always called him her worst patient. always known he could never let himself be vulnerable. used to chide him about it. used to -

you're not gonna kick me out into the cold, are you? she asks.

you really think i'm gonna let you boss me around my last few months on earth?

3am that night, she runs a cool washcloth across the back of his neck, brings him a glass of water so he can rinse out his mouth, says nothing at the angry, helpless tears in his eyes.

it takes her a week to ask him. she has more patience than he gave her credit for.

you gonna talk to them?

there's only one them for him, isn't there.

there isn't anything left to say, he says. it's the truth, isn't it?

you're really going to keep pushing them away?

they did that on their own, he says. wishes he meant it. wishes he -

let me stay, he thinks. release me, he thinks. don't tell anyone, he thinks. let me help you, he thinks. you've got to hold on, he thinks. let me -

he knows his father loved him. he loved his father, too. loved him so much that he would have given anything -

did. did give everything. gave his father up. gave his father up, and then had to live with it. has been living with it all these years.

he's tired of asking people for things that they can't give him. tired of not asking people for things they want to give him.

tired. just tired. been tired all his life, hasn't he. steeped in it.

looks at joanna's blue eyes, and sees the exhaustion in her. sees his own eyes, doesn't he. sees his own eyes, looking at his father. begging him.

i've done everything i can do. you've got to hang on.

hold on, he thinks. because he begged him, too. begged his father, too. he forgets that part of the story, sometimes, but it's been hard to forget, lately. thinks about joanna kneeling by his body, begging him. begging him to hold on.

why had he asked his father to hold on when he was so desperate to let go? why had he tried to make him stay when he was hurting so badly? was he that scared of being alone?

lonely, he thinks. he's lived a lonely life, hasn't he.

was that the last time he begged someone to stay?

he hadn't begged jocelyn. didn't even ask her to stay, did he. just listened to her, and nodded, and threw his shit together, and kissed joanna on the head, and took off to a hotel.

to a hotel. why hadn't he gone to a friend's? why hadn't he gone to a friend, and sat down, and poured out everything that was going on? why hadn't he asked for help? why hadn't he asked jocelyn for help before things got as bad as they did? maybe there wasn't anything still left to save, but it took them years to be friends again, didn't it. couldn't he at least have left as friends, instead of making them claw their way back to it?

he asks her, one day. she's taking him to the doctor. even chapel isn't able to sway her when jocelyn decides on something, and she's decided she wants to be here for him. so he asks her.

that was one of our problems, she says. says it easy, now, even though her mouth pinches, like it still hurts a little. you never needed me, leonard. never wanted to need me. i always felt like i had to bulldoze you if i wanted to help you, which eventually starts to feel a little counterproductive. and things haven't really changed, have they? you're just too tired to fight me anymore.

he is, he thinks. he is tired.

he is so tired of letting go of things. of being let go of. of running away. of being run from.

a lonely life, he thinks.

thinks, hold on, dad. please don't leave me. please keep fighting. i need you to keep fighting. please don't leave me.

wonders, now, with the benefit of hindsight, what his dad must have thought when he heard him begging. did he think leonard selfish?

is joanna selfish, he thinks. is chapel? is jocelyn?

it's just humans, isn't it. just humans trying to hold on a little longer. don't leave me. don't make me leave.

and then, finally, let me go.

he hasn't told chapel that he's made plans. he should. he can't and he won't. he doesn't need her to -

he doesn't want her to ask him not to do it. he doesn't want her to ask him to stay. to fight. to linger.

nine months since he left the enterprise. he can't focus on the studies that chapel still reads religiously. still looking for answers. he remembers that. he remembers how that feels. he remembers the hope and the hopelessness tangling together.

we have time, joanna says every time they talk. we will have time.

hold on, he thinks. keep fighting, he thinks.

spock and kirk have resorted to sending physical letters and packages.

let me go, he thinks. they pile up in his study, unopened. let me go, let me go, let me -

jocelyn and joanna come over for dinner a few times a week, chapel and jocelyn talking easily together, joanna's eyes too often focused on the way leonard moves the food around on his plate but barely eat. he barely keeps anything down these days. he watches those blue eyes watch him watch her, and he -

are you going to open those letters? jocelyn asks him, and he wants to laugh. wants to cry.

it doesn't matter, he says.

she takes his face in her hands, her eyes serious, her voice steady. it's all that matters, leonard.

she loved him, once. loves him all over again now, he thinks. it's a gift, isn't it, to be loved.

it's a curse, as well.

you're his doctor -

i'm his son!

3am, and there's nothing inside of him to throw up, nothing inside him left to claw out, nothing but his still beating heart, his paper-thin lungs, the last few secrets he's swallowed and never spat out.

he sits down amid the letters and the packages, but can't bring himself to open them. what could it matter, he thinks, if they care? he knows they care. what would it matter, he thinks, if they love him? he knows they love him as best as they're able. what does it matter if they did what they thought was the right thing to do?

he's never going to see them again.

he's never going to see them again, is he. he's never -

it's too much to cry through, so he doesn't cry. just sits there, amid the letters and the packages, the last desperate resort they had to try to contact him. to try to make him listen.

they'd made him leave, so he'd left, hadn't he? hadn't he done what they wanted?

if you'll keep this to yourself -

he hadn't really asked, had he. hadn't been able to bring himself to ask. not the real question. not what he'd really meant.

kirk had given him his answer anyway, hadn't he. hadn't even given it a day before asking for a replacement. that's how easy he was to replace, wasn't he. and they'd found one, and they'd brought them aboard, and mccoy had walked away without looking back.

kirk had wanted to talk, then, too, but what was there left to say? he could count on one hand the number of times he'd really asked kirk for something. he could -

i'll call you, kirk had called after him, and mccoy hadn't looked back. hadn't answer any of his calls. had blocked him. and now, these letters and packages piled around him.

spock had barely said anything at all. mccoy had already been so turned inside out that he'd thought little of it. if kirk didn't want him, of course spock wouldn't want him, either.

besides, if mccoy had a year left, what the logic in spock trying to remain in contact with him? what was a year worth? what was a friend worth? what was mccoy -

it doesn't matter, he thinks. tries to think. tries to will himself to believe. it doesn't matter, because if he lets it matter -

he falls asleep out there, that night. chapel chides him, but she can't do much more than that. he's deteriorating rapidly, now.

he should call them, he thinks for the first time. thinks he doesn't want them to see him like this. remember him like this.

his plans are made. his letters are written. the hypo -

he should call them, he thinks. can't bear to do so.

thinks of his father, begging, thinks of him begging his father.

thinks of kirk's face before mccoy had turned away. the careful blankness of spock's when he'd started to raise his fingers in the vulcan salute, and then bitten back his traditional goodbye. live long and prosper, mccoy snorts. what a goddamn joke.

he should call them, he decides. he'll keep it brief. just long enough that they won't have to haunted by any what-ifs. he can give that to them. he should give that to them. just because he's always been the one who'd loved more than he should doesn't mean they don't love him at all. he knows they do. he knows he's hurt them.

thinks he can swallow down his own hurt one last time, swallow it down long enough to give them the goodbye they need. give them what they need, even if it hurts him to do so.

the pain...stop the pain...son...release me...

he's good at giving people what they need, isn't he. just once -

it doesn't matter. he won't let it matter. not for this. he'll let them go. let them let him go. give them what they need.

he worries over it for one more night, and then he checks his comm. there are too many messages to even glimpse at - it seems like half the enterprise has tried to contact him over the last three days. he worries over that for a moment as well - has something happened? is someone hurt? is someone - well. is someone besides him dying?

he can't take the time to read or watch them now, though. his brain gets too foggy too quickly these days, and he has to use his time to his best advantage.

he unblocks spock and jim.

hesitates over both of their photos for a moment, deciding. not that it matters - they're probably together.

jim will be angrier, but he'll be more hurt if he calls spock first. his head is pounding. his mouth is dry. it will have to be a short call. at least he has that - he can turn it off whenever he wants, escape them any time he wants. there's a universe between them.

they put a universe between them.

he calls jim. waits. almost laughs at the idea that all this build-up, he might not answer. probably can't answer. probably too busy saving the universe.

what was he thinking? that he was going to just sit and wait around for him? kirk didn't even want him there. he didn't - of course he wouldn't -

he's being foolish. he'll try back later. he has time. he still has a little left, doesn't he. a few more weeks. maybe a few months if he's lucky.

he's never been that lucky, has he. the great mccoy curse.

he reaches for his comm, decides not to leave a message, decides -

bones? jim says. his eyes look wild. he looks so young. he looks so old, somehow, too.

hi, jim, mccoy says. his voice sounds steady. his hands are steady.

did they finally get through to you? jim asks. he's speaking so fast it's almost hard to parse the words, or maybe that's just mccoy's tired brain.

what?

the crew, did they finally get through to you? they've been trying non-stop -

i don't know what you're talking about, jim.

that's the house, a voice suspiciously like spock's says. mccoy smiles a little. he knew they'd be together. they've always been at their best together, haven't they. never needed -

just hold on, bones, jim says, and mccoy rolls his eyes. of course. death bed goodbyes, and of course he's being asked to hold. he shouldn't have called. he shouldn't -

why don't you just gimme a call when you're free, mccoy says, trying to keep his voice light. trying so hard it feels like he's choking on the words. choking on the love. choking, choking, choking.

bones -

i should go, mccoy says. got a busy day myself. tell spock i said hi.

tell himself, you goddamn idiot, kirk says.

there's a knock at the door, and mccoy wants to get off of this call, wants to lock himself away, can't beginto deal with whoever is visiting, can't bear to see joanna like this, can't -

i have to go, jim, mccoy says.

there's a louder banging on the door, and mccoy drags a hand across his forehead.

you aren't going anywhere, you sonuvabitch, kirk says

and then someone starts trying to break the goddamn door down, and mccoy bolts to his feet. sways.

sit down, bones, kirk says, his face too close to the screen, his eyes wide and worried, sit down before you fall down and kill yourself

it doesn't matter, mccoy says, barely realizing he's saying it out loud until he hears kirk's sharp inhale

there are footsteps in the hallway

maybe someone's coming to kill him. it makes as much sense as anything else, and he's so tired, isn't he.

keep fighting.

he's just so tired.

hold on.

he slumps back onto the couch. closes his eyes.

i have to go, he says. says it to jim, to spock, to the footsteps coming closer and closer. you have to let me go.

someone sits down next to him. puts their hand on his thigh.

you're not going anywhere, jim says.

and then mccoy frowns, a little. blinks his eyes open.

that voice didn't sound like it was coming from a communicator. that sounded like -

jim is sitting next to him, and spock is moving rapidly around to the other side of the couch. sitting down next to him as well.

what - he says, disoriented. wide-eyed.

afraid.

we have found a cure, doctor, spock says, reaching out and taking mccoy's wrist gently in his hand.

you aren't going anywhere, jim says. i'm not gonna let you.

what are you doing here? mccoy says.

what the hell do you think? jim says, his hand tightening on mccoy's thigh.

leonard, spock says. we are bringing you home.

[xappetites]

sort of a continuation of this w/Frank and fBell

Frank is no stranger to barbershop banter, he might not spend all that time in town, even when he’s home, but he’s been getting semi regular post-mission cuts here for long enough to be counted as a regular.

So he doesn’t really mind the ribbing, his barber poking fun at how he should let his hair grow out like the youngins do, and he’ll throw in a perm for free. That is until the grocer down the street, currently getting his beard trimmed, makes an off hand comment about Bell.

“Doesn’t seem like the missus would be a fan, though.”

And it isn’t like Frank’s fucking bothered, it’s just this is the first time he thinks of the situation with Bell —living in his house and sleeping in his bed, making his coffee and strong arming her way into paying at least the electricity bill— as something that might stick. And he needs a minute to sort through the ache in his chest.

A forfuckingever thing, instead of the vague suspicion that he won’t find her there when comes back stateside, the bracing himself for an empty house he’s been doing for the better part of two years now.

“What?” the barber stops, kills the trimmer even, so he can be heard loud and damn clear. “If you ain’t planning on marrying that pretty thing living with you, better break it to her soon then. She’s started raising chickens.”

“Not sure she’s the marrying type.”

It’s not a lie, Bell’s quicksilver in Frank’s mind, half a cool little stream after hoofing it across the jungle for days and half forest fire. The word ‘wife’ itself feels weird, no matter how many times he’s let her know that he loves her as he comes.

The barber drops it, thankfully, though he shakes his head at Frank like he’s the stupidest son of a bitch that’s graced his chair today.

But it distracts him, the whole fucking thing, nags at him like a mosquito bite in the crack of the ass. So he has to bring it up, and he’s sure he sounds annoyed as hell about it, because he is.

Bell laughs —easy, without mockery—, perched sidesaddle in his lap, because of course she does. This is why he preemptively imagines a world without her, practices losing her in his mind so it doesn’t kill him when it happens for real.

“You ever think about tying the knot?”

“I’m legally dead Frank, I don’t think I’m allowed to get married anymore.”

“But you would, if you could?”

“I’d walk my ass hand in hand with you into city hall tomorrow if I had a valid ID, love”

She kisses him to make her point, in that mesmerizing fucking way of hers, and she rides him half to death that night, fingers interlocked and mumbling his name like a prayer.

So Frank calls a guy, someone he trusts to take his payment and keep their mouth shut. An old CIA contact who minds their businesses.

And he thinks he could make it romantic, should probably; he just— can’t wait.

All he does in the end is slide the two cards over the table towards Bell one morning, as soon as they arrive. Valid, legal, forged by the best: a driver’s license and state ID for his best girl, with her name sitting pretty on them, joined by a simple, solid ‘Woods’.

To call her his wife still feels weird, but this is right. As right as her laughter, bright and so sudden it almost makes her choke on her coffee. Right as the way she fits in his arms, talking about rings and looking at him with eyes half closed, like she’s looking at the sun.

[minecraftbookshelf]

Writing prompt idea: deer!impulse

Deer!Impulse with bonus Demon/Imp!Gem (and a little something else :) )

[My Gem headcanons HERE and HERE]

-

It feels Off.

And not just because the antlers are heavier than his horns, the deer tail is shorter and thicker than his own, or even that he now has hooves instead of feet and his pants just don’t fit anymore.

He’s sitting in Gem’s kitchen, wearing a hastily thrown together skirt/kilt hybrid and contemplating the way it feels like he’s taken a step to the left.

Annoyingly, Gem seems to have adjusted very quickly. Bouncing around the room as quickly and smoothly as she usually does. Only very occasionally tripping over her new, wire-thin tail. She also seems distracted throwing together some emergency soup, so Impulse takes advantage of that to close his eyes and delve deeper into his own being.

On the one side he feels more...grounded, then he usually does. As an infernal being, it doesn’t matter how long he’s spent on the Overworld, a part of it will always be foreign to him and he to it. A part of that feels gone. Like he finally, truly belongs here. But also…

Somehow it all seems further away at the same time. As if for the first time he has both feet on dry land, but also might shoot off into the sky at any second.

On the outside Impulse looks like a deer-kin but on the inside he feels as if he’s brushing up against something much, much bigger.

“Are you okay, Impulse?”

He opens his eyes again, disoriented, and Gem is right there. Dark eyes wide, her new horns almost hidden beneath her hair. Head tilted to the side in curiosity.

A shiver goes up Impulse’s spine.

“You aren’t,” he gestures vaguely. “You aren’t just a deer. Are you.”

It’s not a question.

Gem smiles, gentle and warm with the sharpness of a diamond blade beneath it. She leans across the table and presses a finger to her lips.

“Shhhhhhh.”

-

Because I’m me I couldn’t help but make these like, a series/one connected idea. Very vague setting but general story is Shenanigans happen and the hermits find themselves swapping species at random for a day and then remixing and swapping again with someone else etc…

So this can hypothetically go on for as long as I get prompts for it, and repeats are enabled and it can all be one story. (I also have a plan to cover at least some level of like, “different” species for the same hermit)

The Official Prompt List by @ink-ghoul can be found HERE feel free to send asks that aren’t strictly from the list. I might also randomly generate some using my own headcanons just for funsies.

[skylarsblue]

Aight. I don’t have full oneshots for C.o.D, cause I don’t trust my writing ability yet. HOWEVER, I have two concepts for oneshots that I need to put somewhere. So uh…I guess, they can count as practice wips? Anyway.

✦Two C.o.D Wip Concepts ✦

✦Concept 1; Just…comfort fluff? Cause Ghost is a big sad man under that mask, he’s gotta be with all those daddy issues. Fem!Reader because I wrote it for myself on a Fem! Day. Tried to edit it to be GN! Instead but if I missed something, that’s why.

✦Concept 2; Also kinda comfort fluffy. Warning for some vague noncon scenarios that come with the job(nothing detailed and not intended to be seen as full noncon.) Basically a fem fatal!reader that often plays the bait for certain missions.

✧Ghost Scene Wip✧

“You’ve handled trauma so much better than I have…you’re not bitter. How?…why trust anyone?”

“Because being angry all the time sounds exhausting. Even if I want to be. I think you consider yourself broken beyond repair, but I don’t see you that way.”

.

.

.

“You can trust me…I know that’s not easy, but I promise. Shhh, don’t close up on me. You’re safe here, we’re alone. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” The mask slips off gentle and he’s left bare, exposed and vulnerable for the first time in a long time. He looks away, to preserve his dignity, out of embarrassment, shy. “There you are…” Their hand cups his face with a gentleness he’s practically never felt before. Sweet and warm, gently guiding him to look at them again. They’re standing so for once he has to look up, not the other way around. They smile, full of kindness and affection. “So, I’ve met Ghost, I’ve met my Lieutenant. Who are you now?”

He swallows past a lump in his throat, tense but relaxed all at once. He wants to fight it. Hide again, shield himself. But he answers them in a deep and whispered voice. “Simon.” They let out a short, amused huff. “Nice to meet you Simon. Fitting name…and might I say you have a gorgeous face.” They coo, making him bashful in a way he despises. He scoffs and tries to look away again, but they insist on the eye contact. “I mean it, ya know. Always thought you were pretty under there and hey, I was right.” He feels their thumb gentle caress a scar on his jaw.

He’s exposed, vulnerable. He hates it, loathes it, it feels nauseating to be so displayed open for them.

He hopes it never ends.

✧Captain Price Concept ✧

“It’s just that…I dunno. It’s so uncomfortable every time. It’s my job, and I really don’t mind in the long term, because it’s my job. But it never gets easier to be forced to put up with being touched and sleazed over by those men. Even if I’m technically letting it happen, it’s because I have to. It really shoots at your self assurance when you don’t have a choice. But, it’s not like you can just walk up to someone you do trust and say “hey, I’ve made this choice, you can touch me”. That’s fuckin’ weird!”

“….hm.”

“Ah-…” she sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw all that up on you, Cap.”

“No no, please, by all means. You got a tough job none of us have to deal with. And it sounds…honestly, a lot worse than I originally thought.”

“Yeah well…eh. I can handle it. It’s just…upsetting that I can’t have the say, sometimes.”

John hums and flicks some ash from his cigar, exhaling the smoke into the wind. “You trust me?” He asks. She looks over in slight confusion before her face softens, and she speaks with sincerity. “With my life.” A more intense response than he had expected, and he had to hide the split second of surprise from showing on his face. He lets out a small hum as she looks away. He takes another drag of his cigar and exhaled slowly. In her peripheral, she sees his hand held out, waiting. She then looks at his face. “Only if you want.” Is all he says. She blinks, processing, before she looks back at his hand. A gentle and slightly emotional smile breaks across her face, a breathy laugh leaving her throat.

Her hand rests in his palm and she gives his hand a squeeze. “Good choice?” He asks as he allows her to take his calloused hand. Running her nails over small scars and the lines of his palm, he holds back the urge to shiver. The woman lets out a noise of content. “Yeah…yeah I like this choice.” She admits quietly, nodding. Silence passes between them again, it’s comfortable. He only glanced over when he feels the weight of her head on his shoulder, her hands still fiddling with his own. She sighs peacefully. “Thank you, Captain.” She mumbles, voice thick with adoration and honey. It makes him feel warm, something he hasn’t felt without the aid of bourbon in awhile.

“Don’t mention it, soldier.”

Am I ever gonna finish these? Probably not. But maybe someone else will get inspired enough to write something with these concepts and I won’t have to do the work(/lh /j). Anyway, welcome to the product of brainrot.