#actual brainrot in full display-

[lou-got-lost]

Lu's Childhood

(The only discord server about blosc that i'm in is shutting down soon, so to preserve the brainrot i invested in there, i'mma post a few of those in here,,-)

Lu used to be your classic child full of dreams and determination, she wanted to be a space ranger ever since she learned that fighting villains was actually a genuine job you can have, running around in a fake cardboard space suit she made herself and playing space rangers with her (ex-)best friend Kimi. Aside from that, she was always at her best friend’s house than at her home since her parents were,, "artifact finders", but she always knew that they were really stealing old stuff to make a fortune reselling those, she wasn’t that gullible when it came to that but Lu never really minded as like any kid her age,, she cared more about play time than quality family time.

Her parents weren’t bad people though, they did love their only daughter deeply but their job seemed to sometimes be more urgent to deal with,, So in the end, she never got attached to them emotionally, hence why she never really cried alot when they were caught in an accidental explosion during one failed heist, she was freshly 12 yrs old by that time and spent the next 4 years living in her best friend’s house, just moving along without worrying too much,, as her plan was to get into the Space Ranger Academy by her 16th birthday,, which wouldn’t really happen like she wanted,,

Personality-wise, Lu used to be alot more loud and rowdy than you’d expect a scrawny little girl to be, but she was truly a menace to people around her if left without supervision, such as getting onto the rooftop of a neighbor’s house to simulate training on a high building. Has she fallen off once and started bleeding from the head but was brightly smiling at concerned people as if she was totally fine ? Yes,, yes, she did and no amount of scolding seemed to deter her from continuing to live on the edge.

Though, there was one thing that could keep her still and it was music, she loved listening to music, any upbeat kind that would get her to sit on the couch or the floor while bopping her head up and down or tapping her feet rhythmically on the floor. That and,, robots, she was fascinated by those "living" things made of metal that could talk, think and move on its own, she’d tried to make her own robot, but a robot without its internal circuits would just be a metallic toy, she adored MR-8 dearly nonetheless,,

[dustofthedailylife]

"Hey, did you know...?"

Alhaitham x gn! Reader tags // brainrot, drabble, crack, fluff AN // inspired by a convo I had with my bf... I hate him /aff /silly

Alhaitham is the type of boyfriend to always infodump on you whenever something crosses his mind. He loves doing it! And he also loves your reactions to those random bits of trivia.

However - he is also the type of guy whose kind of humor is occasionally telling you fake "facts" that he made up on the spot with a straight face to see your reaction.

You were standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner with Alhaitham when he suddenly perked his head up and looked in your direction. You were plucking a couple of leaves off your herbs before throwing them into the pot that bubbled on the stove. "Did you know," Alhaitham begins in a matter-of-factly voice. "Oregano was once included in the periodic table of elements?" You pause for a moment, looking back at Alhaitham who had already gone back to dicing the bell peppers. "Wait... really?" You curiously lift an eyebrow. It was frankly hard to imagine a singular plant would be- "No." "Oh." He smirked smugly, walked over to the stove with the cutting board, and threw the diced vegetables into the cooking pot. "But... what's actually true is that coffee shortens your lifespan." That would be quite crazy if that was true... However now that you are thinking about it, maybe the caffeine was the reason for it? After all it can cause a racing heart if you consume too much of it. "Actually?" You asked, now hesitant. "No." "Hey! Don't mess with me!" You whined, poking his sides playfully. He turned around, catching your hands in his calloused ones before placing a kiss on your knuckles, that same smirk and the glint in his eyes still on full display. "But there is one thing in this world that can actually never be false." "Oh what now?!" You rolled your eyes and giggled. "I love you." Smooth. 'You're such an idiot' Was the last thing he heard before the kitchen towel was softly thrown in his face.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[wheeboo]

tell me that you love me | joshua hong {part one}

SYNOPSIS. in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right? PAIRING. musician!joshua hong x deaf-artist!reader (ft. cafe owner!jeonghan, musician!seokmin, best friend!seungkwan, best friend!wheein, producer!jihoon) GENRE. fluff, slice of life, kdrama romance-esque, mild angst, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn WARNINGS/TAGS. cursing, shua and reader has some self-doubt issues :(, someone makes insensitive comments about reader, mention of alcohol (beer), mention of cigarettes, everyone ships them, kissing, terms of endearment, Softie Domestic Joshua™, it conveniently rains when they're together, this is 85% fluff and 15% plot and the brainrot was giving me an existential crisis, honestly there's not much warnings it's just a love story <3 WORD COUNT (FOR PART ONE). 20k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 37k

notes: after 7 months (minus the 2 months i lowkey abandoned this oop), it's done! this fic could have honestly been 20k words, but the brainrot refused to do so. inspired from the kdrama of the same name and the jdrama Aishiteiru to Itte Kure. any uses/descriptions of sign language (ASL) throughout the story is researched! expressing my love to all my mooties who suffered listening to me talk abt this fic. i hope this fic being long doesn't bore you all to death <3 funny enough, this was also supposed to be a very very very belated bday fic to @slytherinshua LMFAO. ty to @bananabubble for also helping me a lot with this fic too!

part one | part two

“Okay, so to recap: the espresso machines are on the right side of the counter, just next to the pastry display. You'll get familiar with them really easily. The barista station is behind them, where all the little doohickeys are, yaddi-yaddi-yadda…”

“Aren't you supposed to be teaching me where everything is?” Joshua asks in slight annoyance after securing the apron around his waist.

Jeonghan just chugs a wet, dripping rag in his direction, narrowly missing Joshua's head and landing with a damp plop on the counter. Then he wipes his hands on his apron, shooting a small wink at the other man. “Patience, grasshopper.”

“Why did you decide to hire me again?”

“So I can finally kick you out of my apartment," Jeonghan answers, a playful bite to his voice, and Joshua only rolls his own eyes. “in a non-violent way, of course.”

“You're actually an imbecile, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Oh, but you love me.” Jeonghan smirks, plucking the wet rag from the counter and shoving it in Joshua's hand. “Chop-chop, grasshopper, you got a whole day ahead of you.”

Joshua Hong was never one to detest helping out a friend𑁋his best friend, to be specific. He knew Jeonghan was doing this in order to help him out as he had been living under the man's roof for the past two years, with the promise of finding a new place testing his patience. Even with his nightly gigs at the busking centre in the middle of town, having a day job to earn some extra money seemed like a very good idea. 

But he seriously doesn't understand how Jeonghan managed to open up his own café in the first place. It's remarkable, actually.

The day is surprisingly slow. Even with the café being in the mere heart of the city and amidst the morning and afternoon rush, barely any pastries were taken from the display. The only sounds come from the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall, and the obnoxious screech of the stool that Jeonghan sits on not that far away.

However after some time, the familiar, soft chime of the door echoes throughout the café, announcing the arrival of a customer. Joshua finds his head immediately snapping up after fumbling with the frother, a welcoming smile dawning across his face as he smooths his apron and takes his place at the register. 

The figure in front of him is momentarily enveloped by the sunlight that seeps through the large window panes. He waits for them to step fully into the warm glow of the café, his eyes drawn to the way they hold themselves𑁋shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked deep within the pockets of a lightweight jacket, and seemingly a book tucked under their shoulders. Their steps are slow, soft even as they approach the counter, and a smile, gentle and hesitant, plays on their lips.

“Hi, welcome in," Joshua greets politely. “What can I get for you today?”

You find yourself gazing at the unfamiliar barista in front of you with meticulous curiosity, before letting your eyes drift to the nametag on his shirt: Joshua. His eyes immediately dart down to your hands that you lifted up on instinct, then hesitation gnaws at you, and suddenly you drop your hands back to your sides again.

“Our menu is up here.” Joshua motions above his head. “and our pastries are over here, if you would like to take a look.”

You wave your hand dismissively, then fumble for your phone, showing him an order written on the screen.

hot vanilla latte - extra foam - name is y/n

“Hot vanilla latte, extra foam?” Joshua repeats, confirming the order with a friendly smile, and the response he gets is a pair of thumbs-up. “And the name is... Y/N?”

Your face lights up, feeling some heat threaten up your neck as you offer a small nod to confirm.

There's something endearing that blooms in Joshua's chest as he punches the order down on the register. The moment is stretched with long silence before he watches as you quickly turn around to head to the outdoor sitting of the café. He sees you place yourself down at one of the seats, back turned towards him, and all he could do is let his eyes linger for a beat longer before realising that he actually has to make your order.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as he sets to work. He fumbles slightly, steaming the milk for your latte and carefully (and clumsily) creating a cloud of airy foam.

When he places the mug on the counter, his eyes drift back to where you sat outside, the slight breeze and midday sun casting down on the patio. He notices that you're hunched over, seemingly concentrating on something, and he can't help but wonder what occupies your thoughts. With the latte in hand, he heads towards the door, the bell above the door softly chiming. 

The sun paints the city in dappled gold, and a light breeze sways through the air and catches a strand of your hair that floats like a wisp. It's a picture-perfect scene, and Joshua thinks you fit right into it, all while hunched over a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand flying across the page.

He hesitates right behind you, unsure how to get your attention without startling you. Every option that he mulls over seems intrusive and jarring.

In the end, Joshua decides on a gentle tap on your shoulder. As his fingers make contact with your shoulder, a sudden jolt runs through your body, and you visibly startle, your hand flinching involuntarily and coming in contact with the mug in Joshua's hand.

The glass mug slips from Joshua's grasp, crashing down to the floor in thousands of tiny shards. Hot coffee splashes, hitting the skin of both of your hands and splattering on your sketchbook. Gasps fly from both your lips, echoing throughout the quiet patio. You wince in your seat, nearly causing you to stumble off but you manage to catch yourself.

For a long moment, Joshua could only find himself frozen, yet when he notices the pained look on your face, he instinctively reaches out, grabbing your hand without thinking. Your fingers curl around his in a startled reflex, your skin warm against his own. He cradles your hand in his, pressing his palm against your skin, as if trying to shield you from the worst of the heat and the glass scattered around the two of you.

Adrenaline courses through him as he pulls your hand back, examining it frantically. A thin red line crosses near your thumb, a tiny bead of blood sprouting at its edge. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces himself to stay calm. You're watching him, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pain, and he sees his own fear reflected in your pupils.

“Crap, I-I'm so sorry!” he blurts out, voice rough with regret. “Are you okay? I shouldn't have... I should have been more careful…”

You watch as Joshua's eyes scan your hand, the features of his face noticeably soft and etched with concern. The warmth of his hand cradling yours sends a jolt through you, something unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.

When you look back up at him, he asks if you're okay again, your gaze focusing in on his lips then back up at his eyes. You can tell he's worried𑁋he even seems breathless from all the panic too. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you silently answer with a nod.

The air seems to thicken with awkwardness. Joshua's gaze lingers down on your hand cradled in his trembling ones, the sight of a tiny cut on the flesh between your thumb and index finger sending a fresh wave of shame to come crashing down on him.

When you both lock eyes once again, you feel a flutter in your stomach. Then Joshua clears his throat, a million apologies tumbling over each other in his mind.

“I, uh…” he begins, then stops, unsure how to proceed. “Does it hurt a lot?”

You realise he's asking about you, and you peer down at your hand, the sting of the burn momentarily forgotten in the face of his genuine worry. It's just a small red line, a minor burn that will fade in time, and a tiny cut where the glass had scratched. But the warmth radiating from his hand cupped over yours feels oddly... comforting.

You shake your head, then motion to his own hand, as if asking the same thing.

Joshua blinks in surprise. He examines it, a small line of red just starting to show from a small cut, and a tiny calloused area from the burn of the coffee. It was barely noticeable, and it admittedly stung with a dull ache, but he wouldn't acknowledge that𑁋he didn't want to make you worry. It's not that bad, he thinks, but his thoughts are instantly replaced with concern for you.

“Here, let me... I'll get some bandages for you.” He gently releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and rises to his feet. “And a new drink, of course. On the house.”

Before you can give him a nod or anything, you watch him walk towards the café, the sunlight reflecting off his dark hair. He turns back once inside, and your eyes meet across the wall of glass. You offer a smile, and raise your hand in a small wave. He returns one sheepishly, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes just slightly, before disappearing to the side.

You stand up as well, shooting a glance down at your sketchbook, the brown splatter bleeding across a corner of the paper. It didn't look like a lot of it was damaged luckily𑁋you could probably incorporate it into the drawing somehow. The thought seems to soothe you.

Joshua mutters curses to himself as he struggles to find the first-aid kit underneath the counter in the employee's only restroom. He rummages through a drawer, tossing aside spare toilet paper rolls until he finally lays eyes on the small white box labeled First Aid.

“Knew you wouldn't be a great match for this,” Jeonghan's voice rings out suddenly as Joshua retrieves a few pieces of bandages, the man finally emerging after what seems like a long ass hour of a break.

“You finally regret hiring me now?” Joshua scoffs playfully, waving the bandages in front of Jeonghan's face. “They haven't spoken to me at all, so I have no idea if they're okay or not.”

Jeonghan lifts up an eyebrow. “They aren't speaking?" Some silence passes. "Is their name Y/N?”

Joshua looks back at him. “Yeah, why?”

“They come here a lot, like a regular, usually just drawing and stuff, I think,” Jeonghan points out, pursing his lips together. “and… they’re also deaf.” 

The age of seven was the last time you heard your voice.

You went to bed ill with a high fever that night, only to wake up the next morning in a muted world. The change wasn't a gradual muffling or a sudden pop like a balloon bursting. It was all simply... gone. You didn't hear the pitter-patter of the morning rain against the window, the rumble of the air conditioner, or even your own heart beating in your chest𑁋but you could feel it. 

At first, you thought it was a trick, perhaps a dream that had somehow bled into reality. You screamed, but no sound escaped your lips. You shook your parents awake, but their worried questions were met with your frustrated silence. Tears streamed down your face as they rushed you to the hospital. Then all the tests, scans, diagnoses𑁋they all came to the same the same result: a sudden, inexplicable loss of hearing.

Learning to navigate the world growing up without sound was a slow, exhausting process. You learned to read lips, got used to communicating with sign language, understand the subtle cues of body language, and rely on written words. Your world shrunk, confined to the walls of your home and studio, the familiar faces of your family, the lens of your camera, and the canvases that could speak for you.

You got used to this world of silence. You got used to the fact that you have to live in harmony with those around you, to put in that extra effort to understand them so you could simply be accepted and heard, for once. At a young age, you became adept at expressing yourself through art𑁋capturing the beauty of the silent world you inhabited, the emotions that flowed through your fingertips onto canvases and photographs.

Honestly, the world is so beautiful. Even though you can't hear the bustling city around you, the distant conversations, or the groans of traffic, you've learned to see and appreciate the world in a way others might overlook𑁋finding beauty in the stillness that surrounds you. The way sunlight dances on the leaves, the gentle sway of trees, the vibrant colours that paint the sky during sunset, the look of love between two lovers. 

The city is especially colourful at night. Neon store signs burning bright against the dark canvas of the evening sky, people around you moving in routine patterns, and cars flying down the streets. You've perfected the art of capturing these moments, freezing them in time with your camera, and bringing them to life with just a simple brushstroke.

You can't hear the laughter spilling from a nearby work dinner or the murmured conversation of a couple walking hand-in-hand, but you see it all in the tilt of their heads, the curve of their lips, the spark of their eyes. You watch the way their bodies move, the sway of their hips, the swing of their arms, and their stories unfold before you like a silent movie on a grand screen. And that in itself, is beautiful. 

You click through the photos you've taken throughout the day on your camera carefully, biting your bottom lip in concentration. There's a photo of a child chasing pigeons in the park, a flock of birds flying through the cloudless sky, a cat lounging in a window sill, and a smile breaks across your lips.

However, you find yourself accidentally bumping into something, or someone. Hastily, you bring your head up to the stranger to apologise, yet they walk away before you even could. Letting out a sigh, you bring your attention back to your surroundings, and your eyes widen to the crowd of people gathered in the small square you hadn't noticed before.

Your eyes dart around, trying to scan through the sea of faces while slowly pushing through the crowd as your curiosity gets the best of you. And when you get yourself to nearly the core of the crowd, you could only freeze to the sight in front of you.

There's a man perched on a wooden stool in the middle, a guitar entangled in his grasp and a microphone stand standing idle in front of him. You can hardly make out his face since you're standing to the side, but for some reason, all you can do is watch in awe.

You can't hear his words, of course. But you feel them. You feel them in the way his fingers dance across the strings, in the way his head dips with the melody, in the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. You see them in the way the light catches his hair, in the way the shadows dance on his face, in the way his eyes flutter open for a fleeting moment.

Then a sudden urge makes you reach for your camera, quickly turning it on and bringing it up to your eyes. And with a simple click of the shutter, you capture the moment in a perfect frame, before weaving through the crowd once more and back into the fresh air of the city.

You look down at the photo, and it tugs at your heartstrings. The nearby lighting catches his face just right, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the gentle curve of his smile. He's lost in the music, his skilled fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar, eyes closed as he seems to pour his soul into every note. You zoom in on the photo, admiring the way his dark hair falls across his forehead, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

He looks familiar, somehow. You rack your brain, trying to place him, but your mind draws a blank. You've stumbled into the busking area by accident countless times and captured endless moments through your lens, but this one feels different. 

The vending machine swallowed his dollar. Literally.

Joshua pounds his fist on the lousy machine a few times, wraps his arms around it like a koala hug and attempts to give it a few shakes, hoping that the drink would somehow drop to the bottom, but nothing happens. Letting out a groan, he takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Great.

He glances around the area, scanning to find some sort of alternative solution, and his eyes set on a convenience store just a few blocks down. He takes a few steps in the direction, before something brushes past him and causes him to stop.

“Hey, the vending machine doesn't work…” Yet when he turned his body around, he didn't expect to see you making your way to the machine, tapping on the keypad and inserting a dollar, all for the machine to spit out two cans of sodas.

Joshua watches as you bend down to retrieve the cans, peering down in confusion at the second one in your hand. Then when you straighten and look back up, the two of you suddenly meet eyes. 

There's a brief pause, and you can't really tell if Joshua is staring at you like you've grown a second head or something else. Then you glance down to the extra drink in your hand, and ah, it clicks.

Your lips move in a silent question, and Joshua realises you must be offering him the extra can. He waves his hand, signaling that it's okay, but you insist, gesturing for him to take it. With a grateful smile, he steps up to you and reaches out, accepting the cold can from you, his fingers brushing over yours briefly.

Joshua watches as you click open the can and take a sip. When you glance back at him, his lips part, then close again, his brow furrowing together like his mind is cluttered. You can't hear his thoughts, of course, but the way his eyes dart from your face to your hands and back again seems like he's trying to ask you something.

“Is your…” he starts to ask, pointing to your hand, noticing that your hand appeared bare of the bandages he gave you more than a week ago. “Is your hand feeling better now?”

You catch his words by reading his lips, and you nod with a reassuring smile. Relief washes over Joshua's features, his eyes softening, and he gestures again towards your hand as if to make sure it's healing alright.

“Wait, I... Sorry, let me start this over.” Joshua seems to mentally take a deep breath. “I'm Joshua, by the way. I should've introduced myself properly first.”

You know that already, but hearing him formally introduce himself ever since your little mishap at the café brings a strange flutter to your chest. You notice Joshua shift from foot to foot, the smile to his face faltering just slightly.

“Is it okay if I ask if you're…” Joshua motions to his ear, then shakes his head, seeing that it might come across as insensitive. Instead, he points to his own mouth and then makes a questioning gesture with his eyebrows, hoping you'll understand what he's trying to ask.

You nod, understanding his question perfectly, raising your hand and making a simple sign, tapping your ear and then shaking your head. You've had this conversation countless times before, with strangers and acquaintances alike. But there's something different about the way Joshua asks𑁋something softer, more genuine.

“I should've realised sooner,” Joshua says. "I'm sorry if that came off as rude.”

You wave your hand dismissively and tap your temple, then point to his mouth, conveying that you could read his lips just as you've been doing this entire time, and Joshua could only watch your movements carefully. Though relief mixes with a tinge of embarrassment in his limbs. He hadn't meant to pry, but curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by putting you on the spot like that. He could tell you've probably heard this conversation many times with other people, yet you seem to handle it with such patience.

With a wry smile, you secure your can of soda under your arm before bringing your hands up, signing heartedly, “It's okay,” and Joshua watches your movements with awe and also... a little confusion.

“Can I ask what that means?” he asks slowly, curiously.

You wave a dismissive hand in front of his face, pulling out your phone, quickly typing out something before showing it to him.

It means that it's okay

“Ah, I see,” Joshua responds with a sheepish smile, attempting to clumsily repeat the action with his own hands, but he quickly brings it back to his side. “If I'm speaking too fast, feel free to let me know. I'll try to slow down.”

You shake your head, typing on your phone once more.

Thank you, but you're doing just fine, I promise

A blush creeps onto Joshua's cheeks as he reads your message. He's relieved you're not bothered by his questions, but the awareness that you've been understanding him all along makes him feel a bit silly. In a good way, of course. He takes a hesitant sip of his soda, the silence between you stretching just a bit too long. He wants to talk to you, really talk, but he's unsure where to begin.

As you both stand there, with the city's sounds humming around, Joshua feels the nerves crawling up his skin. He gestures towards the convenience store nearby, silently asking if you need anything. You shake your head, indicating that you're good, but then motion down the road, pointing at something down the street.

“Are you heading somewhere?” Joshua asks, and he feels his heart jump once he sees you nod, feeling proud for understanding what you're trying to say.

You pull out your phone again, typing:

The museum

“The museum?” Joshua repeats, picking his head back up to squint down the street. He feels the hesitation at the tip of his tongue, as if considering something. But then, the intrusive action takes over, and he points in the same direction. “Would it be okay if I walk with you? The café is near there. I was about to head there myself.”

You notice the uncertainty in his eyes. Joshua watches your face for a moment, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. However, you simply offer a warm smile and a nod in response, which makes Joshua feel a surge of relief. A small smile plays on his lips, and he falls into step beside you as you both start walking towards the museum.

The late afternoon sun dips below the city skyline, casting long shadows across the pavement as you and Joshua walk side-by-side, your steps falling into sync. You steal glances at him every now and then, captivated by the way his hair catches the golden rays and how the lines of his face soften. He catches your eyes a few times, which makes you both look away at the same time. It's a bit awkward admittedly, yes, but there's a certain charm to it when he's right next to you.

Joshua tries to find ways to bridge the silence, but his words tangle in his throat.

Instead, he waves a hand in front of you, earning your attention back on him.

“Do you like art?” he asks. “Back at the café, I noticed... you were drawing?” Then he does a scribbling motion with his hand.

The question hangs in the air, and you find yourself pausing to consider it. A thoughtful expression settles on your face, and Joshua watches as you take a pause to grab something from out of your bag𑁋your sketchbook𑁋before handing it to him.

He shoots a brief glance at you, as if asking for permission, but your trusting gaze encourages him. He gently opens the sketchbook. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the first page.

It looks to be a sketch of the beach, capturing the vastness of the ocean, the setting sun in the horizon, and the small details of people walking across the sands. Joshua can almost feel the warm sand beneath his bare feet and the salty tang of the air on his tongue.

He flips through the next few pages. A bustling city street, a lone bird perched on a branch, its feathers so finely detailed they seem to shimmer in the sunlight, a child's laughter echoing through a park, portrayed in a burst of joyful strokes.

Joshua feels a lump rise in his throat. He looks up at you, eyes wide with admiration and something else he can't quite define.

“Wow, these are incredible,” he manages to say. “You're so talented.”

You smile shyly, feeling the heat crawl up your cheeks as Joshua flips to the last page. In an instant, he feels his heart drop, but not in a bad way𑁋it's a page significant with the brown stain at the corner, but it's the way you seem to use the stain as a part of the sketch, blending it into the colours of the sky and the warm tones of the café.

“I was worried about your sketchbook,” he confesses, looking back at you. “I thought I would have to buy you a new one. But... I'm glad it's okay.”

He hands you back the sketchbook, his fingers brushing yours once again as the exchange is made, and you both continue your way down the sidewalk.

And then, you reach the museum.

Joshua turns towards you, and you're already looking at him. Then you pull out your phone once more, typing in a message, before showing it to him.

Thank you for walking with me

“It's𑁋You don't have to thank me,” Joshua acknowledges, his eyes reflecting sincerity. “I enjoyed it. Besides, it's the least I could do after the, uh... incident.”

You both stand a distance away from the museum entrance, knowing that you have to part ways, yet there's some hesitation in there. Joshua peers at the museum building, taking in its appearance, trying to ignore the bubbling reluctance in his chest.

“Maybe I can see you around…” But when Joshua brings his eyes back to you, you're already trailing towards the museum entrance. The embarrassment catches in his throat. He stands there for a moment with his gaze following you, clutching the can of soda, feeling the warmth radiating from it seeping into his palm.

Joshua sees you stop short in front of the entrance, turn back to him, and offer a small wave of your hand, your eyes locked with his for a brief moment. He reciprocates with a reluctant wave of his own, watching as you disappear into the museum.

He lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding as he turns away, drinking the last sips of disappointment down his throat before throwing the empty can into a recycling bin nearby.

And while on his way to the café, the thought of you tugs at the corner of his lips.

Joshua pulls one more time on the door to the café, the keys dangling in his hand clinging loudly together as he makes sure it's all locked. When he does, he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, letting out a deep exhale coming straight from the core of his chest. 

The sounds of fallen, dried-up leaves crunch below with every step he takes. Joshua wearily casts his eyes around, watching as surrounding local shops and other cafés switch their lights off for the night. A bus rushes past him as he continues walking down the street, bringing with it a gust of wind that ruffles his hair. The city is slowly settling into its nighttime rhythm, and Joshua can feel the shift in energy around him.

As he walks, his attention is drawn to a figure up ahead. It appears to be an elderly lady, a large box in her grasp, her movements slow and careful. The box looks heavy, with whatever inside threatening to spill over the top with every wobbling step she takes. Joshua quickens his pace immediately, concern knitting at his brows.

“Wait, ma’am! Let me help you.” Once he arrives at her side, he shifts his backpack down to the ground and reaches out to steady the box. The elderly lady looks up at him with surprise and relief. 

“Ah, thank you, young man,” she says, voice quivering slightly as Joshua hoists a hold of the entire box, a groan leaving him at the unexpected heaviness.

“Where are we heading to?” he asks.

“Just… into there.” The older lady motions with a slender finger to the tiny store tucked between a closed dry cleaner and a flower shop.

He can’t really see where he was going, but he hears the ding of a door opening and the old woman’s voice gently guiding him inside. He carefully navigates through the narrow doorway as the smell of old books, musty paper, and something faintly sweet hits him as soon as he steps inside. When he feels his foot seemingly hit the leg of a table, he cautiously sets the box on top of it, making sure it's stable before straightening back up.

“There we go,” he mutters, huffing out a tired breath. “Is there anything else that you need help with?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” The elderly woman shifts past him to examine the box, before reaching over for a pair of scissors to begin tearing into it. “These old bones can’t do much anymore these days.”

Joshua laughs faintly at that, setting his hands on his hips as he takes a look around the bookstore. It’s noticeably tiny, with only a few tall shelves taking up more than half of the space and a cluttered counter at the front with stacks of books waiting to be set out.

He swipes a random book off the shelf, some dust particles hitting his nose and causing him to sneeze. He chuckles softly, feeling a bit sheepish. The elderly lady looks up at him, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Bless you,” she says kindly. “Not many people find their way here these days. It's nice to see a young face.”

“Really?” he questions. “It’s very vintage. I bet there’s a lot of history here.”

“For sure,” the lady responds wistfully. “You should head home now. Sleeping early is good for your health.”

Joshua places the book back on the shelf before heading his way back to the front. The elderly woman hands him back his backpack, wiping away some grime and dust that may have settled on it in the meantime. She continues to shower him with thanks even after he steps past the door. He bids her a wave and a good night before beginning to head his way back home. 

However, a sudden thought crosses his head, and he doesn’t give the way his feet turn back around much hesitation at all. 

He pushes the door open to the bookstore, swallows a lump in his throat, and lets his eyes meet back with the curious old lady. 

“Actually,” he starts, smiling somewhat bashfully. “Do you happen to have any books on sign language?”

“Did you finish totaling it up?”

“Hmm, yeah. Give me a second.” Joshua quickly flips through the bills in his hand, splitting it up as evenly as he could, before handing the rest to Seokmin. “294 dollars.”

Seokmin chuckles, grabbing the money from Joshua before unplugging the microphone. “Not too bad, to be honest, and it's on the worser days of the week.”

“It did help that you were here today. I owe you for that,” Joshua admits cheekily, packing up his guitar inside the case and zipping it up. “Got time for a meal later? My treat.”

Seokmin clicks his tongue, shaking his head while wrapping the microphone cord around the stand. “Maybe next time? I have plans.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow, picking his head up to look at Seokmin. Oh, he knows what's going on, and Seokmin isn't really the best at hiding his facial expressions, or anything really at all. The older man just rolls his eyes, chucking a small pebble in his direction, making Seokmin let out a loud yelp as he dodges it.

“Alright, alright. I get it. Go enjoy your date.”

Seokmin's face reddens, and he huffs, “It's not a date! We're just getting dinner, that's all.”

“Sure, sure,” Joshua continues to tease, standing up and slinging his guitar case over his shoulder. “Whatever you say, buttercup. Have fun, though.”

Seokmin just shoots him a playful glare, grabbing a bag of his own belongings and the microphone stand before heading off, promising another day to catch up, and leaving Joshua alone in the quiet square.

Letting out a sigh, Joshua glances down at his watch, noticing the late time displayed. He contemplates whether he should head back to the café to help Jeonghan with closing, head straight back to the apartment, or stop by somewhere to grab some food, and the thought of food makes his stomach rumble𑁋he decides on making a quick stop at a convenience store.

The convenience store is a familiar sight, one that he goes to often and tucked away in a quiet corner of the street, its bright lights illuminating the surroundings outside and the wet streets. There's a slight drizzle that starts as Joshua enters inside, the door letting out a soft chime. The cashier welcomes him with a nod as he starts to stroll through the aisles.

Joshua wanders through the narrow aisles, scanning the shelves for a quick bite to eat. His gaze lands on a shelf filled with instant noodles, and he grabs a couple of cup noodles (and a can of beer for good measure), figuring they would be enough for a simple dinner. As he makes his way to the cashier, the door rings once more, and he turns to spot a familiar face entering inside𑁋you.

Your eyes meet in an instant as Joshua fumbles with the stuff in his hands, the cup noodles and can of beer suddenly feeling heavier than a sack of bricks. His guitar nearly slides off his shoulder too.

You stare at him for a moment as if in confusion or contemplation. Joshua thinks he sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes. Then your lips curve into a hesitant smile, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. You hadn't expected to see him again, not so soon, but the sight of him fills you with a sense of... comfort, perhaps.

A bashful look washes over your face, and you offer a small wave, your fingers curling into a silent hello. Joshua returns the gesture, his own smile hesitant but clearly genuine.

The silence hangs between you, awkward but strangely filled with something, both of you seemingly unsure of what to say.

Joshua shuffles the abominable weight in his feet, the cup noodles in his grasp feeling like ridiculous boulders.

“Hey,” he mutters out, struggling for words, mentally slapping himself in the face. “I was just about to grab some dinner.”

You watch him, gaze tracing over the lines of his face, the gentle curve of his lips, the nervous glint in his eyes. You feel a sudden urge to reach out and somehow wipe away the worry engraving his features, but your hands remain clasped at your side. 

He catches your gaze, and his cheeks flush with a faint blush.

“Would you like to join me?”

The offer floats in the air, hanging between the two of you like a question mark. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, and Joshua fidgets nervously, almost regretfully, while waiting for your response.

Yet unusually, there's something about this that feels... right. Perhaps it's the familiarity of his presence, or something else entirely. You've never really been asked this before, and it feels weird and a bit intimidating, but for some reason, you don't exactly want to step away. The thought of sharing a meal with someone𑁋with him𑁋shoots a bullet of curiosity through you.

Whatever it is, you want to trust it. 

Taking a deep breath, you raise your gaze to meet his. Then you give him a shy smile, one not quite reaching your eyes, and nod ever so slightly.

The cashier looks between the two of you as Joshua places the cup noodles and can of beer on the counter. The chime of the cash register rings out as he pays, and you soon follow after with your own food, placing your own items on the counter, then you both head towards a nearby seating area together.

A growing tapping of rain hits the earth outside as the two of you pick a spot in front of the windows. Joshua sets down his leather bag and guitar, and you place your own painter-splattered canvas tote right next to it.

Joshua feels a tap on his shoulder while aimlessly stirring through his ramen, and he watches as you sign him something with your hands. He doesn't entirely understand what you were signing, but he picks up the motion of a guitar, and he brightens up.

“Guitar?” He gestures to the guitar case nestled at his leg, and he watches as you nod and point at him. “Me? Guitar?”

You give a thumbs-up, and Joshua chuckles, feeling proud for picking up on your words.

“Yeah, I... I've been playing since I was young,” he answers, and you read his lips carefully. “Just as a hobby though, not professionally.”

Your mouth opens in awe, then you lift your hands up again, making a swinging motion with one arm and motioning at him, and Joshua tilts his head curiously.

“Book?” he questions, and you shake your head. He thinks again, repeating your movements. “Oh! Music? Do I make music?”

When you nod again, his heart flutters with victory.

“I play and sing sometimes. Just... small gigs and stuff, nothing too fancy,” he admits meekly. “I've written a few songs too. I guess it's a way to express myself, you know?”

You soak in his words, your eyes focusing on his lips and the subtle shifts in his facial expressions. Joshua swears he feels himself shrink under your gaze, but it feels almost relieving to tell this to you.

You bring your hands up, signing something, and Joshua watches intently, attempting to replicate your movements himself while trying to catch the meaning behind the gestures.

“You... like music?” he ventures, and you give him a small nod.

Joshua smiles at this, before it falters slightly. He opens his mouth up to speak, and you perk up, but then he closes it quickly. He feels the anxiety blooming within him, not knowing how to approach the question without making you uncomfortable.

“Can I…” he starts, feeling regretful already. “Can I ask... how do you…”

You notice the hesitation in Joshua's eyes, seeing how he's trying to ask as delicately as possible without crossing a line. But you already know what he's trying to ask, and you feel yourself willing to answer.

You reach for your phone, and Joshua observes as you type out your words, eyes lingering on the features of your side-profile for a few moments. You show him the message:

Sheet music, song lyrics, vibrations, chords, memories of sounds

“Vibrations, chords…” he leisurely reads out aloud to himself, feeling a mix of understanding and admiration course through him. And when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes widen and seem to burn brighter than the city lights outside. He understands. He gets it.

Silence stretches between you again, but it's no longer awkward; it's more comfortable now. Joshua finishes the rest of his ramen, his gaze occasionally darting towards you, and he catches the way you seem to be staring outside as the rain pours down.

He stares outside too, listening to the rain crashing loudly against the window and the occasional burst of thunder that rumbles in the distance. But then when he looks at you, all of those sounds seem to fade away.

He can't tell if you're lost in thought or simply taking in the scene, but there's a quiet comfort in your stillness that seems to draw him in.

As you watch the raindrops dance on the windowpane, a soft smile plays on your lips, and Joshua catches it. He watches you for a moment, then a sudden thought occurs to him. Slowly, he brings his hands up to his ears, covering them completely, and stares back outside. The muffled sounds of the rain and the faint hum of the convenience store fade into the distant background. It's more peaceful this way.

He likes this quietness, especially if it's with you. 

You face him, tapping lightly on his forearm. Joshua brings his arms down and veers his attention back to you as you draw your hands up, separate and curl your fingers like a claw, before doing a downward motion. He finds himself repeating it as well, head tilted slightly, and then it clicks.

“Rain?” he guesses, motioning to the rain outside before signing it again. “This means rain, right?”

Your eyes widen in victory, a grin curving at your lips, giving him an approving nod. Joshua feels something catch in his throat, but you turn back to the window before he can say anything.

“Rain,” he mutters to himself, unconsciously signing the word right next to you. Then he brings his hand up again, shooting a glance toward you𑁋you're still staring out the window, and the look of content on your face makes his heart flutter a bit more𑁋before slowly fanning his hand across his face, as if to sign the word, “Beautiful.”

“I've seen you do better than this.”

The look of disappointment to your art teacher's face is unchanging as he signs to you. You feel your hands mold into each other under the desk, fingers fidgeting as you try to process the criticism. The words bounce off the walls in your mind, and the weight of them settles in your chest. 

It's not that your painting is bad𑁋it's just not living up to the potential he knows you possess. The colours lack vibrancy, the brushstrokes lack emotion. He leans in, his face mere inches from the canvas, inspecting every detail.

“If you're ever going to put your work in an exhibition, it has to tell a story,” he assures sternly while continuing to sign. “Your art should speak, not just visually, but emotionally. I know you can do better.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod in understanding, though the disappointment lingers. You've been wrestling with this painting for weeks, trying to capture a fleeting emotion, a moment in time that you believed would speak to others, yet you realise you don't have a clear answer. He observes your reaction, and though his expression softens just the slightest, the expectation lingers.

“He’s probably just in a mood,” Wheein reassures you, hands flying in the air as she signs. “You know how he is with deadlines.”

“I can beat his ass for you,” Seungkwan chimes in, emphasizing a punching motion with his hands, which makes you let out a quiet laugh. 

Wheein playfully shoves the younger boy in the shoulders, before snatching away the cup of iced coffee in his hands.

Seungkwan pouts in mock disappointment as Wheein steals a sip of his coffee, but the playful banter manages to lighten the mood a bit.

Wheein hands back the coffee to Seungkwan and gives you a few pats on the back. “You'll get it right, you always do. Just take a step back, clear your mind, and try again, okay?”

Her words make you faintly smile. It's not a secret that you've been experiencing a lot of pressure for this upcoming exhibition competition at the museum, an opportunity for you to finally get your art out there in the world. But the thing is that there are plenty of other artists also fighting for the spot as well, and never in your life have you felt so stuck, so drained of inspiration, so dried out of colour. 

You feel a little lighter from the reassurance from your friends, but at the same time, you feel like it isn't quite enough. There's still a part of you that feels heavy inside𑁋what if you're not meant for exhibitions, if your art can't truly convey the emotions you want to express? What if you're just not meant for this? What if your art isn't enough to convey the emotions you want to share with the world?

The thought lingers as Wheein and Seungkwan dismiss themselves for the evening, and you're left alone roaming the quiet streets on your way back home. The city's lights begin to flicker to life, casting a warm glow on the dewy pavement, the streets a bit more barren than what you are used to. You try to shake off the doubt at the back of your mind, but it clings to you like the raindrops on the leaves.

As you stop at the pedestrian crossing, you shoot your eyes across the street.

A figure stands tall under the glow of a streetlamp, his features highlighted by the warm light. He's also looking across too in your direction, though it doesn't take long for his gaze to drift and land on you, and suddenly, he's waving at you.

It takes a moment for recognition to dawn on you, but when it does, time seems to stand still𑁋it's Joshua. He's standing there with his guitar case slung over his shoulder, waving at you. At first you look behind you to see if it was meant for someone else, but when you realise there's no one else around, you feel an odd pull tugging at your heart.

Because he looks... happy to see you. 

Hesitantly, you raise a hand and give him a small wave back. You notice some contemplation wash over his face, and then you observe as he brings his hands up.

“Nice to see you. How are you?” he signs, albeit clumsily and a bit slow, but the effort is cute, and you find yourself lowering your gaze for a moment to bite back a chuckle.

“Tired,” You sign in response, and mimic the gesture of rubbing your eyes, a small grin playing on your lips.

Joshua's eyes crinkle at the corners, and a soft chuckle escapes his mouth as he watches your playful sign. He follows suit, pretending to yawn and miming the act of stretching, exaggerating the movements comically. It's a simple exchange, but it breaks the ice, and you find yourself smiling more genuinely now.

He ushers a hand up to his cheek. “Home?”

When you give a nod, the signal light turns green, you make your way across the street, noticing Joshua waiting for you on the other side. As you approach him, you catch the nerves in his eyes. He shifts his guitar case on his shoulder, seemingly caught between wanting to say something and waiting for your lead.

With a small tilt of your head, you gesture down the road, asking if he's headed in the same direction as you. But he shakes his head apologetically, signaling that he's heading the opposite way. For a moment, you lift a brow in question, but then Joshua points to himself and then in the direction you're heading.

“Can I…” Your eyes focus on his hands and lips. “walk... you home?”

Your breath catches in your throat, but not from any fear or apprehension. A flutter of nerves dances in your stomach, but is quickly overshadowed by a warm feeling that spreads through you.

Hesitation lingers in the air for a moment, a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the uncertainties. You didn't want him to take a detour just to walk you home, especially since he was heading in the opposite direction. But then you see the nervous tremor in his hands that mirrors your own, and how his hopeful and vulnerable gaze holds yours as if afraid he had crossed a boundary, and the doubt seems to melt away.

And so, with a soft smile, you sign, “Okay.”

As the two of you set off, the silence that follows feels different than the heavy weight of earlier. It's comfortable, expectant, like a blank canvas waiting for the first splash of colour. You steal glances at him, admiring the way the dim streetlights play on his features, the gentle twinkle that shines in his eyes, how cutely comfortable he appears wearing an oversized jean jacket that almost seems to swallow him whole. And then your eyes set on his guitar case, and curiosity fills you.

You gesture a hand at his guitar, and Joshua raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I…” He lets out a nervous, airy laugh, fiddling with his hands as he attempts to sign and explain, “I had to get some guitar strings replaced. One of them snapped on me earlier, so I stopped by the repair shop.”

You flash him a worried look, motioning a finger at his skin.

Joshua just shakes his head, signing back comfortingly, “I'm okay.”

He watches as you tilt your head just slightly, as if in amusement, like you had caught him saying something suspicious.

You type out something on your phone before showing it to him.

The way you sign is funny

Joshua giggles quietly, and he playfully pouts, a small laugh escaping his lips. “That's mean.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his reaction, like a tiny seed of affection sprouting. It's almost like he's attempting to paint with his hands, and the shade isn't quite right, yet it blends in perfectly with just a few more strokes.

There are many people you’ve encountered in life who have communicated with you through sign language, and you noticed that they all have their own unique way of signing. Whether it was Seungkwan with his more expressive and sharp gestures, Wheein with her dainty and flowy style, or Joshua with his uncertain yet gentle movements, you liked they were all different. 

Not being able to hear doesn't bother you anymore, not like it used to when you were younger. It used to build walls around you and separate you from the world. Yet now, you've learned to read sounds with your eyes, hear the voices that emit from a simple smile, a frown, an arch of the brow, because there are a lot more people who can hear than those who can’t.

But out of all those people, someone was the one to wave first across the street.

Joshua finds himself staring up at the intimidating brick façade of your apartment building. When you turn back to him, you offer him a tentative smile, and there's something different about it that makes his chest tighten.

Finally, you muster the courage, your fingers slowly dancing in the air.

“Thank you,” You sign to him. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle, eyes softening. “How do I sign ‘goodnight?’”

You nearly hesitate for a second before bringing out both of your hands. You could feel Joshua watching you carefully at the way you bring your right hand up to your chin and then back down to meet the palm of your other hand, signing the word good. Then you flip your left hand so that it’s facing down, and your other hand brushes over it like the sun is setting over the horizon, signing the word night. 

Joshua watches at the way your hands move gracefully. He follows your movements carefully, a faint smile spreading across his face as he tries to mimic your gestures.

“Good... night,” he repeats slowly, the miniscule dust particles whirling around his fingers as he traces the air. His eyes meet yours, and he could possibly see the flicker of proudness in them. It's a simple exchange, but at this moment right now, it feels significant.

As you unlock the door to your apartment, you turn to look back at him, and he shoots you another wave. Joshua stands there for a moment, watching your door close, before taking in a deep breath to relax the racing of his heart.

Three years ago, Joshua Hong moved away from his family in the hopes of pursuing a music career. It most certainly wasn't an easy decision, leaving behind the familiarity of his hometown and the warmth of his loved ones.

Almost three years later, he might have realised how damn stupid of a choice that might have been.

It's a bit lonely, to put it lightly.

The gigs are sparse, the pay is minimal, and the dreams he once held so tightly in his grasp seem to be slowly slipping away as the days pass.

The journey has been anything but smooth, filled with constant rejections, financial struggles, and moments of self-doubt; and lately these lows seem to be overpowering the highs more than ever. Yet, despite all this, he still chooses to cling to this passion as if it's the air he breathes, because it's something that he loves to do.

Music is the voice he uses when his own isn't enough. He's constantly surrounded by noise, whether it's from the strumming of his own guitar, the sounds of the bustling city, or conversations from strangers that he accidentally overhears when crossing the street.

But then there's the silence𑁋the kind that settles in the spaces between chords, in the moments when he puts the instrument down and the world seems to hum a little quieter. It's in these moments that the loneliness can be deafening.

And then there was you.

The melody playing in his mind for the past week is... hesitant, unsure, much like his own feelings. He isn't sure what it is yet𑁋this feeling that tugs at his chest and paints his cheeks with a faint blush. He only knows that it's connected to you, to the way your eyes narrow in focus when your fingers dance so graciously in the air, and the warmth that spread through him when you thanked him for walking you home the other night.

It was just a simple offer to walk you home, why is it playing on repeat in his mind?

A sigh leaves him as he runs a loose hand through his hair. He tosses away the dirty rag in his hand and stores the cafe's cleaning supplies back and under the counter. The colours of the sun setting outside filters through the large windows, casting orange and red hues on the wooden tables and floor of the empty café.

“You look like you need a drink,” Jeonghan's voice rings out teasingly, and Joshua could only scoff. “You still got that gig later this weekend, right?”

Joshua nips at his bottom lip, releasing a sigh. “I've been feeling a little under the weather, honestly, and I don't really have anything prepared.” I feel like I'm losing my touch.

Jeonghan arches a knowing brow. “Since when do you back down from a gig? Just go up there and pour your heart out. It's what you do best.”

“I'm just not feeling it right now, I guess,” Joshua replies with a half-hearted smile, shoulders only taking on a shrug. He pushes himself away from the counter, and just as Jeonghan is about to crawl under his skin, the bell above the door chimes. “Welcome in…”

He should really learn how to control his stomach from flipping when seeing you𑁋the familiar sight of your paint-smudged canvas tote, the comfort you seem to radiate𑁋but it's not just you alone. There's a girl who he doesn't recognise there too, with her arm linked with yours, and another boy he swears he's seen a few times... Seungkyung? Seungwan? Seungkwan?

Joshua lets his gaze drift to you, and there's a gloom to your face that he can't quite decipher, a certain apprehension that he notices when your eyes make the smallest of contact. He attempts to get your attention by bringing one of his hands up, and you catch sight of it.

“Same?” he signs, as if asking if you want to order the usual drink that you get.

You meet his eyes, and despite the lingering doubts that have been plaguing you, there's a sense of comfort in the familiarity of him. You nod, and that's all it takes for him to brighten up, his smile breaking through the clouds that seem to hang in the air. He watches as you exchange a few words in sign language with Wheein and Seungkwan, then Seungkwan comes over to the counter to place the order.

Maybe he's just seeing things, or maybe it's his mind overthinking for him𑁋there's an undeniable shadow around your eyes that he notices when he brings a tray full of fruit smoothies and iced teas to your table. He sets the drinks down carefully, unable to ignore the way your gaze seems to linger on him for a fraction of a second before flitting away again.

You don't seem to be entirely present in conversation, often drifting off before Wheein or Seungkwan would have to nudge you back into reality. Then a ghost of a smile would draw over your lips, attempting to engage in the conversation with your hands, but all the words seem to disintegrate into ashes.

Another tap at your wrist makes you blink, and you turn to see both Seungkwan and Wheein peering at you with worried expressions on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Wheein mouths quietly, signing lightly with her hands.

Seungkwan turns his head slightly, eyeing something behind him, a scowl to his expression before it curves into a slight smirk; his back was facing where Joshua stood behind the counter, taking in orders for another group of people.

“Café boy?” he mouths to you.

You follow Seungkwan's line of sight, and sure enough, Joshua is there behind the counter𑁋mop of dark hair falling in his eyes, a polite smile playing on his lips𑁋taking and preparing orders with casual ease. You feel a gentle tug in your chest, and for a moment, your gaze locks with his. There's a flicker of concern in his eyes as he watches you, before the corners of his mouth tugs upwards, and you quickly avert your gaze, fingers playing with the straw in your drink.

“He's cuter than I thought,” Seungkwan signs jokingly to you, lifting a teasing brow. “I'd have a crush on him too𑁋ow!”

He's met with Wheein's sharp elbow to his side, making him let out a squeaky wince that might have gained the attention of the entire café, and she scolds him with a shake of her head and a finger to her lips, but it manages to crack a small smile to your face. Seungkwan only grins in victory, tapping his wrist against his heart and giving a thumbs-up as if satisfied with the response he got out of you. 

Ah, the benefits of sign language and being friends with two absolute idiots... No one really knows what the hell you're talking about. 

“You do think he's cute though, right?” Wheein scrunches up her face cheekily, and you could only let a finger drift across the icy surface of your cup, the cold offering little comfort against the sudden warmth blooming in your cheeks to her words.

You roll your eyes, though your face seems to betray you even more. 

“You're not denying it,” Seungkwan adds in, narrowing his eyes at you in a smirk. “Just say you have a crush on him.”

You form a mock-scissor gesture with your fingers, and the threat earns a burst of laughter to leave Seungkwan. The playful jab cuts through the tension, but the truth is, your heart aches a little at his words.

Crush? The word felt alien, yet somehow, it fits. The way your heart skips a beat whenever his gaze met yours, the way his smile warms you from the inside out, the way his clumsy attempts at sign language makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time𑁋these were all signs of something, weren't they?

The atmosphere at the table lightens a bit. It feels nice, spending time with your friends and momentarily pushing aside the doubts of your artistic soul and worries of everything else that have been flying in and out of your head. 

Eventually, the rest of the afternoon wears on, and you somehow manage to survive through Seungkwan and Wheein's (mainly Seungkwan though, unsurprisingly) overbearing and teasing attempts to get you to spill your thoughts on café boy. They give up by the end of it, saying their goodbyes with a tight squeeze of a hug and urging you to keep your chin up. Seriously, you wouldn't know where you would be right now if it weren't for them.

At the back, when Joshua steps out of the restroom, a sudden slap at the wall next to his head startles him back.

“So I see.” Jeonghan circles a finger in front of his face. “You're feeling under the weather, aren't you?”

Joshua groans. “Don't you say it𑁋”

“Under the weather of love𑁋”

“You're having more customers than before because of me. Don't ruin that.”

“Then stop looking like a lovesick puppy and ask them out already, idiot.” Jeonghan shoves the boy forward with a not-so-gentle push to the back. “or at least invite them to your gig. Maybe you won't feel under the weather then.”

Joshua opens his mouth to retort. “Dude, I can't just𑁋”

But before he can finish his sentence, Jeonghan has already disappeared in the back, leaving Joshua standing there in a puddle of embarrassment. He glances towards the table where you were sitting earlier, seeing that you and your friends have already left, and panic shoots through him.

He's never been good at taking risks, but maybe, just maybe, it's time to change that.

Racing out the door, the cool evening air greets Joshua as he steps outside, quickly scanning the surroundings for a glimpse of your familiar figure. He spots you not too far away, heading down the sidewalk, before quickening his strides. He doesn't know what's driving him, but there's a sudden urgency to catch up with you𑁋to not let you slip away just this once. 

And when he finally manages to catch up to you approaching the pedestrian light, he finds himself breathless in front of you, heart pounding in his chest and cheeks flushed, still wearing the café apron around his body. When he looks up to you, clearly startled by his sudden appearance, he feels the heat crawl up his neck. 

“I, um…” he starts, voice coming out way more flat to his ears. Then you watch as he brings his hands up to sign. “Question?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace. He ran all the way out here to ask you a question?

“I have a performance…" His face lights up when he signs the right word. Cute. "...this weekend. I was wondering if you’d like to watch it?” 

You swear you can see the city lights blinking in anticipation around you, your own eyes fluttering in surprise to his question. He's... inviting you to watch him perform? He knows you won't be able to fully understand him, to hear him, yet he's offering you anyway?

Part of you wants to immediately say yes. The thought of watching him sends a wave of thrills through you, a glimmer of excitement warming the chill wrapped around your heart since leaving the café. But the other part𑁋the cautious and guarded part that has learned to retreat behind walls of silence𑁋is reluctant.

Hesitation flickers across your features, and Joshua's hands fly in apology.

“You don't𑁋if you're uncomfortable or if you have plans, it's okay," Joshua reassures quickly, speaking almost too fast for you to catch everything tumbling off his lips. “I could give you my number and text the details if you decide to come. Just... think about it, okay?”

The streetlight casts a soft glow on Joshua's features as he waits for your response. You glance up to the pedestrian signal, noticing that time is ticking down before you would have to leave, before bringing your gaze back to him.

You swallow a lump down your throat, and give a nod. A faint grin breaks across his face. Joshua fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his pocket and offering it to you. You swiftly type in your phone number, then hand the phone back to him, and then the pedestrian signal switches to green. It's your time to go. Each footstep you take feels heavier and heavier. 

Joshua watches you go, but not before you both exchange your habitual waves to each other.

He can get used to that, he thinks.

The colours on your palette just look absolutely wrong. 

It may just be the lighting playing tricks on your eyes and the exhaustion hanging on your eyelids, but it all looks slightly off-shade, the teeniest tiniest bit cooler or warmer. You frown, dipping your brush into the paint, attempting to mix them until they match the image you have in your mind. But it's like trying to catch sunlight with your bare hands𑁋the more you try, the more it slips away.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in your chair, and your gaze wanders to the canvas. The painting stares back at you tauntingly. It's like a stranger's work, not your own. A sense of defeat washes over you.

Groaning, you hop to your feet, untangling the apron around your waist and letting it fall to the ground before taking your paint brushes to the sink in your bathroom. You wash off the paint with a bit too much force, the bristles scraping against the porcelain, almost as if you were trying to scrub away your own frustration. The paint swirls down the drain, the colours blending together into an ugly, murky green before ultimately disappearing. 

You chug down an entire glass of water from your kitchen, then shut off the light hanging above your canvas. Sprawling on top of your bed, you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that the walls could cave in and swallow you whole, if only for a moment.

When you reach behind to fish for your phone annoyedly, your eyes nearly bulge out of its skull. 

You don’t even have to read out the entire message for you to jump up from your bed. Your eyes dart from the time displayed at the top of your phone, and to the words jumping at you from the screen.

[06:26PM | joshua hong] Hey it's Joshua! Sorry I know it's a bit last minute, but my performance is supposed to start in about 15 [06:29PM | joshua hong] But I totally understand if you aren't able to attend. It's no problem at all :) 

And perhaps it's the adrenaline from reading the message knowing it’s from Joshua, because you’re suddenly standing up and racing to the bathroom. You don’t understand how you look more disheveled than before, and you can hardly do much to touch yourself up before you’re shrugging, grabbing a jacket, and leaving. 

You nearly trip on the way out the door, and you could already feel the multitude of curses echoing through your head. 

Gosh, you can hardly believe how much time has slipped away from you. The stress coming from painting and deadlines has been gnawing at you day by day. It’s been the only thing pulling you back from doing anything else. Yet with every stroke you bring to the canvas, it feels empty. You feel empty. 

The streets of the city feel busier than usual, the air thick of your already deteriorating patience, and an unnerving anxiety gnaws at your insides. 

You don't have to attend𑁋you know it's a choice you could make, but why does the thought of not seeing him perform make your heart clench? Why does the thought of simply not seeing him make your steps quicken even more?

The doors to the bus ahead slam shut the second you stride up to it, and your hand comes up to pound at the heavy metal surface in anger. With a huff, you step back from the edge of the street, ignoring the stares being shot towards you by passersby while watching as the bus pulls away, leaving you standing uselessly on the sidewalk.

A person almost bumps into you once you turn around. Every taxi that you attempt to grab is immediately taken. You blink back some heat in your eyes, arms wrapping around your body as if trying to mask away the sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. You brush past a sea of shoulders and weave through the bustling streets of the city. Seriously, why the hell is it so busy right now? 

But even as you continue to float your way through the crowded streets, you could feel all the hope at getting to Joshua’s performance deflate. The day really wasn’t all on your side right now, and it all seems to rain down weights at your feet, slowing you down with every step you take. 

Why does it matter? You ask yourself inwardly, skepticism knitting at your brows. Why does his performance matter so much? 

A sharp nudge at your shoulder blade makes you wince. And when you bring your eyes back up, you suddenly realise you’re the only one left standing at the pedestrian light, watching as the sea of people ahead of you cross without any worry. The other side seems so close yet so far. 

Your gaze flickers up at the seconds counting down, your thoughts thinking back to Joshua, and you suddenly find yourself darting across the street.

Joshua's brow twitches faintly when his calloused fingers strum at his guitar strings. 

It’s a bit warmer this evening, the air feeling strangely muggier than usual. The note that leaves his guitar sounds slightly off-tune, but he doesn’t get himself to fix it. Instead, he hunches over to aimlessly grab at his guitar case right at his feet, snatching the coins he may have missed picking up before beginning to pack everything up. 

Joshua glances around the beautifully lit-up busking area, eyes scanning over the dwindling crowd. It’s a relatively small, circular area making up the heart of a tiny social sphere surrounded by local markets and restaurants. Despite that, there’s an emptiness lingering around him, one that feels awfully familiar yet more noticeable than ever before. He gazes back down and pockets the coins with a practiced shrug, a movement that barely hides the disappointment nagging at him.

When a coin slips out of his grasp, he bends down to retrieve it. But as he’s about to come back up, a shadow seems to loom above him, and the outsole of a shoe nearly steps on his fingers. 

Joshua picks his head back up, half-expecting for it to be a complete stranger and totally not half-hoping that it would be… you, hunched over and out of breath.

“Y/N?” he asks, swiftly putting the coin away. “You came.” 

You only give an imperceptible, apologetic nod at his words. Joshua glances around for a moment, before looking down at his guitar, and back to you.

He scratches the back of his neck bashfully. “You just missed it.”

A thin line forms at your lips as you sign, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry.” Joshua waves dismissively with his hands in a slight panic. “You must have been busy, right?”

You smile faintly at that, nodding once more, before taking out your phone to type:

I wanted to come

Once Joshua reads it, you see the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. “You did?”

The curve at your lips lifts even more, but just barely. Joshua’s head falls down for a minute as he peers down at his feet, attempting to hide away a grin threatening at his own face, before looking back up at you and clearing basically nothing in his throat. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I’m glad you came,” he says, a sweet, appreciative tone to his words. You can’t hear it but you can see it in the way his eyes seem to smile as wide as his lips. “I was… kind of hoping you would show up. Not… not in a weird way or anything! I just𑁋I think I would have felt a little more confident if you were here. A face that I know.” 

Your face scrunches together in a bit of worry and a pinch of surprise, but Joshua just shakes his head and chuckles it off. 

The two of you stand there for a few moments. It’s really your first time being right in the centre of the busking square. Fairy lights hang on the few trees that dot around the area. You could see some small and large groups of people huddling nearby, presumably watching other performers performing, but you and Joshua just stood adrift in your own little bubble, like two stars separate from their own galaxies. 

The fairy lights cast a warm glow on Joshua's face, highlighting his hair that was floofed out in soft wisps around his forehead. You watch the way he runs his hand through it before taking a deep breath and returning to packing up his guitar. You casually wander close, looming over as you observe him in curiosity. 

Once Joshua slings his guitar back over his shoulder, he turns back to you. 

“Are you…” he starts to ask while signing. “...going back home now?”

You glance down at the time on your phone, pursing your lips together lousily. You should probably head home to start back on your painting, but that’s not what your thoughts are telling you to do, nor your heart. Or maybe your entire body, in fact. 

“If you are,” Joshua’s hands catch your attention again, then you focus in on his lips. “can I walk you home again? Like last time? It’s the least I could do since you ran all the way here. I have to give some worth to your effort, right?” 

You almost swear you could read the playfulness on his features, like the way his eyes crinkle subtly at the corners, or even in the way his head is tilted unnoticeably.

You can get used to that side of him, possibly.

You only abruptly turn around, leaving Joshua puzzled for a second, before he’s snatching the rest of his belongings and jogging to catch up to you. Then the two of you are walking side by side just as all the times before, the distance between you closing naturally. 

The world you’re used to is already quiet, silent even, but it’s different now. Joshua’s presence is loud, not in sound, but in the way it seems to comfortably fill the space around you. You don’t really know how to describe it without sounding awfully obvious that… you like when he’s around you; or, you like when you’re around him. 

His guitar case occasionally bumps your hip at his side, and his every attempt to create more space only seems to bring him back to the tiny amount of distance between you two anyway. Then Joshua switches carrying the case from one shoulder to the other, and as he does, his free hand briefly brushes against yours. The touch is fleeting, but enough to send a jump to your stomach. He quickly looks at you with a sheepish grin, muttering an apology that you can't hear but can easily read in his expression. 

The night air is cooler now, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead and causing them to fall to the ground like feathers at your feet. 

Joshua feels a light tap at his arm, and he turns to see you showing him a message on your phone.

Did your performance go well? 

He smiles nimbly at that, but you can tell in the way his eyes seem to cast a shadow over his face that he's not entirely satisfied. He only nods slightly, a noncommittal gesture. 

“It was alright,” he says while signing, fingers moving reluctantly. “The crowd was small, and I wasn’t at my best. But it’s okay.” 

You frown a little, and the way he casts his head down to the ground makes your chest squeeze. 

“Maybe it was good that you didn’t come,” Joshua mumbles under his breath, and you hardly catch what he was saying, but you could sense the diffidence emitting from him. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you either.” 

Both of your footsteps slow down ever so slightly as you approach a familiar street corner, the dim glow of a lamppost shining down on the two of you. Joshua notices the pensive expression to your features as your fingers dance across your phone screen. 

You hesitate for a moment before showing him. 

You tried your best. That’s all that matters

Then you’re abrupt to take your phone away before Joshua could process your words, typing something else again before flipping your phone around for him to read.

You wouldn’t have disappointed me

Joshua stares at the simple message. A hearty sound seems to bubble out of his chest, then another, and another, before it turns into a brief fit of coughs and a mix of laughter altogether. You can’t help but giggle at his reaction. It's light and airy, like wind chimes dancing in the breeze, and it feels like breaking a sound barrier you didn't even know existed between the two of you.

When he returns his gaze to you, he grins again, beaming even, a sliver of teeth expressing relief and a newfound confidence. 

“Thank you,” he tells you. “That means a lot to me.” 

You nod your head coyly, and before Joshua can say anything else, you’re already turning around and beginning to walk. Yet just after the first few steps, a boom of thunder echoes in the distance, and a raindrop lands at the top of your head. 

You stop and turn to see Joshua racing after you, and he stops right next to you. 

“Rain,” he simply signs. “It’s raining.”

And then, the two of you don’t even have to say anything before you’re running through the incoming rain together. You try to run as fast as you can without looking back because you know that Joshua is behind you, the rain beginning to fall down heavier and heavier as you dart through the streets and into the area where your apartment is located. 

Joshua stops right at the entrance, the same place where he had stopped last time. He watches as you continue to dash away from him, before coming to a halt, and turning around to notice him standing there under the pouring rain. 

Raindrops plaster in your hair and clothes as you face Joshua standing at the entrance of your apartment building. His hair is damp and matted to his forehead, damp clothes clinging to his frame as the rain running in rivulets down his face. Despite the downpour, his eyes meet yours with an unwavering gaze.

“Are you alright?” he signs nearly frantically, and you squint your eyes to be able to see him more clearly. 

While catching your breath, you motion for Joshua to come closer, shielding yourself under the small awning of your apartment building. He hesitates for a moment, glancing around as if assessing the situation, but then he’s jogging up to you, joining you under the small shelter of your building that could probably only fit two people. 

Both of you stand there as you watch the rain pour down to the earth in front of you. Then you glance at Joshua, and then at your apartment, then back outside again. He can’t go home in this rain right now without a singular bit of protection.

A tug at Joshua’s sleeves makes him turn to face you, softening at the way you look so concerned yet… cute in your own little way.  

Without any thinking, you gesture towards your apartment, as if silently offering him an invitation.

The surprise on Joshua's face is clear. His eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth falls open slightly. He glances back at the downpouring rain, then back at you with uncertainty. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You nod again, even opening the door for him and waiting for him to step inside. He hesitates again, but the apparent adamancy on your features brings some warmth to blossom through his chest. He fixes his guitar case on his shoulder and steps past you into the dry hallway, water from his hair and clothes dripping down to the ground. 

Joshua follows you down the narrow hallway toward your apartment door, his shoes squeaking slightly on the tiled floor below, a slip of nervousness with every step he takes. The hallway is dimly lit, with a faint aroma of incense lingering in the air. You unlock the door and hold it open for him, gesturing for him to enter first. And as he steps past you, he’s immediately greeted with the warmth of your place.

You take off your own shoes right after him as he stands somewhat awkwardly in the middle of your apartment. It’s smaller than he imagined, but it’s enough for him to recognise glimpses of your personality scattered around. It’s cozy, minimalist, yet it’s home to you, and that’s all that matters to him. 

You appear back in front of him with a towel in your hands, and you hold it out to Joshua, who takes it from your grasp gratefully. He starts to dry his hair and face, the towel absorbing the rainwater and providing some warmth against his skin. As he does so, he steals glances around your apartment, catching sight of an easel holding up a large canvas. 

There are other paintings on your walls too. He smiles to himself as he steps closer towards the canvas, the painting appearing unfinished and a bit weathered with all of its strokes, but nevertheless eye-catching, filling him with wonder about what the finished product may look like. 

You emerge from your bedroom and scan around the room, and when your eyes land on Joshua, you find him peering down at your unfinished painting, a thoughtful expression on his face as he cards through his hair with the towel. He turns to you, eyes widening at the sight of you in a set of new, dry clothes, then shifts his gaze to what you're holding.

It’s an oversized, grey hoodie, and it proudly displays the name of the museum that you frequent. You hold it out to Joshua with a shy look. He sets the towel aside and takes the hoodie from your hands. Immediately, you take a deep breath and face yourself away to let him change, and Joshua watches as you disappear into the small kitchen area, giving him a moment of privacy.

After propping his guitar case next to your easel, he strips off his wet shirt, replacing it with the dry, oversized hoodie. It’s warm and extremely comfortable, smelling like it’s been freshly washed with a scent hinting at lavender, and instantly offers the relief he needed after running through the rain earlier.

Then Joshua gazes around your apartment again. There’s a bookshelf lined with art books and tiny succulents, a small couch with a knitted blanket draped over its arm, and a table with a collection of paintbrushes, unused palettes, and an endless collection of bottles of paint. It’s a different sight than what he’s used to, that’s for certain𑁋he’s used to microphone chords being tangled together, the worn leather of his guitar case at his fingertips, and the hum of music drifting through his life. 

The sound of your footsteps echoes softly from the kitchen, drawing Joshua's attention away from his thoughts. You're holding two mugs in your hands, steam curling up from the brims, and the scent of herbal tea wafts through the air. You carefully hand one to him, before settling on the couch, snugly tucking your legs underneath yourself. Joshua follows suit right after, sitting down right next to you while taking a steady sip from the warm tea. He feels the warmth seep into his fingers as he cradles the mug in his hands. 

He glances at you, noticing how relaxed you seem all curled up on the couch, the soft light casting a gentle glow on your face.

Joshua leans down to set the mug back on the table, catching your attention. 

“Thank you,” he mouths quietly, signing to you. 

You offer a small nod in response, then take out your phone to type:

Is it still raining hard outside? 

Joshua leans back on the couch to listen, narrowing his eyes intently. He still hears the rain outside, but it seems to have calmed down quite a bit. Yet the thought of him staying longer in your place makes his ears burn hotter than the steaming cup of tea in his hands.

He turns back at you and nods his head, knowing it’s a bit of a white lie but deciding that it’s worth staying just a little longer with you. He watches the way your face shifts into a contemplative look. 

Your fingers dance along with your screen once more. 

You can stay until it stops

“Are you sure?” Joshua questions incredulously. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.” 

You shake your head firmly, the smile playing on your lips widening just a touch. It's clear in your eyes that you’re genuinely telling him it’s okay, and that assurance softens something in Joshua's chest. He glances down at his mug on the table, staring at the way the steam curls up into the air like delicate wisps.

It feels almost natural to do this𑁋to sit here under the excuse of sheltering away from the rain, but really, it's a bit more than that, more obvious than what you both assume. For some reason, it’s easier to be around each other than sitting alone in your separate worlds of sound and art. 

When Joshua drinks the rest of his tea, he catches a glimpse of his guitar case standing right next to your easel, and a light flickers on his head. 

“Since you missed my performance,” he starts to say, signing a bit flimsily and unconfidently. “I was wondering if I could… maybe sing for you?” 

You cock your head to the side, curiosity piqued. “Sing?”

“Sing.” Joshua copies right after you. He remembers when you mentioned that even though you can’t hear, you can still feel the vibrations, read the chords and lyrics, and enjoy the music like others.

And while he feels nervous, the way his heart flutters at the thought of you listening to him sing makes him feel a bit… hopeful, confident, like he told you before. He likes to think that your presence alone is much more comforting and reassuring than a group of strangers gathered around him in the busking area. 

Joshua takes a deep breath, before standing up and fetching his guitar gently from its case, resting the instrument on his knee. The rich scent of wood fills the air as he tunes it, deftly plucking each string with practiced fingers until it comes to the correct note. You could only watch in awe, glancing between the guitar and his focused expression. His brows knit together tightly and his eyes come to a close for a few moments𑁋you can’t seem to tear your own gaze off him. 

When he finishes tuning, he opens his eyes, seemingly noticing how attentive you’re to his every move. A faint blush creeps up his neck, and he casts his eyes down for a moment before meeting yours again. He clears his throat awkwardly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder.

“Can I…” he begins to ask, holding out his hand towards you. You peer down at it, noticing how it hovers expectantly between you. 

As your hand is about to brush against his, Joshua gently takes your hand with his own, his calloused fingertips meeting your soft ones briefly. He guides your hand on the body of his guitar. Your fingers rest lightly against the smooth wood, feeling the vibrations as he strums a few chords softly. 

Your eyes widen as you look back up at him, surprised at how vivid the sensation is right at the ends of your fingers. 

“You can read my lips too.” Then he pauses, before continuing, “if you want to, at least.” 

With that, he plays a few chords, the vibrations running through the guitar and to your hand, even down your body. And when his lips start to move, you try to focus on his every word, watching the shape of his mouth as he sings. 

For years, you’re used to reading sound with your eyes. Sure, you’ve touched instruments, like the piano in the music room during elementary school or the drumset you would see backstage before a school concert. But no one ever played them𑁋nobody ever played for you. 

So when you read from your eyes, there’s always that second of disconnect when you blink, and the inner anxiety that you could miss even the tiniest detail of the music. However, everytime you blink now, you could feel Joshua singing and playing right at the ends of your fingertips, as if he was telling you that it’s okay to keep your eyes closed without worrying, simply because he was right there. 

This is what passion looks like on someone else, and for some reason seeing all that unfold before you makes it all more beautiful. 

You notice Joshua closes his eyes or peers down sometimes when he gets more focused, yet it doesn’t take anything away from his singing. The way his fingers effortlessly glide over the strings of his guitar, or the subtle lift to his lips when he’s singing𑁋you know that his heart is completely in it. 

It’s beautiful. He’s… beautiful.

The song ends before you hardly notice. You keep your hand resting on the guitar, the vibrations still buzzing ever so slightly on your fingertips after Joshua strums the final set of chords. 

Joshua shifts uncomfortably for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the guitar in his lap. He scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. 

“Did you... like it?” he asks tentatively while searching your face, signing the words as he speaks.

You merely blink up at him too, as if you’re still stuck processing everything and nothing all at once, before nodding reassuringly. 

Joshua's expression softens with relief, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he lets out a quiet sigh. He glances down at your hand still resting on his guitar, a certain warmth spreading through his chest at the way you're looking at him.

“You felt it, didn't you?” he asks quietly. “The vibrations?”

You consider nodding again, but instead, you reach back for your phone to type.

It was beautiful. I haven’t felt music like that in a long time

Joshua can’t help but smile to himself, and there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore when he does. He likes knowing that he’s happy around you, likes feeling himself be happy around you. It’s a feeling that feels easy, natural, like he doesn't have to try too hard. 

He gently places his guitar back in its case, the soft click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. You notice his fingers linger on the case for a moment, before he turns back to you.

“I think that I was right about what I said earlier,” he affirms, and there seems to be content hinting on his features. “about feeling more confident… when you’re around. I just wanted to thank you for that.”

Of course, he was nervous, anxious if anything𑁋but in between all that nerves was the comfort of someone who listened to him more intently than any audience ever could. 

Joshua clears his throat and peers around after setting his case back down, trying to brush off the fact that you’re sitting way more closer to him than before. You’re typing something on your phone again, the bright screen emitting on your face and making you bat your eyelashes together. 

You lightly tap on his shoulder to get his attention, showing your message:

You can always practice here, if you want

“Practice? Here? You want𑁋I can practice here?” The disbelief in his face makes you purse your lips together endearingly. “I hardly ever have the chance to practice because Jeonghan𑁋my roommate𑁋is sick of me being loud, at this point. I’ve been saving up to move out, but it’s been hard.”

When he realises how fast he spoke and the way you’re watching him closely, all he does is smile faintly.

“I’ll be sure to use the opportunity wisely,” he assures you, and there’s that lightheartedness back on his face again.

Your knee rubs against his when you stand up to put away the empty mugs back in the kitchen. It gives Joshua the chance to look around your place again, and his eyes settle on your unfinished painting on the other side of the room. 

“Could you…” he starts to ask once you’re walking back to the couch, his fingers moving unsurely in the air. “Could you tell me about your paintings?” 

At first, there’s a bit of hesitancy in your movements. But the genuinity you see in his gaze seems to tug at your heartstrings more than ever. You show him a message on your phone:

As long as you tell me about your songs

Joshua’s eyes light up at your message, a grin spreading across his face. 

“It’s a deal,” he says.

You could probably count the individual dust specks floating in the sunbeams pouring inside the classroom. 

Warm water trickles down your hands and into the sink below as you rinse off some paint brushes, before placing them in a discoloured, paint-covered bucket right beside you.

The museum has a variety of art classes, mostly for people who aspire to get their artwork shown in exhibitions. You aren’t any different from them𑁋you all seek the same goal, which is to be heard and recognised for your work; this small inkling to be known or even vaguely known by someone.

Once you finish cleaning up, you dry your hands on a rag and take a moment to look around the desolate classroom. The smell of paint and the sight of easels and canvases everywhere feels like home, but lately you’ve been questioning if it’s actually home, or just a temporary refuge. The question nags at you as you gather your belongings to put in your worn-out tote bag.

Stepping out of the classroom, you start to walk through the nearly empty museum, passing by hallways with art ranging from contemporary, to modern, to as far back as the classics. You’ve probably been through these halls a countless number of times𑁋retaining everything from the title of the piece to the artist’s name and technique𑁋and you would still be in utter awe. 

However, just as you reach the main area of the museum, a figure peering up at a painting catches your eyes. The guitar case that hung on his shoulder stuck out like a sore thumb among every other person in the room, and the sight makes you chuckle to yourself because you recognise Joshua instantly. 

You stand there for a moment, observing him from a distance as he studies the painting with a thoughtful expression. His fingers tap lightly against the strap of his guitar case, and you feel like if you focus even more, you could possibly see the thoughts wrapping around his head. 

Joshua glances at his phone for a millisecond before turning around, abruptly stopping when he sees the sight of you standing not that far away from him. The corners of his lips lift into a gentle smile upon seeing you, or his face seems to almost brighten up entirely, you can hardly tell. He brushes a hand through his hair before offering you a small wave, which you reciprocate back with one of your own without any hesitation. 

There’s a rush of warmth that flows through you as he approaches up to you.

You stare at him quizzically as you lift your hands up to sign, “What are you doing here?” 

Joshua shoots a bashful look down at his own feet before picking himself back up. 

“I wanted to see you,” he says quietly while signing, and his hand movements are as shy as his words. 

His words hardly process for a few moments, and Joshua thinks he might have overstepped. The hopeful glint in his eyes dims subtly, replaced by a shy apology already forming in his hands at the shock to your features. Maybe wanting to see you was a bit too forward of him. 

But it’s the way your hands nearly come in contact with his own to dismiss his worries that stops him mid-apology. You shake your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“I…” You start, then pause, because Joshua’s focused, unwavering, yet patient gaze tugs at something inside of you. Gathering your thoughts, you continue signing slowly, “I thought about seeing you too.” 

A surprised, somewhat choked laugh escapes Joshua's lips, a sound as light and unexpected as what you just said. Relief washes over him, clear as the day outside and the sunlight streaming through the museum windows. He seems to hold his breath for a moment before a grin splits his face apart. 

“Really?” he signs back, and it’s cute seeing how expressive he is when he’s surprised. 

“Yes,” You reply back firmly, hopefully being able to emphasize it enough with your fisted hand.

Joshua rubs at his nose nervously, and even the gesture being so small feels charming somehow. The weight of your art supplies feels lighter in your bag than they have in a while. 

“I have some time before practice though,” he shares, pondering lightly. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat first?”

Your lips lift at the offer, and you scramble a hand in your bag to retrieve your phone. But your fingers fumble, encountering only paint brushes and sketchbooks. Panic starts to rise in your chest as you frantically dig deeper within your bag. Your phone. It's not there. It’s probably back in the classroom.

You shoot an innocent look at Joshua, catching sight of his worried, furrowed brows. You try to explain to him with your hands, but your movements are hurried and you could tell he didn’t entirely understand. So you settle with a helpless shrug and a motion towards a deeper part of the museum, and he seems to catch on. 

Joshua feels the hesitation in his step when he sees you turn around and begin walking away. Considering for a second, he catches up to you quickly, the sounds of his shoes bouncing off the museum floors. 

He follows right next to you quietly, taking in the museum’s atmosphere as you navigate through the familiar halls. When the two of you reach a room, you hold the door open for him, and Joshua swears he hasn’t really seen anything like this before. 

The room is large and very open, the natural lighting from the outside flowing in from the windows. Unused easels and canvases stood at the corners of the room. There’s a long, wooden table perched in the middle of the room, and a whiteboard that takes up a small portion of the wall. Joshua takes the time to look around as you dash to the cleaning station where you were putting up the supplies, and there was your phone𑁋sitting idly with a few drops of water on its screen that you wipe away.

Joshua is standing with his arms crossed at the whiteboard, eyes squinting as if he was trying to discern the faded markings. You stand right next to him once you come up, bringing your gaze also to the whiteboard. 

He turns to you, seemingly inquisitive. “Is this an art class?”

You manage a nod. But you feel like it isn’t enough of an answer and decide to pull out your phone instead. 

It’s an art class for the deaf, and for those who want to show their work in the exhibitions here

Joshua’s mouth opens in awe as he reads the words on your screen. A flicker of understanding lights up his eyes as he processes the information.

“That's amazing,” he tells you while signing back, expression visibly softening. “I had no idea they had classes like this here. How long have you been coming?”

He watches as you look back down to type on your phone, taking the few seconds as a chance for his eyes to drift over your features, silently taking in the concentration etched on your face. When you finish typing, you show him the screen. 

Just for the past year. There’s only a few of us in the class. Sometimes I’m the only person who shows up though

“Ah,” Joshua only hums contemplatively. He glances around once more, as if trying to see the room through your perspective. “That must feel lonely sometimes.”

You nod, letting out a low sigh as you type out your next message:

It can be. But it's also peaceful. Gives me time to think and create without any distractions

“I get it.” Joshua nods with a small smile. “You’re dedicated. I admire that.” 

Your heart swells a little at his words. It's always a vulnerable thing𑁋sharing a piece of your world with someone else, but Joshua’s presence seems to make it all a little less daunting, a little more comfortable. 

Joshua’s eyes settle on a corner where a few canvases lean against the wall, seemingly forgotten or awaiting their turn under someone’s hand. He steps closer to it, running his fingers lightly over the rough edges of one of the frames, then turns back to you.

“Do you have any of your work shown here in the museum?” he asks curiously. 

A rush of emotions floods through you, a frown caressing your face—pride sprinkled with uncertainty, hope clouded by doubt. You've always dreamed of showcasing your work, to be recognised and understood through your art. However, you feel a twinge of self-consciousness creeping in, because the dream of one day having your work displayed alongside the masterpieces lining the museum walls feels both distant and impossibly close at the same time.

Sensing your shift in mood, Joshua raises his eyebrows in question. You fumble with your phone again, typing out a response and showing it to him. 

I’m not sure if my work is good enough for that

Joshua's expression softens even further. “But you wouldn't keep creating it if you didn't believe in it, would you?”

Oh, he’s got you there, you think. A certain warmth starts to spread through you at his perceptiveness, a twitch at your lips from a suppressed smile trying to break free.

“And even if you don’t believe in it right now,” Joshua starts, placing himself right next to you gazing down at the empty canvases waiting to be touched. “I believe in you. I mean it.”

You exhale softly, a weight lifting off your shoulders as you absorb his words. For the first time in a while, you begin to see your art through a different lens—not just as smears on a canvas, but as a reminder that this is something you love.

It’s been a while since someone’s said that they believe in you, and it hits you right in the heart. 

“Is the painting in your place the one you want to finish for the museum?”

You nod in response to that, though the sullen look to your face doesn’t seem to exactly agree. 

There’s an exhibition being held just a few weeks from now, which is also the deadline for submitting your painting, which was being judged. The pressure has been getting to you, admittedly, and it feels like time is slipping away faster than you can paint. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll get back home later today and pick up your paint brush without it feeling like a burden to hold. 

Joshua says something you don’t catch quick enough when you face back to him, and you tilt your head in question.

“I’m not sure if I did the sign right.” And then he brings his hands up, signing to you, “Good luck.” 

Heat crawls up your neck to his words, and a smile fights its way through the lingering uncertainties and stretches shamelessly across your face. 

His hand comes awfully close to yours when he brings them down to the side. 

You draw yourself away when you feel your phone vibrate in your hand, only seeing that it was some useless notification. Joshua fixes himself up as well, turning to you fully, and you both exchange shy grins.

“Food?” He brings his hand up to his mouth, almost mimicking like he was putting a piece of food there. 

You adjust the strap of your bag and double-check to make sure you have your phone with you, before nodding. The two of you head out of the classroom together.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re both basically dating.” 

The way your face scrunches up in visible disgust to Seungkwan’s words has Wheein shoving the younger boy with a daggered stare, nearly making the stick of tanghulu fall from his grasp. 

“You can’t just claim that,” Wheein retorts back.

“He walks Y/N home! He’s been inside their place! He wants to see them! Y/N doesn’t even let us come inside their place these days and yet here’s this guy waltzing his way into their heart!” 

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting him or thanking him,” Wheein points out playfully, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. 

“I'm not doing either,” Seungkwan protests, feigning a snarky look. “I'm just stating the facts. If it walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a duck.”

At this point, your friends are speaking almost too fast for you to catch everything being said, but all you could do is bring your head down and gaze to your footsteps, a subtle, amused grin playing to your lips. They’re arguing about your life, and yet it makes you feel… acknowledged, seen, heard, because your world before seemed to revolve solely around you and your art only for the longest you can recall. 

An adamant tap lands on your shoulder, and you bring your head back up to face Wheein. 

“Isn’t the exhibition next week?” she asks, signing with a sense of urgency in her expression.

Your face falls a little, and the thought of the deadline and exhibition seems to loom over you like a dark storm cloud. It feels like yesterday you were just staring at a blank canvas, and now every inch of it is covered in a mess of colours that is undeniably far from what you can consider a masterpiece.

Wheein and Seungkwan could already tell by the weak nod that you give that you’re feeling the pressure of it all. The two of them exchange a knowing look with each other, and it isn’t long before you feel another tap at your shoulder. Wheein motions to something up ahead, and as you face forward in order to see what it was, a hand grabs at your sleeve and you find yourself being dragged forward by your two best friends.

You can hardly control where your feet are landing in front of you, and the only thing you could catch ahead is a crowd and the familiar sight of what appears to be the busking centre. There must be some kind of performance going on, and it peaks your interest. 

The faces surrounding you are all bleeding out enjoyment, with their wide eyes and mouths blossomed into large grins. Their hands are all clapping in unison, some even mouthing the words to lyrics you can hardly make out.

You don’t recognise the small band that’s performing. But then you imagine Joshua being the one at the centre of the crowd, playing his heart out, captivating the audience just like how he captivated you, and the disappointment melts away. 

You find yourself standing at almost the core of the crowd, with Wheein and Seungkwan clapping and cheering animatedly on either side of you. In an odd way, this position feels familiar, as if you’ve stood from this exact same angle before.

You're close enough to see the raw energy pouring off the musicians, the way their instruments become extensions of themselves𑁋the same as Joshua sitting across from you on the couch with his guitar in lap, eyes closed in concentration, and fingers dancing effortlessly along the strings. The memory of that night floods your mind, and you can almost feel the vibrations of his music under your fingertips once again.

It all brings a smile to your face. 

As the music surrounds you, you can see the passion radiating from each band member’s face, carrying away the weight of the upcoming exhibition and the pressures you've been feeling. In this moment of respite, it's just you, your friends, and the music.

When you get back home to your apartment that night, you find yourself focusing on clicking through the photos on your camera roll, almost like you were searching for a particular one. 

And then you find it𑁋the photo you took at the busking square all those weeks ago, the photo you took of that man singing and strumming along his guitar…

…the photo that you took of Joshua Hong, where you didn’t know his name at the time. And now, he’s standing in the middle of your thoughts, and singing directly to your heart. 

It’s almost suffocating to be sitting in this chair right now. Your posture is stiff as a rock, legs shaking underneath your hands that were folded on your lap, other people𑁋other artists just like you𑁋surrounding you like flies. 

You feel excruciatingly hot in your outfit, a formal one that you picked from the depths of your wardrobe that still somehow fits your body still. It’s been a while since you put this much effort into your appearance𑁋you can hardly remember the last time you dressed up like this, honestly𑁋and the unfamiliarity of it all prickles at your skin. 

The day of the exhibition is more chaotic than you expected for it to be. It’s practically held to the public, where almost anyone can walk in and watch the event for themselves. 

Across the vast room, you catch glimpses of other artists, seeing their diverse styles of clothing. There’s a woman with a shaved head and a tattoo snaking down her arm; at the far end, a man in a crisp suit, frown etched at his face, large glasses, with a neatly trimmed beard.

The walls are covered with various works of art, each piece representing the countless hours of dedication and passion of the artists. It’s a grand showcase, bigger than any small ones you’ve seen. The large hall that you’re standing in has been temporarily transformed into a visual showcase where curators and critics would walk around and judge the pieces. By the end of the night, only about half of the submissions would be considered to be permanently displayed in the museum. The thought makes your stomach churn with anxiety.

Joshua had sent you a simple Good luck! You’ll do amazing :) text before you arrived at the museum. It comforts you a little bit, but not entirely𑁋you feel like you’d feel better if he could be here with you in person. He couldn’t come because he had to look after the café. Wheein was also here somewhere too participating in the exhibition, clearly not anywhere near where you were placed in the vast hall. 

The exhibition begins with a formal speech from the museum's director, who talks about the importance of art in society and how this exhibition aims to bring fresh perspectives to the world. As the speech concludes, curators and critics start moving around the large room, closely examining each piece and approaching all the other artists. 

Your eyes follow a few as they approach your painting. They stand before it, whispering among themselves, their expressions indecipherable. You wish you could hear their thoughts, but instead, you focus on their body language𑁋the subtle nods, the thoughtful gazes. Some of them barely have their lips moving for you to be able to read them, while others are simply not speaking at all. At the corner of your eyes, you’re able to make out a few artists speaking with confidence to the curators, explaining their creative process and the message behind their pieces. Disappointment claws anxiously at your chest. 

The sign language interpreter that is supposed to accompany you doesn’t show up until after a few crucial moments with curators have passed. By the time she arrives, introducing herself and quickly apologising for the long delay, you’re already feeling a sense of defeat settling in, struggling to muster the enthusiasm in your hands as you greet her back.

You have a hard time connecting with some of the visitors who stop by, heart sinking even more when they pass by your painting without pausing. Their attention is clearly drawn elsewhere𑁋that’s all you can think about as you watch them move on; their indifference is practically slicing through the air like a knife. 

It’s like you’re invisible. 

In the back of your mind, you figured this would happen. It wasn’t entirely your best work, or the best you’ve put your efforts in. For some reason painting didn’t come as naturally to you as it did before. If anything, it felt forced. The pressure to create something worthy had left you with a piece that felt uninspiring, meaningless. 

You aren’t meant for this. This grand exhibition hall, the feeling of being judged𑁋it all felt like a journey’s away from the joy you used to find in simply creating. The other artists around you seem to belong in this environment more than you do. They stood proudly beside their work, and all you could do right now was let the lump in your throat tighten even more. 

You aren’t meant for this. 

By the time the big announcement comes, you catch a glimpse of the evening sky outside the large windows of the museum. A hush falls over the room as the museum director steps back forward. Even as you let your eyes drift between the director and your interpreter right next to you, you already knew deep within you that the night wasn’t ending in your favour. 

“We congratulate all the artists whose works have been chosen,” the director says warmly, listing off names that resonate through the hall. Each name being called is met with applause and cheers.

Your name isn't called. You would know if it was if the expression on your interpreter’s face wasn’t so solemn, the meek curve at her lips that she wears doing hardly anything to ease you. Despite the sinking feeling, you send her a small, acknowledging nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. 

Wheein finds you when the evening starts winding down and the museum begins to clear away. She taps lightly at your shoulder as you’re packing your belongings, yet the eager look on her face is quick to fade once she sees the dejection painted all over yours. 

“You’re not going to stay for a while?” Wheein asks, signing with concern, her brows furrowing as she watches you continue to pack your things. “I heard there’s an after dinner event later on, and they’re letting anyone join. Maybe you could meet some of the other artists!”

Letting out a quiet exhale, you shake your head, the movement small and defeated as you sign back, “Going to head home. Tired.”

“Are you sure?” Wheein insists. “I was planning to introduce you to some people𑁋”

“It’s okay,” You sign quickly, interjecting her words. But the pout and puppy-eyes that she gives makes you roll your eyes. “Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.” 

A grin is swift to cross her face, and a few seconds later she’s wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. You return the hug back, feeling a bit of your disappointment melt away in the face of your genuine happiness. 

“I'll text you later,” Wheein signs after pulling back. “Please get home safe, okay? I love you!”

The dramatic kisses she blows in your direction make you laugh despite yourself, and you nod, giving her a small wave as you head out of the museum.

The cool night air nips at your cheek when you step outside, and you feel way less constricted in your clothes than being inside the museum. As you walk briskly down the street, you let the night clear away your muddled thoughts. Your feet seem to guide you, almost on autopilot, not quite ready to head home and face the solitude that’s waiting for you.

You pass by a few late-night cafés, convenience stores, and small shops, their warm lights spilling out onto the pavement. 

The sight reminds you of Joshua. 

And for some reason, that’s all it takes for your feet to pick up its pace. There’s almost determination you can feel in each step that you take, the thoughts of the exhibition pressing farther and farther into the back of your mind. If there’s anything that could make you forget everything that has happened today, it’s just seeing him for a moment. A singular moment. 

The lights of the café switch off when you’re coming up to it. You come to a halt in your tracks, and your gaze lands on a lone figure stepping outside with its back turned towards you.

After a minute or two, the figure turns slowly, and you recognise Joshua's face illuminated by the fading light of the café's sign. There's a moment of hesitation before he notices you standing there just a couple of steps away, and when he does, his features seem to light up even brighter than the flickering stars above. But it’s quick to melt away when he watches the way you’re trudging up to him.

His eyes flicker over your face for a moment. “What happened?” 

You could see the worry in the way he signs to you, his eyes searching your tired ones. He peers at you so softly that it nearly makes your heart ache. But there’s a comfort there that you desperately find yourself wanting to cling to.

Without a word, you simply lean your body forward, letting your head fall onto Joshua’s shoulder. His presence emits a warmth that brings you back from the high of cloudy thoughts and back down to the surface of safety.

Joshua’s eyes widen imperceptibly for a second, before a quiet understanding washes over his face. His arms twitch at the weight of you leaning on him, and then almost hesitantly, he slowly wraps them around you, fingers brushing against the small of your back tentatively, delicately, as if unsure its welcome. 

His warmth seeps through your clothes and settles comfortably within the hollow spaces of your chest. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, against your ribs, and smell the lingering scent of coffee on his shirt. A sigh escapes your lips, a soft exhale that contains the tension and worries accumulated throughout the day.

Joshua doesn’t press you. He can feel everything you feel in his embrace, everything you wish to let out. He can feel your dejection, your disappointment, knowing that your efforts, all the blood, sweat, and tears you put into your art had fallen short of your dreams. But he doesn’t pry or question. He simply holds you, and perhaps that’s all that matters right now𑁋he can’t let you fall apart. Not in his arms, anyway. 

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, right under the dim café light that casts down on your figures. When Joshua feels you shift in his hold, he loosens his grip ever so slightly, gaze caressing over your face for a few moments. His eyes hold a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

There’s a reluctance in your movements as you start to peel yourself away from him. Joshua slowly lets his arms unfold from around you, but his hands linger for a moment, as if hesitant to fully let you go just yet. His expression remains gentle, silently asking if you’re okay; if there’s anything more he can do. 

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Joshua asks warily. “The exhibition?”

All you do is shake your head, and a small resigned sigh tumbles out of you. 

Joshua purses his lips together, brows knitting together in worry. He knows the sting of rejection all too well and how deep it could cut. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, fingers moving with a grace through the air that matches the empathy in his eyes. He’s been getting more confident recently in his signing. “But it doesn’t mean your art isn’t worth anything. You tried your best, and maybe that’s what matters. Remember what I told you before?”

You tilt your head in question, waiting for him to continue. 

Then, all Joshua does is smile faintly, before picking his hands up to sign. He starts by putting his hand in a fist and sticking his pinky finger upward. Then he points his index finger to his forehead, before bringing it down into his open hand. Next he fixes his right hand downward, forming the other one into a cup shape, and dips the fingers of his right hand into it. 

And finally, he points to you. 

“I believe in you.” 

The words fly off his fingers and wrap around you like a blanket. The proud look that he captures on his face is washed away in a fit of timidity, and you can’t help but chuckle, a genuine, warm sound that fills the night air, even if you didn’t notice how loud it is. It's the first real laugh you've had all night. And when Joshua hears it, a blush creeps up his neck, reaching to his cheeks. A relieved smile spreads across his lips. 

When you gaze back up at him, the weight of the day feels a little lighter. Slowly, you lift your hands up to sign, ensuring each movement is clear and deliberate. 

“I missed you.”

Joshua’s expression softens even further. He watches your hands, then meets your eyes, understanding completely. He lifts his hands to respond, fingers moving tenderly through the air, and responding with his voice,

“I missed you too.”

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@lullips

[theorphicangel]

bookshop owner!reader with tattoo artist!suguru is actually brainrotting my mind.

coincidentally, the two stores are directly opposite each other and you can’t help but be drawn to the simple tattoo parlour across.

in bold, the name of the parlour stands above, clean and glistening windows with italic writing promoting to customers. if you squint you can spot artworks displayed in the window, even from afar you can tell how detailed and professional they are.

you’ve never been one for tattoos, your excuse being that you have a low pain tolerance for getting them. but in reality? you’re scared of the idea of a tattoo being permanent , the idea that you’ll get a tattoo you’ll regret or the design will come out ugly or that it’ll—

“do you need help with that?”

a silky voice interrupts your thoughts as you stood staring at the the shop with a cardboard box in your hand. the box contained one of the last piles of books for the store, new arrivals were to come in the next few weeks finally filling up the shelves.

a tall, long raven haired man stands besides you with nothing more but a friendly smile on his face. he stands in a large dark blue sweater, a paper cup of coffee in his hands probably from the local cafe on the same street as you.

it takes you a few seconds to snap back into reality, noticing piercings on his bottom lip and eyebrow.

“I’m fine! thank you.”

“I can take that in for you or at least hold the door open.” the stranger suggests, raising a brow.

a shift appears in pit of your stomach — would it hurt to say yes?

“that would be great, actually.” you return a friendly smile.

as you make your way inside with the assistance of the coffee scented stranger, he begins to make conversation, helping you to the back rooms. “you interested in the tattoo shop across the road?”

you let out a huff, “oh no, not for me. tattoos seem…” you pause for a split second attempting to find the right word, “regretful.”

“how so?”

you ignore the teasing charm of the stranger and continue to give your explanation.

“well for one… it hurts like shit.” you start, “and what if the designs don’t come out the way you want or the person tattooing you messes up? now you’re stuck with this permanent mark on your body, it just seems like a waste of time and money to me anyways.” you huff, finally placing down the box amongst a pile of identical boxes.

the scent of old wood and dust fills your nostrils. The building was older than most among the street yet it still held some sort of modern look. cosy and comfortable was the atmosphere you had wanted to create for your bookstore and it took you ages to find this hidden gem, sending the deposit almost immediately.

the stranger lingers by the doorway of the back room of the store, his dark hair tied up into a man-bun yet it doesn’t fully restrain the few locks which seem to escape. he’s pretty, you muse, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

“maybe this would be some bad news for you but I actually own that tattoo parlour.”

he says it in a lighthearted tone but that doesn’t stop your stomach from dropping any harder.

“oh.”

awkward silence swiftly crashes into the two of you, your face heats up in record time.

you fucking idiot—

“it’s nice to meet you.” the stranger finally speaks, outstretching a hand and as he does so, his sweater rides up his arms a little where you see black ink begin to pattern across his skin.

“shit, m’ so—

“don’t worry about it, s’ not for everyone.” he smiles again with that friendly smile you saw outside. you shake his hand tentatively hoping that he wasn’t offended by your comments. his palm feels soft in yours, fitting into his perfectly. quickly you pull away before you get too absorbed in your thoughts.

“call me suguru.”

you repeat his name and for a second he swears there’s nothing but pure nectar in your voice.

in a reply you introduce yourself and a flash of white teeth come your way in a full grin. he tries out your name for the first time too, adding a compliment.

“I’ve been wondering when they were finally going to sell this building. ” he begins. “I think a bookstore is perfect for this place.”

your face heats up again and Suguru asks for a tour. the store isn’t fully ready yet but you’re hoping for an opening at the end of the month.

“I hope to get an invite.

“Of course, we’re practically neighbours, you’ll be the first to know the date.”

“glad to hear it.”

as he leaves, you wave him over to the other side of the street watching him open up his store.

for the first time in your journey you can’t help but feel a tiny spark inside of you that makes you feel excited for the change coming up ahead and in particular, getting to know this suguru more…

join my summer event here!

[raitonsfw]

𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 | 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗

synopsis: You adored beach days with Eren, it was one of your favorite pastimes. You two would lounge in the sun, basking in the afterglow of a tan. But when he’s got a remote controlled vibrator pressing incessantly against your clit… suddenly relaxing became much harder (or easier) than you expected.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, modern!eren, boyfriend!eren, exhibitionism, sex toy but more specifically a remote controlled vibrator woohoo, dirty talk, petnames (babe, baby), slight degradation but mostly praising, fingering, finger sucking, overstimulation, squirting, eren gets jealous over the vibrator, rip mikasas’s pink towel. 

a/n: my best friend requested a beach vibrator/exhibitionism type scenario and eren was the perfect character to write it with, literally having aot brainrot rn so enjoy me simping for this fucker in my writing! wc: 1.8k. m.list

now playing: good vibrations by the beach boys (obviously)

divider credit: @benkeibear

The beach was awfully cramped today. Dozens of families cluttered the golden sand and you instantly felt self conscious. Not because of the swimsuit you were wearing, but the oval vibrator that was nestled right against your clit, waiting to be switched on. You glanced at Eren who was casually setting up the umbrella into the soft patches of sand and you crossed your arms against yourself, looking back out towards the glittering ocean. 

It wasn’t your idea to wear the vibrator, Eren had insisted with a ‘it’s waterproof, you’ll be fine honey,’ and you took his word, thinking what could possibly go wrong? But now that you're actually standing in the middle of the beach, you weren’t so sure if you could play off your arousal as you anxiously waited for him to press the button. 

Eren had his hair pinned up in a small bun and when you glanced down to his body, you nearly went stupid. It was hot outside, so of course he was already sweating as he set up the beach essentials, the sweat gleaned from underneath his white shirt as it lifted up when he stretched over to move something. You didn’t have much time to soak it in though before his shirt was promptly pulled off and his muscles were on full display in front of you. 

And oh fuck, maybe you didn’t even need him to turn on the vibrator. 

“Y/N, come sit down.” You heard him say as he sat down and you obliged, patting the sand off of your flip flops and putting your belongings on the edge of the salmon towel. You pulled off the cover up you had on, revealing your swimsuit and your hand subconsciously grazed over your lower tummy, worried that people could see the vibrator’s prominence. Eren whistled sharply as he looked you once over from his sunglasses. “Damn, babe…”

You shot him a look but then your mind wandered off as you took a good look at him. You just wanted to know where he kept that devious thing. But seeing as he leaned forward with his knees up and his forearms resting on them, his hands were completely empty and he smirked at you when he noticed where your eyes landed. 

“Looking for the remote?” 

“N-No, I was just thinking about how funny you looked sitting on a tiny pink towel.” You stuttered back, sitting in between his parted legs. His hands came to rest against your shoulders and you sighed, leaning back into him. It was truly a beautiful day, the sun glistened onto the sea with the rays beaming against your skin. The umbrella didn’t shield you two much but it was better than nothing, the inch of privacy comforting you as you waited for the inevitable. He had propped the two beach chairs on either side of the towel as well so that added to the depth of what covered you two.

“It’s Mikasa’s towel.” Eren admitted with a chuckle, like you didn’t already know. He planted a kiss against your exposed shoulder as he rubbed his hands gently down your arms.

Your eyes slipped closed as he trailed his lips up towards your neck, but you shook off his teasing. You vaguely felt him shuffle behind you, unaware of what he was grabbing and you clenched around nothing as you thought of him pressing the remote. “Eren, there’s people around.” 

“That’s the whole point, duh. Besides, I’m only putting sunscreen on you.” He grinned slyly as you heard the click of the sunscreen bottle echo in your ears and the cold lotion basically felt like ice as he slathered it against your back. Your skin was already so unbearably hot, from the sun and from his constant teasing, and the fucking devil basically sitting in between your thighs. You flinched, earning another quiet chuckle from him. 

“You’re so on edge today, it’s cute.” 

You didn’t respond as you tried to relax in the way he massaged the sunscreen into your skin, but all you could think about was the pressure you sat against and you couldn’t help but subtly grind against it. It barely did anything but you still sighed as you felt a tiny ripple of pleasure erupt throughout your body. You felt Eren’s calloused fingers stop rubbing the sunscreen in and you stopped your hip movements with a shudder as he sucked a slight hickey into your neck. 

“Someone’s excited, hm?” Eren hummed as he gave you the sunscreen bottle, a smirk buried in the crook of your neck. “Here.”

You lathered the sunscreen over the rest of your body as he turned on the speaker you two had brought, not very loud of course; you didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself. Your music playlist came pouring through the speaker and you relaxed a bit more, the bass of the song thrumming into your veins. It distracted you from the vibrator dilemma and you happily sang along to the tune, watching some kids near the water make a sandcastle.

And then the fucker pressed the button. 

“Eren!” You gasped out suddenly, dropping the sunscreen bottle in your hands. They flew to his forearms that had wrapped back around you and your legs clamped shut as it seared pleasure into your clit. It buzzed viciously against you and you couldn’t do anything but take it, shaking lightly in Eren’s arms. He had put it on high too, that goddamn bastard and a moan threatened to spill from your lips. 

“What is it, baby?” He asked, his voice almost mocking your high pitch. The remote was wedged into his left hand and you wanted to snatch it away and throw it into the ocean. You were much too close already, the comfort of the song you sang falling away and you leaned back into his chest with a tremble. 

Your fingernails dug into his forearms and you felt him hard against the small of your back, pressing into you there as you got off on the incessant vibrations. You tried to keep your mouth shut but tiny whimpers forced their way out and you swore you felt him grind up into you with a breathy laugh. Eren flipped the remote in his hand, toying with it and your back arched into the droning sensation. 

You squirmed against him, trying desperately to stay still and to stay fucking quiet. But it was insanely difficult, especially when Eren parted your legs again as he threw your disposed cover up between them. His free hand slipped underneath your arm and down your chest, straight to your swimsuit bottoms and you keened at the way he pushed the vibrator harder onto your clit. He kept it there as his middle and ring finger plunged into your slick without warning. He gathered some of it onto them and then pulled them out with ease, tutted quietly as he examined with a furrowed expression.

“All because of this damn vibrator, huh?” Eren sucked them into his mouth like a fucking whore, tasting you on his tongue and you whined at the action. “How come this doesn’t happen when I’m fucking you?”  

You didn’t know if anyone was looking your way and honestly, you didn’t care anymore as your orgasm came bubbling up to the surface. Eren clasped his hand over your mouth, muffling the moan that came from you as you convulsed against the softness of the towel. It crashed over you harshly and you almost bit the remote that was pressed against your lips as the vibrations overstimulated you– it was too much, all too much and you gasped for air as he switched it off with the press of his thumb. 

“Shhh, it’s okay baby.” He shushed you, kissing the back of your neck as you came down from your high. “Breathe.”

His palm fell from your mouth, dropping the remote near your leg and you audibly sighed out in relief until you felt his other hand back between your legs. His fingers slid back into your wet heat and your breath hitched, discomfort circling in your abdomen. You were so, so sensitive and all you could think about was how to get your thighs to stop twitching involuntarily. “I’m not fully convinced. How the fuck did you get so wet from a toy?” 

“Eren, hold on, please hold on…” You pleaded, your entire face flushed red and you panted as you felt pleasure seep into the pit of your tummy again. You felt the cover up fall from your waist and you knew you were exposed now, his hand inside your bottoms and-

“Don’t worry, no one’s looking. I promise.” His words flew out in almost one breath as he felt the flutter of your walls against his fingers. He was so fucking hard in his swim shorts, he needed to get his hand on himself so badly but he wanted– needed to watch you squirt from just his fingers. How could such a little toy be so enticing to your pussy when he was right here? In the back of his mind, Eren knew it was probably just the scenario he set up for you, his control over a toy looming over you like a dark cloud. But it still made him fucking jealous.

God, he really wanted to make you squirt in public. He wanted you to fall apart all over his fingers whilst families sat a few feet away, tending to their screaming children or drinking from beer bottles without the slightest clue as to what’s going on right behind them. 

He curled his fingers into you headily, right against your sweet spot and you moaned at the overwhelming feeling hurtling up your spine and fuzzing your mind over. The music had been turned up a notch, you vaguely realized, for your sake. Because you just that fucking loud, mewls and whines coming from you. Eren pressed his dick up against the small of your back harder, grinding into it as he kept pushing into you quickly.

“C’mon, baby...fuck, I know you can squirt.” He groaned into your ear, watching over your shoulder with darkened eyes. He fumbled for the remote again, aiming to turn it on to rush you along but it was too late as you leaked all over his fingers, against the polyester fabric of your swimsuit, and all over Mikasa’s towel. It gushed out of you with a high whimper and you bucked his hips into his fingers in ecstasy. 

“Yeah, that’s it, my God. So much for me…” He cooed, pulling his fingers out and covering you up again with your pull over. He patted your thigh lovingly and you scowled at him, smacking him on his leg hard. 

“Mikasa’s gonna kill me!” You whined out, still out of breath and all Eren did was laugh. 

“Mikasa’s not going to get her towel back.” 

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[withleeknow]

fujifilm x100v.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff which i haven't written in a hot minute @.@ so i actually can't tell if it's that sweet but i hope it is lmao note: a spontaneous blurb written in one sitting because the message below gave me soft boyfie brainrot again lmfao thank you wifeu for sending me down a mini spiral

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

your fujifilm x100v, minho always says he hates the thing.

whenever you raise the camera to your face to look through the viewfinder in search of your boyfriend, he would glare at you like a disgruntled grandpa, though he never moves out of the way or diverts your lens elsewhere. he'd let you take your pictures, the cat-like frown still apparent on his face, and observe as you smile fondly once the shot has been snapped. sometimes, if he's feeling particularly generous, he would throw the camera a half-assed peace sign.

ah, your favorite muse.

"stop," he'd groan with an eye roll full of affection, "you have enough photos of me."

he'd complain like this every time you try to immortalize your moments together with your camera, but you know he secretly loves it.

how do you know this? because when you examine the pictures afterward, you would always spot a faint blush painting his face and the top of his ears.

"that's impossible," you'd tell him, then watch as the rosy flush returns to his skin until it matches the tint on the half-flustered minho in your camera. "i could never get enough of you."

the shade only deepens adorably when you press a kiss against his cheek before you show him the picture. he'd smile ever so subtly as he studies his photographed self, captured through your eyes. a smile that would be inconceivable if you weren't an expert on all things minho. his eyes would soften, almost glazed over with an absolute adoration only reserved for you.

love is gentle like summer rain.

love is synonymous with minho.

it's true what you always say to him - that you could never get enough. you could snap a million and one pictures of him and it still wouldn't be sufficient. you want to capture every second of every day with him. every soft dimpled smile. every laugh that takes over him entirely and turns his eyes into crescent moons. every grumpy frown whenever the alarm clock goes off and launches him away from saccharine dreamland. every petulant pout, every cute and harmless scowl, every display of sparkling boba eyes.

everything. every single thing.

your fujifilm x100v, minho always says he hates the thing.

but he was the one who got it for you in the first place.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.12.2023]

[geekgirles]

Hot Take

Season 3 should have revealed Eva is a demigoddess instead of Ruel.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm actually quite happy with season 4 focusing on her origins and Madagaskan, even if that was clearly only introduced to set up Flopin's character arc during the upcoming Waven series. But the thing I can never seem to get over is how irrelevant the Cra actually are in season 3. Their arc is literally to be rescued/to escape and to give birth (in Eva's case).

Because, let's face it, their relevance in the season hinged entirely on being Tristepin's family. Eva in particular, regardless of how cordial Echo was to her, seemed to have no value outside of being Tristepin's wife who's carrying his third child, who was later revealed to be an extremely powerful demigod.

Meanwhile, poor Flopin's kidnapping didn't even make sense because he just isn't a demigod like his siblings. Yes, he is Iop's son, but he's not an Iop, so he couldn't inherit any of his father's divine powers. As opposed to Élely and Pin, who already displayed theirs at 5 years old and before being even born, respectively. Hell, that ended up being the crux of his character in season 4! His insecurities over not being as extraordinary as his family, especially his siblings!

Yes, you could say Oropo's real plan besides killing the gods was to make Yugo's friends his, and that's why he wanted Eva and Flopin around. But considering he didn't seem all that contrite over Adamaï almost causing Iop's next reincarnation while he couldn't even bring himself to make Amalia age (even though he was not above breaking her spirit so she'd be easier to manipulate), it's fairly obvious he cared more about keeping certain members of the Brotherhood near than others. Which further proves he only kidnapped Eva and Flopin because of their connection to Pinpin.

And let's face it, between that and how out of focus they were compared to the Iops, that's just such a huge disservice to their characters. They deserve so much more than to orbit around Tristepin.

Which is why I believe Eva should have been Cra's daughter and Oropo's target instead of Ruel. Even though nothing really suggested her divine origins before, they could have always hand-waved it and have that explain her craziest feats, like how she was able to keep up with two demigods even while heavily pregnant or her formidable archery skills. Because, come on, until Madagaskan was introduced, the only relevant Cra in the show were Eva, Cleo, and Flopin. It's not like by the time season 3 dropped we'd seen any other member of their race display the same level of dexterity so as to make Eva's prowess being divine in nature not make sense.

Also, in could retroactively explain her exceptional beauty, since most Cra we've seen are actually fairly plain-looking.

Besides, you're telling me that out of the original members of the Brotherhood of the Tofu, only the boys are the ones related to gods? Come on. Is a little bit of parity that much to ask?

And let's face it, Ruel being Enutrof's son doesn't bring anything new to the table other than some shock value. Like, I get he's always been hinted to be more than meets the eye, but being a demigod doesn't really add much to his character.

Hey, maybe I just don't know much about Enutrofs since they don't give me brainrot compared to other classes, but compared to the rest of his kind, Ruel isn't all that unique either, except for how utterly greedy he is. His powers and attacks, while impressive at times, can never reach their full potential because he just doesn't pay tribute to Enutrof, so they remain relatively weak. And though being a demigod would explain how long-lived he is, that falls flat as well when Arpagone seems to be just as old as he is and his grandma's even older.

Again, longevity could be a standard Enutrof power I'm just not aware of. Still, it pretty much proves my point, doesn't it?

Not to mention, it's not like changing Ruel's status as the group's surprise demigod would really change anything from his storyline in season 3. They could have perfectly had Arpagone be the Enutrof demigoddess whose condition to play a part in Oropo's plan was to be allowed to keep her husband even as she ascended to godhood. Hence, you still get your flashback episode and an excuse to capture Ruel and have Sipho replace him to drive a wedge between Yugo and Amalia and kidnap the latter.

But no, let's go with the plot point that won't be touched upon ever again.

And speaking of things that wouldn't necessarily change just because Eva were a Cra demigoddess, you could still keep Madagaskan's role in season 4!

Maybe just make it so Eva and Cleo are actually half-sisters with the same father but a different mother (or vice versa, given the goddesses' apparent distaste for getting pregnant themselves). While I'd personally prefer it if Madagaskan simply had a tryst with Cra and then he fell in love with his late wife, if you're into drama, Eva could always be the result of an affair but his wife chose to take her in and raise her as her own, anyway. Hence, you would have another reason why Madagaskan went along with her last wish, out of love for her and to repay her kindness and forgiveness.

(Or you could enforce his love for his wife by having him be the one to accept her other child and to make sure both her and his own daughter had a better life).

And from then on, everything could play out exactly like canon.

In fact, Eva being semi-divine would also add another layer to Cleophée's inferiority complex and feelings of inequacy compared to her older sister. Much like Flopin, of course she could never catch up to Eva no matter how hard she tried, she isn't a demigoddess!

Which would make Eva's acceptance and pride over her abilities all the more meaningful too (even if by then they wouldn't know the truth).

And speaking of Flopin, his season 4 storyline would remain the same, too. After all, even if he would now be related to Cra, he'd still be a demigoddess' child first and foremost.

As @cocogum explored in one of her analyses, the children of demigods are their own can of worms. So far, we don't know anything about Kali and Poo's baby, but we do know that Goultard's children certainly didn't inherit immortality of any kind, so it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume they didn't inherit his divine powers either. In other words, Flopin could still feel left out—even with more reason, since now he would be the only "non-exceptional" member of his family—and choose to follow his grandfather in order to find his own path.

I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is that while Amalia might be my blorbo and Yumalia my OTP, I still care for all the members of the Brotherhood of the Tofu, especially Eva. And I can't really forgive that while Pinpin still had focus and issues of his own by virtue of being the reincarnated Iop god, Eva's character was ultimately reduced to being his wife and mother of his children when she's actually so much more than that.

[just-jordie-things]

Hiiiii I love all your writing sooo much !!!!!!!!! Pls can you do No.26 with Yuta I am so obsessed with him rn..... the brainrot is too much

i'm obsessed w/ jealous kisses in party settings 26: Jealous Kiss **aged up characters!!** **cw: yuuta calls you a slut but it's in a hot way. also it's not full smut but this is smutty asf. i got quite carried away. this shit is delicious. ___

yuuta is so friendly. it was something that had attracted you to him when you first met, the way he'd gotten you both lost in conversation like you'd been old friends, how polite he was, you were drawn to him right away.

but you're realizing now that you were not the only recipient of this kindness.

"you're gonna break that cup"

you jolt from your frozen stupor, turning to look at yuuji, before looking down at the red plastic cup in your hands. it crinkled in your grip, parts of it jutting out at sharp angles that could snap the plastic if you kept it in the vice of your hand.

"oh" you mumble to yourself, relaxing your grip, before throwing back the drink and swallowing the bitter alcohol hard.

yuuji's eyes widened in astonishment at your bold displeasure. he'd come over to you because you were hanging out by yourself, and this was a party, so he thought he'd come keep you company. but as soon as he was within a few feet of you, he could practically feel rage emanating off of you in thick waves.

"you uh... you okay?" he asked as your jaw locked up, your teeth gritting together roughly.

you turned towards the pink haired boy again, your features brightening as you gave him a pleasant smile along with your attention. but the smile didn't reach your eyes. they remained hard, an anger buried in them that yuuji didn't understand but was frightened by.

"course i am," you say, your tone as chipper as your fraudulent smile. "it's a party"

you take another swig of your drink, yuuji's eyes following the jerky movement with concern.

"you just seem, uh, a little upset," he says, raising a hand to the back of his neck nervously. "did something hap-"

"you wanna dance with me?" you ask him suddenly, before he can finish his question.

he blinks, eyes wide in surprise, but yuuji's a good friend, and he supposes his intentions when he came over to you had been to make sure you were having a good time, so he nods back at you with a smile.

not needing more confirmation than that, you grab him by the hand and drag him into the living room where the music is the loudest.

coincidentally, you strut right past yuuta and whoever the chick was that he was talking to. you don't pay him any attention as you brush right past him, towing yuuji behind you, right on display.

you do, however, feel his eyes follow you as you walk off. they burn into the back of your head, but the sensation fades away quickly. you assume the glare is being targeted at your new dance partner, now.

yuuji's fun to dance with. you're kind of surprised when it turns out he actually has a sense of rhythym, and he also seems to know all the songs blasting through the speakers, singing along with glee while he twirls you under his arm and spins you around.

you've never really let loose like this, but your jealousy had mixed beautifully with the alcohol in your system and dancing seemed to be just what your body needed.

your hands run up your body, into your hair, throwing it to the top of your head before letting it fall as the beat you're feeling yourself to drops, and you even find yourself singing along with yuuji.

and poor yuuji, he thinks he's doing you a service with his company. he'd just thought you were bored at a party, and as a good friend was happy to dance with you if that's how you wanted to enjoy your time. he has no idea that when you press the front of your body into his and throw your arms around his neck that you're pretty much putting a mark on him. he thinks you're enjoying yourself! he thinks you're feeling the wonderful music of shakira as you grin up at him and roll your hips from side to side.

sure maybe he should have found the sensual move a little out of character for you, but it's shakira! and he can't argue that hips don't lie is a beat you just have to roll your body in tune with. so sure, he's matching your movements with his hands on your waist.

but his intentions are nothing but respectful! and honestly, yuuji's having genuine fun with you. he's never seen you so carefree before, you were always the reserved upperclassman he'd honestly been a little afraid of when he first met you. like maki, there was a confidence about you that told him you could be a force to be reckoned with. so to him, he was happy to get to know you better.

unbeknownst to him, yuuta was across the room with something buzzing through his bloodstream that he could only describe as violent. he didn't know yuuji all that well yet, but he didn't feel like he needed to know more than what he was seeing right now.

and right now, his girl was grinding her hips against yuuji's, while her hands carded through his undercut and then into the longer strands of pink hair.

when this little performance first began, yuuta tried to pay it no mind, and continue the conversation he'd been having with a girl from the kyoto school, but eventually his attention just couldn't be torn away from you, and he had to apologize to her before she walked off to the kitchen for another drink.

he'd remained glued to his spot at the wall with the other non-dancers and people trying to mingle, watching your every move as you danced with yuuji like you thought that was okay.

yuuta's not a possessive person- of course not! you weren't exactly his, perse, but he knew you had to admit that the lingering touches and longing eye contact had meant something. he knew that you knew there was something more than friendship between you- and now here you were twirling yourself under yuuji's arm, and pressing your back to his chest.

his last straw should've snapped long before now, but the slow drag of your hips, and ass, against yuuji was just far too much, and yuuta's moving before he can think through what he's even going to do when he gets to you both.

you turn again, throwing your head back as you belt out your favorite line of the song, and you miss the way yuuji's face is flushed from just how loose you'd let yourself become, because over his shoulder you see the holder of the attention you really craved coming towards you in fast strides.

your eyes meet over yuuji's shoulder, and you slither your hand across the back of yuuji's shoulder blades just because yuuta's clearly watching you now, before you turn your focus back to your dance partner.

you give him a wide grin, taking note of his pink cheeks and nervous smile.

"thanks for dancing with me," you say, still rolling your hips to the beat. "but i'm parched, so i'm gonna go"

yuuji nods back at you, and you stand on the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek before heading off through the crowd. your eyes lock on yuuta's from across the room before you're heading for the stairs. he picks up his pace to follow you before you can escape from his sights.

the boy you left is standing still on the dance floor, completely lost by what had just happened, but hey, he wasn't complaining.

"you know you're gonna die, right?"

he jolts as he turns around, seeing maki behind him, nobara giggling under her arm.

"w-what?"

"yuuta's going to kiiil youuu~" nobara drunkenly sing-songs, sending maki into a fit of giggles too.

meanwhile, once you're upstairs, you're pushing into the first open door you can, finding yourself in the bathroom. you barely had time to catch your breath from your eager dancing before the door is swinging open again. not to your surprise, yuuta's entering the bathroom, too.

"yuuta!" you gasp in a mock-scolding tone, although a smirk of intrigue curls on your lips. "i could have been peeing!"

the door's shutting behind him with a swift kick of his foot and the loud slam make you jump a bit. however the slam of the door is nothing compared to your surprise when yuuta's towering over you, grabbing you by the waist in a fast, rough movement. your breath hitches in your throat, which is what makes you squeak when he's pressing you back against the sink's counter.

"what the hell was that?" he mutters in your face, and he's practically glowering down at you, but it's making you weak in the knees.

he's so close to you that your senses are flooded by him, the smell of his cologne and the rum on his breath wafting in your nose, and you have to fight to keep your eyes focused on his.

"what was what?" your voice lilts as you tease, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

it's safe to say he doesn't find it cute, or maybe he does. either way, he's lifting you by your hips and planting you on the counter, only to pull you close to it's edge. and either way, he's man handling you, and you're falling for it.

moving like it's second nature, you rest your arms around his shoulders. you want to run your hands in his hair, you want to grab him by his neck and kiss him fucking senseless, but you don't. you're too curious to see just how riled up you'd gotten him by dancing with yuuji, and so far you quite like where it's going.

"you know exactly what i'm fucking talking about" yuuta snaps back at you, his hands grabbing you by the thighs, tugging you again until you're chest to chest, your legs hooked at his hips.

you want to catch your breath, but you'd have to take in heavier breaths, and you don't want to give him the satisfaction of making you pant so easily.

"i don't think i do, yuu," you feign confusion as you peer up at him from under your lashes. "but you must've followed me for a reason"

you tilt your chin up at him as you present him with a sweet smile that he wants to wipe off your smug face.

his hands grip tight at your thighs in an attempt to channel his anger, but as he leans into you, only to stop before giving you what you wanted, he can't help but run them up your legs and back to your hips.

a small whimper dies in your throat as you try to tilt forward enough to kiss him, but one of his hands snatches you by the nape of your neck, drawing you back before you could be successful.

your brows furrow as you pout.

"you grind on yuuji and expect me to kiss you?"

you smirk up at him with pride.

"so you are jealous," you muse. "i wasn't so sure,"

yuuta's fingers twitch and flex against your waist.

"yuuta, i would've happily danced with you," you tell him, fluttering your lashes again, just to be a tease, just to remind him again of why he was really here. "but you were so busy with that girl, and yuuji was there, and, well, he was more than happy to keep me company-"

"if you don't stop fucking talking about itadori i swear to god (y/n) i'll-"

"you'll what?" you ask breathlessly, your eyes glittering with excitement, and mischief. your pupils are blown wide as you stare up at him, and goddamnit you're so pretty when you're acting so needy for him.

yuuta hates this game, he really, really does, but if he gave in to you this easily, how would you learn your lesson?

"so what, i talked to one person and you think it's okay to be act like a slut with the underclassmen?"

"you were being a slut first" you mumble back pathetically.

"well for the record, that girl was asking for maki's number. she's gay," yuuta tells you, and now your face feels hotter than before, because that little piece of information made this whole thing a little embarassing. maybe more than a little. "and while we're on that record, you're not allowed to dance like that with anyone. ever"

he mutters it into your ear, warm breath fanning over your neck in such a blissful sensation that you're shutting your eyes and rolling your head back lazily.

"okay" you breathe out, compliant to any instruction he had for you.

"and after this, you're not going to talk to itadori for the rest of the night" yuuta says, ghosting his lips over the side of your neck.

despite trying to keep some of your resolve, you can't keep your hands from grabbing his shoulders, gripping onto them for dear life.

"okay" you repeat, your chest rising and falling as you try desperately to catch your breath that you hadn't had control of since you'd gotten to this bathroom.

"you're going to stay right with me for the rest of the night, since clearly you need someone to keep an eye on you"

he punctuates his last rule by pressing his open mouth against the side of your throat, kissing and sucking at your skin slowly. you hum through a soft moan, feeling your heart beat in your ears at the new sensation.

when yuuta deems the mark on your neck warning enough to itadori and the rest of the party-goers that had watched your little display of a dance, he pulled away.

your hooded eyes meet his for only a moment before he's slamming his lips into yours. you both moan at the sudden impact, and your hands finally grab at his neck, pulling him further, further against you until your legs are crossed at the ankles around his hips, and he's making you lean back with how his tall stature towers over you.

between heated kiss you're panting for breath, moaning in pleasure as the tension that had been growing between you finally, finally snapped. one of his hands is tangled in your hair, keeping your lips firmly on his, not that you'd ever pull away from his intoxicating mouth, and the other is pushing up the hem of your shirt so that he can grip the bare skin of your hip.

he bites experimentally at your bottom lip, smiling to himself with satisfaction as you moan into his mouth, your hips stuttering up against his. he rolls his tongue over the now sensitive plump of your lip before he's pulling your hips into his again, grinding into you shamelessly.

"yuuta~" his name rolls off your tongue in a moan so pretty you have him whimpering into your mouth, before he's reaching to tilt your head back so he can deepen your kiss further.

yuuta licks his way into your mouth with abandon, dominating over yours before you could even try to return the favor. he maps out your mouth like he's a lost man, and when he pulls away, there's a lewd string of saliva connecting your mouths.

he takes a proper look at you now, at your rocking hips, your heaving chest, disheveled hair, swollen lips, and finally, when you open your eyes, he thinks your blown pupils and heavy eyelids have him at another loss of air.

you give him a lazy, drunken smile, before you're fisting the material of his shirt to pull him in close again. you prod your nose against his before giving him a long, slow kiss. your hands relax against his chest, before smoothing down his abdomen. you just barely ghost over the bulge in his pants before he's pulling out of your kiss and tugging you against him before your hands can wander further.

you pout up at him prettily, and he can't believe what he's about to say.

"not here," he mumbles into your mouth, before stealing a kiss. "later"

you whine into his mouth as you chase his lips before he could go too far. you're making it hard on him, that's for sure, but this whole thing started because you clearly get a kick out of making him suffer over you, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

"we should go back," he sighs into your mouth, sloppy kissing you with his open mouth.

your hands are pulling at the hem of his shirt, before they explore the skin underneath. he's shuddering under your touch, and it takes a great effort to remind himself of why he can't hook up with you right here in this bathroom. who's house was his again?

your fingertips drag over every inch of his skin as you nibble playfully on his bottom lip. he hums in pleasure at the feeling, understanding now why you had seemed to like it so very much.

did he lock the door when he'd come in here?

"fuck- okay- we have to-" he tries to the best of his ability to pull his lips off of yours, but they're addicting. rum and cherry flavored, soft, hot. "baby- we have to go back"

you sigh in irritation, but ultimately give in as you lean back, your back hitting the mirror behind you. yuuta's also huffing as he begrudgingly pulls his hands off of your hips.

you look at each other for a minute, taking in the other's swollen mouth and blown pupils. you both know if you leave the bathroom like this, everyone will know exactly what happened.

(you forget that the love bite he'd left on your neck is damning evidence enough)

your legs are shaky when you finally slide off the counter, but yuuta's arm is a firm presence around your hips as he pulls you out of the bathroom, keeping you completely tucked against his side.

it seems all of your peers' eyes are on you as you both make your way down the stairs. the rest of the party is in full swing, but those who know the both of you follow your movements with wide eyes and open jaws.

you pay them no mind, whispering into yuuta's ear to let him know just how much you'd like to dance with him now. your lips brush his earlobe before you plant a kiss at the spot on his neck just underneath it. yuuta agrees to the offer instantaneously.

however unbeknownst to you, his eyes are focused on a certain pink haired boy that was staring right back at him.

yuuji swallowed nervously while yuuta let you press a sweet trail of kisses down his neck, blissfully unaware of yuuji's watchful eyes- you were blissfully unaware of anyone in the room. the younger boy could see the red and purple mark on your neck and he'd known exactly that it's purpose had been served as soon as he saw it.

he was quick to find megumi and leave the room to hang out in another part of the house. he was too afraid of the warning looks yuuta would send him while he danced with you.

but of course you were happily lost in the feeling yuuta's hands on your hips as he followed the push and flow of your body rocking to the beat.

and poor yuuji spent the rest of the night thinking he was hiding from yuuta, when in reality the two of you left that party after only one dance, feeling your tension would be better released in the privacy of your car. ____

a/n" y'all i got CARRRIED AWAYYY JESUSCHRIST also i can't write smut i'm too awkward at it but if anyone wants to make a smutty second part to this or their own smutty rendition of this PLS do and PLS tag me bc. like. i need it now. i had hips don't lie on repeat for so long while i wrote this bc it was just too good for the move and the tension.

xoxo ~ jordie

[yours-lovingly-cho]

รεε ყσµ αɠเαɳ

•S: Meeting him after a long time • Includes: female reader, recent eli of the shop • ⚠️: grammar?, boring maybe ? Just some random brainrot; might edit some parts again :p

Masterlist

" Have..." You perused, trying hard to light the bulb

" we.. " but the cogs seem to be trying in vain

"met before? "

A boulder dropped on Eli's head.

" We just met a few days ago? "

" We did? " Prankster much? You think frowning, being even more confused.

You just moved into Gangdong and are pretty sure you didn't have anyone you know here. What exactly is this seller playi-

" Oh oh " something strikes

" Big Daniel from Fashion department?? " You point, eyes crinkled and lips upturned

Another boulder crashed on Eli's head that he almost tripped over

Okay, maybe the cogs are a little rusted due to all the physics it had to tolerate over time " My bad, guess I've got amnesia " you avert your eyes, a sweat dripping by your cheeks

" Is that so? " He smiles, eyes shut, seemingly seething

" So you don't remember Yenna? "

You perk up at the familiar name

" What about her? " You raise a brow

" It's her dad " his muscles seem to be working a lot to keep that smile intact

" You'd babysit her for me, rings a bell? "

His co-workers would curiously glance time to time in your direction along with the other customers prodding & vying for his attention. He dismissed 'em rather easily, as if he couldn't hear them at all.

" It was some blondie with a mullet though..."

He only purses his lips and peers down at you in response

" So... you dyed your hair and changed your style.... for what exactly? Now you're harder to remember "

Eli refrained from pinching your cheeks and it showed when his fingers twitched.

It wasnt that Eli was hard to remember before, just that you were much more invested in Yenna to pay attention to anything else.. but now he was definitely hard to remember with.. looking so... typical.

You stare

Or maybe not.

" Also, we met up a few months ago " you clarify

" Hmm.. was it? " very ironically, this was the longest conversation you two shared, with you being quite dismissive about anything that didn't have yenna in it.

It was a ritual, he'd drop yenna at yours and be off to his work. Whenever he'd try to talk, he'd only get absent minded 'hmms' & 'ohs', Yenna having your full attention.

Which was a score actually, no crazy fan to worry about. But maybe, sometimes somewhere in his desiderium and loneliness, just maybe he longed for a little bit of warmth.

He was weirdly glad to have your attention, he won't deny..

" So! will you let me buy these or not? " You raise your purchase

He's pulled out of his trance

Now, you purse your lips.

"At a hefty price for you ma'am, as a penalty" He smiles, genuinely this time, leaning into your space with a hand on the wooden display rack beside you

" Or... A visit to yenna to make it up to her? " He asks, hopefully

In one hand, you'd more than love it to meet Yenna, on the other, there were things to unpack and appointments to attend.

Seeing you reluctant, he didn't know why but he put up his best pleading eyes he could (method from small Daniel)

" Um.. maybe next time"

Much to his disappointment, it didn't seem to have an effect on you. No, you didn't even notice it.

Which is usual with you, now that he thinks about it.. What'd he expect?

" 'Cause have to unpack a little since I just moved not long ago"

His little sulk is apparent,

" but I'll definitely make some time soon. I'd more than love to meet Yenna again " You flash a toothy grin

" What about me? "

Instant regret. That's not what he meant, no he didn't mean to sound like-

" It was nice meeting you too. Let's hangout next time! "

Oh!

you smile brightly yet again and you might as well just be an angel, he thinks.

" I think you have an important customer to tend to " you point eyes to an old man in his forties or fifties behind Eli

" I'll be going then, see you around-" You step back

" ' Hostel's Big Daddy ' " you stagger in your laughter

Ah! He purses his lips, little pink on his cheeks. That tickled his heart.

Even as you walk away in your own little world, Eli ignores the murmurs and his burning back, eyes solely lingering on you, a small smile playing on his lips.

He hopes time flies and you'd meet again very soon.

" ELI! (We know) you're whipped (but please we need) help- "

" Shh "

" But sally- "

" Shh "

" Yes uncle Shh "

[changbunnies]

Misbehave (18+)

♡ Pairing: Boyfriend!Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: smut, pre-established relationship

♡ Word Count: 4k

♡ Summary: Changbin is on tour and misses his pretty girlfriend back home- and what better way to tell her he misses her than to send her a naughty video? 

♡ Smut Warnings: sub!changbin, video recording, nipple play, masturbation, mommy kink (this is self indulgent okay), sex toys, phone sex, it is more than implied that bin has a degradation kink, petnames (baby, bunny, honey)

♡ Notes: so i saw this video of a guy in bunny pajamas jerking off and it gave me SUCH bad binnie brainrot i literally could not stop imagining him in cute pink bunny pajamas recording a video for his gf 😵‍💫😵‍💫 so yeah enjoy this purely self indulgent smut ! and i read a lot of mommy kink fic but this is my first time actually writing it so i'm not super confident its good but i hope it's at least decently enjoyable gfdgdf

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

“Baby! I’m wearing the pajamas you got me, you see?” Changbin smiles, bright and cute, just the way you like it as he looks into his phone's camera. The pajamas are a fluffy, pastel pink full body suit; warm, soft, cozy, with cute lopped bunny ears connected to the hood he has pulled up over his curly hair.

You got the pajamas for him because they reminded you of him, you said, and he positively beamed- because you were thinking of him, because you bought him something so adorable, because now he gets to show them off for you.

He didn’t get a chance to wear them before he was getting shipped off on the next plane out of the country, but of course he packed them with him. And now, on a break between shows where he could just relax and take a breath, he decided this was the best time to wear them.

But not just wear them– he had to show them to you! And sure, a few pictures would suffice, but isn’t this better? You can fully see how cute he looks in them this way, how the size you picked was just perfect, which he’s sure is because you know him inside and out. 

He takes the soft pink bunny ears connected to the hood in his hands and flops them around, smiling while tilting his head back and forth, playing up his cuteness for the maximum effect. “If you were here, you’d call me cute, right? Your cute baby bunny?”

Luckily for Changbin, he’s used to talking to a camera and displaying his cuteness, so recording a video like this for you comes to him naturally. And it’s lucky for you too, since that means your inbox is always full of new videos to get you through the drought until he comes back home.  

Changbin can just imagine how you'd dote on him if you could see him now; you'd kiss his cheeks and nose, you'd ruffle his messy hair, you'd overload him with compliments and sweet words until his face goes pink and dick twitches in his pants.

And really, he can't help that his body reacts to you this way– he just loves you so much, he lives for your compliments, and it's not his fault that the sweet, sometimes condescending way you speak them gets him all worked up. And while it's unfortunate he won't be able to get your initial reaction to his cute display in person, his imagination is more than enough fuel to keep him going. 

“There's more I want to show you, you ready?” Changbin says as he starts to scoot away from where he has his phone propped up to record himself. It’s set pretty precariously against the pillows, seemingly on the verge of toppeling at any second, but he doesn’t think about that– his only thought is putting on a show for you.

“It’s so soft– but you already know that, honey, you’re the one who picked it out,” he giggles a little to himself, giddy as he once again remembers it's a gift from you (exclamation point: you!), but he forces himself to stay on track before he gets too distracted.

“Since it’s so soft and comfy, I don’t need to wear anything underneath! See?” Changbin takes the zipper in his hand and he intends to pull it down slowly, but well.. he’s excited, and just can’t wait to show you how naked he is underneath the soft fluff of the pajamas you bought him. Sitting on his knees, he pulls the zipper down swiftly; and how quick he pulls it down causes it to get stuck for a moment, but he manages to keep it going smoothly after correcting its course.

If you were here, you’d definitely laugh at him for being so eager– you’d say something mean, but in that sweet, saccharine voice that’d instantly make his face flush pink and dick grow impossibly hard. You’d giggle at him for being pathetic, cock up your eyebrow and tilt your head to the side when he blushes, smirk when you see him twitch and throb and squirm after calling him a slut for always putting himself out on display for you.

The pajamas, big and loose as they are to comfortably fit all of Changbin’s muscle mass, completely hid his erection from view until the zipper was pulled all the way down. His chest, his cute tummy, his leaky cock– you can see it all now. But despite being exposed, he doesn’t take the pajamas off– he keeps the hood pulled up, doesn’t slip his arms out of the sleeves or take his legs out of the pants. He leaves them on for one main reason– because he feels cute in them, and wants you to think he's cute too. 

“When I put them on I started thinking of you,” he says as he shifts into a more comfortable position off of his knees. There’s nothing to prop himself up against at the foot of the bed, so he has to just lean to one side and support himself with a single arm; not ideal, but the headboard has the very important task of keeping his phone upright (with the support of the pillows) and he will not be shifting anything around or starting over.

“A-And I get so hard whenever I think about you because you’re just so– mommy’s so pretty,” he says as his fingers ghost over his muscular chest, tracing the skin before he brushes his thumb over his nipple– the same way you would do it if you were here right now. It’s now that a blush finally rises on his cheeks; and it’s not that he’s embarrassed by doing it infront of a camera or from the image of himself tweaking his nipples reflected back at him, that part doesn’t matter– it’s because he’s sensitive.

His sensitivity to touch, whether yours or his own, is always enough to make his face burn, as it’s always a source of your teasing touches and words. You’ll pinch his sensitive nipples between your fingers while whispering filthy, playful words in his red-tinted ears, softly laughing when he squirms and whines.

“I miss you,” he speaks to the camera, biting his lip when he rolls his nipple between his thick fingers, trying not to become too whiny right from the start. Changbin is sure you’d like it if he was whiny right away, but he has to focus!

He knows there’s major appeal in him becoming restless and needy quickly, and he has already shown how eager he is by hastily fumbling with his zipper, but still– he wants this video to last longer than a measly 5 minutes. It takes you longer to cum than him, and he needs to provide a video long enough for you to play with yourself to without having to loop it– that’s his thought process, anyways.

He averts his gaze from his phone setup, opting to look down at himself as he reaches over his chest to give his other nipple equal treatment. "I miss–" he starts to elaborate, but stumbles on his words after giving his nipple a particularly harsh tug.

Shit– he has to move on if he wants to stay coherent enough to make a good video for you. Becoming unable to speak in the last few minutes is acceptable, but now, when he's barely even started? No, he has to do better! So he trails his hand downwards, away from his chest and over his soft stomach as he tries again to let out what he wants to tell you.  

“I miss your smile, and– m-miss your kisses, your perfume, your hugs, your–” It’s a habit of Changbin’s to babble in these situations thanks to your influence on him. You like to get him talking when he’s like this– hearing him shyly babble away all the things he thinks you want to hear is easily one of your favorite things about fucking him.

And he obviously knows this, which is why he’s freely speaking every little thing that comes to his mind, knowing that you’ll like it (even if watching it back later will make him feel incredibly embarrassed.) Changbin isn’t shy about many things, but you always effortlessly bring his bashful side out. 

It’s another one of your favorite things, he knows– reducing your otherwise confident and unashamed boyfriend into an overly talkative, shy mess while his body takes on varying shades of pink and red. So he does his best to bring himself to that place without your presence, to picture you there in front of him encouraging him to go on, to pretend his hand is yours instead.

His string of words is broken by a harsh, shuddery breath when his hand finally reaches his cock. Changbin licks his drying lips and looks back at himself in the camera as he takes his length into his hand, stroking it as slowly as he can stand to.

It's more of a struggle than he'd like to admit– this is the first day he's had enough freetime to touch himself since leaving weeks ago, and his sensitivity, paired with the knowledge that he's recording for you and that you'll see all of this when you wake up in a couple of hours is causing his need to grow at an exponentially faster rate than he was prepared for.

He lets out a hiss when he rubs his thumb over the tip, and he has to make a conscious effort not to squirm or jolt his hips up into his hand too abruptly (both for his own sake, and his phone that isn't entirely stable in its placement.) Changbin's bottom lip quickly grows swollen and red from how frequently he bites at it in a vain effort to contain himself, and while it's more than mildly embarrassing to have such little control over his own body and voice, he knows you'll enjoy watching his failed efforts.

Changbin forces eye contact with the view of himself in his phone, wanting to ensure that it feels like he's looking at you when you inevitably watch it. He observes every detail, does his best to take note of what it is you'll be seeing; he watches the rise and fall of his own chest, how his stomach clenches, how his ever so slightly exposed thighs tense and twitch.

You'll like this, right? Will think he's as sexy as he is cute? Will love it so much that you'll rub yourself over your dampening panties, that you'll reward him with a flood of sweet messages to wake up to when its morning for him?

"D-Do I look good like this, mama?" he asks the camera as he speeds up the motion of his hand, "Yes, right? I do? You love this, love me?" He briefly allows his eyes to close, imagining that you're there to answer his desperate questions.

'You look perfect, Binnie, you're amazing, such a good boy for me, I love you.' He can really hear you if he concentrates on the thought, as if you're just in front of him and not thousands of miles away peacefully asleep in bed.

Opening his eyes, Changbin remembers the bunny pajamas aren't the only thing he brought with him that he wanted to show you– he still has another surprise in store that he hopes you'll like to see. Letting go of his cock, he brings himself back to his knees and reaches for something just out of view of the camera– his fleshlight.

His phone tilts from the shift in the weight, and Changbin is quick to catch it before it completely topples over. He offers the camera a shy, somewhat awkward giggle as he puts his phone back in place, making an effort to secure it better this time in the hopes that it won't jostle too much from what he plans to do next. 

And in trying to get his toy ready quickly, he pours practically his entire travel-sized bottle of lube into it. A waste for sure, but he can always buy more later– getting the show back on track is more important.

Changbin is leaned forward now, face as close to the camera as it was when he was playing with the ears attached to the hood. His face being close again doesn't obscure the view of his body at all though, thanks to the fact that he's leaning at an angle, with one palm flat on the bed to support his weight while the other holds the fleshlight where he wants it.

He's a bit nervous for this part, if he's being honest– maintaining eye contact with himself while he fucks his toy is something he's never done before. But he wants to do it for you, so you have the best experience possible when he sends the video to you!

Other than briefly looking away to line himself up with the toy in his hand, he looks into the camera the entire time– as he slides inside, as he gasps and moans, as he rolls his hips over and over and over. He wonders if you’ve noticed it was gone; did you open up your shared drawer, pull out the bag containing all your fun little toys to have some fun with yourself, noticing in an instant that he took his own toys with him?

He imagines you did– that you pulled it out, intending to rummage for one of your vibrators and clearly saw it missing. You'd smile when you realized, he thinks, as there's only one reason to take such a thing with him. And you'd think of him the same way he always thinks of you, imagine him there next to you, close your eyes and pretend you're teasing him by making him watch you use a vibrator, not letting him touch you unless he's a good boy and keeps his hands to himself until you cum.

Changbin is always a good boy, even in his imaginary scenarios– he'd never, never do anything against what you tell him. Even when he imagines you touching yourself, when he thinks about what scenarios you'd picture in your mind to get off, he's a good boy who does whatever he's told, watching and waiting patiently for his time to touch you.

The ears on the hood still pulled over his fluffy hair bounce with each movement he makes, and finally he breaks eye contact with his phone, his head falling forward and eyes squeezing shut as his whimpers and moans grow in volume. "F-Feels so good baby, mom-mommy, mama, Binnie feels so– so good," he whines, biting his lip once more as he lifts his head to look at the camera again.

If he wasn't already so far gone, he'd feel bad for his neighbor on the other side of the hotel wall; he knows he's getting loud, but he can't help it. He's fucking his toy, head full of you– of what you'd say to him, how you'd sound with your vibrator pressed to your clit, how you'd expertly time your release with his, how you'd look at him when you cum together.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he can perfectly conjure the image of you in his head, vivid and almost real enough to trick his brain into believing you’re together right now.The way you smile at him always rattles his senses, pretty to an almost ethereal degree, sharply contrasting the dirty words you confidently, unashamedly tell him.

And while your voice rings clearly in his head, it’s not really you– it’s just the memory of you; vivid, clear, but not as real as he wants it to be. His imagination helps but it’s still nothing compared to if you were really talking to him, if he could see you when he opens his eyes, if he could reach out and touch you or smell your perfume mixed with arousal.

Changbin just wants you, he misses you so fucking bad. It’s the early hours of the morning where you are, and you’re likely still asleep, but he has to call you, has to hear your voice. He obviously intended to cum on camera for you, and he’ll definitely feel bad about waking you up when he’s back in his right mind, but all he can think about right now is how much he craves you.

He reaches for his phone, hastily ending the recording and pulling up your contact, pressing the call button before he can even think to stop himself. The phone rings for so unbearably long that Changbin expects to hear your voicemail message, but to his surprised relief, you answer; a soft, deep and groggy “hello?” from the other end of the line.

“Mommy–” he whines upon hearing your voice, his desperation clear through the speaker pressed to your ear. As if the needy whine wasn't enough of a tell to what he's doing, you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of what you can only assume to be either his lubed up hand or one of his toys beneath his panting breaths and whimpery moans.

"Binnie," you start, a playful tone emerging in your voice, the haze of sleep melting away in record time in response to hearing your sweet boy playing with himself, "are you being naughty?"

He nods quickly before he remembers you can't even see him right now, and he needs to provide a verbal answer. "Y-Yeah, I– I was m-making a video for you but I need– need you so bad right now," he answers, his entire body shuddering when he hears you sweetly laugh in response.

"You always make me videos, though," you muse with a smile as you shift in bed, "but I'm guessing this is a naughty video, huh? Is that right, sweet boy?" Changbin whines when you call him that, but quickly affirms the statement with a timid 'yes.'

You hum as your smile grows, settling comfortably on your back as you continue to talk to him. "So, what happened? Got so needy while making your slutty little video for me that you couldn't even finish it properly? Had to call mommy and wake her up just so you could finish getting off, is that it?"

He lets out another whine– louder this time, and beneath it another sound becomes obvious to your ears; whatever hotel bed he's on is beginning to creak. It tells you something important– that's he's not just laying on his back and stroking himself, but that he's deliberately fucking whatever it is he's using. And given the growing volume and rapid rate of the creaking, you imagine he's rutting into it pretty desperately.

Oh, what a sight he must be right now– it's a shame he's not recording anymore, because his debauched desperation would reflect beautifully on camera, a perfect image for only your eyes to see. "Are your eyes closed, bunny? Are you imagining me there?" you suddenly ask him and again he answers with an affirmative, albeit timid, whine.

Good, you think– you know exactly what to do with this information; a little bit of roleplay is just the thing your sweet boy needs. "How's my pussy feel, baby? Is it good?" you ask, having to bite your lip to suppress a delighted laugh when he gasps and whimpers.

The fact that you're playing into his ongoing mental fantasies and pretending he's fucking you is driving him impossibly close to the edge. "S-So good, mama!" he manages to stutter out, and you can tell his rutting has grown more sporadic, the creaking of the bed far less successive and rhythmic as it was when you first noticed it.

“So wet, always so wet–” he continues, cutting himself off with a particularly loud whimper. In true ‘good boy’ fashion, Changbin intended to babble away all his thoughts and the things he knew you’d want to hear him say, but he has himself so high strung and taut that all he can do now is spill noise after noise from his harshly bitten lips.

He wishes he wasn’t so close, if only so you could hear your voice for a little longer, but he can’t delay it much more than he already has. And the poor boy, he tries to ask for permission, or at least warn you it’s coming, but all that comes out are broken syllables between all his panting and crying.

It’s obvious he’s close without him even having to say it, and while your bunny appreciates a mean streak when it comes from you, you can tell he needs this– and you’re not going to punish him for struggling to ask for permission. Instead, you’ll sweetly encourage him along; because another thing about Changbin is that he hates being bad, even when it’s by accident.

“Gonna fill me up, sweet boy? Fill mommy’s pussy with your cum?” you ask, ensuring he knows it’s more than okay, that you want him to cum for you. Changbin’s eyes roll back the instant the words leave your mouth, his cum spurting into the toy as a string of broken cries leave him in quick succession.

He collapses to the bed with exhaustion when he’s finally done, his chest heaving as he tries to calm his racing heart and get his breathing back under control. He’s impossibly hot, from equal parts the pajamas and how worked up he got, his face red hot and his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, eyes still closed while his brain tries to reboot itself and get back to normal function.

“Shit–” he suddenly scrambles back up, pressing the phone back up to his ear, “I’m so sorry, you were sleeping, it’s still early there and I called you anyways, oh my god–” Your giggle cuts off his string of apologies, and while he’s still impossibly sorry for waking you up just because he was horny, he is relieved you’re not mad at him.

“It’s okay Bin, it was better than waking up to my alarm clock, that’s for sure,” you muse with a smile; could you have gotten an extra hour or two of sleep? Of course. But is this better? Absolutely.

“I love you, you know that? I love you so fucking much,” Changbin says and you giggle again before you reply. “I love you too, so don’t forget to send me that video! And clean yourself up, bunny, I know you’re a mess right now. I’ll stay on the phone with you, okay?”

“Yeah? You will?” he smiles as he complies, carefully rising from the bed to get himself and his toy clean. “Mhm, it’s starting to get late for you, right? I’ll stay until you sleep,” you tell him, and oh, does that make him ecstatic.

He sends you the video before he forgets, and you talk about mundane things while he takes care of all the tasks he needs to get done to sleep. You’re talking about little things like what you plan to eat for breakfast, what you have to do at work today, what friends you’re going to meet for lunch– and Changbin soaks it all up happily, sighing contentedly as he lies back in his hotel bed, curled up with your soft voice to lull him comfortably to sleep.

You don’t stop talking until you hear his soft snores and measured breaths, whispering to him a ‘good night’ and ‘I love you’ that he can no longer hear, but you have to say regardless. 

Ending the call, you still have an hour left before you have to start your day in earnest, with a video in your inbox from your sweet boy just waiting to be watched and played to. You smile as you set your laptop at the foot of the bed and click open his video along with your camera, rays of sunshine just beginning to illuminate your room through the curtains, setting a beautiful backdrop as you set yourself up to return your sweet boyfriend’s favor.

[waitmyturtles]

I've Caught Up With Wandee Goodday, and here are some cons and pros (aka, am I ever burnt out on GMMTV)

HELLO. I'm back temporarily from my summer travels (before I travel again!). I was in Thailand! I should have brought a box of chappals to chuck at the GMMTV building for where Wandee Goodday has gone. Anyway, I need to process my thoughts on this show, so here we go. (And I apologize, I have NOT looked at the tag for this show, so I don't know if I'm repeating what other people are saying here.)

PROS

CONS

1) This show had so much brainrot potential! Remember the first, like, four episodes? Potential homophobia in multiple workplaces? Delicious bisexuality? Ace storylines??? Wandee's PUTZ deception and manipulation? Yak going along with it, why?? There was a lot going on here, a lot we could have chewed on.

I've been sitting on my historical review of Golf Tanwarin's The Eclipse for my Old GMMTV Challenge for about two months now because I can't get over how pissed I was that that show took some unnecessary, and frankly insensible, turns in part to showcase the damn center ship of First and Khao. I don't think Golf's WG has taken similar turns specifically to center the GreatInn ship, per se -- I just think the writing got messy and lazy right before WG's midpoint in general, and punched a lot of the excitement I had about the show right before I paused around episode 8.

Wandee Goodday is an EXCELLENT example of how Thailand's hourlong QL dramas could be made INCREDIBLY more impactful, by way of forced editing and clarity, if Thailand could follow Japan's suit by making 10- to 12-episode series with 30-minute episodes.

The Dr. Ter storyline was over before it actually, really ended, in, what episode was that, 9 or 10. It was over! Why drag it out? In Japan, that storyline would have been two episodes, mayyybe three, MAX. Shirasu Jin was barely in Kieta Hatsukoi for an episode before he was banished. Takeda Kouhei barely made it through two episodes of Minato's Laundromat 2 before he went bye bye! We don't need these middling dudes. There was enough happening with Dee and Yak to not need this Ter shit! Sorry, LOVE YOU PODD, but Ter was made irrelevant so early on, and then they actually had to work together on a huge case?! And NOW HE'S CHEESING ON TAEM? Like, no. We don't need this.

2) There's still a lot of confusion and conflict between Dee and Yak by last week's episode 11. Dee's got issues receiving love! This is big.

(By the way. Showing Dee ONE video of his parents cheesing on him as a newborn is NOT THE WAY to explain away future parental neglect as an older child. YIKES.)

I love that Yak wants to invest in Dee, and we do see Dee doing a lot of reciprocating there to Yak, but this parental neglect reveal, along with still not knowing enough about the back story of Dee's parents dying, is out of order and not helpful to me getting enough knowledge about Dee for me to feel a holistic sympathy towards him. This makes me wonder if romance is really Golf Tanwarin's bag: if Golf didn't have to focus so much on the DeeYak/YakDee romance, could we have gotten better emotional representations of these guys, gotten a better picture of WHO THEY ARE, before they got into each other? Maybe? I dunno.

3) Considering that homophobia in systems seems to be a theme that Golf is interested in, why did the show drop Yak's concern about being out vis à vis his boxing career? Showing up at the hospital early on, in front of Ter's people, was already a big risk that wasn't given consideration; and now Dee's gone ahead and put the big pre-match smooch on full display by episode 11! I know Yak's gone full tilt for Dee, but I think we needed to put a bow on Yak's early macro-level concerns about being out for that loop to be closed.

[I feel like I have similar concerns here about 23.5 as well, so I'd like GMMTV to know (REMEMBER BAD BUDDY????) that you can have romance and big social commentary in a show at the same time without sacrificing lovely, intimate moments. Neither 23.5 nor Wandee Goodday needed to scrap heavy emotional moments for social media memeable clickbait.]

TL;DR this show, this script, could have been so good, there was so much there by way of storylines.

ANY FUCKING WAY.

PROS

1)

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS SHOW WENT HERE WITH THOR. THIS IS DISSONANCE, THIS IS CONFUSING! THIS IS MAGNIFICENT.

And the follow-up scene with the FABULOUS Fluke Nattanon. Fucking Thor. He's so good. They're so wasted in this show!

2) Great Sapol and Inn Sarin. There's a con here: the elephant pants do nothing for Great's butt. But otherwise, Great, and Inn as well, are DELIGHTS. THEY ARE GOOD ACTORS. They are wasted on this script. I hope they never work together on a GMMTV show again. If they're ever paired again (which I hope they're NOT, down with the ships), I hope they can get cast in a big ol' queer lakorn, à la JamFilm, and escape the need for the meme moments.

The thing is, about Wandee Goodday, is that if you admit you're into the show FOR THE DUDES, then I get why this show is watchable (AND IT'S WHY I'M FINISHING IT, GODDAMNIT), because the actual intimate moments ARE lovely. They're just not coherent with everything that we should know about these guys by the end of a series, and that makes me sad.

Anyway, this show ends this week, and that's it! I wish GMMTV's shop had had the WG items in stock when I was there in person; fuck these shipping fees, I want the Phadetseuk shirt so bad! If I had known this would be a kind of light and fluffy watch, I would have set my expectations WAAAYYY differently, and I would have likely had a better time watching this. As it stands now, I'm better suited to enjoy the finale, so I'm glad I got these complaints out of my system, and I'll say sayonara to all these dudes in full ogle mode later this week.

[asherashedwings]

Hey chat, remember when I did that one charting pattern analysis on Pico and Darnell?

Well I'm doing that again. But with EVERY FNF CHARACTER.

Girlfriend

Girlfriend, shocker, doesn't really have a pattern. This is mainly due to her being featured in only one song, and it's the tutorial. If we ever get any action from her in the future, then maybe we can find something then, but for now: no pattern.

Daddy Dearest & Mommy Mearest

Okay, so they do have a pattern, and it's a shared pattern. I mean, makes sense, since they're kind of a package duo. It's kinda hard for me to explain, but they have patterns that tend to focus on the left and right notes?? If that makes sense. Good examples I can think of are Satin Panties, High, and Cocoa. Mearest more so than Dearest, but Dearest's base charts are also rather simple due to his week being so early. BUT! These patterns are apparent in his Erect songs! Namely Bopeebo. But yeah, patterns that are left and right note focused. Which -- and I don't know if this is just a coincidence or not -- seems rather fitting given the colors of those notes: red and purple.

Spooky Kids

Another set of characters that don't really have a set pattern that I can distinguish. Although, I do find that rather fitting for them. Their lack of pattern matches their rather chaotic nature that's displayed in their show. They're just silly unpredictable guys.

Monster

Okay, so Monster is just already so different from everyone else that it's just hard to hold him to the same standard. But he does have his own patterns! Namely a LOT of hold notes. Which makes sense due to the lingering nature of his songs. He's slow and eerie, so of course his charting would reflect that

Pico

Okay, so I've covered Pico before. He does a lot of back and forth patterns. .... I could turn this into a super complex character analysis that is completely just my brainrot talking but I don't know if I should go there. I'm going there. Okay, so Pico's entire character in FNF revolves around him going back on the various jobs he's been given to protect Boyfriend and Girlfriend. Week 3? Backing out of his job to rap with BF instead. Week 7? Denying his mission yet again to save BF and GF. He's constantly going back and forth between his job and his morals. And it's not always clear which is the correct option. This same logic can also be applied to Weekend 1, except it's not him choosing BF and GF over his job -- it's him choosing them over his friends: Darnell and Nene. His character is just a constant cycle of back and forths.

Senpai

Okay, so this fucker was the reason I first wanted to make a full analysis on all the characters. So, this guy I noticed, uses a lot of trail notes. And in my brain it does tie into his character and. Like. The only way that I can explain it is like. You know those videos of people arguing with misogynists, and the misogynist keeps cutting off the other person before they can make their point, and keep repeating the same thing over and over again cuz they think that's how arguments work? That's the same vibe I get from Senpai's trail notes. It feels like he's just. Repeating the same things over and over again cuz he thinks he's making a point. And just going on and on so BF can’t speak Idk. If that makes sense.

Tankman

Tankman uses a lot of stairs. I had no idea what to make an analysis out of here, so to quote the wise words of @braveboiart ; "He's a bitch and I hate stairs." ACTUALLY! That is half right. Came up with this while replaying Week 7 for this post. Tankman is explicitly shown to be able to break the fourth wall, so it is entirely possible that in Ugh and Guns, he is purposefully using an egregious amount of stairs to just. Be a pain in the ass. This would also perfectly explain his switch up in Stress. He's taking BF and the player a little bit more seriously, so he starts to be a bit more genuine. Also, I would like to point out that he also uses back and forths a ton. Tankdad canon. ALSO I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE NOTE OF A LIL DETAIL I NOTICED WHEN PLAYING PICO ERECT

Pico Erect shares charting from Stress. Realistically, this is likely just a lil reference to Stress since Pico made in appearance in that song but FUCK YOU, TANKDAD CANON.

Darnell

Okay, so I've already gone in depth on Darnell, so this is mostly gonna be me repeating myself. Good to have everything in one place, yknow? Darnell has a progression of charting throughout Weekend 1. In Darnell, he starts out almost identical to Pico's charting, before slowly transition to his trail and double heavy charting through Lit Up and 2Hot. My analysis of this was the idea that he starts out the week mocking Pico; making fun of the fact that Pico chose to rap battle BF instead of killing him. But as the week progresses, he gets more into it and starts having fun with it, slipping into his own style.

And last but not least

Boyfriend

Okay, so, surprise surprise: Boyfriend doesn't really have a pattern. But it's not cuz he just repeats everyone! There's actually a lot of moments where he freestyles, namely in the Erect tracks. But when analyzing those bits, there isn't really any set pattern. Which makes sense! BF is a go with the flow kinda guy. The charting he uses depends on what the moment calls for; what will outshine his opponent the most. I mean, his charting kinda needs to be versatile, given the variety of his challengers. So yea.

Uhhh... Hope y'all enjoyed my analyses. I'm gonna go pass out now (It is 4:36am at the time of writing this rn)

[wiinttrr]

▫️she said it’s her first time..i think she might’ve lied

A/N:ngl i just got high yesterday and wrote this

⁀➷ warnings: very smutty but no actual intercourse

⁀➷ if you a minor theres no reason why you should be reading this <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

It’s exactly 8:40PM when you’re resting your head on pedri’s chest,his hand playing with your hair daintily,your attention drifting from the movie he had invited you over to watch as you fix your vision on the view displayed from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse.

Your eyes get drowsy and you start to zone out,you were bored out of anticipation,impatiently waiting for him to initiate what has been simmering in your mind for days,dirty filthy and sinful imaginations of pedri manhandling you into various positions while pounding into you was all you could ponder over,you were suffering a brainrot.

You soon exit your imagination immediately as you feel his arm envelope your smaller frame,stirring you gingerly while lowering his head to meet you at face level,"you okay there?"he says in a humorous tone while raising an eyebrow,you grin faintly as a retort to his words although in your innermost thoughts it was at his complete cluelessness to your wildly lewd infiltrated mind.

This is how you were summed up by people throughout your life,they always saw you as wholesome and untainted by immorality, especially that of a sexual nature..it confused you quite a bit and had you thinking for a span attempting to apprehend what about you gave them that impression because it surely wasn’t a facade you were upholding or a make-believe,and even though their view was far off the mark it didn’t trouble you at all,not even a little bit in fact you loved it,and soon started utilising it to your own benefit.

The innocent aura granted you quotidian advantages,and the greatest one by a mile is the sneakiness,people rarely doubted you even when you were lying straight to their faces,the pure spirit made you trustworthy and had people lowering their guards around you.

Additionally,the sole thought of having a guy entirely fooled and unaware of your true essence turned you on immensely,deceiving them into thinking that you’re just so chaste and untouched when you weren’t had you feeling so sly and it aroused you to the fullest.

Ultimately and to your desire,what you were yearning full finally started to come into being,the cuddling soon escalated into a make-out sesh,his arms are locked behind your back,pulling your chests flush together,minimizing any space between,giving you the contact that you were craving oh so bad..he slips his tongue into your mouth,tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further,your own greeted his pleasantly,tangling and pushing against it in content.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, pedri slowly pulls back,though not releasing his hold on you,hazy eyes gazing intently into each other,"so pretty.."he murmurs against your lips,a slight smirk adorning his face before hoisting you up on his lap,situating the both of you into an even more intimate position,just to trail one hand up by your side till it cupped the back of your neck,pulling your lips together once more.

This time,his kisses were slow and rhythmic..they were brief,sweet short kisses,ones that made you part after each one,ones that made you so eager for the next,they felt so satisfying and fulfilling yet had you on pins and needles yearning for more.

The atmosphere was getting promptly more sexual,pedri was placing mellow pecks just beneath your jaw,his hand moving to grab the back of your thigh,urging it upwards,while the other massaged and kneaded at your ass,your clothed core occasionally brushing against his hard on.

“tell me baby..what was the farthest you ever went”,he abruptly stoped his movements to ask you,winding down..he too thinks you’ve never fucked before,you love it.

“what we did right now”you reply shortly after,with a coy laced voice,batting your pretty lashes at him so sweetly evoking a low hum from him,pedri looked at you trough lidded lust infatuated eyes,everything about you had him so pent up.

“so nothing..not even fingered?“another question followed up,he sounded so alluring,his eyes fixated on you while one of his hands caressed your thigh delicately,”only with my own..”

[jades-typurriter]

Sherry (Shaken, Stirred) & Spectre

Hiiiiii y'aaaall I have a backlog againnnnn Including!! A story inspired by some conversations with @bluebearial and also my own Spectre-related brainrot (so, nothing new) Additionally, illustrated once again by bowsiosaurus!! merry christmas bee lmao

NSFW CW: Ear penetration, TF, lil bit of personality change

Another muggy night had descended on the city streets. From above, punctured by distant, dim stars, and from below, lit by blinding, hypnotic neon; from without beset by urban smog, and from within clouded by cigar smoke and heady excitement. It was another perfect night for Ceri to watch quietly, longingly, from the bar in the back of the dining hall, the stage lights illuminating her desire reaching her like the distant smears of headlights on a highway through a rain-streaked window. Unbeknownst to the scotch-slinging Shinx, it was also the perfect kind of night for ghosts to set out on the prowl. Witching hour was the same for the drunk and the dead, the ghouls and the gamblers, the lich and the lech. From the haze of the smoky room, from between the spirits on the shelf, emerged one such spirit, looming and leering over the Luxray-in-waiting’s shoulders. She was fuzzy in both clarity and texture, Oran-blue except for a yellow glow in her eyes that would’ve put an Umbreon to shame and limelight-white teeth that could each have passed for the tip of a Grip Claw. She only noticed the hovering horror when she loosed a low, bartop-shaking growl.

A flighty girl, she nearly jumped out of her neatly-pressed purple server’s uniform, fumbling a drink shaker and a bottle of liquor high into the air. As she scrambled to catch them, she looked up at the stage, breathing heavily, first and foremost worried that she had made herself look a fool in front of the night’s actual performer, Eleanor, the Floatzel of her fantasies. She glanced back from beneath the spotlights, sending a wink across the room, through the Shinx’s heart, and all up and down her spine. She’d successfully passed the save off as a particularly flashy mixologist’s maneuver, though she assumed that Eleanor simply hadn’t noticed—not out of the ordinary for her, a voice from deep in the back of her mind needled her. More pressing was the voice emanating from the back of the bar, which she’d only just collected herself enough to remember.

“My, my~,” the apparition appraised her, “what do we have here…?” Ceri whipped around, finding her snout full of stomach and her bar flooded with blue. She’d suspected that Derrick, the more lax of the pair of Incineroar bouncers, had snuck up on her for a laugh, but as her eyes struggled to make sense of what she was seeing, she quickly realized that it wasn’t the person before her that had growled. She gulped. The ghost giggled, bringing a paw to her mouth.

“WH!! Wh-what are you doing behind the bar?” Ceri managed.

“Hmm~? I’m afuraid there’s nya-body behind the bar but you, cutie-cat,” she snickered. “Mew seem to be talking to yourself~.”

Back pressed against the edge of the counter, paws gripping the marble until the figure could see her knuckles turning white through her powder-blue fur, Ceri whipped her head around to look out at the patrons, at Eleanor, at Derrick or Rhodney, at anyone. One or two people were still eyeing her after her noisy little display with the drinks; the boys had their attention firmly set on the front door and on the entrance to the dressing room. Nobody seemed to notice the prodigious poltergeist but her.

“What d-do you w-w-want?” she whispered, desperate for this to be some kind of dream, and desperate to not seem crazy if it was. The ghost unrolled a gooey, squishy tongue from between plush, shiny black lips, faintly illuminating the two of them in the same amber light that poured from her catlike eyes. A Gastly, then, Ceri distantly recognized. Unfortunately for her, one that seemed famished. If she wasn’t asleep now, she would be any second, suffocated by the phantom’s deadly fumes. It’d be over by the time she hit the ground, and it’d just look like a fainting spell—nobody would know how bad it really was until it was far, far too late.

“Why does anybody go out to a restaurant?” the monstrous woman mused in her rumbly, sultry voice, confirming the Shinx’s worst fears. She was paralyzed with fear, so much so that she couldn’t even bring herself to shout for her coworkers. “I came looking for dinner, but it seems I’ve found meowself a show instead~!”

“Arceus, please—” she squeaked, shaking so hard it was a wonder the glasses weren’t rattling. “P-p-please don’t eat me! I h—I never got to… I don’t wanna…” She sunk slightly down the side of the bar, her legs turning to jelly beneath her. “I’m never gonna get to tell Eleanor…”

The hungry haunt crept closer and closer, until her triangle nose was nearly pressed up against Ceri’s, sharp grin growing and growing with every inch the gap closed. The laughter in her throat rose from a purr, to a menacing chuckle, to a full-on cackle—before suddenly pulling away. She floated in the air above the Shinx, sprawled out like she rested atop an invisible tree branch. Her paw rose to her chin again as the evil laughter rattling in Ceri’s oversized ears turned into a catty, girlish giggling; Ceri herself looked up in confusion and shock.

“Oh, don’t be silly! I could never eat a purrecious thing like you~,” the ghost reassured her. “Though I think I was right on the meowney about my entertainment fur the night…” She rolled over in the air, her flowing hair cascading nearly to the floor as she made upside-down Electric-Type eye contact. “Why don’t you tell me all about this ‘Eleanor’, hmm?”

Ceri’s ears reflexively flicked toward the stage, worried that the Floatzel’s safety was now in question. She watched her would-be predator’s eyes follow the motion and saw the ghostly gears turning in her head; that was all she needed to put the pieces together.

“Ohhhh, I see~,” she purred, righting herself and sinking to be face-to-face with Ceri once again. “Mew have a little crush! And mew haven’t been able to speak up about it, seems like.” The crestfallen expression on the bartender’s face was clearer confirmation than any response she could’ve mustered, terrified or otherwise. Blood finally returned the color to her face, but especially to her cheeks; as they burned, she straightened herself up a bit.

“Wh-who,” she stammered, “who even are you?! You’ve got a lotta nerve, you know!” Her huffiness only elicited more amused chuckling from the bigger, bluer cat.

“I’m Spectre,” she began, “but mew can call me your lucky charm~.”

“Oh, really? I sure feel lucky.”

“Well, meow often do you get the chance for the boost you need to finally speak your mind?” At this, Ceri paused. After a moment’s hesitation, she crossed her arms.

“Yeah?”

“I specialize in this sort of thing,” Spectre hummed, turning over one of her paws to nonchalantly inspect her claw tips.

“Oh, that’s a shame. You’d make a killing as a haunted house actor.”

“A killing, hmm~?” She was uncomfortably close to the Shinx again, who swatted her paws around like she was shooing away an unpleasant smell.

“Alright, alright, just… what's the tip?”

“Tip? It’s mewsually a little more in-depth than that. I’m nyat a mewracle worker!” Ceri rolled her eyes. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more purrivate and have a longer chat a-meow-t this, hm~?”

“I could take my bathroom break,” she said, flatly.

“Do mew really want someone to walk in on mew having a confursation with the wall of the stall? There’s got to be somewhere we can really have all to ourselves.”

“...We could go backstage.”

“Oh, purrfect~! Then we’ll be ready for your little lady furiend anyway.”

Heaving her shoulders with a sigh, the bartender looked around one more time to make sure nobody had been listening in on her seemingly one-sided conversation. As she walked toward the side of the dining room, she could feel Spectre’s presence weighing practically right on top of her. She approached Rhodney, the stricter of the two bouncers, who raised one eyebrow over his pair of sunglasses.

“What’s the matter, Ceri? Your paws seemed a bit shaky earlier.” She winced—seems he did see her little “save” earlier, or at least saw her having what felt like a panic attack.

“Oh, I’m fine now, but… thanks.”

“‘Course. We’re always here for you, you know.”

“Can I ask a favor then, actually?”

“Be my guest.”

“I gotta get past you real quick.”

His eyebrow shot up again, even further this time.

“‘Employees Only’ only really applies to Eleanor here, you know.”

“Yeah, but… I’m gonna, um. Try to talk to her, tonight.”

Both eyebrows were fully clear of the darkened lenses, now. Rhodney whistled a quick, sharp whistle, getting Derrick’s attention from where he stood at the entrance, and made a brief, unintelligible gesture with one paw. Derrick lowered his shades, leaning fully forward, mouth agape in surprise and excitement; he shot Ceri two thumbs up and set off in the direction of another of their coworkers. Blushing once again, Ceri glanced at Spectre (laughing to herself, nyaturally~) and back up at Rhodney, who looked through her as though she wasn’t there at all.

“Break a leg,” he mumbled discreetly, sliding his key into the doorknob without so much as turning around. She quietly thanked him and ducked past his arm into the dim dressing room, lit only by the faint orange glow of the incandescent bulbs studding Eleanor’s makeup mirror.

“Nyaaaaaalri~ight!” Spectre warbled, pushing Ceri straight to the folding canvas chair, complete with a star on the back of it, that stood in front of the mirror. With her half-corporeal paws squeezing Ceri’s shoulders, she looked at her in the mirror, eyes like another pair of bulbs, adding an uncanny glare to the usually-soft modeling lighting. “Why don’t mew fill me in on nyaaaaaalllll the little details?”

“Well,” the Shinx began, “I started working here about two years ago—”

She trailed off as she watched Spectre cringe.

“What?”

“Two years?”

“Yes???”

“And mew haven’t said a word to her about the fact that you’re attracted to her.”

“I don’t see the problem with that! It’s normal to know each other for a while before you start up a relationship,” Ceri huffed.

“She was the last thing mew saw when your life flashed before your eyes.”

“...”

“She was going to be your finyal regret.”

“Man.”

“And all that with friends as supportive as that hunk outside? It just seems like—”

“Alright! Alright. Maybe I’ve been dragging my feet about it. What do mew—ugh, what do YOU suggest?” She glowered at Spectre, who could barely contain her smile at that.

“Well,” she began, “I don’t think my mewsual methods are going to work here. Much too slow.”

“I think you’ve established that I don’t mind taking things slow.”

“Nyes, but mew did make a purromise to that friend of yours that mew’d be making a move tonight…” The Shinx’s eyes took on a distant (ironically, haunted) look in the mirror.

“Fuck,” she spat, burying her face in her paws.

“Seems like mew don’t have a choice but to let me work my magic~.”

“Just do it. Do whatever you gotta do!”

“I’m going to hold mew to that,” she cooed, somewhat ominously. “Just to be totally clear: I have purr-meow-ssion to take nyastic meowsures?”

“For the love of Arceus, will you cut to the chase?! I don’t wanna get their hopes up again just to chicken out. Do what you gotta do.”

“If mew say so~!”

Spectre rose so that her belly was roughly face-height with Ceri again, and with a snap of her paw, a cloud of ethereal smoke began pooling at her waist. Or, maybe, the smoke had been there the whole time, and was just now dissipating…? Either way, once it had cleared enough for Ceri to see again, her cheek was brushing up against a cock as long as her arm; its bright-blue tip, big as a fist, peeked out from beneath Spectre’s fuzzy foreskin. It was already rock-hard (or as hard as a ghost could be…), throbbing and leaking some kind of ectoplasm. She was shocked at the mess she was already making, but it was frankly no surprise when she looked past it and at the head-sized balls bouncing beneath it as Spectre bobbed in the air next to her.

“What the hell is this?!”

“Call it my secret weapon~.”

“No,” she hissed, recoiling away hard enough for the chair to scooch with her, “I mean why is it out?! Were you going to ‘trade’ me for your help?!”

“This is the help, cutie-cat. Just consider it purractice for being intimate with a lady, hm~?” Ceri squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples with her paws. She was nearly shaking with frustration, having had it up to her neck with baits-and-switches. She shot up from her chair, sliding it back with the force of the outburst, clenched paws raised in kitten rage.

“GGGRRRRRRRRRGGRRHRHRGHGRGHRGRGGGGET ON WITH IT!” the Shinx roared.

Once more, that was all Spectre needed. She adjusted the height she was floating at, grazing Ceri’s face once again with her tip, leaving a glob of sticky ghost-goo in her fur. To her surprise, the phantom’s phallus passed right by her mouth (which was a bit of a relief; she had no idea how she was going to handle that thing). Instead, she started aligning herself with one of the Shinx’s radar-dish ears (which was quite the opposite! She had even LESS of an idea what she was doing!).

“I—Okay, I know I said you could do whatever you needed to do, but I don’t really understand—”

“I’m getting in there directly, sweetheart.” In an instant, Spectre had swooped down to whisper right into the Shinx’s sensitive ear, her lower lip just barely making contact with its thin, furry edge. Her voice made Ceri shudder again, this time not from fear, but from the sheer smoothness of the sound; it didn’t help that her breath steamed not with warmth, but with an unnatural chill. She could hear the saliva in her mouth, she was so close. Every little movement of her oversized, squishy tongue, every last flexing vocal cord… she practically melted into the chair when the spirit swallowed before speaking again. “Just relax and enjoy the nyadjustments~!”

Before she could protest any further, Spectre was floating above her, lined up once again and beginning to press forward with her hips, the tip of her cock squeezing in with much less resistance than made any sense. Ceri felt a tingling in a fairly straight line through the side of her head toward the center, like Spectre was simply phasing through her the way she’d floated straight through the walls before, but at the same time she felt an unsettling, slimy, squishy sensation. It had certainly looked solid enough when she was face-to-face with it before, but now she felt it molding to the cramped spaces inside her ear, squishing like it was no more substantial than jelly… The Shinx could only offer a whimper and a shudder, overwhelmed by the conflicting signals her brain was receiving.

Progress quickly halted, though, as it poked and prodded up against something that felt relatively solid on the inside of the bartender’s head. Was it the ear drum? The skull itself? Spectre didn’t seem to care what it was; she was starting to pant, moaning and muttering curses under breath the deeper she managed to force herself. Her foreskin rolled back and forth over her tip as she gave exploratory little thrusts, testing the obstruction, tickling Ceri’s sensitive inner ear all the while. Soon enough, apparently satisfied that she had loosened things up enough, she pressed forward with one slow, unrelenting movement of her hips. Something gave with a POP; Ceri’s eyes rolled back, her legs giving out from under her, as Spectre’s cock jutted deeper into her in one smooth, final motion. Weightless as she was, Spectre’s rhythm didn’t seem at all perturbed as Ceri sank back into the chair beneath her; she simply floated with down with her, pulled like a balloon on a string, her wispy lower body fully wrapped around Ceri’s torso as she clung to her, pumping in and out of her ear with increasing desperation. She may have been incorporeal, but her hips—her nuts—certainly still made an impact with each thrust, her fuzzy sack meeting Ceri’s cheek like she was on the losing side of a brutal pillow fight, whap, whap, WHAP.

Slick, squelching noises assaulted the Shinx’s senses as more and more of Spectre’s ethereal precum coated the inside of her ear, of her skull. Every pump, every gush, every SCHLCK rearranged her very brain, leaving more and more of the ghost’s musky, steamy scent on her body and more and more of her mark on her mind. Ceri began to faintly glow just like her current partner, brilliant white instead of eerie blue; something about her felt more malleable, all the way through her body, and Spectre wasted no time in taking advantage of how accommodating her ear canal had become.

Ceri’s fur began to thicken, to darken, a new clump somewhere on her body cropping up every time the spirit bucked her hips, filling out into a wild, bestial mane. One by one, in time with Spectre’s movements, her claws elongated, bursting from the tips of her paws, which themselves had become stronger, larger, more intimidating, more imposing. Her feet dragged across the floor as they grew, her legs stretching farther and farther away from her in the low seat; her arms, limp at her sides, followed suit as she twitched and writhed (her ears flicked, twitched, practically clenched around Spectre’s cock—if she had any room in her head for a stray thought, she’d be surprised that they could even do that).

Slowly, her three-piece suit began to tighten around her thighs, and the buttons of her dress shirt began to strain around her bust. The sounds of tearing fabric mixed with the wet shlorps reverberating through her head, exposing her once-perky, now-sloshing breasts, separated by a dense tuft of black fur, bright-yellow nipples buried among sky blue. As her growing body shredded its way through her slacks, her panties strained against her own, suddenly much larger, cock. They were already soaked through with pre at her tip, the smooth, tapering swoop of her kittycock pitching a neat little tent in the girly little article. Every time Spectre rammed her ear, a new soft barb budded along the surface of Ceri’s cock, making it throb wildly, sending a shock all the way down her spine (and a literal shock into Spectre, only egging her on further).

As Ceri’s hips bounced, trying to fuck the empty air, Spectre continued pushing deeper and deeper into her mind, inching closer and closer to putting a “finishing touch” on her protege’s attitude; pleasure wasn’t the only thing that’d be flooding her mind, soon enough. There was a good chance the room would be flooded, too—after ramming and ramming against another wall on the opposite side of Ceri’s skull, Spectre finally pushed through a second time, her half-tangible cock jutting clean through the Electric-Type’s other ear, drooling phantasmal precum down her other cheek and all over her now-bare shoulder.

Squeezing through both earholes was like fucking a toy made up of tight rings, or being stroked in the firm grip of two strong hands; the near ear massaged the base of Spectre’s dick, and the far ear bore down around her sensitive tip with each pass. At this point, every stroke forced a rope of cum out of Ceri’s cock, drenching her panties further. Some of her mini-orgasms were powerful enough to shoot through the fabric, pooling into a musky mess between her paws on the floor below.

The whites of Ceri’s eyes turned a pale red, still practically staring at the back of her skull; Spectre’s paws clutched at her pet project’s head, petting her, slamming into her, hunched over so far that her tummy smushed around Ceri’s snout. They were both about to finish, Ceri with her makeover and Spectre with, well, you know. When she finally blew her load, she didn’t stop pounding—half of it squirted out her far ear, splattering an ocean of cum on the floor alongside Ceri’s comparative lake, and half of it sloshed around the remaining slurry of Ceri’s thoughts, mixing in a potent dose of Spectre’s signature sexual confidence, her hunger, her lust. They nyowled in unison, tongues hanging out (Spectre’s dangling much further than Ceri’s, and making much more of a sticky mess); as they both rode out their climaxes, they settled into each other and began purring in unison.

The poltergeist eventually pulled out, the sensation sending spasms through Ceri’s body (and a little more cum onto the floor). After a few moments, consciousness returned to her, her eyes refocusing just in time to see Spectre making that monster of hers magically disappear with nothing more than a wave of her paw. She blinked hard, once, twice, then turned her attention from the manifestation to the mirror, appraising herself. She was… she was a Luxray!

“So, kitten?” Spectre purred, placing her paws back on Ceri’s shoulders like a hairstylist admiring her own handiwork.

“I feel… fantastic!” Her voice was a solid octave deeper than it was before. It was huskier, raspier, though she couldn’t tell whether the second part was because of all the screaming she must’ve gotten up to. She thanked her lucky stars—or, she supposed, her good luck charm—that the dressing room was soundproofed so Eleanor could warm up her voice before each show. Usually, she would’ve been mortified at the thought of being heard by all those people, but instead of clamming up and fixating on the worst… some part of her was… proud? At the notion. Like she wouldn’t mind being seen by all those people. “Hell, I feel like I could walk onstage right now and sweep Eleanor off her feet!”

“Wrowww~,” Spectre mused, “I really have rubbed off on mew then, hm?” Her eyes trailed down to Ceri’s bare chest, and further to where her dick was still halfway flopped out of her panties. Okay. Right. She at least retained the good sense to stop herself from running around naked.

“Maybe I’ll have a look around for some spare clothes in here first, ahah. I mean, It’s a dressing room, right?” She turned to look over her shoulder at the armoire in the corner of the room, and at the standing rack of a few pre-prepared outfits. “How hard could it be to find something that fits?”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just see myself meowt,” came Spectre’s voice from her other side. I’ve never been a purrponent of putting more clothes on.”

“Pssh, yeah, I could’ve guessed,” Ceri shot back, twisting around again. “How do you even manage to hide that massive—”

When she turned back, Spectre was already missing from the reflection, leaving nothing but a puff of sky-blue smoke and a faintly echoing, distinctly feline laugh.

“Well,” she said, directed at nothing in particular. “Thanks.”

With that, she started rummaging through the stage outfits. She found a larger size of her work uniform, but for some reason, she felt much less inclined to dress formal. She settled for a vest (worn open, so as to be less restrictive in both the literal and metaphorical sense), a pair of dress pants that was a size or two too big (because it was the closest thing she could find to a nice, loose pair of jeans), and a pair of glossy boots that reached up to her calves. She’d have to work on it—maybe take some pointers from the boys, given her larger frame—but it was a start.

Behind her, a poster on the wall was subtly different, featuring a certain cat instead of the star of a previous show at the lounge. She may have had at least one kind of hunger satisfied for the night, but Spectre still expected a show! All that was left now was to sit back and gloat about what a stellar wing-wraith she was.

Well, Eleanor was still singing out on the stage… she was sure she had time to clean out the kitchen first.

Hi!! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[nubisaureus]

confessing their love to you

love confessions from the genshin men (again, having a very hard brainrot lately, sigh)

characters: Tighnari, Zhongli

pairing(s): afab!reader x mentioned characters

contents: fluff, love confessions, mention of bl00d, hint of angst, happy ending

a/n having Zhongli brainrot lately so yeah 👉👈

I SWEAR I CAN'T WRITE SHORT THINGS TO SAVE MY GODDAMN LIFE

Enjoy <3

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

Tighnari

That night was a clear night. No clouds in sight, which made for an unusual cold night as well.

You huddled your jacket closer to yourself, inhaling the fresh air of the night while you strolled around Pardis Dhyai, waiting for Tighnari to arrive. You two had to conduct an experiment that could only be executed at night, hence why the late hour.

As you were deep in your thoughts, you heard the noise of hurried steps coming your way.

Tighnari stopped right in front of you, catching his breath.

«Sorry to keep you waiting, someone had eaten poisonous mushrooms again, so I had to treat them. Were you waiting long?»

You shook your head. «Only 10 minutes, really. It's okay, Nari.»

You smiled at him, and he did as well, making you warm up from the inside. Then he took the keys to the garden out, and opened the place up.

It was a sight for sure: the moonlight delicately seeped through the glass panels of the garden, rendering the place almost ethereal.

Along with the ethereal glow of the moon there was also the warm and cozy glow of fireflies, which made you gasp.

«This place sure is beautiful, for a research site.» you commented, making him chuckle. It was the first time you visited it.

«Not at all times, though. Well then, let's get started, shall we?» you nodded, hoping the experiment wouldn't take long, you weren't a fan of the cold.

«[y/n]?» Tighnari called for you attention. «Hm?»

«You seem..cold.» he stated, catching you in his arms and holding you close. You could feel his tail on your back, warming you up.

You blushed from head to toe. What was even happening??

«You know..There isn't someone I'd rather be doing this tedious task with.» he stated, and you looked at him: his ears were trembling, and his cheeks were red.

«I..thank you, Nari. Are you okay though?»

He nodded. «Just trying to gather some courage, is all.» «For what?»

«For telling you I like you. In more than a friend type of way.» he blurted out, while your eyes widened in shock.

«You what?» his eyes went downward, his ears following suit.

«I suppose you don't feel the same way though. It's okay.»

He was holding tears back, but in reality you were just too stunned from his revelation to mutter anything logical.

«No, that's not what I meant. I was just stunned by your words. I..I've actually liked you for a while, Nari.» his ears went straight up, his gaze instantly fixated on you, sparkles in his eyes.

«You..you have?» you nodded, and he grabbed you from the waist, spinning you in the air, before putting you back on your feet and hugging you close.

«Can I give you a kiss?» he asked, and you nodded.

He smiled big. «You really don't understand how happy I feel right now. I've been losing sleep just thinking about this moment..» you shut him up with a kiss, and soon enough, you weren't cold anymore.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Zhongli

The early hours of the day were starting to give light to the sunrise, as you rested your back against a rock, catching your breath.

Your bow rested near your feet, the quiver full of arrows still on your side. You slowly slid downwards, sitting on the ground.

Footsteps.

Your bow was already strung, the icy arrows ready to be fired at whoever dared to approach you, when..

«Zhongli?» you lowered your bow, smiling at the familiar face.

«What a magnificent display of skills. You were resting not even a second ago, yet the moment you heard the faint sound of my footsteps your bow was swiftly at the ready. Truly magnificent.»

You thanked him. «So, what are you doing over here? It's not every day that the esteemed Consultant comes around Bishui Plain, is it?»

He chuckled lowly.

«Correct. Alas, Director Hu sent me here on a commission, and that is my duty as a consultant, is it not?» «I guess so?»

«Moving onward, I am quite happy that the Director sent me this way. It's been a while since I've seen you around, [y/n].» he stated, while you adjusted your equipment back on your person.

Just then, something passed by you, and by the sound you reckoned it was an arrow.

Zhongli reacted immediately.

«I'll be right back.»

Upon returning, you noticed a spear in his left hand, the tip of it faintly smeared with blood.

He hugged you tight, squishing your face on his chest.

«Zhongli?» you called for his attention.

«Yes?» his tone was calm and reassuring, yet serious at the same time.

«Why did you do all of this? I can take care of myself.» you weren't functioning properly due to how close you two were.

«I know, it's just..my mind ceased to function when I saw that arrow, I acted on instinct, I'm sorry. - he continued - There's something I've been meaning to tell you, [y/n], yet I can't bring myself to.»

«Is it something bad? You're scaring me, Zhongli.» he shook his head, his gaze softening.

«Quite the opposite, I'd say.»

«You do understand you're making this even more complicated, yes?» he sighed, nodding.

«Oh, for the love of Archons, say it. I'm a grown adult, I can handle whatever it is.»

He sighed. «I..I've fallen in love with you, [y/n]. I've known for a while, but I've always tried to restrain myself due to..well. But just now, I got reminded of how feeble mortal life is, so I had to tell you. I will accept whatever answer you give me.»

Zhongli. Zhongli had fallen in love with you?!

The ever so distant consultant that made you feel butterflies in your stomach every time you two spent time together, whether it be sipping tea or strolling around Liyue Harbor? THAT Zhongli?

«Wow..I'm speechless. Truly.»

«You don't have to answer now if you don't want to.» he distanced himself from you, looking down.

«Zhongli.» «Yes?» you took his hand, pressing it on your chest, his eyes widening upon the contact with the area.

«What are you doing?» «Shh -you gently shushed him- concentrate and feel my heartbeat, please.» he did, and to his surprise he found your heart pounding on his hand.

«It's pounding.» «That's because I'm around you.» you stated, earning a gasp from him.

«That means..?» you nodded.

«For such a knowledgeable consultant, you sure are oblivious at times.» you chuckled, while his face returned serious.

«I'm glad you reciprocate my feelings, [y/n], but there's something else I need to tell you.» «Go ahead.»

He took his Vision off, handing it to you.

«It's fake.» you noticed. It was way too light to be a real Vision.

«What does this mean?» you inquired, setting the Vision aside.

He summoned a shield, displaying elemental powers without the Vision. Your mouth was agape. He could use elemental power without a Vision? But only the Traveler..

«I did it this way because otherwise you would have struggled to believe me. I..I am Rex Lapis, [y/n].»

«But Rex Lapis is dead!» he sighed, setting his Vision back in place.

«I'm not. I wanted to hide among mortals, that's why I faked my death.» you fell to your knees, crying.

«That means..That time..It was you?»

He nodded. You bursted crying, on his chest, his hand running up and down your back to soothe you.

Through the tears, you found his mouth, and you two shared a tender kiss, as the day finally started.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

dc brainrot anon here to say something something that challengers pose but it’s jaydickate… you could fight over her orrrrrr learn to share 😇

spoil her with attention okAY BYEEEEE

No nope wait come back you can't just say that and dip hang on

also this wound up getting horny. under the cut it goes!

Just. Just debating if Dick is feeling Kate up while Jay kisses her, or if Jason is holding her while Dick is kissing her. Depends on Jay's self esteem levels (does he feel like an outsider or interloper because he doesn't think he's good enough). Because Dick sliding his hand between Kate's legs, his other hand around Kate's neck to keep her in place while Jason kisses her is making me chew wires. The LEVEL of trust that displays. Obviously meeting out of costume shows a level of trust but Dick can FEEL her PULSE against his palm.

Jason keeps getting distracted because that is SUCH a pretty tableau, Kate and Dick leaning into each other. Like kill people gorgeous because he doesn't know what else to do. It's the spicy version of cuteness aggression. Jason wants to tear apart anyone who has ever looked at Dick and Kate, who has ever seen this--except, no, they've never done this. This is all for him. Only him. They each belong to him and he will share them with each other and that's it.

Though, you know, i think Dick would go a little feral if Kate or Jason grabbed him by the throat. Is it a size kink thing? A competency kink? Yes. The size kink of it working in different directions for him with this. How did Kate even reach his neck. I think Jason would be kind of into getting put in a chokehold but not being grabbed by the throat. It's interesting because he does like being collared. They are all into seeing each other get manhandled by each other (though with Kate it's less shoving her around and more when one of them holds her STILL for fucks sake she's so bad at it. I think one time Jason pulls Kate to him after she's been up waaay too long, her back against his front, his forearm resting along her breastbone and his hand gently resting on her throat and he talks to her in a low soothing voice and accidentally talks her into subspace. Dick is the first to figure out what's happening and sits there and watches. does nothing to prevent it or inform anyone that's what's happening. It's, like, for science or something.)

You know, they all have size kinks in this relationship. It requires a little coordination to get grindy on Kate in a way that's good for her because of the height differences. Jason can and will hoist her up with his forearms under her thighs like he's a fucking chair so she can get her legs around Dick's waist. (The Boys are learning the benefits of teamwork! something something Kate wants to be degraded a little so they talk about sharing their toy)

This is impressive because while Kate is smaller than both of them which is not even HARD, she is not small because my personal headcanon is girl thicc. She THICCCCCCC because I said so

But anyway people generally don't hoist her around. Or they do, but they're all enhanced or mutants or mutates or straight up aliens. Clint has yeeted her before but that's about it for normal humans. They also have a weird hivemind connection sometimes so she can tell when he's about to toss her and can help. Whatever, the point is the boys manhandle her which is NOT something she just allows, partly because trauma and partly because it's not DIGNIFIED, she does actually need some of these people to respect her and being hauled about like a sack of potatoes does not help make that point. Dick and Jason recognizing it for the honor it is and take full advantage of it.

Thinking about That Jason Todd Pose as he directs Dick and Kate to put on a show for him (they were probably being obnoxious at a gala or trying to steal from Red Hood for god knows what reason). Will have them do fucknasty shit and write the most beautiful poetry about it, it's very confusing for Dick and Kate but they don't mind.

It's audience participation porn, basically.

I feel like Dick would try to "train" Jason how to fuck Kate right, like coaching him or something, get some of that Discowing/Robin dynamic going, probably trying to tap into some kind of trust or bond idk. but they don't realize they're doing so, this is different from how they normally objectify Kate. Like, they're talking about her like she's not there, ignoring her, but for real, not in a sexy way. They are arguing??!

Kate is like wow actually maybe neither of you get to fuck me. OR MAYBE A COMPETITION?? over who has the best technique. It winds up with Kate pegging them and they're fucked dumb making Kate go >:) I am the best

This cannot stand. The next day they work together (teamwork again!) to keep her cock drunk all day.

One of them goes "about last night..." and Kate is all yesssss with suggestive eyebrows. And then one of the boys says her technique could use some work. Kate squawking indignation she has NEVER had a complaint about her strap game ( definitely something they will revisit later when they don't have plans. Unfortunately this whole weekend is booked solid)

Dick: baby it's not that it was bad

Kate: *angery bird noises*

Jason: we just want to give you some pointers, sweets.

Kate: *angrier bird noises but begrudgingly listening because she wants to know how to make them feel even BETTER next time*

This is a TRICK, btw, "giving her pointers" turns into "a demonstration" turns into "a hands on demonstration" because, well-- here, if you feel it you'll know what they're talking about

its just them all day passing her back and forth. Tbh mostly edging her, they are VERY mean about it and if her brain wasn't leaking out her ears she would be planning retaliation. Unfortunately they are fucking her brainless.

Maybe don't be so cocky next time baby :(

instead of teaching each other how to fuck her they're teaching her how to fuck them. If she can't remember the finer points they will just have to do the lesson again. Oh no :(

....sorry if you wanted some deep emotional stuff.