#also you're my first ask so ty <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[stellastra-scribbles]

Hey there, I saw your Dunmer doodle on my dash and my GOSH AM I IN LOVE With your outfit designs! I’d love to chat Skyrim fashion with you some day, keep up the super cool doodles! ✨✨✨✨

Thank you so much! That's so sweet of you to say~

Here's my Nerevarine in her Skyrim outfit (which still needs a bit of workshopping), since I keep spoiling her with outfits lol. She has so dang many outfits but I can't settle on an outfit for my other TES protags.

Feel free to send me a message me about Skyrim fashion someday (or any fashion really)!

Behold, a snippet of my collection of irl clothing I hope to later incorporate into my Skyrim designs:

Source: Viking Warrior Operations Manual: The life, equipment, weapons and fighting tactics of the Vikings (Haynes Manuals)

Source: National Geographic - The Vikings Lords of Sea and Sword (2018)

Source: National Geographic - The Vikings Lords of Sea and Sword (2018)

Source: Viking Warrior Operations Manual: The life, equipment, weapons and fighting tactics of the Vikings (Haynes Manuals)

Source: Viking Warrior Operations Manual: The life, equipment, weapons and fighting tactics of the Vikings (Haynes Manuals)

[linterteatime]

YOUR ART IS SO- HJBFFVFFFGBUINBFFB I LOVE IT HOW ARE YOU SO TALENTED?.?? THE COLORS, THE POSING, EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS MAGNIFICENT!!!! I’M HONORED TO LIVE ON THE SAME PLANET-LET ALONE IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS SUCH A GREAT ARTIST I WANT TO EAT YOUR ART HBFGNJKJN /p

Aaawawaa thank you very much! :D 💕💝💕💕💞

[daddy-ul]

tour blurb

I can't say anything BC it's the same (almost) unit of measurement that I apply when I go to concerts.

Smsmksksa (not so much) joking aside, the mic unit of measurement is the most useful and obvious for the concert donut. I know they updated the number and positions of the mics,, so I am now kind of curious of the ratio drum riser/mics on the stage. Like there are 4 battle station on the donut, how many mics between every drum kit? This is a math problem due to monday

*coff* that said did they discussed it in tuning rooms etc bc lars asked James to stay in his line of site for the most of it?

But like, of course for stages like the one in Milan, it wasn't like that, even if it was smaller

[bratphilia]

overtime (m. schmidt x reader)

request: "Hey ! Just discovered your account and I love your writtings ! I was wondered if you could write a smut and romantic thing with mike ? I dont have any specific context and all its up to you ! <3"

note: ty sm for showing love to my work and for requesting!! i finally was able to write something actually sweet with mike for the first time lmao.

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

tags: small age gap, fingering, missionary

after putting abby to sleep, you fell asleep yourself in front of the tv. you couldn't help it! it was a long night of cooking spaghetti for abby (and ordering pizza, per her request), helping her build a fort, and coloring with her inside it. abby's a sweet kid, but babysitting has always tired you out in general. plus her older brother, your boss, started working the graveyard shift at his new job, so it would be unfeasible for you to not go to sleep during your time spent over there.

you woke up to the chair next to you being shifted in, and open your eyes to see mike sitting there, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. you feel embarrassed that you fell asleep on the job and quickly explain yourself. "i'm so sorry for falling asleep, i was just—"

he looks at you. "no need to apologize. i don't expect you to wait all night long for me."

awkward silence fills the air. well, that settles that. god, he's so cute, you think, even all stressed out and with bags under his eyes. he's also been nothing but kind to you since the two of you met. always concerned with how you're doing, how school is holding up, and just generally about your wellbeing. you try to do reciprocate as it's obvious mike doesn't have a lot of people in his life doing the same for him.

you're the first to break the silence. "uhm, there's leftover pizza in the fridge... you know, in case you want any..." you comment, not quite sure what else to say to him.

"oh! thank you," he says. "did abby ask you to..."

"make her spaghetti and order pizza? yes, she absolutely did."

both you and mike laugh. "i'll make sure i can pay you back for that. you really didn't have to—"

"mike," you interrupt, "seriously, don't worry about it. i understand your situation and i want to help you."

mike looks at you gratefully, almost lovingly.

"y'know—"

"so, i should really—"

the both of you talk at the same time. "oh, sorry, you go."

you smile gently. "no, you go. i was just going to say i should hit the road."

he runs a hand through his hair again, eyes darting across the room bashfully. "well i — uh, i just wanted to say thank you for all you do for abby... and for me. it means a lot. you're very... kind."

your smile widens at his awkward choice of words, but it deeply touches you that he appreciates you. you place a hand on top of his. "of course, mike. i'm always here for you."

mike looks at your hand and inhales deeply through his nose. "will you — will you stay for just a little while longer?"

before you know it he's on top of you on the couch, slamming his middle and ring finger inside you while you bite back moans. "gotta be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart. can't wake abby up, okay? or else i gotta stop and neither of us want that," he whispers to you sweetly.

instead of letting you respond, mike presses his lips against yours in a deep kiss while he continues to finger you. you break apart to quietly call his name, letting him know that you're close.

much to your dismay, he pulls his fingers out before you can come. "mike, please," you whisper.

"please, what, honey?" he teases.

you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the tension in your core. "please fuck me already."

mike presses his forehead against yours, breathing sharply as he slowly pushes inside you, inch by inch. you bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out as your pussy swallows his hard length.

as he begins to move, he also clearly struggles to keep his noises to a minimum. as a solution, he envelopes you in a kiss as he moves inside you. his pace gradually increases from gentle to faster. the feeling is absolutely delicious.

he can feel your pussy spasming around him and his own dick pulsing too. he uses the hand caging you in on the couch to hold yours as he continues to fuck you.

"feel so good around me, baby," he whispers hotly. "you have no idea what you — ngh — do to me. every time i see you i always think about fucking you like this."

"mike," you moan quietly. his words only encouraged you.

his name becomes a whispered chant falling from your lips as he fucks you through your own orgasm. he's sure to pull out and come on your stomach while he pumps himself.

mike wipes the sweat off of his forehead and sits up so your legs lay over his lap. "sorry for pushing you into overtime," he jokes.

you give a small laugh. "no worries. it was my pleasure."

mike shakes his head at your dumb joke. then his smile fades and he looks at you seriously. "is it... too early to say that i love you?"

you lean up and meet his lips in a kiss as your answer.

[cyberm4n]

HI I LOVED UR HYPERSEXUAL FEM READER HEADCANONS UR WRITING IS SO GOOD

Soo I'm here to request the vees (mainly vox but idc) x hypersexual Fem reader pleasee 😭🙏

if not that's okay and I hope you have a nice day/night!! feel free to delete this lol

-xoxo, Ari

THANK YOU <3333 i love the vees and ive been looking for an excuse to write them so this is perfect

vees with hypersexul reader

going with the same scenario as last time- you've just finished a round and (char) is spent but you're already ready to go again

《— vox —》

■ he seems like a 2 rounds kinda guy so after that second round and yall are just laying there he is SPENT

■ so when you roll over to lay on his chest like "one more time?" with a little smile on your face, as if yall did not just violently fuck it takes him a moment

■ he's spent, so spent. but he really wants to please you

■ he'd get used to it tbh. like he's mentally prepared everytime now but maybe sometimes he can do a round 3

■ he'd resort to toys i think, only the best for his girl <3

■ there's also something he loves about getting to hold you and watch you writhe in pleasure and he just gets to watch

■ he'd always take your preferences into mind with toys too. like if you want smth specific he's got it for you

■ i feel like he might prefer if yall are spent at the same time so the foreplay goes CRAZY

■ like it's not just foreplay it's actual rounds of getting you to cum before the main event yk

■ or sometimes he'll just ask if it'd be okay to be done for the night when he is

■ he doesn't mind either way but he'd definitely want to communicate about it

■ so yeah it might take him a little bit to adjust bit he'd be just fine!

《— valentino —》

■ okay let's be real this man fucks A LOT so he can probably do like. 3 or 4 lengthy rounds before he's tapped out

■ it's making me giggle about it but like okay val is a kinky guy, and like especially if the first time yall do anything it's a little bit rougher he is SHOCKED when you're down for more

■ he's prly into something like overstim where normally you kinda gotta reel from it after so when he's done and it takes you like. a minute or two to be like "do you wanna do it again?" he judt looks down at you so confused

■ he takes a moment, blinking. he'd definitely ask if you're kidding or smth and then finding out you're not he has to take a moment

■ like, he finds it fucking awesome but jesus christ he's finally met hsi match

■ he might use toys on you or go down on you, depends how he's feeling tbh

■ i think he'd lean towards going down on you, idk he just seems like he'd be a bit of a munch.

■ and if you're okay with it when yall fuck in the future he's constantly just seeing how far you can go before you're spent

■ long story short he's totally chill abt it when he gets used to it and thinks it's fucking great

《— velvette —》

■ okay im literally giggling and kicking my feet while typing this

■ she seems like a 2 or 3 round kind of gal

■ idk femxfem sex doesn't really go in rounds ime but like. yk.

■ so after she's spent, she's like so ready to cuddle up and sleep. but then you're caressing her cheek, nuzzling into her neck. "again?" you murmur and she has to take a moment

■ cause like, she's just super surprised you're still ready for another.

■ she'd ask the most questions abt it. like she'd want to just know more so she can support you better

■ she'd go down on you tho! anytime! she definitely has toys but she seems like the type to be more inclined to eat you out

■ if she gets tired of that she'd use a toy on you. but she stays engaged the whole time, super attentive.

■ she's a service switch so like getting to keep you pleased like this makes her feel good and she doesn't mind at all

■ once again, all of them would embrace it and they do not mind at all!

■ if you guys with the poly hc for the vees i think it just makes it so much better for them to know it's really hard to burn you out

■ i loved this request ty <3

taglist: @reaper-of-light-12 @mxxny-lupin @wisteria-songs @t3llas @concentratedconcrete @pansexual-opera-house @dionysusismypatrongod

taglist form

[qtboni]

hai bonni <33 this is my first reqs 4u and im sry in advance if it's kinda of cringe 😭 (i came here from yr simon fic btw nd i luv ur writinggg) wht do u think abt simon being tired as hell coming back home from his mission and literally melts into reader's arms?

HELLO DEAR ANON ! thanks for requesting and no, it's not cringe dw i LOVE it. also ty for loving my writing that literally made my day sm >< enjoy this!

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon melting into your arms after a rough day at work <//3

C/W: Entirely fluff + kisses

Simon had a long day at work and was feeling tired and stressed. He started his car and drove home, feeling the tension in his shoulders and back. As he pulled into his driveway, he saw you standing on the porch, waiting for him.

You smiled and walked towards him, your arms outstretched. Simon stumbled out of his car and into your arms, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He felt the tension in his body melt away as you held him close, your warmth and comfort surrounding him.

"Welcome home, Simon," you whispered, resting your head on his chest.

"Thanks." Simon replied, wrapping his arms around you and taking a deep breath.

The warmth of your body against his, your breathing against his ear, all of it was like a balm for his soul. He let go of the tension in his muscles and let himself melt into you. Your warmth and love surrounded him, making him feel safe and protected.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling you hug him tightly.

"I missed you," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "Missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Si'," you replied, your voice full of love.

For a moment, nothing else mattered but your embrace and the love that you shared. The weight of the world seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. And in that moment, he knew that everything was going to be alright.

"Hey," you said, leading him towards the house. "Let's go inside, okay?"

You helped him inside, guiding him to the couch, where you could hear him release another deep sigh.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, sitting beside him. "Food? Um, what about some tea? I think that will help you loosen u-"

Simon reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. "Just you being here is enough, love." he replied.

"I'm always here for you, Simon," you said, giving his hand a squeeze back.

You leaned into his embrace, pressing a soft kiss against his stubble-roughened cheek. The gesture was gentle, yet full of meaning. Simon felt a warmth spreading from his cheek to the rest of his body, your love surrounding him like a blanket.

He closed his eyes and savored the moment, letting himself be fully present in your embrace. He could hear your heartbeat against his chest, and the sensation was soothing and calming.

You reached out and pulled his balaclava up, revealing his mouth. A quick peck and his face lit up with a smile, his eyes sparkling with joy.

You watched as he became more and more beaming, his mouth turning into a grin as you removed the balaclava. "There he is," you said softly, your voice filled with affection. You giggled, teasing him as you added, "My little baby soldier."

Simon's eyes were fixed on you, filled with a sense of pure adoration and love. He was grateful to have someone who accepted him for who he was, especially coming home from a long and difficult mission.

"Baby soldier?" He asked.

"Yeah, well, aren't you one, my love?"

"I am so not a baby soldier."

"Oh, damn you're right." You replied with faux surprise. You leaned into him, cupping his cheeks and squeezing them together.

Then you added, whispering as you do so, "You're my little baby lieutenant, aren't you, Si'?"

You feel Simon inhale and see him averting his gaze. You giggled at him and kissed both of his cheeks.

Simon cannot bring himself to retort any longer as he completely melts into your kisses and embrace. If you said he's a little baby lieutenant, then for god's sake, he is.

It was a moment of pure serenity, of pure love. And Simon knew that he would always cherish it, a beacon of solace in the midst of the chaos of the world.

And then, as if driven by an instinctive need to express the depth of his emotions, he pulled you closer, holding you in his arms, his touch firm and passionate.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. But there was no question about the sincerity of his words, the longing in his eyes as he looked at you. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I love you too," you replied, your own voice just as genuine. And with those words, Simon knew that everything was going to be alright.

[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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[sinsofsummers]

sensational; part iii

6.1k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader part one | part two

summary: joel continues teaching you everything you need to know about desire. warnings: smut smut smut, 18+, mdni. yearning, teasing, thigh-sitting, grinding, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), fingers in mouth, joel almost loses control, age gap (reader is 25, joel is 56). i think that's everything. suchhhh impaired(drunk) editing. i'm so osrry. note: here it is. about a week later than i had planned. but i turned 21. cut me some slack HAHAHHAHA i hope you enjoy this unintentional third part to sensational! note: special shoutout to @cavillscurls bc she not only requested that joel call reader "babygirl" at least once but also that there be some aftercare so....this one's all for u pretty girl i hope your day is an easy one <3 ty for being my very first friend on here wahhh

Joel was used to the chill in his bones. It had been there since his thirty-sixth birthday, and had hardly begun to slip away until he'd met that quiet girl with a fiery spirit like his daughter. Ellie had made the icy tension thaw, and then he met her, the woman who'd begun to melt his very insides.

Was it her curiosity that was so...endearing? Astute? An inevitable addition to his patrols with her? Or was it the fact that she'd begun to smile when she saw him, if only a tight-lipped grin that emitted a soft glow like a secret shared with whispers?

He wasn't quite sure he even wanted to know what it was that had him hardening at the sight of her. So instead of thinking about it—something he wasn't very good at, anyway—Joel returned to his current position in the present moment.

He was on horseback, his gloved hands tightened on the reins, and she was perched in front of him, her back pressed gingerly to his chest and her thighs warming the insides of his.

Joel's mind wandered to the morality of his intentions, as they usually did when she was this close to him. What's she want with you, old man? That voice loved to pester him all day long, but he shoved it away this time when he pretended to adjust his hands on the reins. The movement made his arms tense around her frame, and other than her head tilting back to nudge his chin, there was no response. He thanked the horse for its strong, rocking movements that kept her body tense and pressed into his.

This girl is gonna be the death of me, he mused. And what a painless death it would be.

—

Despite the fact that you were entirely okay with this turn of events, you couldn't ignore the instinctual worry that bit at your insides. When you'd shown up at the stables that morning, Joel had already arrived, leading his horse by the reins.

"C'mon, doll," he said in that rough morning voice that was so attractive. "You're ridin' with me today."

Your brows had furrowed, and you looked toward the stables. "What about—"

Joel had shaken his head and held out a gloved hand for you. "Your horse is no good today," he said (with a less-than-convincing note of sorrow in his voice, but why would he show emotion for once in his life?), clearing his throat before finishing, "just you, me, and this one today," with a nod to his horse.

"Is he gonna be okay?" you asked as you took his hand, the heavy weight of his grip returning to you as a comfort now. "What's wrong with him?" He led you forward, but you couldn't help glancing back once more as if you were a kid getting dragged away by her parents from a candy store.

He squeezed your hand and smiled softly at you. "Gimme your hands, sweet girl," he murmured.

You obeyed without a second thought and let him help you up, the winter wind whipped around your hair despite it being trapped in your usual knit hat. His hands tightened around your hips as he booted you up, and you mourned the moment they left your body. Of course, that sensation didn't last long; he clambered up and mounted right behind you.

Oh. You hadn't considered that this would be the solution to your horse being incapable of patrolling today. Maybe this won't be so bad, you thought, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the chill. You let out a shaky breath at the press of his chest against your back.

"My horse?" you asked once more, despite not quite caring anymore; his arms were now enveloping you as he began making his way to the edges of Jackson.

His sigh created a brief cloud of mist in the wintry air, and the vibrations of his voice rumbled through your body. "Broken leg," he explained quietly, and you felt more than heard his words.

You wanted nothing more than to let yourself sink into the feeling of being so close to him like this, with your hips nestled right in front of his pelvis (a fact that was bound to distract you soon enough), but you forced yourself to inquire a final time.

"A broken leg?" you said. You didn't mean for it to come off as disbelieving, but...your mount had been just fine the day before.

Joel shrugged and instead of answering, he leaned in closer to your ear, his chapped lips scratching against the soft skin near your neck; your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. "Darlin'," he murmured, "don't you trust me?" One of his hands dropped the reins and curled around your middle, tugging you by the waist back into him. "I've got so much to teach you today."

The reminder that there was still more, that there was always more for Joel to teach you in the world of desire and sin...it was enough to have your mind going blank and your muscles relaxing at his touch. "Okay," you mumbled, not sure if he could even hear your answer.

His gloved hand moved up just a few inches before moving back to grab the reins, but you didn't miss the feeling (if only for a second) of his fingers brushing against the soft curve of your breasts.

You sighed gently and leaned back enough for your head to rest against his chest, your body full encased by his broad shoulders and burly arms. It was secure, it was safe, and the heady scent of leather and Joel nearly made your head spin. With all the possibilities of what he might want to teach you today, on patrol and so close to one another...you weren't sure you'd survive.

It was only a matter of time before your hands and mind completely lost their withering hold on social decorum.

—

Joel's composure was the first to slip, but you weren't far behind—of course, you'd never admit it to him. You'd made it about an hour outside of Jackson, your body rocking deliciously against his, and nothing but the wind to accompany your soft voices as you spoke.

"Those girls haven't bothered me anymore, you know," you said, turning your head to look over your shoulder at him. You nearly choked at the sight of him already looking down at you, his mustache twitching with his lips in a curious smirk. "Not sure what made them stop, though."

"S'good," he said, his jaw clicking before he continued. "But you're like an open book, doll," he said, eyes flitting back to his surroundings. "I'm sure they could see it on your face."

You huffed, cheeks warming again. "See what exactly?"

Joel reached down with a hand to run his fingers along your thigh, creeping closer to where a puddle of desire was growing between your legs. You leaned your head against his chest again and let out a wanton sigh, wishing his hands would creep closer to where you needed him most.

"That," he said, voice lilting with a satisfied arrogance. "It's that sweet face you make when you're wantin' somethin' from me."

"I don't have a face," you mumbled, your arms looping around his biceps and hanging on to them. It's terribly domestic, a voice murmured in your head, but you shoved it away. "What are you talking about?"

Joel leaned his head down to yours, his mouth in your hair. You felt him smile against your skin and he cooed, "Don't worry your pretty little head about that, babygirl." He moved his hand to your thigh once more and chuckled into your hair when you rolled your hips back into his. "Just let me make you feel good, sweetheart."

You wanted nothing more than to sink into his soft touches and whine his name until he brought you to the edges of ecstasy again, but the winter wind howled in your ears and reminded you that you couldn't afford to lose all composure. There was a very real reason you were on patrol; it would have been irresponsible to indulge in the sweet pleasure of Joel's touch.

And yet—you couldn't help it when you lifted your chin and pressed a swift kiss to his jaw, hoping beyond hope that it might prompt him to touch you, to kiss you, to do anything to relieve the familiar ache that was growing. It was all you could do not to begin begging right then and there.

So when he suggested that the two of you take a pit stop at one of the old abandoned cabins along your route, you nodded feverishly. It's not irresponsible if we're taking proper precautions, you convinced yourself.

"C'mon, dollface," he murmured, pulling the reins to a halt in front of a dilapidated shack in the wintry landscape. "Can't hardly focus with you rubbin' up against me like that."

The breathless chuckle that you let out sounded nothing like yourself; you were giddy with the impending pleasure that was about to come from Joel's lips, his fingers, anything that he might deem useful in bringing you another crumbling orgasm.

You practically fell off the horse into his arms with your tingling excitement, and Joel chuckled as your chest collided with his. “So eager, darlin’,” he mused, adjusting your knit hat where it had fallen below your eyes. “Makin’ me feel so special with that sweet face,” he said, his large hand snaking around your back to support you as the two of you traipsed through the snow to the cabin. 

It was only a little alarming that his hands on your body were so familiar after just a few of his “lessons,” but you chose to ignore it and sink into the weight of his warm hands perforating your coat. “Joel,” you breathed, and you didn’t mean for it to sound so desperate, but you couldn’t help it. 

Joel pushed open the door to the cabin—it took a few tries; it was frozen shut—and tied up his mount. “C’mere,” he whispered as soon as the door was shut behind you. His lips were on yours before you could suck in a breath of anticipation, and oh, how you loved the scrape of his chapped lips against your skin when he moved to press kisses to the line of your jaw. 

“Been thinkin’ of you, dollface,” he mumbled when he pulled back, his breath fanning over your face. “Been thinkin’ of you a lot.”

You blinked up at him, your lips already wet and wanting for more of his attention. With that dark look in his eyes, he looked as if he might devour you without a moment’s notice. Despite your ever-present reticence toward the things that Joel had taught you so far, you couldn’t ignore the way that your mouth had dried, mind empty of all words.

“Yeah?” you managed, swallowing roughly. In pure humiliation, you leaned forward to hide your face in his chest, inhaling that comforting scent of leather—it both cleared and muddled your head. 

He let out a rumbling chuckle, a looser laugh than you’d ever heard from him, and he placed his gloved hands on the sides of your face to tilt your head back up to him. “Yeah,” he said gently, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Probably a little too much, considering I can hardly get through the night without gettin’ a hard-on.”

Your cheeks warmed as you blushed, and you instinctively tried to duck your head once more. Of course, Joel wouldn’t let you; he quickly rid his hands of his gloves and returned them to your cheeks, the chill of his fingertips contrasting with the heat of your cheeks. “You gonna kiss me again?” you asked, your voice small in its pleading. “Please?” you added, the syllable even quieter than the last.

“Fuck’s sake,” Joel murmured, and you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. He pulled you closer, and you could feel the hard outline of his cock against your hip. “Gonna kill me, dollface,” he groaned before he captured your lips in another bruising kiss, one that had your legs buckling. He kept you upright, with his hands wrapped tightly around your back.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth into his kiss, hardly able to believe how natural it felt to kiss him now. A strangled moan left your mouth and he swallowed it into his own, drinking it like a sweet nectar from the gods. His hands came up to feverishly rid you of your winter coat and you eagerly assisted him, clawing at his layers right after. 

“Teach me,” you begged, pulling away to catch your breath. Your eyes didn’t even open; you were too blissed out to care what you looked like or what he looked like in front of you. “Teach me,” the words came out again, and your bottom lip quivered as if you might shed tears. Your thighs clenched together subconsciously, doing virtually nothing to assist in the pressure that was growing. 

Joel hummed and his thumb carefully swept a caressing touch under your eyes, as if catching any tears that might actually fall. “No need to beg anymore, babygirl,” he cooed, “I’ll teach you everything you want to know.” He tugged your hat from your head and smoothed over your undoubtedly knotted mess of locks. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he flashed a smirk at you. 

“Promise?” you said, again in that small voice that had you almost kicking yourself. You were supposed to be an adult, mature enough to handle all of this. And you are, the voice in your head spoke harshly, you are.

Joel just nodded and tilted his head back, gesturing for you to follow him further into the cabin. “Stand there for me, doll,” he said, leading you into what must have been the living room some twenty years ago. A couch that looked like it might collapse in on itself sat against the wall, the only piece of furniture in the room. 

You stood where he placed you, but his hands dropped from your body when he went to sit down on the couch. With one arm moving to lay across the back of the couch and his jean-clad legs spreading in the way that made you want to kneel in between them, Joel beckoned for you with his other hand. “Now c’mere,” he ushered, and you couldn’t move fast enough. 

Your hands reached out to grab for him, to take off his coat and his shirt and let him lay bare before you like he had in your bed, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he reassured you, “remember?”

You knew this; both times before this Joel had made it clear that you needn’t worry about getting him off. You were supposed to sit back and let him show you how to feel good, but you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to obey his request. You wanted nothing more than to sit on his lap like he’d had you the first time, and you wanted to rub yourself against his cock so you could see how he looked when he was lost in the throes of his desire. 

“Babydoll,” he nudged you gently with his voice, and you blinked. “Hear me?”

Swallowing hoarsely, you shook your head. “Mm?” you hummed in response.

Joel’s lips curled up in a soft smirk. “Already distracted,” he mused to himself. A hand dropped to his thigh, and your eyes latched onto it. You had the sudden urge to take those fingers into your mouth, to feel the strength of his fingertips on your tongue—the fact that those same digits had been shining with your release (more than once) had your legs wobbling once more. 

“You’re gonna stand there,” he said, adjusting himself on the couch in a way that had your eyes glued to the growing tent in his jeans, “and I’m gonna watch while you make yourself come.”

You blanched, and the spot between your legs pulsed at the idea. “What?” You couldn’t help the slight disappointment at the realization that this meant he wouldn’t be touching you.

“You heard me.”

“But…” your hands flexed, needing to hold onto something. Your desperation for release was almost enough to have you sinking to the floor. “But…I don’t know how—”

Joel nodded, “You do. I’ve shown you, remember?” His fingers tapped a few times on his thigh, and his eyes slipped to drag along your body as you stood just a few feet from him. “And you know I can’t always be there when you need to come, babydoll,” he hummed. “I need you to show me you’ve learned.”

“But—”

“Show me,” he said, his voice firm despite the gentleness in his face. He palmed his cock through his pants and bucked his hips up. “C’mon, baby. Be good for me, I’ll make it worth it.”

Despite his instructions, you shuffled forward, arms out and reaching for him. You paused in between his legs, feeling the heat from his legs radiating toward you. 

But Joel only shook his head with an amused smirk. “No, no, doll,” he murmured. “I’ll come just as quick even if I’m just watchin’ you. I need you to show me what you’ve learned,” he repeated his previous instruction. “Touch yourself, sweet girl. Lemme see how you make yourself feel good.”

You didn’t move, unsure of how to begin—as it was now clear that he wouldn’t let you touch him, nor would he be giving into your requests. Standing there in your sweater and jeans and winter boots, you felt foolish. 

“I know you know how to start, baby,” he encouraged you while moving his hand along his hard cock in his jeans. “Take those clothes off, pretty girl.”

With an instruction to follow, your hands began to move, ridding yourself of your sweater and pants, even your thick boots. Standing in just your worn bra, your cotton panties, and your thick wool socks, you looked shyly toward Joel. It felt somewhat humiliating to have his eyes so intently held on you, despite his face being the picture of approval. 

He moved his hand once more and then he was unzipping his jeans and reaching into his pants, letting his cock spring free. He let out a shuddering sigh at the sensation; you were sure there was a thick feeling of relief that washed over him at the removal of any tight restriction on his erection. “C’mon, baby,” he cooed, and your eyes widened as he licked a wide stripe on his palm, returning his hand to his cock to give it a languid stroke. “I know you can do it.”

You gingerly dropped a hand to your waist, fiddling with the worn out elastic band of your panties. In front of you Joel let out a soft sigh, his eyebrows furrowing and his dark eyes growing even darker at the sight of your hand getting closer to your mound, where there was certainly a puddle growing. 

“Lemme feel it, baby,” he said gruffly, beckoning for you to step closer. “I know I said I wouldn’t touch, but holy fuck, dollface…I’ve never needed to feel something so bad in my life.”

You practically fell over your own two feet as you obeyed his request, stepping into the space between his legs. His cock was right there, and you wanted to put your tongue on the tip, to feel that bead of leaking seed that was sliding down the angry red head of his cock. “Joel—”

His only answer was with his two fingers pressing a featherlight touch to your bud, drawing a quick moan from your lips, your eyes closing and your hips rolling into the feeling.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby, I knew it,” Joel murmured, sitting forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “You’re always so wet for me, huh?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Of course you were; he knew this well enough now. But something about the fact that he kept asking…it only made you want him more. 

“Joel, please,” you begged, rolling your hips into his hand again and moaning desperately at the press of his hand against your bud. “I need you to—”

He pulled his hand away and sat back again. “Not yet, dollface,” he reminded you, returning his hand to his cock. “You haven’t even touched yourself, darlin’,” he teased, his tone a mocking coo. 

You let out another strangled whine, but shoved your hand into the waistband of your panties. “Fine,” you sighed, “but it won’t work.” As much as you wanted to come, you were reminded all too well of the last time he asked you to do this. You couldn’t obey his request, and he’d had to make you come all the same. So why would he make you go through the motions again?

Your finger caught on your clit and you inhaled sharply, eyes closing at the addictive sensation. You let your other hand slide up to your chest, instinctively massaging your own breast in the same way that Joel did—at least, as close of a replication as you could make. 

“That’s it, sweet thing,” he said in that southern drawl that had you perpetually weak in the knees. “Lookin’ so good like that, sweetheart, good girl,” he drew out the last two syllables, his teeth audibly gritting as he stroked his cock faster. 

You wanted to continue, wanted to hold onto the feeling of making him proud, but you didn’t know what to do. “Joel,” you begged, “I…” you trailed off.

Both of his hands came to your waist and you opened your eyes at one squeeze of your hips. “C’mere,” he groaned. “Just sit next to me, doll.” He helped you sit next to him, your head resting on the arm of the couch. Your knees came up to your chest, and he looped his thumbs into your panties, ridding you of them in a quick movement. 

Your head was spinning with the hopes that he might give in, that he might not make this foolish game go on for much longer. It had only been a minute or two, but you never wanted to make yourself come if Joel was always going to be so willing. “Joel—”

“Spread those pretty legs for me, baby,” he whispered, his big hands on your knees. When you couldn’t move your legs on your own, he gently nudged them apart, his eyes darting down to your dripping mound. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hand hovering over your folds, “even more appetising than I remember.”

The implication made your head reel. Surely he wouldn’t… 

But your thoughts were interrupted when he sat back at the other end of the couch, his cock sitting at the ready as he dragged his hand over it again. “I’m good at waiting, though,” he murmured to himself. “C’mon, princess,” he sighed, “just like we practiced. Hand on that pretty pussy, baby.”

The whine that left your throat was downright pornographic as you obeyed, the sound of his instructions shooting bullets of pleasure down your spine and straight to that sensitive bud at the crevice of your thighs. 

Just like we practiced, he’d said. You had no desire to disappoint him; you wanted to prove to him that you could do this, you wanted to see that look of flushed pride on his face when he came again. When you’d make yourself come. 

Your fingers slipped around your dripping cunt, still clumsy and untrained despite knowing just how Joel would make you come undone with his touch. You tried your best to replicate it, gliding your fingers in tight circles around your bud, or drawing long stripes in between your folds, but it just made you more frustrated. “Joel,” you whined again, “please.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning. “You’re doing it, baby. Look at you, rubbin’ that pretty clit for all it’s worth.” His words were bruisingly confident, but his tone was shaky and the only evidence that he was dangerously close to coming before you. 

“Joel, I—” you circled your clit once more— “I need you to—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, and you felt him shift closer to you—just a centimeter. 

You pulled your own hand away from your clit, despite your body begging for more, and you looked for a moment at the shine on your fingers. “Joel,” you repeated, “I…I want you to tell me what to do.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then, “That so?” His movements had stopped. 

You nodded, and couldn’t help the desperation in your voice. “Yes.” Somehow your legs dropped open even wider, exposing yourself to him further. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want me to do.” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you gave yourself entirely to him. “I’ll do it.”

Joel had turned his chest to face you, and he ran a hand over his face. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, ya know?” he said, and you thought it was a minor jab at your eagerness until he dropped his hand back to his lap and you saw that blissed-out smile that you were learning to ache for. “‘Course I’ll tell you what to do. If that’s what you want,” he answered, and you almost came at the sound of his voice. 

He shifted so his body was facing you; the sight of him with his shirt buttoned, his pants still on, but the zipper undone and his cock bobbing heavily as he moved…it was enough to have you rolling your eyes back. Joel Miller was sensational. The essence of sin and seduction, and you only wanted more.

“Lift this leg for me, baby,” he murmured as he lowered his chest to the couch. You let him move your ankle to rest on his shoulder, then the other ankle to match. “That’s it,” he cooed, “you’re such a quick learner, babydoll.”

You blushed at the nickname, and when he sank to his elbows with his eyes on your pussy, your eyes widened. “Joel—”

You’d heard of this type of pleasure, but you’d never thought it was something men actually did. When he looked up at you with that hungry look in his eye, his tongue darting out to wet his lips like one might do before eating an especially good meal, you realized another thing. 

You’d never thought this could be something that men actually enjoyed.

“You want instruction, babygirl?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh and chuckling when you shivered. “I’ll give you instruction. Lay back and let me take care of you. You’re always so good at that, yeah?”

He didn’t give you the chance to answer before he was dipping his head down to your most sacred spot, where you needed him most. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them against his ears as if they were keeping him warm in the cold temperatures outside. With one stripe from your weeping entrance to your quivering bud, Joel nearly made you come on the spot.

“Joel, I’m gonna—” 

He pulled back and smiled wickedly. “Already, baby? We’ve only just started,” he drawled, turning his head to kiss the inside of your other thigh. “Hold on to it for me, yeah? Gotta practice holding it for me, okay?”

You were too far gone to even grace his question with a response. All you could manage was a stuttering moan as you threw your head back and bucked your hips into his face, chasing your release.

Joel held your hips down with a light chuckle. “Wait, princess,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to your clit before continuing, “you don’t wanna fail your lesson, do ya?”

The implication that something might happen—or decidedly not happen—if you were to come before he let you only spurred you on. “Joel, please—”

“Just a little longer, please, baby,” he said, his voice a gentle moan. His tongue grazed your clit once more and he closed his lips over your bud, suckling just lightly enough to bring you closer and closer to the edge. 

It was then that you opened your eyes and looked at him; you wanted to see what he looked like with his mouth on your most sensitive spot if you were going to come. Your eyes caught on his hips, laid out on the couch further away from you. You blinked.

Joel was rutting into the couch. His hips were seemingly moving of their own accord, a smooth movement that was covered in sin and desperation. You thought about the fact that the curve of his hips would probably look like that if he were pressing his cock into you, and that was it. 

Your voice broke over the sound of your whines, and paired with his fingers coming up to press into your entrance, you were done for. You came hard over his fingers, your moans so loud that you thought someone would hear you all the way back in Jackson. “JoelJoelJoelJoel,” you cried, feeling the familiar rise of emotions in your throat. 

Joel pulled his head from your pussy and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” he smirked. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, although you weren’t sure you had the capacity to even be sorry just now; the sight of him getting off at the taste of you was enough to keep your mind busy for the next week. “I didn’t mean to—”

“S’okay, dollface,” he chuckled, “I forgive you. That pussy tastes too sweet to be mad about you comin’ all over my damn face.”

Your thighs lay open for another moment, and Joel absentmindedly put his hand over your clit to rub another gentle circle to your sensitive bud. He hummed when your hips bucked at the overstimulation before pulling his hand away. 

Your eyes dropped to his cock, sitting rock hard and definitely not spent. You reached out with your hand again, sitting up. The effects of your orgasm were still heavy on your mind, but in a wordless movement you sank to your knees before him. “You didn’t come,” you said, more of a question than a statement. 

He shook his head. “Don’t matter,” he said, patting a hand on your head. “That was just for you, doll.”

You frowned. “But—” you dipped your head down, aiming your mouth at his tip despite not knowing what to do beyond that. All you knew was that this was something he needed. The tip of his cock was leaking profusely now, and you wanted nothing more than to make him feel as good as he’d made you feel. 

“We haven’t practiced that one yet, pretty girl,” he said softly, and lifted your head from where it was aiming. “Trust me, doll, I want it just as bad as you want to give it to me.” He traced his thumb along the line of your nose, a habit that he’d been starting to pick up. “But we’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“Then I wanna practice,” you insisted, your knees digging into the cold wooden floor. You didn’t want to think about how you looked, your face showing the remnants of your orgasm and your entrance starting to drip once more at the thought of pleasing him. “Let me practice,” you repeated. 

He smiled ruefully. “Got nothin’ to practice on, sweet thing,” he said softly. “We’ll practice another day.”

You took his hand wordlessly, not sure where this bout of confidence was coming from. It was like you were drunk on the thought of making him come. He let you hold his hand in yours, and with one look up at him, holding his eyes in your gaze, you opened your mouth to slide three of his fingers onto your tongue. He tasted like salt and the sweet release of your own body. 

Joel jerked in your grip, his cock bobbing toward you and his hand nearly shoving itself all the way down your throat. “Holy fuck, doll,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “S’enough to make a man leave his wife.”

You chuckled, knowing he was spewing nonsense from his lips now, but you pressed his fingers further down your throat, only stopping when they brushed the back of your throat, causing you to gag. 

“That’s okay, babygirl,” he said with another affectionate pat on your head. “You’re doin’ so good. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Thought I was doing well,” you said sheepishly when he pulled his fingers from your mouth. A string of spit connected his fingers to your lips.

He nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You are, dollface,” he said. “You are. Maybe it’s me who needs a second to regroup.”

You knew it wasn’t true; his angry red tip was more than enough of a conflicting response to his words. But you let him pick you up from the floor and cradle you in his arms over his lap, rubbing his hands in circles over your body. “You’ll let me make you feel good, though?” you asked softly. 

Joel smiled. “‘Course,” he reassured you with a kiss on the cheek. “Next time,” he promised. 

It was enough. You nodded and rested your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the gentle curtain of sleep cover you. “M’tired,” you whispered, every inhibition gone. This man had seen and touched every part of you; there was no point in being shy.

“I know, baby, I know,” he said, and when his face wasn’t in between your legs, it was an awfully domestic phrase. “Just lemme hold your for a second. Then we’ll go back home.”

—

You didn’t know how you’d managed to get back on the horse, your clit sensitive and your whines hoarse with the constant friction as you rode back to Jackson. Your head had leaned back against Joel’s chest and he rested his chin against the top of your head, a constant warm presence as you rose from your post-orgasm haze. 

A happy accident, a faraway voice mused in your head. One horse with Joel on patrol? A dream. 

That is, until Tommy came out of the stables as you two approached. 

“Why’d you leave her horse here?” he called out, and you felt Joel tense behind you. “You forget how to ride a damn horse, darlin’?” Tommy said to you with that same southern drawl that his older brother shared in his voice. 

You blushed as Joel helped you down from his mount, and you hid your uncontrollable laughter behind your hand when he shared some tense words with his brother. 

“Fuck off,” Joel finished, but by the look of his wide eyes and red cheeks, you knew it held no malice. He was embarrassed. He’d faked your horse’s injury so he could hold you close. The realization made your head whirl. 

You walked off from the stables when the horse was returned to his stall, and you giggled when you heard Joel hurry to catch up with you. 

He looked around for a moment, as if checking to see if anyone was nearby, and then he delivered a quick swat to your ass, making you nearly trip in the snow. “S’not nice to laugh at an old man,” he said with a straight face, all business. But you could see the uncharacteristic rosiness in his cheeks, betraying his continued humiliation. 

You weren’t sure where the confidence in your voice came from, but you sighed with a, “Yeah,” before nudging him with your elbow. “Can’t help it when it’s your own brother, Joel.”

He shook his head and your arm tingled when he reached out with his gloved hand to clasp onto yours. “What am I gonna do with you, dollface, huh?” he mumbled, and you weren’t quite sure if you were meant to hear it until he looked down at you with a gentle smirk and a raised brow. 

You shrugged, your own cheeks heating up at the implications of what you were about to say. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Make another lesson out of it, I suppose.”

Joel just stared at you, a smug expression on his face. He tore his eyes from yours and played the part of nonchalance when he responded smoothly, mirth twinkling in those brown eyes you’d grown so attached to. “Maybe I will.”

this is so sinful i'm so tipsy rn i hope you liked it!!!! tysm for reading i love u all <3

tags (i'm so sorry it wouldn't let me tag everyone!!! i'll do the rest of my tags in the morning!!!): @morning-star-joy @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @dinsdjrn @mingiast @darkroastjoel @huffle-punk @jupiter-soups @elegantduckturtle @evyiione @bitchwitch1981 @disassociation-daydreams @mrsquill @littlemisssluttyknee @papipascalispunk @mumma-moonchild @buckbarnesdollsposts @kamcrazy123 @djarins-wife @lovelyladiess @impossiblebluebirdchaos @salsdemise @daddy-din @chaotic-mystery @laughcryreadsmutrepeat @prose-before-hoes-blog @morgaussy @thepriceofdevotion @chateausophie @livyjh @kittenlittle24 @ever-siince-new-york @julietamidala @3xclusive-y0ni @paanchusblog @okdeedee @scarletsloveletter @paleidiot @cleopatra99 @samuncenxsored @yourfavoriteredheadbitch-blog @brie-annwyl @spxctorsslxt @pattwtf @meijasworldasf @easaud @yuk-for-president @withrice-ontoast @ssssc0m @nini123 @bookishofalder @projectionistwrites @leeeesahhh

[slut4thebroken]

Teacher’s Pet

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x reader

Summary | After months of trying to earn your professor’s praise, he finally gives you an opportunity to prove you deserve it.

Warnings | Smut, dub con, blackmail, coercion, humiliation, anal, bondage, praise, creampie, degradation, inappropriate use of fear toxin.

Words | 6.2 k

Notes | Started this a million years ago. Finally got the motivation to finish it cause of @hllywdwhre ‘s fic that I proofread lol. Also ty to the post that gave me the fear toxin idea 🙏🏻

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

In honor of the one year anniversary since the start of my Cillian hyperfixation <3

Dr. Crane was one of the most strict and unforgiving professors at Gotham University. He graded harshly, didn’t tolerate late or incomplete work, and no one would ever dare be late— if they were, they just wouldn’t show up because an absence was better than his response to tardiness. He didn’t have any favorite students, just some that he tolerated slightly more than the rest. That was what you hated the most. 

You’ve always been the favorite student for every single teacher you’ve had, whether they said it out loud or not. After the first couple of weeks, you figured he’d just be harder to crack than the rest. But after almost two months, you were starting to get frustrated. Nothing you did ever earned you any sort of praise. You were always early, always the first to turn in assignments, participated in class, paid attention— you were the perfect student. But he never seemed to recognize that. What made you snap was when he gave you a B on your latest essay. 

Lightly knocking on his office door, you tried to control your nerves and push down the nausea— You’ve never had to talk with a teacher about a grade before…

“Come in.” He called out. So you opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside. He glanced at you quickly, then did a double take once he realized it was you. “Close the door.” He said, resuming what he was doing. You took in a quiet, deep breath and closed the door before walking over and sitting on the chair across from his desk. 

“I’m assuming this is about your essay?” He asked, not even looking up from his work. 

“Yes.. You gave me a B, I was hoping to understand why.” You said tentatively. 

“Did you not read my notes?” Of course you did. But it still didn’t make any sense. 

“No, I did, but-” He finally looked up at you with a sigh. 

“Then you should understand why I gave you that grade.”

“This essay was practically perfect.” You argued, holding up the stapled together pieces of paper, marked up with red ink. 

“Clearly not if you got a B.” He raised his brows and you clenched your jaw, trying not to get too upset or emotional.

“Dr. Crane, I’ve aced every single test and assignment, I’d hardly say this is a fair grade.” You frowned. 

“Your argument was weak and biased.” Your lips parted in shock at the bluntness of his criticism. “And your previous assignments have no impact on my grading. If you’d like them to though, I’d be more than willing to grade them again to see if I missed anything.” 

“It- it wasn’t… I spent weeks on this.” 

“And yet… You still weren’t good enough for an A.” He said, making your stomach churn. Especially because he didn’t even say ‘your essay’ he just said ‘you.’ Looking down at the papers in your hands, you scanned them quickly as if it would magically give you the answer. “Review my notes for the next essay. Maybe you’ll do better.” 

“What is your problem with me?” You snapped, looking up at him again, watching his brows raise slightly. “Have I done something to offend you?” 

“I don’t tolerate entitled students who are used to being the teacher's pet. Whatever previous, unearned success and praise you're used to receiving is of no concern to me. It is not my fault if you came into this class expecting to be treated differently for doing the same thing as every other student.” 

“I- I’m not.. entitled. I just like my work and effort to be appreciated and not.. given a B.” 

“You want me to tell you that you’re such a good girl, turning in everything on time— as expected— and doing well on your assignments— as expected.” The faux praise, as well as the condescension that laced his voice, made your cheeks heat up instantly. 

“No, but,” 

“Then I think we’re done here.” 

The next day, you almost considered not going to class, but you’ve never had an absence on your record and you’re not about to start now. 

“We’re going to deviate from the lesson plan a little and talk about something else today; fear. Specifically, fear of rejection.” Your mouth dropped open at his words and if you had any doubts that this was because of your previous conversation, they quickly disappeared when he made eye contact with you.  

“There are a few different causes, can anyone give me an example?” This would’ve been the time where you raised your hand. But that apparently wasn’t necessary because he called on you anyway, making you freeze. 

“Um, I— I’m not sure.” You said nervously, sinking back into your chair a little. 

“There’s a perfect example right there; anxiety and social comparison. Too anxious and insecure to answer a simple question. Who else can give an example?” You stared at him with wide eyes that quickly started burning with tears. Now you felt even more stupid than you would’ve, had you just answered him and potentially gotten it wrong.

Class dragged on slowly. He talked more about causes, what it looks like, how it affects performance— especially in school— and various treatments. 

You couldn’t have been more relieved when he finally dismissed the class. You rushed to pack your things and stood up, quickly making your way to the exit. 

When he called your name though, you froze, praying you heard him wrong. “Stay back for a moment.” Your peers gave you sympathetic looks as you turned around and slowly made your way back over to his desk. 

“Yes, professor?” You asked, voice strained. 

“I hope you found today's lesson helpful.” You gritted your teeth and gave him a dry smile. 

“It was… inspiring, Dr. Crane.” You said plainly, trying to control your tone. His expression was only becoming more and more amused. 

“I’m glad. Though I didn’t see you taking notes.” That made you falter. 

“I- I was,”

“Great. Let me see them.” You looked away from him and shifted your weight awkwardly. 

“See them?” 

“Did you not understand?” Your face flushed with anger and embarrassment at his patronizing tone. 

“I did. I just wasn’t aware that notes were something you needed to see.” 

“If a student isn’t paying attention for the entirety of my class then, yes, notes are something I need to see.” You swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a response, and he watched you intently as he waited.  

“Look, professor, you’ve made your point, okay? I don’t think you need to continue humiliating me.” You said quietly, not looking at him. He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you watched in your peripheral vision as he took off his glasses, setting them down. He slowly rounded the desk and you couldn’t help it when you instinctively took a step back. 

“That’s a shame. I had hoped this lecture would’ve been helpful, but since you clearly weren’t paying attention, maybe I need to try another method.” 

“I- I was paying attention…” You muttered, keeping your head down. 

“Really? Then why don’t you tell me some of the ways one can overcome a fear of rejection.” He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of his eyes on you almost made you shiver and you took a quiet, deep breath before lifting your head to look at him again. 

This is an easy enough question. You can probably figure out the answer if you just use critical thinking since he was correct about you not paying attention. 

“Um… cognitive behavioral therapy?” You waited and when he didn’t out right humiliate you, you assumed that was a right answer and continued. “Exposure therapy. Self esteem enhancement… Emotion regulation?” 

“Anything else?” 

“…You said “some.’” You muttered, briefly looking away from him again. 

“I did, didn’t I?” His tone made it clear that he didn’t care about what he previously said. 

“Um, I- I’m not sure…” 

“Feel free to use your notes.” 

Fuck. 

When you looked up and saw the almost smug expression on his face, you finally snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that for one day, I couldn’t pay attention after you humiliated me in front of the entire class.” You spat, clenching your jaw as soon as you finished speaking. The longer he stayed silent, the more uncomfortable you became under his gaze, making you look away from him awkwardly. 

“Tell me why this shouldn’t affect your grade.” You knew his question was rhetorical, but you still tried to defend yourself. 

“Dr. Crane,” You started, but he raised his brows, silently warning you to not talk back. 

“I’ll see you later today during my office hours.” He said as he packed up his belongings. 

“But,” 

“Five pm.” He didn’t let you continue as he walked toward the door. All you could do was stand there and watch him leave. 

At 4:30 you paced around your dorm, debating what to do. At 4:35 you decided not to go. At 4:40 you changed your mind. At 4:50 you were pacing outside his office. At 4:55 you finally knocked, feeling like you could throw up at any second. He called out for you to enter, so you hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Close the door and sit down.” He didn’t even look up from what he was working on. You closed the door quietly, then made your way over to the chair in front of his desk. You tried to sit there patiently, but he wasn’t saying anything. Your leg bounced incessantly as you picked at your cuticles, over thinking more and more with each tortuous second that dragged on. 

“Professor?” You finally asked. 

“You’re early. I told you to come at five and I need to finish this.” He still didn’t look up from whatever “this” was and you were quickly growing angrier. 

Was this some kind of mind fuck? Making you sit here, stewing in nerves that were only getting worse? You weren’t sure how much time had passed because you didn’t want to check your phone and give him another opportunity to chastise you. But after a while, he finally sighed and gathered the papers, setting them in a pile on the side of his desk. 

You forced yourself to stop bouncing your leg and place your palms flat on your thighs to keep from fidgeting, trying to exude confidence you were severely lacking. 

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling to decide what I should do with you.” Immediately your stomach churned, getting even more anxious. “I could have you removed from my class, but that would be a lot of paperwork.”

“Professor,” 

“I’m speaking.” He said harshly, making your mouth immediately close. “However, that does mean I’ll have to put up with this for another few months… So the paperwork might be worth the hassle.” You tried not to cry at the thought. You need this class to graduate— getting dropped from it will set you back a semester unless you add another course to your already heavy schedule for next semester. You waited, not sure if he was done talking or not. After another few seconds you decided to try again. 

“Please…” You said hesitantly, waiting for him to snap at you again. When he didn’t, you continued. “Please don’t drop me, professor. I need this class to graduate.” He stayed silent, eyes dragging over your body as you did your best not to squirm. He still hasn’t said anything… Is he going to drop you anyway? With tears in your eyes, you tried again, “Please… Please I- I’ll leave you alone— I won’t bother you about grades anymore, I swear, just please don’t drop me.” You all but whimpered, feeling even more pathetic now. 

He sighed and took off his glasses, then set them on his desk before leaning back in his chair a little, still studying you. 

“I’d still have to put up with you in class as well though.” 

“Please! I’ll sit in the back and not talk— I’ll do anything, just please don’t drop me.” You cried.

“Anything?” You stiffened a little at the dark expression that suddenly took over his face. Would you really do anything? You wouldn’t mind fucking him if that’s what he’s implying— despite his off putting personality, you’ve always been attracted to him.  

“Y-yes?” You said, unsure.  

“That didn’t sound very convincing and I’m not going to force you so I’ll just go through with the drop request,”

“No! I will— I’ll do anything… Please.” He continued studying you, probably trying to gauge if you were telling the truth or not. 

“Fine. We’ll call it an internship of sorts. You’ll come with me to Arkham Asylum every Friday and help me in whatever way I may need— no questions asked.” 

“I- I don’t know if I’m qualified for that.” 

“Good thing it’s not an actual internship then.” He sneered, the patronizing tone making you blush. 

“What will you have me do?” You asked quietly. 

“It’ll be easier to just show you instead. Give me your essay and after Friday if I’m satisfied with your performance, I’ll change the grade.” Your heart practically skipped a beat— all you have to do is go to Arkham with him for a day and you’ll get an A? You’d be stupid to say no. So you retrieved your essay from your bag and handed it to him. “Good. Six pm, do not be late. I’ll meet you in the main lobby to take you to my office.” He said sternly. 

Since you left his office, your heart has been pounding. You weren’t sure what to wear so you just decided on a skirt and blouse that were professional, but still mostly casual. After that, there wasn’t much else you could do. You were too anxious to focus on literally anything so you just sat at home, overthinking. Friday rolled around and you left at five, just in case anything happened, and arrived at 5:25. So you sat in your car, waiting anxiously and watching the clock on the dashboard. You were too scared to even listen to music. At 5:55 you decided to go in, worst case you’d just have to wait five minutes for him, but you figured it’d be better to be early— even after what happened during his office hours. 

It was only a minute before six when he showed up. The second he saw you, he gestured for you to follow, so you trailed after him on wobbly legs. When you arrived in his office, he closed the door and told you to sit in the chair across from him as he sat behind the desk. 

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and I have your consent for anything that happens here.” The way he worded that made you nervous, but you chalked it up to the fact that you were already overcome with anxiety.

“Yes.” You tried to sound sure of yourself, but you were having doubts. What would he make you do? Would it really be worth a better grade?

“Good. Take this.” He picked up a small paper cup from his desk with one pill inside and handed it to you. 

“…Why?”

“There are certain aerosol drugs that are administered to patients sometimes. That will keep them from affecting you.” He explained calmly, easing your nerves a bit. So you took it from him and swallowed it, waiting for what was next. “Follow me.” He stood up again, this time holding a briefcase, and you followed him out of his office. He led you down some hallways before stopping outside of a door and unlocking it, gesturing for you to walk in. 

There was a small table in the corner and two exam chairs with restraints on them, one of which had stirrups. Other than that the room was bare. The door closed loudly, making you jump and turn around. 

“Sit.” He ordered, walking over to the table and setting the briefcase down before walking toward you. 

“Why?” You asked skeptically. He just stood patiently and watched you. You suddenly got hit with a wave of dizziness and stumbled to the chair to sit down. The dizziness quickly turned into exhaustion and you could barely keep your eyes open. When you started falling forward, he quickly moved closer to catch you, then leaned you back against the chair. 

Your head hurt like hell and you forced your eyes open to find that you were now laying on the other exam chair, thankfully not with your legs in the stirrups, but with the restraints on your wrists. You don’t even remember falling asleep. 

“The effects should wear off soon. I apologize for using that, but I figured you wouldn’t willingly let me restrain you and I didn’t feel like fighting you.” 

“What… what was that?” You asked through a breath. You could slowly feel yourself getting less and less foggy. 

“A drug.” He said, in the most annoyed and patronizing tone you’ve heard from him so far. 

“Why?” You whimpered, closing your eyes again because they still felt so heavy. 

“If you’re going to ask stupid questions then I’m just going to gag you. I already answered that.” You heard some rustling noises and his footsteps, then a hand was running along your cheek, startling you and making you open your eyes. “You remember our agreement?” You nodded hesitantly. It felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with how hard and fast it was pounding. “Be a good little girl and if I’m satisfied, I won’t drop you. I might even change the grade of your essay.” You didn’t need the reminder, but the way he said the first part was making your stomach flutter. 

“I have to say,” he removed his hand from your cheek and moved down to place it on your leg, just above your knee, “I prefer the sluttier skirts you wear to class than this.” He teased the hem of your skirt with his fingers, making you tremble. “Next week wear something shorter. And a more flattering top.” You figured by ‘more flattering’ what he really meant was more revealing. All you could do to respond was nod. 

“Good. Let’s begin.” 

He reached for the zipper of your skirt on your hip, making you stiffen. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, beginning to panic again, and he paused with a sigh. 

“If you don’t consent, that’s fine… There is still the matter of your seat in my class.” He said coyly. “If you want me to let you go, just say that. I’ll fill out the paperwork first thing Monday morning.” 

“No,” You choked out. “No.. please.” You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. He shushed you softly, staring at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Relax. If you consent to this, you’ll keep your seat in my class. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good girl… Now be quiet and let me do this.” His tone was significantly darker and all you could do was tremble as he unzipped your skirt, then pulled it down your body before discarding it on the floor. 

“I’ve been working on a new form of a drug.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a strangled whimper when he grabbed your leg and placed it in the stirrup, then used the restraints to keep it in place. “We’re going to try it together.” He grinned wolfishly and did the same to your other leg. 

You heard his footsteps as he walked across the room for something, then back over to you, now wearing a latex glove on his right hand, holding a small bottle in the other. 

“Remember, you can withdraw consent at any time…” You couldn’t though. Because you would be dropped from his class and set back months. 

His hand landed on your thigh, making you jump a little, and he started slowly dragging it up. Once he was close enough, he brushed his thumb over your clothed mound, forcing a quiet sob from you.  

“You probably thought this was going to go in a very different direction, didn’t you?” He asked teasingly, making you blush. Truthfully, you didn’t put much thought into your undergarments because you were too busy worrying about your actual clothes and what he was going to make you do. You cried out when he suddenly ripped the lace off your body, feeling the burn of the fabric pulling too hard against your skin. “Ready?” He asked, almost eagerly. 

You saw now that the bottle was a clear liquid and when he squirted it onto his fingers, you assumed it was lube. As soon as his finger brushed your asshole, you stiffened. 

“Wait!” You rushed out, chest heaving as your heart pounded in your chest. “I- I’ve never…” 

“You’ve never done anal?” You almost thought he was going to give you sympathy. “Good.” You couldn’t even get another word out before he was pushing a finger in, making you tense up as you whimpered in discomfort. “Tell me when you start to feel it.” 

“Feel what?” You said through a breath, trying to relax around the intrusion. Even though it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, your heart was pounding even harder and faster in your chest, and your breathing grew ragged. “Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, suddenly a million times more anxious than only a moment ago. 

“Already?” He checked his watch, “That was fast. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Anxious.” You said quickly, letting out a strangled whimper when he forced another finger inside. “M-my heart is pounding and it feels hard to breathe.” 

“That’s good… Anything else?” 

“My hands are clammy… and it feels like I'm sweating a little.” 

“No visual or auditory hallucinations?” 

“What?” You choked out, eyes widening. “W-why would I have that??”

“The drug we’re testing is my fear toxin. It’s a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala and releases stress hormones, causing a fear response in the brain.” He explained, only making you feel worse. “So far I’ve tested it two ways; administered intravenously and in aerosol form.” 

“I don’t understand..” You said quietly, trying to calm your breathing a little. He let out an exaggerated sigh and forced a third finger inside you. 

“I guess I should really expect you to.” He almost sounded.. disappointed. The realization made the twist in your stomach even worse. “Let me dumb it down for you. In its most potent form, it causes visual and auditory hallucinations of the subject’s worst fear.” If you weren’t currently on the verge of a panic attack with three fingers in your ass, you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at his tone. 

“Now I’m testing it via rectal administration. The concentration is about the same, but the effects shouldn’t be as strong. At least, that’s my theory.” His fingers continued fucking you slowly, occassionally spreading apart to open you up more. Despite the amount of anxiety you were currently feeling, you could just barely feel your growing arousal.  

“W-why would you want the drug in this form?” You asked, gasping for air between words. 

“I’m a doctor. Why wouldn’t I experiment?” He asked rhetorically. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the anxiety rather than the arousal, but it was only becoming more difficult. A choked moan escaped you when he suddenly dragged a bare finger through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. “Are you enjoying this?” His voice sounded unnervingly clinical. 

In response, you bit down harder on your lip and shook your head, denying it. You could practically feel his eyes on you, studying you closely. 

“I knew you’d be perfect for this.” He suddenly said, and you bit back a moan because he almost sounded proud. “You’re just pathetic enough and desperate for my approval to willingly become my little lab rat, and now look at you… Leaking onto my hand as I finger your ass.” He chuckled wryly. A dark blush took over your face and you whined quietly, but the flutter in your stomach was unmistakable. “I bet you want my cock also… Don’t you?” 

You let out a choked sob and turned your head, trying uselessly to hide yourself. When he suddenly pulled his fingers out, you whimpered quietly at the sudden loss. 

“Look at me.” He demanded, in a tone that left no room for argument. As if you were in a trance, you turned to face him and opened your eyes. “You want to keep your seat in my class?” He removed the glove and tossed it aside, then worked on unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. 

“Yes.” You whispered shakily. 

“And you’re willing to let me fuck your ass to ensure that happens?” He pulled his already half hard cock out and started stroking slowly as you gaped at it. How was that supposed to fit inside you?

“I- I’ve never..”

“It’s a yes or no question.” He sighed impatiently. “I fuck your ass or you leave and I fill out the form Monday morning.” 

“I… I’m scared.” You whimpered, looking nervously between his face and his cock. 

“That’s the whole point, darling.” Right. Because he was testing his fear toxin. You blushed furiously at the new pet name. “You have three seconds before I fuck you, then fill out the form anyway.” 

Your stomach dropped at the threat and when he raised his brows, you blurted out, “Yes.” Tears were brimming in your eyes and he stepped closer, but didn’t line up yet. He just used his free hand to gently rub your thigh. 

“Yes, what?” Your bottom lip began trembling when you realized what he wanted from you. “Say it. Beg your professor for it.”

“I- I want…” You let out a strangled sob and squeezed your eyes shut again, making his hand stop moving on your thigh to grip tightly in a silent warning. “I want you to fuck my ass… Please, Dr. Crane.” You whimpered. You’ve never felt more humiliated, but at the same time… you were only becoming more aroused. Your cunt ached to be filled, and your clit was practically throbbing.

“Good girl.” When you let out a choked moan at the sudden praise, he chuckled quietly. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” He demanded, lining up. Only after your eyes fluttered open, did he finally apply some pressure, entering you with little difficulty. 

“Fuck- You’re so tight.” He hissed, moving his hand to your other thigh and squeezing almost painfully. Your breath and all of your sounds were caught in your throat as he pushed in deeper, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. “Tell me how it feels.” He said breathily, not moving yet. 

“Big.” You whimpered, barely able to get the word out. 

“Does it hurt?” You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the overwhelming feeling of being stretched as well as the anxiety still weighing heavy on your chest made it feel almost impossible. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.” He sounded uncharacteristically dulcet.

When he reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it to expose your bra, your breathing picked up even more as your heart started pounding even harder in your chest. He pulled your bra down below your breasts and groped you eagerly, showing little regard for your pleasure with his rough, almost painful touch. 

“Your heart’s beating so fast. Is my little lab rat still scared?” He cooed, very obviously mocking you. 

“Professor..” You whimpered, staring up at him with glossy eyes as you struggled to cope with all of the overwhelming feelings, both physically and emotionally. He shushed you softly and brought his hands back down to rub your thighs, trying to soothe you. 

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it.” He said plainly. “You try to resist at all and I’ll keep fucking you until I finish, then you won’t have to bother showing up to class on Monday. Do you understand?” 

You nodded reluctantly and he moved his hands to grip the tops of your thighs. He slowly dragged his hips back, then forward again, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock stretching you open. It didn’t… hurt. But it definitely wasn’t the most pleasurable thing you’ve ever experienced. 

When he suddenly sped up, you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on taking deep breaths. He was grunting and moaning quietly with each thrust, clearly enjoying this far more than you, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes again to watch him. His grip tightened on your thighs, making you whimper, and you watched his mouth fall open in a silent moan as he closed his eyes. 

“Fuck…” He said breathily, letting out a low groan before opening his eyes again. “I didn’t account for transdermal administration” He almost sounded amused again, but you could barely focus on his words. “The effects are far less than what you’re feeling, I’d assume. It almost feels like adrenaline, rather than fear. Next time we’ll try it intravaginally to see if your reaction is the same or more like mine.” 

You almost forgot that this wasn’t a one and done. You have to let your professor do what he wants with you every week for the rest of the semester…

“And I think I’ll try the other forms of delivery on you as well. Not so much for an experiment… I just want to fuck you while you’re hallucinating your greatest fears.” His lips curled up into a small smirk at the thought of that. “I can’t wait to hear you scream and cry for me.” He cooed, but his tone was far from comforting and your anxiety was only getting worse as he continued sharing his future plans for you. 

He started bucking into you rapidly and his sounds got louder, clearly getting closer to his release. You could even feel yourself just barely starting to inch toward the edge. Your moans caught his attention and a pleased look took over his face. 

“You like this, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan and bit your lip, trying to quiet your sounds. “It’s either that or misattribution of arousal... but that seems less likely.” Even though you knew his guess was correct, you were still going to convince yourself that it was misattribution of arousal instead because that was far less humiliating. When he started rubbing your clit, any chance you had of keeping quiet was gone instantly. His moans got louder too when your body tensed up, tightening around his cock. 

“Oh god— Dr. Crane, please.” You sobbed, feeling the arousal steadily taking over the anxiety that had settled in your stomach. 

“What do you want?” Now that he asked, you realized that you don’t even know what you want. You wanted the overwhelming anxiety and stretch to stop… but the thought of him pulling out and ending this almost brought tears of desperation to your eyes. His fingers sped up on your clit and your back arched off of the exam chair as an involuntary mewl escaped you. 

“Please let me come.” You whimpered pathetically and he let out a quiet chuckle in response to your brazenness. 

“How curious…” He murmured, gaze dragging all over your body. “I’ll admit, I figured some part of you would enjoy getting to please me, but I never imagined it’d be to this extent.” He said amusedly and your blush darkened in response. “You want to come?”

You were nodding eagerly before he could even finish. “Please.” 

“How about this— I'll raise the grade on your essay… or I’ll let you come.” You could see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips and you let out a frustrated sob, squeezing your eyes shut. “Well?”

“Dr. Crane…” You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you tried not to cry. When you opened your eyes and stared up at him through the tears, his smirk widened. “Please..” 

“Should I choose for you?” 

“No…” You sobbed, looking away from him and biting your lip. The whole point of this was so he’d change the grade… You can’t give in to the pleasure now that you’re so close to finally getting what you came here for. “I- I want you to change my grade.” Your voice was barely a whisper. As soon as he got your answer, he removed his hand from your clit to grab the top of your thigh again, bucking into you rapidly as he chased his orgasm. 

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together, my little lab rat.” He was clearly satisfied with your choice and while part of you was almost crying from frustration… another part couldn’t help but revel in the fact that you pleased him, even if it was at the expense of your own pleasure. 

His hips snapped into you rapidly, the force of it almost pushing you up the exam chair, but the restraints on your legs kept you mostly in place. As he focused on his impending orgasm, you were practically mesmerized. He looked so… pretty. The pleasure in his expression was obvious and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. His normally pale blue eyes were darker as he took you in, studying every tiny reaction to his ministrations. 

When he suddenly pushed forward all the way and stayed there, you let out a whine of displeasure, knowing whatever pleasure you might’ve been feeling before was about to disappear. But the choked moan he let out as he closed his eyes made you almost forget all about it. His hips bucked forward sporadically as his cock twitched inside you with each rope of come that shot out, filling you up.  

Finally his sounds quieted into heavy breathing and his body went still. You waited anxiously for what was next, not sure what to expect. Opening his eyes again, he watched as he slowly dragged his hips back until his cock slipped free, forcing out a quiet hiss from him and a whimper from you at the sensitivity. 

“Push it out.” His voice was raspy and still thick with arousal. When you pushed his come out, he let out a low groan as he watched, bending down a little to get a closer look. “Good girl.” He cooed, making you whine as the words went straight to your cunt that was still aching with need. 

“You can remain here until the effects wear off. I want to see how long that takes.” He said, almost clinically, while checking his watch. Your eyes stayed on him as he tucked his cock back in his pants before collecting the lube and discarded glove. 

“Are you going to let me go?” Your voice was quiet and timid as submission still heavily clouded your mind. He looked over at you again, almost surprised by your voice. He glanced at the restraints before dragging his gaze all over your body for a moment. Finally, he smirked a little and went back to what he was doing. 

“Soon.” You sighed in response and stayed quiet. As you breathed deeply, trying to ignore the arousal still lingering in your stomach, you noticed that the anxious feeling was starting to subside a little. Your heart was still beating rapidly, but now it was hard to tell if it was from fear, adrenaline, or your own unsatisfied arousal. 

“I think it’s wearing off.” You told him and he checked his watch again. 

“What are you feeling?” He finally walked back over to you and stared at your face with an almost impressive level of professionalism, given the circumstances. 

“My heart is still pounding, but my breathing is better. And I don’t feel very nauseous either.” 

“Next week I want to test this again so I have a control group to compare these results to. It’ll be the same thing, but I won’t finger you for as long and I won’t fuck you until after it wears off.” He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, angling your face up to look at him as he stepped closer. “Of course… that’s assuming you still want to keep your spot in my class…” He trailed off, making the statement sound like a question instead. 

“I do.” You said quickly. Especially after this… you were desperate to stay enrolled in his class, but you were also— as much as you didn’t want to admit it— desperate for more after he gave you this small taste. 

“Good girl.” Your cheeks heated up instantly and he patted one with his hand before stepping back again. “Keep being my little lab rat and I have no doubt you’ll pass my class… maybe even with the grade you think you deserve.” 

[eustasskidagenda]

anon asked: Hi! Jumping into your ask box to continue the 'afraid of having sex' series. Still with a female reader and the exact same prompt. But this time, with Usopp & Sabo because they are underrated. And also with Ace, Shanks and Mihawk. We need the whole cast with this headcanon! Ty and anon <3

Oh damn, let's go for a round 3 with some soft/dilf/underated boys! I'm so happy to receive a request with Sabo ♡ And sure, a round 4 with more underrated characters would be funny, especially with Killer & Marco. Anyway, for the moment, let's go for Usopp, Sabo, Ace, Shanks & Mihawk :D Thank you for requesting, I hope the outcome will match your expectations!

☆ Usopp, Sabo, Ace, Shanks & Mihawk with a s/o afraid of having sex

CW (generals): MDNI, smut, v!sex, f!reader, more are listed under each character 

WC : 3K

⇢ You can read the part one here and the part two here 

Usopp 

CW : virgin!Usopp, fingering (reader receiving),  oral sex (reader/Usopp receiving), slight pet name (babe), slight dirty talk, protected sex 

(Aw, poor Usopp is probably really stressed too)

Let's assume it's your first time ending up in the same bed. Due to his lie about his experience, he would feel extremely anxious. He claimed to have had sex many times, but it was a total lie. He's a virgin. When you confess that you're afraid because it's been a while since your last sex, he's relieved. At least you're nervous together, isn't that nice? Nevertheless, he is also ashamed and embarrassed by his deceit. He wants to be honest like you have been with him! But he's so nervous about your reaction.

"Y/N… I lied… I mean… I may exaggerate a bit my experience…" he would babble, avoiding your gaze. "It's possible that… this actually is my first time..." while fidgeting nervously and sweating wildly.

He's confused when you burst into laughter. "It was quite obvious to me. You're a bad liar." 

Poor Usopp is even more flustered. "Still, you have to make it for your lie." 

Even if you're not mad at him, he's still ashamed and jittery. Maybe as much as you, or even more. His lips would gently touch yours, and his shaky hands would roam all over your body. 

Please, guide this poor boy. Tell him how to pleasure you. 

His hands would be a bit butterfingered while circling your clit or fondling your breasts. Luckily, he cares about your needs and has a creative mind, so he would be pretty good at figuring out how your body works. 

Eager boy. He would stare intently at your pussy, astonished by its increasing wetness. He would never be satisfied. The way you squirm, moan and clench around his fingers is mesmerizing. 

"Babe, you're so wet down there. Love how you clench around me. Please do the same for my cock." 

And if you decide to go down on him… damn, Usopp would just turn into a whimpering, whiny mess. Would probably cum because he can't handle how good your mouth feels around his member.

Poor boy would be so embarrassed to cum that fast.

He would make an effort to repay the favor. But finding the right angle with his long nose is quite a challenge. "Ouch, my nose" all the two seconds. 

Again, eager boy. He would remain between your legs throughout the entire day and still crave more. Your pussy tastes and feels so good for his sanity. Please keep moaning his name, it's music to his ears. And if you pull on his hair, burying his head against your folds, he's in heaven. 

He's a conscientious boy, so he would wear a condom, use lube, and make sure you're relaxed enough. 

He would try to be as close to you as possible while slowly burying himself within you. Your walls stretching around his thick girth would be so captivating for him. 

"You're alright? Can I keep going?" 

A lot of shudders, shaky hands on your hips while he slowly starts to thrust into your tightness. "Babe, you feel so good clenching around me…" 

He would absolutely love to watch his cock covered with your wetness sliding in and out of you.

Wouldn't last that long because it's so overwhelming for him. But damn, he's so eager to make you squirm and moan all night (and all the next day...) He's already addicted to your body.

Sabo

CW : Dirty talk, fingering and oral sex (reader receiving), mention of choking, mention of spanking, slight teasing, protected sex, slight praises, slight pet name (sweetie)

Sabo is probably a very kinky boy. Pretty sure he would enjoy wrapping his claws around your neck and choking you. Or to make you wear his hat while you ride him. Or use his gloves to spank you, or... yeah, the list is endless. However, his soul is also kind and compassionate. He's a revolutionary, a big brother, and a protective person who craves freedom and justice. So if you're afraid because it's been a long time or nervous about getting hurt, he would be really nice to you.

"Sure sweetie, we'll take it slow." with a big, reassuring smile. 

Again, revolutionary boy. He would ensure that you are comfortable with each action and constantly verify your consent. "You're alright?" , "Can I touch you there?", "Can I keep going?"

"You're so beautiful" while looking at your naked body, covering it with a lot of sweet kisses along your collarbone, neck, breasts and lower stomach. He would be delighted to stroke your breasts for hours, as they feel so warm and soft in his hands. 

"Can I take them off?" While reaching for your panties.

Upon your nod, he would pull your panties down your legs with his teeth. Just to tease you. He would look at you, leaving a kiss on your inner thighs. He's good  (and a god) when it comes to anticipation. 

"You look so pretty for me. Want me to go down on you?" 

He would gently massage your legs with his thumbs, circling your inner thighs as you nod. The more you shiver and squirm in need, the more he feels satisfied with himself. "Need me so bad, Y/N?" 

Once more, kinky boy. He would love to spread your legs wide open to get a better look at your pussy clenching around nothing. Before finally going down on you. And damn, Sabo is a god when it comes to eating you out. He's really attentive to your needs and always cares about your reactions. He will follow your leads if you guide him or tell him what you like. Please, bury his head against your wet folds. He likes that. The way your body arching, the way you moan, beg, shudder, cry out while he circles your clit. It's music to his ear. If you cum against his lips, then, Sabo would be in pure heaven.

"Look at how wet you are. Can't wait to fill you up." While pushing two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. And as he pulls them off, oh, sure, he would show you how wet you are because he's a tease. Before licking his fingers covered in your wetness. "You taste so good. I bet you pussy will be amazing around my cock."

If you tell him you're ready for more, Sabo, being a smart and responsible boy, would use a condom and lube.

"Shit… you're so tight. You're okay? Want me to stop?" While slowly burying his length inside you.  "That's my brave girl, taking all of my cock so well."

Sabo would make an effort to stay soft and sweet just for you. But you feel too good around him, how you clench and spasm around his girth, your tightness, and wetness... it’s too much for him.

"You look so beautiful with my cock buried inside you."

He would let out a shaky breath, gently steadying you while thrusting into you. Really beautiful moans close to your ears. 

And really clingy during the aftercare. 

(In his mind, he's already thinking about your next round and how his claws would look awesome on your throat.)

Ace

CW : creative use of DF (in a soft/sweet way), slight praises, fingering, face sitting, protected sex, slight dirty talk

If you explain to Ace that you're always nervous and stressed during sex, his first reaction is to panic. And to ask for help from Marco, because Ace is kind and afraid of hurting you. Or not being good enough for you. So he needs some advice, and well, Marco is a doctor. 

Once he's more informed, the next time you're having a passionate making-out session, Ace would try his best to reassure you and be extra sweet for you.

In fact, he doesn't have a lot of experience. He always thinks he's not worthy. So it's not easy for him to be intimate, and random hookups are not something he's comfortable with. 

He would sit you on his laps and cherish every inch of your body. Your curves are a sight to behold. He feels lucky to touch you. His hands are probably shaking a bit because he's both nervous and excited. He would slowly reach for your bottom and cup your ass cheeks with his hands. "I need you so bad, Y/N" 

He would always make certain that you are okay with every action. Like, asking you before touching your breasts, taking off your clothes etc. Such a sweet boy. 

He would just push your panties to the side, feeling the heat between your thighs. "Can I?" His voice thick with need and adoration. Your tightness and warmth around Ace's fingers would make him mesmerized. He would hold you tight while fingering you until you beg and beg for more.

Even if his cock is throbbing with need, but he would be focused on you, and only you. "You're so pretty. Feel how hard I am for you?" 

"You taste so good. I want more" while licking his fingers. 

He would ask you to sit on his face. Because he's so eager. He loves your body, how you feel, how you taste, and the warmth of your thighs pressed against his face. He would love to feel you squirm as he circles your cheek with his fingers and push the tip of his tongue inside you. 

Would playfully slap your ass or grip it to press your pussy more firmly against his lips.

When you tell him you're ready for more, Ace would feel a bit nervous again. So he would let you straddle him. At least you can control the depth. Plus, your body is beautiful, so cowgirl is an awesome position to watch all of your curves again and again.

"Fuck, you're amazing"

Another responsible boy, he would use a condom. Ace is too frightened to have a child by accident. 

He would hold your hips tightly and the moment his cockhead starts to stretch your walls, Ace would turn into a moaning mess because it feels too good for his poor soul. 

"Y/N, you feel so damn good." The more you impale yourself on his length, the more Ace would moan. The sensation is too overwhelming for him, he can't handle it. 

"You're taking me so well. You're alright? You feel me right there?" While gently rubbing his palms along your lower stomach. And if it hurts a bit, he would use his DF to gently massage your lower stomach, soothing you with the nice warmth. 

Ace will lay you on your back and nuzzle his head on your neck once you feel comfortable and relaxed. Although his thrusts are gentle, you can still feel the force behind them. He’s probably holding back a bit. He would be fond of the way you squirm when the cold pearls of his collar touch your skin. 

Beautiful, really beautiful moans. 

And would randomly fall asleep on you after he cum. With his cock still inside you.

Shanks 

CW : face sitting, slight praises, dirty talk, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, pet name (pretty girl), slight size kink, teasing

Shanks may be kinky as Sabo, but if you're already nervous due to stress, he won't bend you over the table to fuck you senseless. 

"Aw, my pretty girl is stressed? Why? Because I'm too big?" with a playful smile on his lips. He's such a tease.

He would be a little goofy, with some silly dad jokes that would make you laugh. Shanks is not always goofy. I mean, if you want him to fuck you rough, he can. But if you're nervous, then he won't mind making things extra fun. The more you laugh, the less nervous you are after all, and that's all he wants. He likes when sex is enjoyable and natural. 

"Maybe I'm armless, but at least, I'm pretty good with my last hand. Wanna try?" with a playful grin.

And damn, he's right. He is talented, even if he has only one hand. The easiest position for Shanks is to sit on his face. First, you're pretty and he loves feeling your juice drip on his chin. Secondly, he's sure he won't lose his balance and just fall on you randomly. Keyword: goofy.

Your pussy's taste would be so intoxicating. Perhaps even better than alcohol. With his hand, he would circle your clit with his thumb and push two thick fingers inside you. You can't help but cum as he stimulates you with his hand and tongue. 

"Mh, that's my pretty girl, all wet and open for me. Look at how my fingers are sliding with ease. I bet you're ready for my cock?" 

He would love how you feel flushed and flustered by his words. Such a tease. 

As you look at his thick and long cock twitching in need, he would just laugh playfully. "Aw pretty girl, don't be afraid, it doesn't bite. I'll stretch you out juuuust nice." 

Shanks is probably a bit lazy sometimes and also loves to look at his girl, so his favorite position is always when you're on top of him. He enjoys observing your curves and how you use him for your own pleasure. 

"Ride me, don't be lazy." 

(So sassy.)

"That's it, take me all the way in." As you gradually impale yourself onto his thick length. Despite your nervousness, he did a fantastic job of soothing you. He will try to alleviate your pain with more silly jokes if it's still painful. "Atta girl" as he's finally balls deep inside of you. 

He would love to watch you bounce up and down as you ride him. His gaze would be fixed on your breasts or his throbbing cock, sliding in and out, all covered by your wetness. "Fuck, you're really swallowing me. You like how nice I'm stretching you?" 

"You're riding me so well. You love riding your captain, huh?" He would squeeze your breasts or ass playfully while you're doing all the work. And, because he's a tease, he would circle your clit with his thumb. He would laugh as you squirm and coat his cock with your juice. "What's wrong, pretty girl?" 

Really chatty and playful throughout the whole time. If you tease him about his missing arm, he would laugh first. If you continue, be ready for him to fuck you senseless, pull on your hair, spank you, and even bite you. "Say that again?" 

(Sure, he would know you're unable to answer because of his relentless pounding. That’s too bad, right?)

Mihawk 

CW : slight size kink, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving), mention of knife play, slight praises, slight dirty talk, protected sex 

Mihawk is a gentleman. While he may have some kinks, sex with him is always about consent and respect. Even when he's extra rough.

So if you tell him you're really stressed because it's been a while since the last time you had sex and because of his size… he would be extra careful. 

Mihawk is really classy, so first thing first, he would run you a hot bath for the both of you. And tell you a couple of times how beautiful your bare body is. Gently, he would kiss all of your wet skin, easing your fears, and fondling your breasts. It's probably a bit scary to be so intimate with Mihawk, because his piercing eyes are really impressive. But he's a god when it comes to observing your reactions and learning from them. 

If you lean against his torso, his cock will be pressed against your back. All throbbing with need. But he won't ask you anything: he wants to satisfy you and only you. 

He would love the feeling of your breasts against his palms and sucking on your nipples. "I'm sure you're already all wet for me." Yes, even with the water, he would still know. Again, piercing eyes. "Wanna bet? Let's find out" 

And then, he would carry you to the bedrooms. Extra luxurious and precious bedsheets. The texture is heavenly on your skin. Mihawk would kiss every inch of your body, then spread your thighs. "Look like I was right" with a slight grin, before burying his head between your legs. 

Again, he's all about anticipation and elegance. He won't lick your folds as if he were a savage without manners. His first step would be to kiss your inner thighs. Keyword: teasing. He wants to see you squirm and loves to watch how wet you are already, just for a bit of teasing and anticipation. Perhaps he has a fantasy about running his sword (the small one around his neck) along your inner legs. In a soft way, sure. But he won't do it because you're already anxious.

And when he finally starts to eat you out, damn, it's pure bliss. He would constantly look at you with his hawk eyes to gauge your reactions. Figuring out how your body is working won't take him a long time. Be prepared to cum at least once against his lips. "Stay still." If you squirm too much because it feels too good.

After you cum, he would reach for your face and lips and kiss you. "You like how you taste? Because I do." With a playful grin. 

Another smart man, so he would both use a condom and lube. To reassure you, he would allow you to ride him. As you slowly sink yourself down his length, Mihawk would fall into an exquisite loss of control. 

While holding onto your hips or bedsheets, he would exhale a shaky breath. "You're so tight, I love how you clench around me." While circling your clit with his thumb to ease your potential pain. 

"You're riding me so well. That's my girl." Before giving you his hat. So now, you're a real cowgirl. Seeing his girl riding him with his hat would make his cock throb with need. His hands would tightly hold your hips to help you move up and down his length. The sloshing noises, your moans, shudders, how you clench around him, how your juice is dripping down his cock, how your breasts are bouncing with each thrust… it's too much to handle for his sake. 

"You're so pretty for me." 

He would end up really needy to feel your skin against his. Get ready to stay still on your back as he fucks you with a strong yet gentle pace. A lot of eye contact and intertwining fingers. 

And his deep sighs, maybe even low grunts. A pure delight.

[themultifanshipper]

Oh my good your newest Oscar fic I am dead!! Also can he find out about her hidden toys :))

I'll be honest, I couldn't be bothered with a whole fic so have a blurb :3

Warnings: use of toys (duh), oscar discovering things about himself, mention of pegging

Part 2 of sorts to this

You finally tell Oscar about your secret box of toys.

Oscar is kinda jealous and possessive at first, feeling like he's been missing out and not taking care of you properly.

Him saying something along the lines of ‘throw them away , you're not going to need them anymore’

But one day when he's on the other side of the world somewhere, you send him a video of you going to town on yourself with them.

He's a wreck. He fists his cock in his motorhome's bathroom, obsessively going over the video over and over again, obsessed with the way you fuck yourself on your dildo.

You getting a text in the middle of the night “I changed my mind” and knowing exactly what he's referring to.

Oscar getting way too into it and after some experimenting decides he wants in on the fun, and soon your toys are used freely by both of you.

Him being shy about it for a while, always asking you if he can use your stuff (on you or himself it doesn't matter) and you noticing sometimes that a toy will be missing while he's away.

Then he'll come home and pretend he has no idea where it is but it always reappears in the box within a day of him being back.

Oscar going feral every time he thinks about you during race weekends because he's picturing all the things you could be doing to yourself.

Him sending ‘you up?’ texts and getting back a picture or video of you teasing yourself with a vibrator every single time, without fail.

He has a rapidly growing collection in a secure folder on his phone.

Him buying himself an actual dildo for himself to use when he's away and pent up because you pegged him once and he became a mushy mess after a few well aimed thrusts.

He may or may not become obsessed with your g-spot massager, using it on himself sneakily from time to time because after his first ever prostate orgasm, he became a bit too obsessed.

Sometimes it's fun to tease him by tying him to the bed and using the toys to make yourself come while he watches helplessly.

The most used toy is probably the remote controlled vibrator.

Oscar was immediately obsessed the first time you showed it to him. He uses it on you on those days when he's at home and wants to make you beg for him.

He'll tease you all day, bringing you to the edge at the most inopportune moments, like when you're cooking or doing laundry.

You'll feel the buzz, desperately trying to ignore it until it becomes too much and he'll turn it off, leaving you high and dry as many times as he wants.

The most adventurous thing you've done with it was wear it to dinner during date night. He made you come in a room full of people and no one had any idea what was happening just a few meters away.

His favourite toy is probably the bright orange vibrating plug your best friend got you as a gag gift.

Well joke’s on her, Oscar's favourite thing is having you on all fours with your ass high in the air and your pussy drooling down your thighs as he teases you with light touches and long licks.

Only when you’re begging like a slut for him will he finally fuck you, the vibrations from the plug making him go absolutely feral as he pounds into you, making you scream in pleasure into the pillows.

On of the best things ever is when he ‘catches you' in the act. It turns out he‘s quite into role play, and he'll pretend you've been a bad girl and punish you for pleasuring yourself without him.

Nothing is ever really a punishment with Oscar though, his idea of being mean is using whatever you were using on you, and making you come as many times as he wants.

Those are the times where you're really glad you told him about your collection.

[quickstappen]

track 001: end of the beginning

A/N: hello, welcome to another smau i guess, enjoy? this is the real reason why the latest part of carved my name was up so late yall ;) oscar won his first race and i had to do something!! i'm sorry to all the carlos fans, but someone's gotta be the bad guy, yk?

masterlist | next

december 2020

liked by prema_team, arthur_leclerc and others

paola_sainz I can't believe it is time to go, it still doesn't feel real. Thank you for those amazing years together, for the memories and happiness, I couldn't wish for better team, better friends, I love you all and I'll miss you tremendously. Cheers to the next chapter in our lives.

see all comments...

prema_team We'll miss you vice-champ! Make sure to visit when you're around ❤️

↳ paola_sainz of course! I'll visit so much you'll get sick of me ;)

sainzssss_ noooooooo, what???

shithappens what. the. fuck.

carlossainz55 Excited for your new journey! Now you can spend more time in my garage 🔥😎

↳ paola_sainz yeah, im so excited too!

↳ quickstappen this seems... dry

↳ albono_23 right???

ilpredestinatox oh noo! you were the reason i decided to follow my dreams and go to college for mechanical engineering, i can't believe you're not gonna be racing anymore

↳ paola_sainz oh sweetie, i'm so glad you're following your dreams! dm me if you have any enfeneering problems - i can ask around and get back to you ;)

↳ nyoomf1 she's so sweet 🥹

arthur_leclerc I'll miss your annoying face you know? (only a tiny bit)

↳ paola_sainz acting like you won't see me at basically every race anyway (i'll miss you too) 🤍

↳ arthur_leclerc 🤍

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february 2024

liked by arthur_leclerc, jensonbutton and others

paola_sainz does it ever drive you crazy...?

3 years ago i was broken beyond recognition, i lost my purpose and will to carry on, i thought that without racing i was noone. to think that the same girl just sold out her first collection of athletic wear is absolutely crazy, i can't believe how far we've come and i can't wait to see what else we can do

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carlando333 girl 💀💀

↳ ilpredestinatox what do you mean, tf

↳ carlando333 Carlos literally just lost his seat for next year

↳ ilpredestinatox well, this is not carlos' page is it? she's not his keeper, she's allowed to be her own person

cuddlyxricc can she like,, read the room?

byelandoo lol, she does not care about the ferrari drama AT ALL

carlove55 are you gonna comment on the carlos situation??

shithappens she looked so happy when she was racing 🥺 i still can't accept that i'll never see her in a f1 car

↳ quickstappen right??

arthur_leclerc i am going to model the next collection

↳ paola_sainz don't know if you've noticed, but i make WOMEN'S athletic wear

↳ arthur_leclerc you just don't want to see me slay

↳ paola_sainz do not say slay ever again

charlosp1 💀

spanishxbabe so Carlos means nothing to you?

jensonbutton So proud! Brittany loves her set 🧡

↳ paola_sainz 🧡

charles_leclerc Knew you could do it Lola 🤍

↳ paola_sainz thank you for believing in me Charlie 🤍

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liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and others

paola_sainz oh baby, how good to see you again!

(also, charles_leclerc go and win me a race please, i don't know how many forza ferrari sempre's i have left in me)

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shithappens i'm sorry, is that a man? with my wife?

quickstappen queen is back in paddock!

arthur_leclerc so the ones with me in them were not good enough to make it, but the random one with him tying you're shoelaces made it?

↳ paola_sainz guess so, try harder next time

screwderriaf1 she's so real for that, Charles for WDC2024

↳ ilpredestinatox GIRL, be so fr rn

↳ screwderriaf1 just let me dream man

carlando333 oh come on! she doesn't care about carlos at all! fucking snake, thinking she's better than him🐍

logansargeant nice of you to visit old friends

↳ paola_sainz we're literally going for lunch tomorrow?

↳ sheilaxf1 they know each other??

↳ lewibear yeahh, since her time at prema i'm pretty sure

charles_leclerc Yeah, no pressure right

↳ paola_sainz you know it ;)

charlosp1 did she really say that she wishes that charles won and not her brother who's fighting for his future this season 💀

redmilton Paola Sainz soft launching a white man in the year 2024 was not on my bingo card

cuddlyxricc sorry but first no comment on carlos' seat and now this? yeah no, not cool

elmatadorf1 traitor! rooting for charles when your brother lost his seat because of him 🐍

madi_races is my girlfriend in a relationship with a.... man??

predestined55 absolutely no honour, not surprised tbh after seeing who she hangs out with 🐍

darth_nando can we please stop mentioning Carlos in every comment section under her posts? it's so unnecessary

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paola's messages:

YouTube, Screaming Meals | now playing:

↳ 01:52s - - - > - 04:37s

↳ 21:46s - - - > - 29:31s

↳ 52:14s - - - >- 1:08:11s

paola's messages:

madi's radio: okay look, the text between Spanish speakers.... i do not know Spanish and putting entire conversations through google translate is not the best, so let's just pretend they're in Spanish, yeah?

click here to be added to the hiding in the seams taglist!

DISCLAIMER: i do not know anything about this people, this is not real life, this is just something for fun, i do not know anythings about their life or personalities!

[wuwapetal1s]

write anything abt geshu lin or calcharo im begging on my hands and knees ill give u my first born or a kidney whichever u want

I don't need any organs can I have a pair of knees maybe (ty for the request anon :3)

Love languages

content: sfw, rambling-ish format, not entirely proofread (it's midnight currently), swearing used, etc.

reqs open!

— Calcharo.

Calcharo is an ‘acts of service man’ through and through. To me, he doesn't seem the best at giving affection verbally though he thinks he's *very* good at it personally. As in, you will ask him for comfort or reassurance and he'll give it to you readily… But it will sound so stern coming from him.

“I feel uncomfortable with [such and such]..”

“I understand. I will rectify/fix that.”

Communication KING, though I imagine it can still feel very intimidating to bring stuff up to him. It will always be met with understanding, and he certainly would try his hardest to accommodate what language/tone you'd rather hear in those moments (autistic.)

Getting back to the original point, he will do just about anything for you. There's hardly any limits or rules to that fact. He will kill for you, he will fight for you, he will get in trouble with the law for you, etc etc. He'll also grab extra of your snacks the moment he's back in town and stops at the market before he goes to visit you.

Tired from a long day at work or studying? He'll clean up as quietly as he can while you sleep. You'll wake up to all the dishes done and your living space looks pretty much spotless.

He's the kind of man to learn how you organize things pretty easily, even if you're a very messy person. He's very clued in on anything that involves you (smitten, much?) and he's also just got a keen eye on him.

"Ugh, I can't find where I left my-”

“Bottom drawer of the nightstand.”

“Oh.. Thank you!”

He loves holding and kissing you as well, it's his favorite thing to be welcomed home to. Just the ability to sink into your arms is like heaven to him. Receiving, he probably likes physical touch a lot more, but he feels 100x more satisfied doing something for you to show he cares :).

— Genshu Lin.

Genshu Lin is a possessive man. It's subtle, but it's definitely there. Above all else, he adores you. He's a deeply devoted person when in a relationship, though I don't feel like he's had a lot of experience to pinpoint that exactly, but it's his nature. I believe he enjoys gifting you things he gets his hands on, trinkets or otherwise.

He mostly enjoys giving you things you can make use of or wear. He always gets a warmth in his chest when he sees you in the bracelet he got you (one that matches his that he keeps tucked away for safekeeping) or using pens he gave you after you kept losing your last ones. As long as it works, suits you, and it means a lot to you, he's snatching it up.

I also believe he's a sucker for stealing kisses in private. He may not seem it to anyone else, but he's a softie. Just for you though. Cooking something or simply sitting around? Funny how his lips just found their way to your cheek!

He's a bit more apprehensive about receiving it unless it's the time you two lay in bed together, then he'd let you rub his back or play with his hair. In return, he most enjoys quality time.

Even if it's something as mundane as running an errand or having to pick something up from the pharmacy he wants you there. He'd tell you “I don't need your presence, I just prefer it” if questioned, but he does need it. More than he knows or even lets on, he wants you and needs you there. He hates having to be away from you. It drives him up a wall almost. Like nearly insane.

After long hours working or even days/weeks of it he wants nothing more than to just lay with you and bathe in your presence as if it's a balm for his soul :’).

I love these men they're so fine

[bbokicidal]

Hihi congratulations on 1k! Lixie family prompt 3 and 6 please omg I'd die for that cute sight 🥺

Oh, goodness. Ty also!! I really appreciate it n I love seeing u in my notifs all the time!!

Family Prompts #3 & #6 : Having Triplets + Reacting to their Firsts - Lee Felix

Felix... oh, Felix.

Man is STRESSED the second he finds out you're having three babies at once. Buuuut, he's also so, so excited!!!! He's going to spoil the shit out of these babies and if you think otherwise, you're absolutely wrong.

He's doing everything he can during the pregnancy process. Finding a place for you two with a massive room for a nursery - painting that nursery, decorating it with you with pinks, blues, and yellows. I cannot put into words how absolutely excited he is to have three babies with you.

He's also the type to kiss your tummy at every given point he can. He'll sit behind you and hold up your bump every evening for some time so you can relax with the weight off of your back, massage your shoulders for you - keep you as relaxed as possible.

He will do his absolute best to do everything he can for the babies once they're born. Waking up with you to watch what you do when they get fussy, rocking them to sleep when you're too tired to do so, feeding them bottles and changing them so carefully that they fall asleep on the changing table in his gentle hold.

(Before you ask - Yes. They all have his freckles.)

And as they get older, he'll freak out about every thing they do. Especially when one of your daughter's first words is during a little interview where he introduces them to his group members - and the word she says is '아저씨 [Ajussi/Uncle]' to Chan because she remembers him from photos you've shown her.

He'll bawl when he sees them all curled up with their uncles, too. All the little girls just balled up in their arms, one sleeping on Changbin's tummy and chest, one drooling on Jeongin's arm as he holds her, and one clinging to Jisung in her sleep while he sleeps beneath her on the floor.

The first time he brings them with him to work because you're out of town with your family, he cries at that, too. He sniffles a little seeing them now old enough to run around with the others, Jeongin and Seungmin chasing two of them down while the third is entertained by Minho and Hyunjin painting her nails and blowing on them.

And the first time he plays dress up with them, he knows this is all he's ever wanted in life. He fills truly fulfilled - Having his dream career with his best friends, being married to an amazing woman and having three beautiful daughters with her...

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

My Favorite Pet

Fuck Me (3)

BDSM preformer!fem!Reader x subby!Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Friday has rolled around and you aren't feeling it tonight. Can Wanda help you through it?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, exhibitionism, voyeurism, rope play, mention of strap, aftercare is fluff, Domspace drop, role reversal, mention of spanking, mentions of edging

Word count: 2K

A/N: Had a lot happen today so I'm glad that in my down moments I was able to work on this for you guys. I've also been loving this dynamic more than I thought I would. I have a cheeky one-shot planned and also another chapter~

The club was in full swing by the time you got there on Friday strolling in at six. Natasha was none too pleased as she pulled you into her office, pushing you against the wall. A moan escaping your lips as her hand wrapped around your neck like a necklace, making you gasp out.

“You've really been testing my patience these past two weeks and I am sick of it.” Natasha seethed at you, your eyes widening knowing you had pushed too far. 

“I-I'm sorry Tasha!” You pleaded with the older redhead. “Please I can't be in subspace right now.” her eyes narrowed on you. As much as she wanted to bend you over her desk and punish you she needed you to be functional for tonight. 

Her grip loosened on you. Turning away from you as she went back to her desk. “If you have one more slip up you'll be over my desk before you even realize you've fucked up.” Her voice had a bite to it that sent a shiver through you.

“Yes, of course Tasha. I'll be on my best behavior.” You tell her before slipping out of her office and into your own dressing room. 

Wanda was there already in a cute little set she had picked out in your absence. You smiled at her choice as she beamed up at you. 

The two of you had spent a few days apart after your last performance and aftercare session. You loved having her around truly you did, but you weren't ready to have her around 24/7. It had been a long time since you were in a relationship and though you two worked together in the way that you do, you wanted to ease into the rest of the relationship. The non-BDSM parts. 

You made your way over, cupping her cheek as she leaned into your touch. “That's a beautiful outfit you've picked out tonight baby girl. I think I have something to match it.” You coo at her leaving a light kiss on her lips before going through your wardrobe and finding a suitable outfit to match. “You're going to be a good girl for me tonight, right?” You knew she would it was more to help put you in the headspace you needed to be in.

“Yes Mommy!” She replied happily, bounding over to you with her collar in hands, kneeling down in front of you as she held it up towards you. She really was perfect. You couldn't ask for anything better. 

You take the collar from her hands with a smile. You adjust the collar around her neck checking to make sure it wasn't too tight. “There we go, pretty girl.” She looks up at you with a shimmer in her eyes. 

Your first show of the night went off without a hitch, everything went perfectly as you played with Wanda, tying her up with intricate knots of a pretty purple rope. You played and teased marking her up until she begged for release, letting her have it easily since the two of you had two more shows and didn't want to wear her out. Everything had to go well tonight. 

“Who's ready to see my pretty pet shake with need for me?” You ask as you tie Wanda up once more. The crowd cheers for you, tips already flowing in making you smirk. “All of you are so thirsty to see me play with my precious pet. I just know this is what you think about when you go home.” You run your hand down Wanda's front until you're rubbing small circles on her clit. She bucks her hips into you.

“Please Mommy…inside! Please!” You shush her.

“Patience pet we just started.” You pick your hand up, slapping it against her wetness making a beautiful sound. “You love everyone watching you don't you pet?” You ask and she nods, earning her another slap. “Proper answers pet or you aren't cumming until the end of next show.” She panicked a bit, looking up at you. Harsh lines on your face. There was love there she knew there was, but you looked so unforgiving right now.

“Yes Mommy! I love them watching me! I love that they get off to me coming undone at your hand.” You smiled, grabbing her face and kissing roughly, a bruising kiss made even more so as you bit her bottom lip, tugging as you ripped a moan out of her.

“That's a good pet.” Without any more prep you shove two fingers inside of her. She kicks her legs a bit, hips moving on their own. 

“Ah! Mommy!” She cries out, looking up at you, eyes glossy and hazy.

“This is what you wanted isn't it?”

“Yes Mommy!” 

“So be a good girl and take what Mommy gives you.” You add a third finger, stretching her out. You move your other hand to her mouth, sticking three fingers in her mouth as she eagerly sucks. You could feel her getting close. “Go on pet cum for Mommy.” You tell her and she's coming undone beneath you, chanting ‘Mommy’ beneath you. As you fucked her through her orgasm. 

“That's a good girl. Mommy’s good girl.” You cooed giving her kisses as you untied her. “Thank the audience for watching you sweetie.” Wanda on wobbly legs much like a baby deer got up and did a little bow. 

“Thank you for watching Mommy fuck me.” A big smile plastered on her face as tips came flying in and you could hear people calling her cute wishing she was there's. You come up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“Come on sweetie. Time for some aftercare.” you whisper in her ear helping her back to your room, bringing her to the bed in there. 

Holding her against you, you let out a sigh feeling yourself dropping. Trying to fight it, you've been fighting it all day. You didn't want to do this today. You'd been doing your best to stay in Domspace, but at the end of the day you're a switch and subspace had been calling your name all day. 

You hadn't realized you were gripping Wanda tighter until she squealed. 

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She looks up at you, eyes bright once more, studying you to figure out what you needed.

“Fuck, Wands I'm sorry.” You loosen your grip. “I don't know if I can do another show with you tonight.” You admit to her.

“What? Why not?” she sits up, straddling you. 

“I'm…” you bite your bottom lip, looking away from her gaze. She slowly brings you back to meet her green eyes. 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” The love and care in her voice made you want to just fall apart into subspace. You feel tears well up in your eyes, stinging as you try to stop them, pushing your palms into your sockets.

“All I've wanted all day is to be in subspace and I can't do that. I have to be your Dom right now and I'm struggling to stay above water and I'm sorry I can't be what you need right now.” Your voice cracked and struggled to come out as you felt the tears push past your palms, running down your cheeks. A soft sniffle coming from you and a hiccup. 

You felt Wanda's hands gently wrap around your wrists and just as gently pulling them from your face. 

“Look at me sweetie.” It's a command, but in the most loving way you've ever heard. You have no choice, but to comply. The way she's looking at you in such a loving way as she pushes your hands above your head, pushing them into the pillows. Her nails ever so slightly dig into your wrists.

“Do you need Mommy?” Her voice thick like honey with her accent, enough to pull you under. You feel everything get fuzzy around the edges.

“Y-yes…but…” you try to argue, but she quiets you with a kiss.

“shhh baby I've got you. I can handle this. Let Mommy take care of you.” That's it she's got you, she said you'd drown in her if you tried to pull away and this is it right here. You're drowning in her. The roles reversed on you suddenly. 

When was the last time you got to be in subspace? A year? Two? Had it been even longer? Those big thoughts swirling in your head, you thought Wanda wouldn't notice, but she does. 

“You're thinking too hard sweetie. Let go. Babies like you don't need such big thoughts.” A soft moan pushes past your lips. Wanda smiles at the state you're in. Moving your wrists together so they can be held by one of her hands while the other pushes past the waistband of your pants. You hadn't let Wanda touch you so far, but the feeling of her fingers ghosting over your cunt.

“Mmm Mommy please…please!” You folded so easily for her and she gave in easily, pushing past your folds. Two fingers stretching you as you moaned out in pleasure, she filled you so well.

“You make such pretty noises detka. moya malen'kaya devochka. (My little baby girl.)” 

“Fuck, Mommy cumming! C-can I cum?” You looked up at her desperate for release. 

“Go ahead. Cum for Mommy, I want to see you fall apart for me.” You felt your coil snap, back arching and hips bucking to match her speed. You rode her fingers through your orgasm, gasping by the end with how intense it felt. How long has it been? “Fuck you're so beautiful moya lyubov.” You looked up at her, feeling tears in your eyes once more. She let your wrists go. 

She moved back into place, grabbing your phone and handing it to you. “Here baby find some tik toks for us. I'm going to clean you up and get some water. No more tears, okay? Mommy’s got you.” Wanda leaned over kissing your forehead lightly before grabbing the cloth, gently cleaning you, shushing you every twitch from overstimulation until she's cleaned you properly. 

You don't want her to, but she leaves the bed to grab a water as you scroll, curling up onto your side. Wanda came back behind you, taking a few sips of the water before resuming your scrolling as Wanda settled in behind you. Sharing videos you had previously liked and then going to your for you page and scrolling as you came back. You set your phone down, turning to Wanda and tangling yourself into her.

“You were so good for me baby.” You mumbled against her finally feeling better now that you got to drop. She moved to run her fingers through your hair.

“Feel better?” She asks leaving a kiss on your temple.

“Much. Have you ever…?” You let the question die on your lips as you look up at her. 

“No. I just followed what you've done. I don't know how fit I am to be a Dom for you, but we can always explore it when we aren't in a time crunch.” She teases, making you laugh.

“How did I get so lucky?” You questioned, leaning up to pepper kisses all over her face.

“I think I'm the lucky one. If I hadn't taken this job…if I hadn't gotten paired with you? I would have gone on thinking those walking red flags were actual Doms. None of them come anywhere close to you Y/N.” Her green eyes bore into you with a love that you felt you could never truly appreciate no matter how hard you tried. 

“I think I'll be able to do our last show. I wanna see your make up ruined from taking my strap down that pretty throat and then I'm going to fuck you until you're dumb and screaming for Mommy to stop.” You gripped her face, feeling her breath hitch at your words. Her eyes flicking to your lips. 

“M-Mommy…” she was squirming beneath you, “not fair!” She whined.

“What's not fair baby?” You ask with faux concern. You even tilted your head slightly for dramatic effect.

“How easily you can switch! Not fair!” You can't help, but laugh as she pouts.

“Mommy’s done this a long time, switching wasn't always so easy for me. Once the sub in me is satisfied the Dom runs free.” You say against her lips, pulling her in for a bruising kiss. 

You couldn't wait to ruin your pet. Your favorite pet.

[marvelsgirl616]

[✎ ☀️] — STONER!JJ MAYBANK X READER:

bsfstoner!jj x reader ::

•• summary: you try weed with jj for the first time and it gets a little steamy (jk?….ok you kiss)

•• warnings: weed/drugs (obv.) he calls you princess. So maybe gn…idk (Lmk if I should add more warnings)

•• A/N: if you want more of stoner!jj or for me to add to the fic lmk <3 Ty for reading || also I wrote this at 3 am so sorry for any shitty grammar 😭

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

**you’re hanging out with jj at The Chateau**

jj pulls out a small blunt from his pocket and lights it up with a lighter he flicks with his thumb. he takes a puff before exhaling a cloud of smoke and turning his attention back to you, blowing some towards your direction playfully. "you want some, princess?”

you contemplate on if you want to our not…I mean it’s your first time smoking at all, let alone a blunt. But you feel safe knowing it’s jj’s and that he’d never do anything to hurt you or put you in harms way. You know he’ll keep you safe as the weed kicks in…you nod and take the blunt from him “I’m gonna try it” you smile nervously and in anticipation.

he grins widely at your response before handing you the blunt and watching as you take it from him. "alright, princess. don't inhale too deeply or you'll choke." he warns, his arm still around your shoulder.

he watches as you inhale the blunt for the first time, waiting for your reaction with a slight chuckle, "Fuck, that's some good shit. Hope you can handle it, princess." he praises.

You cough slightly as my throat feels a bit dry.

he laughs at your reaction, patting you on the back as you cough. "Easy there, princess. Don't want you to keel over." he teases, still smiling as he takes the blunt back from you and takes a few more hits before passing it back. "You okay?"

You nod as your throat feels a bit better, but after a bit you start to feel the weed kick in.

he watches with a grin as he sees the weed affecting you, "Fuck, look at you. You look high as fuck already, princess." he teases, placing a hand on your cheek.

You chuckle slightly and it slowly turns into a full blown giggle…oh no….

he grins at your reaction, watching as you continue to giggle. "You're so cute when you're stoned."

You giggle more as the weed takes into full effect. In a giggle you say “M’not cute!”

he laughs more at your attempt to sound tough, and he holds his stomach as he laughs. "Keep telling yourself that, princess. You're still cute to me." He takes another hit of the blunt before passing it back to you..

You blush at his words and giggle softly as you take the blunt from him, taking another puff.

he notices your blush and smiles wider. "You like hearing me call you cute, princess?" He asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

with the weed in my system all you do is smile and giggle stupidly and shrug…god you know that if you weren’t high as a god damn kite, you’d be a complete mess. You feel a certain comfort with being high, as it helps smooth your nerves and makes you more confident than you normally are….

he laughs again, shaking his head. "You're something else, princess." He takes the blunt from you and leans in closer to you. he takes a puff of the blunt and then leans in closer to you, blowing the smoke into your face deliberately. He grins at you, his eyes slightly glazed from the weed. "You like that, princess?" He asks, his voice low.

Your brain stops working, with the mixture of the weed, his close proximity and his stupid fucking hot low voice and all you do is yet again stare back with glazed over eyes and a small blush….

he notices your lack of response and grins again. "You're so cute when you're stoned, princess." He leans even closer to you, his lips almost touching yours. "Do you want me to kiss you, princess?"

You feel your heartbeat quicken and your breath hitches in your throat. Everything around you slows down as if the world has stopped around us. As he looks in your eyes all you can think about is him…

he sees the look in your eyes and smirks, closing the distance between the both of you. He presses his lips against yours, his kiss slow and sensual. He can taste the weed on your lips as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. He pulls away with a smirk “how was that, princess?”

Stunned you mutter out “y-yeah, it was good” your face red and hot with a small flustered smile. He smirks and winks at you… “I’m glad you liked it princess”