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wheeboo · 6 months ago

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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.”

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

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wheneverfeasible · 5 months ago

Text

So we all know the mechanic Eddie aus out there, all love a greasy dirty Eddie Munson in coveralls, but what about mechanic Steve?

Steve, who has a nice car, who learned how to take care of it himself. Steve who found that he was actually pretty good with his hands, and a knack for fixing things. He understands cars, likes to tinker with them in his spare time, even if he had to teach himself at first.

Eventually he sees a Help Wanted sign at the mechanic’s and…well, why not? He applies, and he’s inexperienced, but they hire him. He sweeps and keeps things clean and tidy at first, and then he learns some hands-on experience, moves up in the job, and eventually he becomes the guy everyone wants to work on their car.

When the owner retires, it’s Steve who takes over the place, making the shop his own and making certain that it’s a safe place in a town where safety isn’t always guaranteed. The kids he used to babysit who aren’t kids anymore all learn car basics, Steve making certain they’re not caught in a jam and unable to help themselves, especially the girls. In the window, a small picture of Dorothy from Wizard of Oz rests, letting those who know…know.

And then maybe one day rockstar Eddie Munson returns to the small town he blazed out of after finally graduating, packing his shit up and high tailing it outta there like the bats of hell were chasing him. Maybe he’s still driving a shitty van, or maybe he got something a little more fancy. Maybe fame and money got to him a little bit and he’s got some fancy high end sports car and a bit of a dick personality. And this car breaks down. Who does he have to call?

King Mechanics.

And Eddie is huffing and complaining at it all, at his car for crapping out, for being late to meet his uncle, for having to wait for some mechanic to show up. And one does, not too much later after that first annoyed phone call. And the mechanic has surprisingly well-styled hair, and a body firm with muscle, filling out those oil stained coveralls nicely, and maybe Eddie starts to sort of flirt with the guy, until he looks at him properly.

Until he sees it’s Steve fucking Harrington.

And maybe they don’t get along well at first, and it’s all Eddie’s fault really, who is now huffy and puffy about having to deal with King Steve. Steve, on the other hand, is nothing but polite and professional, maybe even friendly. He might have taken back the moniker of king for his shop, might have even taken it as his last name after his parents disowned him when he came out as queer, but he’s far from who he was in high school.

And honestly? Teasing Eddie is kind of fun. Watching him get flustered and annoyed is funny because enough time has passed that Steve is comfortable with who he is and everyone in town knows he’s turned over a new leaf and it’s just amusing watching Eddie not realizing this yet.

They didn’t really have the parts he needs to fix Eddie’s car at the moment, however, so he orders them in. Offers to give Eddie a ride to wherever he needs to go. Maybe even mentions Wayne, with whom he actually got kind of close with, and who sometimes comes around for a cold drink now that he’s retired and has more free time on hand.

Eddie is incensed Wayne never told him he was friendly with King Steve, but Wayne never cared much for gossip, and Steve has been a godsend more than once when Wayne’s old clunker died frequently.

And so Steve and Eddie are thrown together, and Eddie realizes that maybe there’s more to Steve than meets the eyes, and that’s even before he discovers the Dorothy in the window. Sadly, he doesn’t discover it until after he goes on some rant about how Steve is clearly homophobic, but Steve just stares at him amused because he hadn’t even known Eddie was gay back in high school.

Eventually, Eddie realizes he and Steve have more in common than he ever realized. Realizes he’s become the sort of people he always despised and was a bit of an ass. Steve meanwhile was already aware of his crush on Eddie and was merely waiting for the right time to make his move.

Anyways. I just like the idea of done-up Eddie, slick and fancy, and dirty grubby mechanic Steve.

hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

#mechanic au #steddie au #mechanic steddie #mechanic steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #plot thots

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robin-evry · 3 months ago

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Oooooohhhhh saw the robin yuu post, now how about a traveler yuu more specifically a lumine yuu that gets isekaied to twst?

Sure thing, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓☀️🌙

A traveler from another world who had their only kin taken away, forcing them to embark on a journey to find The Seven.

NRC unofficial errand runner, traveler!yuu will accept any task or any errand as long as it comes with a price or it comes from the good of their hearts.

Academically traveler!yuu would be pretty much an average student, their grades are not bad as well not the top of the class, just basically in the middle.

Don't underestimate or try to downgrade them, by far one of the most powerful or not the most powerful and skilled warriors in NRC, Lilia admits himself saying that traveler!Yuu is not someone you should underestimate, he could tell they are a warrior even more skilled than him, sebek of course rejects this idea and challenges them and loses badly after a few seconds.

It's unclear whether or not traveler!Yuu is a human or not because they're not originally from this world. Many students have debates whether they are or not and when asking them what they are, they always shrug it off and continue on their business. Their age is also a mystery do they carry the appearance of a young adult their age has suppressed a human And there's a popular rumor that they are older than Lilia himself like a thousand years older than him.

During the dwarf mine cave moment with the ink monster chasing behind them and their friends to get the stone, traveler!Yuu summons their sword and strikes it down with ease.

Traveler!Yuu have the unique ability to use as well to copy peoples magic by just touching the person as well observing small amounts of mana from people but it usually causes no harms to anybody, they use Carter's unique magic by accidentally bumping into him during lunch, as well the ability to purify things from blot.

They are on a journey of looking for their sibling who they got separated from in this world. Lilia seems to know about them since during his youth he mentioned a person similar to traveler!yuu as well in the text book mention about a strong warrior and by far having abilities suppressing anyone in this world dating back a few hundred years ago.

Works at mostro lounge as a part time job, but Azul has been trying to convince them to work full time, bro is so desperate to hire them. During work hours Traveler!yuu will help Floyd clean the place or as well run some errands with jade.

Very popular in NRC, other than their title of being errands runner. They are very popular in school for being one NRC most trustworthy student and friends. They go gargoyle exploring with malleus, sword training with sebek and silver, help paint the roses with Carter, etc. traveler!Yuu is a trustworthy companion in NRC.

Tales are told across the world many adventures and accomplishments of a powerful and courageous hero that once passed in this world, that looks identical to them but suddenly disappears and their whereabouts is unknown ( their sibling )

The first years are usually people they talk about their adventures, traveler!Yuu is also pretty smug after listing all their accomplishments like aiding in the defeat of an ancient sea god during one of their adventures and the first years jaw drop the floor meanwhile their 😏

Trey, Jamil and them would cook together occasionally once a week, traveler!yuu would start to learn exotic delicacy from Jamil and learn how to bake sweets with trey. Even tho they do have some ups and downs in their skill but they are learning.

Jamil and traveler!yuu originally get along with each other, whether or not Jamil is too busy dealing with kalim he will ask traveler!yuu to do the errands for him, he started to abuse this ability more often asking them to run errands because he doesn't feel like it, but was asked to stop by grim because traveler!yuu has become more exhausted.

Grim asks Crowley to tell the entire school to stop relying on traveler!yuu so much it has become a burden towards. Grim cannot stand his favourite henchman coming back home exhausted and drained it's now officially forbidden to ask for traveler!yuu to run your errands. Vil also personally asks travelers!yuu to stop students doing other people's work since it's their own responsibility not them. Pomifiore has already established this rule because vil realized his dorm started to slack off and have more free time. And if there was anyone that is persistent on having traveler!yuu to help them, they will stop by rook and him.

Crowley was also devastated by this decree because he was also using them but look his precious student is tired of Always helping other people he has no choice so he put up the decree, how gracious and kind hearted man he is meanwhile grim looking at him with a 😒

Everybody in the school knows that traveler!Yuu is by far from being weak, they possessed stamina that suppress most of the students as well skilled in hand to hand combat. Not to mention their unique ability to copy and absorb magic. Not to mention their physical abilities also suppress some non-human abilities. During flight classes instead of using brooms traveler!yuu occasionally use their wings to fly around ( their wings during the game's first cutscenes ) it's pretty for them to pop up their wings tho only a few students have only seen them. During free times epel is approved to be trained by them in hand to hand combat by traveler!yuu.

Some troublemakers once challenge traveler!yuu on a spar but lose to them in a blink of an eye, very respected by the savanaclaw dorm every time when traveler!yuu walk by them, they will greet them with respect like a leader. Occasionally also have spars with the savanaclaw students including jack meanwhile Leona and ruggie watch from the side, ruggie has been teasing about Leona getting on a spar with them but he will shrug it off excusing himself saying he doesn't have the time, deep down Leona knows he will be out best by traveler!yuu but He also started to suspect them to have the potential of taking down malleus which he hopes one day will happen.

Some students started to suspect that they might be aliens that are similar to arch angels but it's unclear, many students Described traveler!yuu is very symbolic to a star, they will shine light upon those who need their guidance and they shine eternally bright in the night sky similar to how traveler!yuu shine bright in NRC.

It's unclear why they are still at twst, but it's related to finding their sibling who they lost during one of their explorations together. And by far their search has been non stop and after their graduation from NRC whenever or not their planning on graduating or dropping out Traveler!Yuu is planning on traveling the world of twst to find traces of their missing siblings.

#not canon #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenario #disney twst #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu au #twst x genshin #traveler!yuu #traveler genshin impact

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year ago

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Hi firstly I love your work secondly I have a request about something like Lee cheating on reader hurting her bad eventually she moves on with Steve Kemp and one day Lee sees reader again he tries to win her back troubling a bit and Steve comes to comfort protect her and he scares Lee in unique way (we know what Kemp does for a living ��)

hello, thank you! and I hope you like this!

summary - lee cheats on you which causes you to spend time finding yourself, leading you toward your new love steve kemp. what happens when the one who broke your heart finds you again?

warning - angst, cheating, violence, mentions of cannibalism.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by a deactivated again:(

No one ever prepared you for the pain of being cheated on, you thought that Lee was the one, having been together for five years. You had dreamt of the two of you getting married, being the perfect little housewife for him. You never expected to walk in on him balls deep inside his secretary, the very one he told you not to worry about. Everything was blurry after that, you could barely remember you storming out of his office, or that he didn’t even chase after you. You didn’t wait for him to come home, you immediately packed your things and left the house, letting him come home to an empty house.

It had been two years since you had your heart broken and through those years you had managed to love yourself and find love again, even though your trust issues would spike at times. From time to time, you would get flashbacks of walking in on Lee, getting stabbing pains in your chest when you remember each painful detail of that day. You stare blankly ahead, lost in your thoughts with a coffee in your hand, you couldn’t hear as Steve calls for you.

“Sweetheart.”

You remember walking in, dropping the freshly baked biscuits to the ground as you watched the love of your life fuck into his very young and pretty secretary that’s bent over the desk. You remember how his head turned and he just smirked at you, it felt as though your heart was being ripped out.

“Y/n!” You blink, feeling a burning sensation on your hand and your eyes move down, causing you to notice your recently bought coffee has now crumbled into your hand as the liquid flows out of it, burning your flesh. “Fuck, Honey. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Steve gently removes the ruined coffee from your hold and into the trash before he pulls you over to a bathroom and carefully cleans your hands. “Flashbacks again?” You nod, “I’m sorry, I forgot that, that particular pet name was what he used.”

“It’s okay… It’s my fault.” You stare at him with wide eyes as he glares at you.

“No it’s not, it’s never your fault!” He gently takes your face in his hands and places a soft kiss on your lips.

Steve Kemp, what a dream he was. You had met him during a time where you were between loving yourself and finding love again. You had been walking past your local hospital and ran into him as he was coming out, gobsmacked as to how they hired such handsome doctors. You even blurted out asking if his looks distracted the other doctors from their job. He laughed, causing your mind to become fuzzy as you stared up at him dazedly. For the first time in a long time, you felt happy and through that happiness, you asked him out. Thankfully, he accepted and here you are, staring at the godlike man as he cleans the hot coffee from your hands.

“I love you…” He looks at you and smiles, bringing your hands up to his lips and kissing them softly.

“I love you, honey. Now, there won’t be any scars or damage. So are you ready to go? I can reorder a drink, maybe a cold one this time.” You smile, nodding and letting him help you down from the sink. Steve wraps his arm around you gently, leading you back out into the coffee shop and lines up to reorder an iced coffee.

As you leave the coffee shop, waiting for Steve, your world begins to crash as you hear a familiar voice. “Well if it isn’t my little ol’ sweetheart!” Your eyes widen as you turn and stare at the chubby man making his way over to you. How the hell was this possible? He made it clear that he would never leave his hometown. “You’re a hard woman to find.” He stands in front of you, a smirk on his face. “Now, what do you say, baby. You come back home, this little spat of yours has gone on long enough.” Lee’s grubby hands reach forward and grip your arm, you didn’t know how you ever fell in love with him.

“Get your hands off of me! We are over! Did that not go through your head when I left after I caught you fucking someone else?!” You struggle against his hold, looking behind you in hopes that Steve comes out soon.

“Pfft, please. That wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last, so now, Sweetheart. You are gonna shut your pretty mouth and come with me, and then, you will turn a blind eye whenever I go out with another woman. You hear?”

“Well that isn’t happening.” Steve steps out, your iced coffee in his hand. He stares down the man, not flinching as Lee tries to intimidate him. “I suggest you let go of my girl.” He speaks slowly, but clearly. When Lee doesn’t let go, only tightening his hold on your arms, causing you to let out a whimper. With quick movement, Steve steps forward and grabs ahold of Lee’s wrist, gripping it and beginning to twist. His glare sharpens as Lee lets out grunts of pain. Steve leans forward and whispers, “If you touch, look, speak or even think of my girl again. I will cut you up into little pieces and serve you to your town.” Lee’s eyes widen and he immediately lets go and backs up, usually nothing would scare Lee, but the seriousness in Steve’s voice and eyes made him rethink everything.

Steve’s arm wraps around you and he hands you your drink, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Right, well. You aren’t worth this much trouble.” Lee clears his throat and quickly walks away, and you look up at Steve.

“Did you threaten to cut him up?” Steve looks down at you and smiles.

“Of course, and also you are worth it.” He winks at you and you shake your head with a smile.

“I mean… I wouldn’t stop you if you went through with it.”

And with those words, a plan began to form inside of Steve’s head.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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justmeinadaze · 10 days ago

Text

I Want You (Steddie X Y/N)

A/N: "I present to you...this fucking thing..."

Because I'm a hoe. :P

This is from the universe they visit in this fic. You don't have to have read it to understand. Everything that happens here is years before what happens there.

Warnings: Serial Killer Steddie & Fem Sub Y/N, SMUT, sub/dom dynamics, light knife play (no cutting or anything), dirty talk, light chasing, light choking and spanking, a safe word isn't established (yet) but they do make it clear that they don't want to hurt her.

ANGST, starts off with the reader in jail (Steve is her lawyer), mentions of reader "embarrassing" her family, mentions of her getting into a fight while in prison, Steddie do kill someone but the death itself is not described, the person they take insults the reader (calls her a whore), Eddie likes to play with knifes 🫠, mentions of them tailing victims and disposing of them. They do talk about how they only kill people who deserve it (kinda like Dexter).

I think that's it.

Word Count: 6508

Donate to Me

As you slowly shuffled into the visiting area of the prison, Eddie hastily rose to his feet and took ahold of your hand to help you down to your seat.

Your eye was swollen where the other prisoner had punched you when they jumped you in the lunchroom. She got in a few good hits including busting your lip before any guards intervened.

Exchanging a glance with Steve, the long-haired boy sat back down beside you as you sat across from his friend and colleague.

“Did the hospital wing take care of you?”, your lawyer asked barely above a low rumble.

They didn’t need to ask what happened.

They warned your father that given your last name you could be hurt or worse if he insisted you should go to prison but he said that you needed to learn a lesson. Kallie tried to defend you; told your dad that you did nothing wrong and explained again how you defended her.

Like the stubborn man he was, he wouldn’t listen.

You embarrassed the family and that’s all he cared about.

“She was drunk and took a swing at a prominent member of society. Thank God he’s not suing us.”

“So you’re worried more about the asshole that pushed me than the daughter that defended me.”, your sister growled.

“I’m worried about our future, Kallie! I’m doing this for her own good!”

“And if she dies behind bars? What good will that do?”, Steve replied flatly, trying to control the immense anger that was welling up in his chest. Eddie was usually the one to respond with emotion but not him. He always needed to be in control.

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

“Yes, sir.”, you whimper, wincing as the tears begin to fall.

Blinking, he hesitated slightly as he reached for your hand, encapsulating yours with his own.

“You don’t have to be so formal with us, honey.” Glancing his way, he delivered you a small smile before letting you go. “Like I told you in my letters I’m not…good at showing my feelings but… we’re here for you, Y/N.”

Since you met them, you picked up on their different personalities pretty quickly but understood why they were friends and worked so well together. Where Steve could come off as closed off, Eddie always radiated an energy that screamed he’d do anything that needed to be done. The first time your lawyer smiled, it warmed your heart because you had a feeling not everyone got that genuine side of him.

In court and on tv doing interviews, he played the part of a charming man well. He was suave and intelligent while always engaging but that wit could turn quick when challenged. Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve and could go to a ten with little to no prompting which is why you assumed he drifted more towards computers.

It allowed him to focus that energy and use it where necessary which (besides being his best friend) is why Steve hired him to help at his firm. With their resources they had won numerous cases which is why your sister insisted on hiring them but your father was the one with the money so there was only so much they could do.

Over the past four months being incarcerated, they sent you letters and items to make sure you were safe while letting you know you weren’t alone. You found it easy to be open with them and to trust them not just as your representation but as your friends.

“I can’t stay here another six months. I’m scared.”, you whisper.

Eddie’s eyes met his friend’s stern ones before defying him and pulling you to his chest as his palm held you close.

“Everything’s going to be ok, sweetheart. Steve’s been trying to file appeals but it’s hard.”

“Your dad’s been bribing the judge.”, the other man answers when you look at him with confusion. “He’s blocking my motions.”

Leaning back, you wipe your eyes as you carefully take both men in. Their faces may appear calm but you could feel the worried energy rating from them.

“I’ll…I’ll be ok. Just six more months right?”, you try to sooth as you force a smile. “T-Tell me about you two. You’re both being safe right? I heard on the news that serial killer has amped up his count.”

“Yeah, princess, we’re being safe. No dark alleys or talking to strangers.”, Eddie teases, smiling when you laugh.

They loved the sound of your laugh.

“Good. Besides my sister, you two are the only people I trust. If anything ever happened to you…I don’t know what I would do.”

***

“What are you thinkin’?”, Eddie asks as they both linger on the opposite side of the empty building they were currently in.

“We’ve never done something this close to the vest before.”, Steve replies, continuing to stare into the void as he blows smoke from his cigarette towards the sky.

“Yeah…but what else can we do? We tried the right, legal way and were shut down. I offered to hack into his bank records and expose him but that would put her dad at risk. You didn’t think Kallie or Y/N would want that even after all the evil shit he does.”, the metalhead growls.

The lawyer’s eyes scanned his friend as he absently flipped the knife in his hand. The man’s own irises had begun to slowly darken as he dipped into the headspace that offered him control. Steve always found it amusing because while Eddie was calculated with the computer and finding their victims, once the person was in front of them he changed into the equivalent of a hamster running on a wheel.

The man tied to the chair began whining as they listened to him slowly wake up and pull on his restraints.

“Last chance, Steven. As soon as he sees our faces, there’s no going back.”

When his friend nodded and tossed the cigarette out into the night, Eddie knew he was sure, his grin growing now that they were going to get to satiate that need both boys struggled with, with the added bonus of being able to save and protect you.

After throwing his suit jacket to the side with their other things, Steve casually sauntered to the judge that had sentenced you, now restrained with wide eyes looking up at this man he had extremely underestimated.

“Judge White, we apologize for this inconvenience. Usually, my friend and I like to leave our personal lives out of this thing that we do but you didn’t want to hear reason. Because of your selfishness a young girl is currently suffering behind bars for defending her sister. You promised to uphold the law but only when it matters to you it seems.”

The judge mumbled behind the gag before Eddie roughly ripped it off and held his knife to the man’s throat as a warning.

“You’re one to talk Mr. Harrington! Kidnapping a judge isn’t exactly ‘upholding the law’, now is it, son?”

Steve chuckled and Eddie’s fist flew hitting the man in the nose hard.

“I’m not your son, thank God, but you do remind me of my father. People like him, you, and Mr. Y/L/N pretend to be these moral men but you’re not. What my friend and I do helps the people. We don’t hurt anyone that doesn’t deserve it.”

“Who are you to make that call!?”

The metalhead hit the man again and pressed the tip of the blade deeper into his skin.

“Who are you? You were appointed and let the people down. You gloat behind your fucking Ferrari and 3 story mansion while people like Y/N rot, scared and alone IN A JAIL CELL!”

As Steve slowly became more ramped up, he rose to his feet till he was hovering over the frightened man below him. Blinking, he quickly regained his composure and took a step back.

The sound of the judge’s laugh had both men tilting their heads.

“Jesus. Out of all the women in the world, you fall for that one. An alcoholic whore with an arrest record now who won’t be able to do anything in this world without ‘a few favors’. Favors you can’t help with financially on your salary, Steven.”, he laughs. “Hopefully she’s good on her knees—MMPH!”

While he mocked you, Eddie himself had been struggling to keep it together. You were always so kind to him and made him feel seen. Steve was one of the few people to treat him like an equal but when you came along, even with what you were going through, you never looked down on him. He wasn’t going to allow anyone to disrespect you and especially not this asshole.

The judge gritted his teeth as the metalhead removed his blade from his leg and wiped the blood along his pristine button up white shirt.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“L-L-Look, boys. What do you want? You want her freed? I can do that—”

“We don’t need you for that. Without you there to block the appeal, the new judge will review her case and this one owes me a favor.” The judge’s eyes widen as his gaze shifts between Eddie’s wild eyes and Steve’s calm demeanor. “I think there’s a bit of a misunderstanding here. You seem to believe there’s a route you can take that has you walking out of this building alive.”

“You won’t get away with this! I’m a prominent member of this community! People will—”

The metalhead, placing a fresh price of tape over his mouth, interrupted the man’s pleas as the lawyer smirked, stepping forward.

“Trust me, Judge White. We’ve been doing this for a while. No one will find you.”

###################

“Oh shit. I mean, hey, hey sweetheart. What, um, what are you doing here?”, Eddie asked when he answered your knock on their door.

“I just wanted to come by and thank you so much for what you did. I mean…filing the appeal and finally getting me out of that awful place.”, you smile as you glance behind him to see Steve saunter up in gray sweats and a white short sleeved undershirt that showed off his muscles. “Um, I brought some food…as a thank you…I can drop it off and leave if you’re busy or—”

“No, Y/N, don’t be silly. Come on in. Thank you so much.”, the man behind him chuckled as he reached for what you were carrying while his friend met him with wide cautious eyes. “It’s alright.”, you heard him whisper before Eddie shut the door.

“We’re just, um, doing some renovations here and there so we apologize for the mess.”

Smirking, you gesture towards the nice, expansive living room.

“What mess?”, you giggle. “The only thing messy is you two.”

The metalhead swoons as your hand reaches out to lightly tug on his hair and trails down his chest allowing your fingers to trace the Metallica logo on his shirt.

“I was with Kallie but after a while I couldn’t sit inside so I thought I’d come thank you.”

“We can understand that. You spent so much time in a dungeon basically.”, Eddie sighs as he helps distribute the food you brought.

As the night continued, you got to know both boys as you asked them questions you had been dying to know for months. Both men were single but they insisted this was due to their busy schedules. Steve followed in his father’s footsteps and became a lawyer but deviated to open his own firm which pissed his family off. Eddie’s computer knowledge was all self-taught having picked up some tricks through the years from other people as well as felon father.

“One time I applied for a manager position in the tech department of some security firm but they kept brushing me off saying I had no experience for such a high position so I hacked into their mainframe showing them how good I was finding flaws.”, Eddie cackled as your laugh warmed his heart. “Yeah, Stevie had to use his know how to keep me out of jail.”

“What?! They didn’t hire you?! I would have if you showed me something like that.”

“Naw, companies like that have huge egos that are way more important to them than anything.”, the lawyer smiled as he sighed. “After seeing what he did, I asked him to come work for me and we’ve been together ever since.”

“That’s amazing. The two of you saving lives one broken hearted girl at a time.”, you grin as you take a sip of soda avoiding their gaze.

After glancing towards each other, Eddie’s own smile widens as he gestures towards the radio that had been playing in the background.

“I can play this song on the guitar.” Steve studies you as you giggle and playfully shake your head. “You don’t believe me? My uncle loves The Beatles.”

Reaching behind him, he grabs his acoustic instrument and begins to strum along with the music as he hums.

“I want you… I want you so bad…”, you sing under your breath causing them both to watch you intensely. “I want you so bad, it’s drivin’ me mad, it’s driving me…”

The energy in the room starts to thicken and the lawyer catches onto it first as he sees his friend’s eyes darken with that familiarity he recognizes from when they take and dispose of their victims. Steve knew for a fact that Eddie didn’t want to hurt you like that. They both cared about you deeply but that intense need to take care of you and please you… To have someone love every bit of them…even the darkness… was pushing through and even he was struggling to control it as he listened to you sing.

“She's so…Heavy…heavy, heavy, heavy…”

When his fingers stopped strumming you chuckled as you wiped away a tear that fell.

“I love The Beatles to.”

The long-haired boy abruptly jerked forward and grabbed your cheeks, bringing your lips to his. It was a passionate kiss filled with so much want, you couldn’t get enough. After moving his guitar to the side, you climbed onto his lap, circling your arms and legs around him as he lifted you up and placed your back on the floor.

While Eddie’s lips trailed down your cheek to suck on your neck, you glanced towards Steve who was still focused on your features as he watched your mouth fall open. Your hand reached for his face and he tenderly held the back as he brought your palm to his mouth.

“Want…you…to...please.”

His eyes soften in a way you had never seen before from him. It was almost as if he had never heard someone tell him that…or maybe no one had ever proved it to be true.

“You want me, baby?”

The subtle crack in his voice broke your heart as you nodded and Eddie fell to your side without removing his lips from your neck as Steve slid over to join him.

##########

You awoke a few hours later with a desperate need to use the bathroom.

Your eyes flick to the metalhead who was fast asleep on his stomach and you couldn’t help but kiss his bare shoulder, grinning when he adorably groaned and turned his head to face the other direction. Shifting your gaze to the other sleeping boy, your finger gently reached out to move some of his fluffy hair away from his face as you tenderly kissed cheek.

“Hm. Everything ok?”, he mumbled as his palm lazily came up to pet your head.

“May I use your restroom?”

“Yeah, honey, of course. There’s one down the hall on the left.”

You smile as you kiss him before grabbing Eddie’s shirt and scurrying to where he directed. After finishing your needs and washing your hands, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was slightly out of place from where they had run their fingers through it and you had little marks on your neck leading down your chest from where they had sucked hickies into your skin.

Just a few nights ago, you were in the worst place of your life and now you were safe because of these two men who did everything they could to get you out. As you reentered the hallway, you glanced up stairs and in your giddy state, curiosity got the better of you.

The first bedroom you found was Steve’s, assumed by the cleanliness and strong smell of cologne. Your fingers grazed his dresser as you browsed the many scents and sticky notes along the mirror reminding him of things like meetings or court dates. By his bed, he had a pack of cigarettes and note pad with what you thought were case notes before actually taking in the words on the page.

“-Dick called her a name again. Sister said he doesn’t mean it he’s just angry. I don’t care. I don’t like the way he talks about her.

-Munson found evidence in bank account, dick bribing to keep her unhappy to “teach her a lesson”. Fucker.

-Emails and messages, calls her a whore…fucking… She’s not…she deserves everything good…”

What threw you off even more was when you opened the drawer and found a small gun nestled on the top.

“As a lawyer, he probably feels he needs this as protection.”, you told yourself as you carefully put it away.

Eddie’s room was the complete opposite with his clothes thrown every which way and the strong smell of cigarettes hanging in the air. Unlike his friend, he had a few photos on his own dresser of a gorgeous woman you assumed to be his mother and his uncle hugging him when he was smaller.

On the wall across from his bed, you noticed little marks that looked like he had thrown something sharp at the material and as your foot hit a box underneath the mattress you learned what had caused them, quietly bending down to open it, finding many shiny, sharp knifes nestled in their foam beds.

A couple were missing but you found one stabbed into the wood of his bedside table next to cigarettes and, to your surprise, a picture of you next to a notebook. Eddie’s notes were much more chaotic than Steve’s as he scribbled random words and doddles on the paper. One page you found had a sketch of you when they went to visit you after you had gotten jumped.

You looked so broken and the words around your frame seemed to convey the same except underneath each sentence was another in bold as if he was trying to comfort you.

“I’m scared.”

“It’s ok, sweetheart. We’re gonna get you out. You’re safe with us.”

“Someone jumped me. It’s ok. I’m ok.”

“Tell me who, baby, and I’ll make them regret it.”

“It’s only 6 more months.”

“No. It’ll be sooner than that, pretty girl. I don’t care what we have to do.”

Blinking, you placed everything back where you found it and began heading back towards the stairs before another room down the hall caught your eye.

You should ignore it and you know that. You’ve already disobeyed and invaded their privacy by coming upstairs but…curiosity got the better of you.

The door creaked louder than you wanted it to as you gradually opened it and tiptoed inside. There was a desk with a desktop that had multiple monitors with another notebook beside it; Eddie’s handwriting scrawled throughout.

“Transactions every week, same time from Mr. Y/L/N to Judge White… 5 grand…

Schedule: due to be in court Tuesday.

Takes Ferrari back home at 7pm.

Camera on front and back entrances. (disabled)

No wife or children

Sometimes picks up a woman on Field St for the night.

Vacant building 5 miles away.”

Backing towards the other side, you noticed photos on the adjacent wall of Judge White as well as the missing knife stabbed into one of the images of him getting in his car. On the floor was a black trash bag and as you shakily opened it, you noticed one of Steve’s suits caked in what appeared to be dried blood.

Your mouth fell open as a tear slid down your cheek but as you turned to head back downstairs, you bumped into a broad chest promptly meeting the lawyer’s angry irises.

Covering your mouth and pulling you to his chest, Steve effortlessly carried you back downstairs where the other boy was pacing.

“Did she…?”

“I told you to burn all the stuff upstairs yesterday.”, he growled as he used his free hand to point furiously his way. “This is your fucking fault.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened in a way you had never seen from this kind man before as he stood up straighter and his head tilted.

“You’re the one that let her in the fucking house.”

“I didn’t think she’d misbehave.”, he hissed into your ear. “Especially not after everything we’ve done for her.”

The lawyer felt your lips moving against his palm and he lowered it slightly to allow you to speak.

“I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean to… I just—”

Covering your mouth again, he grunted in frustration as he slammed his fist against the wall. This was new behavior for you to witness when it came to him. Usually, Steve was calm and in control but right now he seemed…wild…and that scared you but not for the reason they would think.

Eddie noticed first that unlike other people caught by them, you weren’t fighting against his friend’s hold. Your eyes didn’t reflect fear but worry, not for yourself…but Steve.

“Harrington.”

“WHAT?!”, he screamed making your jump as the metalhead narrowed his eyes.

“Let her go.”

“I can’t do that, Ed—”

“Let. Her. Go.”

The deep rumble that left his friend’s throat had his own head tilting; even more so when a little whine only he heard left yours. Slowly, the man lifted his arms expecting you to bolt out the front door but when you instead turned to circle your limbs around him…he was surprised.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosey. I just…I wanted to know more about you…and I got curious. I should have just asked. I’m sorry. Please, Steve, don’t be upset.”

He’d be lying if he said he knew how to respond. Instead, he carefully unhooked you from his waist and took a couple steps back to sit on the armchair behind him. His amber eyes remained locked on yours as you did the same, placing yourself on the couch.

Eddie startled you slightly eliciting a small squeak when he jumped over the back of the sofa and balanced on his heels beside you. His long fingers reach out to move some of your hair behind your ear and you can’t help but sigh as your eyes close, absorbing his touch.

“I told you she was perfect, Steve.”

“Hang on a minute—”

“She’s not scared of us at all.”

“She hasn’t seen the real us yet—”

“Why are you trying to ruin this!?”

Just as the lawyer leaned forward, prepared to yell at his friend, your own palm extended out to caress the metalhead’s cheek.

“It’s ok, baby. Let him think. He’s analytical…like Kallie. Kallie always thinks before reacting. I’m the opposite…obviously.”, you reply with a nervous chuckle.

“Kallie doesn’t kill people.”

“Neither do you.” Steve’s eyes narrow in confusion at your response. “I’ve known you for a while now. You’ve been…incredibly kind and loving to me and my sister… I’ve seen how you both are with the people around you. If…if you are hurting people…they probably deserve it…right? L-Like Judge White?”

“Your father wasn’t the only one he was taking bribes from. Add in all girls he picked up and used from the street. He didn’t even pay them, Y/N. He’d threaten them, fuck them, and send them back like they were trash.”, Eddie growled, closing his eyes as he tried to control his anger. “He still had the nerve to disrespect you even when we had him tied to a chair—”

“Edward.”, Steve interrupted with a low rumble. “You’re right, Y/N. I am more analytical whereas my friend is mostly emotions. This is how he really is…especially when he steps into that particular headspace… he’s harder to control but when he’s hunting…whether it be online or out in the world…he’s zeroed in and focused. Add in the fact that he’s amazing with a knife.”

At the word, Eddie grabs one you hadn’t noticed nearby and it rings through the air as he holds the sharp side to your cheek. Again, you don’t flinch or show fear and again he swoons.

“Fuck me, you’re so beautiful.”, the metalhead whines as his nose replaces the blade and his breath warms your face. “I told him, sweetheart. I told Steve you were perfect and you deserved the world.”, he panted as his fingertips ghosted along your inner thigh. “You like this, baby girl. I can feel how warm you are between these sexy fucking legs. I bet that pussy is dripping. Fuuuuuuck and you’re wearing my shirt to—”

“Munson.”

This time Steve’s voice radiated authority, deep with a particular note of anger that had your head lulling towards Eddie’s smiling lips.

“W-What are you like? In that headspace?”, you murmur breathily.

“You mean what am I really like?” His chest vibrates as a cool laugh escapes him. “I’m like him…I just hold it in better. I like control.”

“So do I—”

“No, little girl, you don’t!”, he snaps cutting you off. “Not the way we do it.”

“How would you know? I imagine no one’s ever seen you both like this before. I mean…no one who actually cared about you and wanted to be with you.”

“No one cares about us.”

At his sullen remark, you slowly rise from the couch and carefully climb into his lap, resting your head on his chest as you wrap your arm around his neck and twirl your finger in his hair.

“I do. I care about you both a lot. Besides my sister, you’re the only people who actually seemed to give a damn. You wrote me letters and made me feel safe. Every time you visited me or called; every time I heard your voices… I knew everything would be ok.”

You felt it above your head, his jawline twitch as his chest rose and fell. The arms he had resting beside him gradually came up to wrap around you and you could barely contain the giddy pride that ran through you at the feeling.

“I’m not afraid of you, Steve, either of you. Eddie’s right…I like this…” Grasping his hand in yours, you slowly glide it along your skin, between your legs till his fingers graze the slick sticking to your inner thighs. “I want you.”

His hair wipes to the side as his eyes meet yours.

“You want me?”

“Yes, Sir. I want you both.”

Within his eyes, you see multiple emotions flash through them before finally darkening once more.

“Show me. Show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes never left his as you slid down on to your knees between his legs and reached into his boxers to free his cock. When your lips delicately kissed his mushroom head, his whole body down to his toes shuddered in pleasure.

“How does Mr. Harrington like it, baby, tell me.”, you whimper as your tongue darts out to lick his slit down the long vein that traced his massive size to his balls.

“I don’t—fuck—I don’t want to hurt you.”, he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut as his fingers dug into the furniture.

“That’s not what I asked.”, you giggle causing him to glare down at you at the sound. This time, your head leans to your left as you visually take him in. “Oh…I see…”, you nod as you let him go and rise to your feet, backing away slowly.

Steve’s fury practically radiated from him as your gaze shifted to Eddie who was still balancing on his heels as his earnest eyes followed your every step with a smirk on his lips.

“Ok.”, you repeat before turning to sprint in the opposite direction.

You manage to make it all the way up the stairs again before you’re grabbed by the leg and tumble to the ground. A ringed hand grabs your bicep preventing you from falling to hard and the long-haired boy’s husky voice fills your ear as he places his whole body on top of yours.

“Didn’t get very far did you pretty girl?”

You push back against him but all that does is make him laugh as you feel his arm bend back and his fingers glide effortlessly through your folds.

“Fuck, baby, I knew you were dripping. I could fucking smell it.”

As he breached your entrance with two of his fingers, you noticed a set of feet step over you both and Steve kneeling down in front of you.

With his free hand, Eddie lifted you till you were on your palms and knees as the other boy pulled back your hair with his first.

“I said…show me how much you fucking want me.”

Utilizing your hand, you grabbed his cock and enveloped him into your mouth greedily while his friend pumped his fingers into you at a fast pace.

“Do you hear that, Steve? Oh my god. I’m gonna bust faster than I did when I lost my virginity. My dick is so fucking hard, Y/N.”

Holding your hair tighter in his grasp, the lawyer thrust his hips, pushing his length to the back of your throat as you gag.

“That’s it, little girl. You said you fucking want us—shit—this is fucking us.”

“Fuck, Steve, I can’t…I need to…” Eddie had never bothered to put on any item of clothing like his friend so it didn’t take him long to position himself behind you to guide his cock inside your entrance.

The cool metal of his rings stung a bit as his palm came down hard on your ass as he thrust his hips roughly into yours.

“Told you, honey. No self-control.”, Steve chuckled before pulling out to allow you to collect some air. “Like a fucking animal.”

It was Eddie’s turn to tangle his fingers in your hair as he pulled till your back arched and you mewled as his dick overwhelmed you filling you so completely that it felt like your pussy was made for him.

“You like how my cock feels, dirty girl?”

“Y-Yes…oh ma…Goood…”

“H-He’s right. I am a fucking animal. M-My knife has slit so many throats but—f-fuck—baby, when I killed that fucking asshole—”

“Eddie.”, Steve scolded but was met with wild eyes you didn’t see.

“Fuck off, Steven!”

“T-Tell me, baby. Please.”, you begged as your forehead rested against his cheek causing him to deliver the lawyer an “I told you so” smile.

“He…he was so fucking rude. He called you a fucking—mmph—a fucking whore. You’re not a whore and you shouldn’t have been in that cold cell. We made him pay, sweetheart. I-I wasn’t going to allow him to k-keep living while you were in so much pain because of w-what he did.”

“Thank you. Thank you f-for saving me.”

“Oh, f-fuck.”

At your whimpered words, his palm pushed your face against the carpet as his rhythm faltered and he slammed his release inside of you. Feeling him warm you as he whined was all you needed as the coil snapped and you came hard.

You barely had time to come down from your high as Steve circled his arm around your waist and lifted you like luggage as he carried you back to the room he found you in before dropping you on your knees.

He was on you fast as he pinned your back to the floor and held your arms above your head. His expressive eyes watched your face as slid his cock into your cunt and your own eyes fluttered closed.

“No. Open, Y/N. Keep them open.” You did as he commanded while he rolled his hips hitting that sensitive spot inside you slow and deep. “Look around you. This is what you want?” As your arms pushed against his grip, he clenched his teeth as he let go of one of your limbs to wrap his palm around your throat and turn your head to take in the photos on the wall. “I said fucking look. Answer me.”

“I want you.”, you repeated. “A-And everything that comes with you.”

Something in your voice slowed his pace and loosened his grip enough for you to look at him once more.

“I’m not afraid of you…either of you…please, baby.”, you beg as your hand cups his cheek. “Give it to me. Give me all of you.”

Steve’s palm slithered to the back of your neck as he brought your lips to his and began pounding into you. He wasn’t as…animalistic…as Eddie but his pace was definitely rough and overwhelming in the best way.

When you made love to them earlier that night, they were gentle and generous which you absolutely loved. This dominate energy they were displaying now, however, was perfect beyond compare and the fact that you were now aware they could enter both headspaces made you feel safer.

Your body shook almost violently as you came, clinging to his shoulders as your nails dug into his skin. He grunted at the sensation and his head fell into the nook of your neck as he chased his own high before emptying his release inside of you.

Steve collapsed on top of you as he panted, his cheek against your chest with his head under your chin and your fingers began to absently play with his hair as he listened to your heartbeat.

“Eddie, why are you so far?”, you murmur as one of your hands reaches for where he was sitting against the wall fiddling with one of his knifes.

“I didn’t want to…overcrowd you…”, he replied with a softness that told you he was back to the long-haired boy you had known for the past view months.

“You won’t overcrowd me, sweetie.”

At the term of endearment, his chocolate eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas as he tossed his weapon away and crawled to your side. You hissed as Steve pulled out and both men scanned over your features with concern.

“It’s ok. I’m just sore.”

After exchanging a glance, they silently rise to their feet and the metalhead lifts you in his arms as they carry you to his bedroom. The lawyer gets a bath going and once everything is ready, your (Eddie’s) shirt is removed before you’re lowered into the warm water.

You sign pleasantly as they take care of you, beaming occasionally when their eyeline finds yours but Steve’s seemingly unhappy face gives you pause.

“Are…are you still mad at me?”

“No, honey. I was never mad at you…just the situation…”

“You still seem upset.”

At your small voice, he smiles gently as he gestures around him.

“I’m not used to the filthy conditions.”

“Rude.”, Eddie teases as he hits his friend’s thigh and the man laughs. “We could have gone to your room, asshole.”

“I thought…your room would make her more comfortable… My room is kind of, I don’t know, sterile? Hazard of growing up with my family.”

You softly grin as you reach for his hand and caress his skin comfortingly with your thumb.

“You both make me comfortable.”

After kissing your forehead, the metalhead lifts you out of the bath and dries you but when the other man turns to wrap you up in one of his button up shirts you were suddenly gone. The tail end of the towel caught their attention and they followed it to find you taking in the photos of their latest victim on their wall.

“It’s a little hard to fathom, you know? That my dad would work so hard…to punish me like he did…” Steve gradually came up behind you to remove the towel around you and replace it with what was in his hands. “Did Judge White really call me a whore?”

Eddie, who was now leaning on the desk in front of you, nodded.

“We don’t usually like to…play so close to home…”, he added. “But we tried everything else first, sweetheart, we really did.”

“We also don’t…” Your eyebrow quirks upward as the lawyer gestures towards the floor.

“Play with women the way you just did with me?”

They both emphatically nod.

“Where is he now? Judge White.”

“Would you like to see?”

######################

After a short boat ride, you found yourself with them in the middle of the lake on the opposite side of town.

“Are you alright?”, Eddie asked as you clung to his arm.

“Yeah. I’m just…I’m a little afraid of the…water…Not the water per say but what I can’t see in the water…like, ya know, sharks.”

The metalhead smirks when you lightly laugh at yourself and tilts down to kiss your cheek as his fingers tangle with yours.

“No sharks, honey, only bodies.”

“A lot?”

“Define a lot.”, Steve commands firmly as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

“Do you EVER just answer a question?”, you giggle.

Tossing the stick between his fingers overboard, he stalks your way till his face is hovering just above yours.

“Sometimes.”, he jokes eliciting a wide smile as you push up to kiss him. “You’re fascinating, Y/N. We’ve never met a woman like you before. That being said…”, he pauses as his eyes search yours. “You have no idea what you’re in for when it comes to dating us; the danger it could put you in.”

“I’m not afraid of cops or anything else. I trust you to keep me safe. I know that’s odd to say but—”

Steve’s mouth cuts you off as Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind.

“How did you do that? How do you know I didn’t mean us?”, he whispers as he rests his forehead against your own.

“I told you…I trust you… I know your analytical mind may need some time to learn to trust me but I’m willing to wait.”

The metalhead abruptly lets you go with a little oh as he grabs the trash bag they brought and dumps its contents into a bin before pulling out a set of matches from his pocket.

Steve’s eyes watch you as saunter towards the other man and place your hand on his to stop him, taking the matches, and lighting one yourself. You bring the flame to the cigarette between his teeth as his own eyes take in your beautiful smile and soft features before turning to drop it in the bin in front of him setting all the evidence ablaze.

##################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

I just tagged the always lol if you want to be added let know

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rowretro · 8 months ago

Text

𝕭𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖑𝖞 𝕶𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘

✧warnings: Yandere/toxic themes, kidnapping, explicit stuff mentioned (this isnt my best writting im so sorry its been saur long, im working thru the reqs too<3 my drafts are filled w sm so stay tuned!!!)

❁synopsis: Sunghoon is feared by all, his name was enough to reinforce that fear, for he had grown to be a much more fearful mafia than his father, though one with morals, he never let women in his life, and he barely trusted anyone... until he saw a butterfly.

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Sunghoon stepped out of his limo, suitcase loaded with cash. He was filthy rich, and he couldn't deny it, so seeing him give a suitcase of month everytime the orphanage needed money, he was happy to help. His face always had a cold look, but the children all loved him, they were only safe, and loved in a caring foster home just because of him.

The man got into his vehcile, sitting in the driver's seat as Jungwon stared at him. "I still dont understand why you don't hire a driver for yourself bro-" Jungwon simply asked as Sunghoon raised an eyebrow "The rest of you boys cant be trusted driving under stressful situations so you have one, I just dont need one." he simply said as he started his car. The man started driving, when his car came to a sudden halt.

There before him, a pretty girl "Bro- u almost hit that hottie-" Jungwon pointed out as Sunhgoon didnt even bother turning his way, his eyes glued on the girl who apologized, before gettign distracted again, chasing after the blue morpho butterfly. "Crazy bitch- fuck she scared me-" Jungwon mumbled as Sunghoon continued staring at the girl, lovestruck, the way she raised her hand, and let the butterfly sit on her finger, as she kissed near it.

"Jungwon. I want to know every little detail about that girl. where she studies, where she lives, what she likes, what she hates, everything." He stated as Jungwon frowned, yet complied. She was very pretty, her layered dark hair, her perfectly winged eyeliner, the way she walked freely like she didn't give a care in the world. Not to mention, she definitely had style. For the first time he fell in love. So he will have her fall for him.

It didn't take Jungwon too long, as soon as he got home, he printed out the necessary files "Her name is y/n, she lives with the Lee's, yes She's Lee Heeseung's sister. Her father owns many schools, and she studies in the one Heeseung teaches in, to be fair, you're going to have to get on Heeseung's good side if you want her, because they're looking to arrange a marriage for her." Jungwon concluded as Sunghoon smiled.

It was all so easy for him. She was just within reach. "What brings you here Sunghoon?" Heeseung asked as the male looked around the School grounds. "Oh? well uhm.... uhh... just looking for a potential threat in this college- He's hiding from me..." he lied as Heeseung nodded. "In that case keep an eye on my sister-" Heeseung replied as he pat his shoulder, and walked off to a group of loud students.

His eyes finally found her, a butterfly sitting on her cheek, and she didn't even flinch, still writting notes in her book. He took a seat in front of her, causing the butterfly to fly away. The girl looked up, tilting her head at him. "Mr Park! what brings you here.... you aren't going to kill me are you?..." She asked as Sunghoon snickerred "Of course not.... what could possibly lead me to hurting a sweetheart like you?" He asked, his hand softly holding her jaw, as he ran his thumb across her lips and cheek.

It's no surprise she knew who he was, he was the Park Sunghoon, everyone knows him. God her lips are so perfect, he was so soft, making sure not to smudge her makeup or hurt her. However y/n felt a little uncomfortable... She softly pulled away. She can't deny it, he's fucking gorgeous, fighting her intrusive thoughts of rubbing her thumb across his brows.

"I wanted to see how my pretty girl is doing. My pretty girl..." he smiled, as he placed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Im installing a butterfly greenhouse in my garden just for you, Heeseung said you love flowers, I have a whole garden filled with jasmines, roses, lotuses and many other flowers you name it..." Sunghoon continued. It was all moving so fast, was this her fiancee her parents picked for her? why's he moving so fast? why him? is this a trap to kill her?

It was none of which... The Lee father fears Sunghoon, and Heeseung is like a brother to Sunghoon, after all the man did abuse Heeseung and y/n growing up, so when Sunghoon asked to marry her, Of course her parents wer happy with it, Mrs Lee believed he was a sweetheart. Heeseung wasn't too happy at first, but he wasn't a typical mafia boss, playboy with prostitutes every night, how bad could it possibly be.

"Uhm..... huh?" Y/n asked, not knowing what to say or ask. "You're parents are ok with me marrying you so, instead of circling around, im giving it to you straight." Sunghoon simply said "All you need to do is pack your belongings when you get home, you're moving in with me, your room will be right opposite mine, and we can talk about what you want in this marriage ok?" He asked as Y/n stared, stunned.

She was never told anything.... Why is everything going so fast? She was being married off to a blood thirsty beastly man who kills for a living?! As Sunghoon left, she sat there lost in thought. So she really was his?.......

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chosokamolvr · 1 year ago

Text

pathetic little curse user

nanami kento x male reader

- nsfw under the cut

[name] was running for his life. he was running down the empty streets around the shibuya train station to save his life. but alas, his efforts were in vain.

a tall, blonde, yellow and black speckled tie wearing sorcerer was chasing after [name]. mahito had mentioned a sorcerer of a similar, or even the same description, but [name] never thought he'd see the day where he'd finally get caught by a sorcerer.

[name]'s legs kept dragging him along, going through different corners and short cuts along the way. then, [name] was trapped. he ran into a desolate alleyway with no way out. oh how he was fucked now. he didn't want to die this way, not to a stupid sorcerer he didn't even get to see the face of.

the sorcerer finally reached the alleyway, panting slightly as he looked straight into [name]'s eyes with a glare. [name] was panicking, he was shaking and his heart was thumping out of his chest. he hadn't lived long enough to die now! he didn't want to die by the hands of a handsome, tall, muscular sorcerer now did he?

"you." the sorcerer stated, walking closer to [name] before he held the poor man up by his hair. [name] was already squirming whilst the sorcerer hadn't even finished what he was going to say. "what did you do with gojo satoru?" the sorcerer continues, still holding [name] up by the hair.

[name] whimpered and he tossed his body around, wanting to be let down. yet, this sorcerer was too strong, far stronger than [name] or any other puny sorcerer the curse user had faced. "i.. i don't know! i wasn't in on it! i was just hired to distract other sorcerers! let me go, please!" [name] whined, not meeting the sorcerer's eyes.

the blonde man scoffed and he threw [name] against one of the walls of the alleyway. "maybe this will make you talk, or it won't." he said before unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down. the sorcerer creeped closer, as he pulled his boxers down revealing his hardening dick.

[name] looked at the sorcerer with a gulp. he couldn't believe this was happening to him right now. [name] was getting hard, and to a sorcerer at that. how pathetic. "what.. what are you going to do to me?" the curse user asked, but he already knew what this sorcerer was going to do.

"you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" he chuckled before he pushed [name] fully against the wall. [name]'s face was now pressed up against the brick, feeling weird and rough on his cheeks. "the name's nanami, by the way. nanami kento. i guess you'll want to know the name of who's gonna fuck you, don't you?" nanami says before pulling [name]'s trousers and boxers down, pressing his hard-on against [name]'s ass.

all [name] can do is gulp and stand back to recieve what nanami is about to give him. he closes his eyes and he takes a deep breath in. [name] knows nanami is probably not going to prep him or anything. why would you prep the enemy's ass for your dick anyway?

then, nanami pushes into [name]. first it's the tip, then he immediately slams in his whole length causing [name] to hiss out in pain. it burnt, but [name] knew nanami wasn't going to care.

nanami then kept a grip on [name]'s hair as he started thrusting slowly, trying to aggravate the curse user he was inside of. "shit. you're so tight, i feel like i can barely move my dick." the blonde chuckles, but in reality he loved how tight [name] was. "you're as tight as a virgin. have you never had sex? or have you just never been fucked by a man before?" [name] whines at nanami's questions, his body pressed against the wall as nanami thrusted. he didn't know how to respond, the dick inside of him was making his brain switch off.

as nanami thrusted, [name]'s dick was pressing and rubbing against the harsh texture of the wall infront of him. as painful as it was, [name] was in a state of pleasure. all of the pain he felt dissipated and turned into pleasure.

"ah- faster.. please nanami.." [name] blabbered and slobbered out onto the wall. nanami huffed and he took [name]'s arms, tying them up behind his back before thrusting faster, as per the curse user's request. "it's sir to you." nanami scoffs.

[name] didn't realise what had just happened. he was too late in the pleasure. once nanami slammed into him faster and deeper, [name] yelped out, coming back to his senses again. he tried to move his arms only for them to be bounded by nanami's yellow and black speckled tie.. the tie mahito had described before.

"mm.. sir.. please.." [name] whined, although he didn't know what he was whining for himself. nanami just chuckled and he continued thrusting at a decently fast pace that was also rough on [name]'s behind.

"you're pathetic, you know that?" nanami grunts inbetween thrusts, hand still firmly gripped in [name]'s hair. "you're letting a sorcerer, your enemy, fuck you and you're enjoying this too." the blonde chuckles, but he truly had a soft spot for pathetic idiots like [name]. "can you imagine what the people who hired you would say if they saw you like this? what's his name.. mahito, right? how do you think he'd react." nanami huffs.

[name] just mewls. he can't say anything as he's lost in the pleasure and ecstasy, he's practically drowning in lust. his back arches and his eyes roll back as he feels nanami go deeper. it just feels so good, too good to be the enemy's dick.

nanami smirks as he sees [name]'s reaction. the fact that [name] is too pathetic to respond and too built up due to a few minutes of sex is so thrilling to nanami. "answer my question from before." nanami states, gripping [name]'s hair harder to get him to speak. "what have you and your little friends done with gojo satoru?" nanami repeats his question from earlier. [name] responds by drooling on the wall even more. he's probably forgotten why gojo is, and truth be told he didn't have to do with gojo's sealing in the first place. nanami's dick was so good it made [name] forget about everything.

then, [name]'s vision went went and he cummed all over the wall. white painted and stained the brick, leaving nanami disgusted. "who said you could cum, you pathetic curse user? i certainly didn't." nanami grunted, clearly annoyed by [name]'s actions. "guess we'll keep going until i think we're finished. you wouldn't mind that, right?"

[name] shook his head, or, he tried to. his head was still against the wall, leaving a few scratches and marks and his hair was still in nanami's hand. "no sir.. we can keep going.." [name] squeaked out, his thighs trembling slightly as he had just came and by the fact that nanami was still thrusting into him.

"good." is all nanami responded with. he went far more deeper and rougher than before, the tip of his dick reaching [name]'s prostate again and again leading [name] to cum several more times over the wall.

once nanami was finished, he cleaned himself up and left [name] panting heavily on the floor of the alleyway. [name] was covered in his own cum, his hair all over the place and his wrists almost forming bruises. he did like the experience nanami gave him, but he never thought he'd be fucking with the enemy.

"pathetic little curse user you are." nanami said before he left. "you should be glad i didn't kill you and that i spared you because you're so cute." he smirked.

and that was the last [name] ever saw of the blonde sorcerer.

#nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x male reader #nanami x male reader #nanami x reader #x reader #x you #x male reader #smut #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jjk season 2 #gay

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starry-bi-sky · 9 months ago

Note

For the Danyal Al Ghul AU: How would Danyal react to other canon events like when Sam wishes she never met Danny, Tucker wishes for powers, the christmas episode, or other DP canon events?

(Also, I assume Danyal's cover is blown by the reality Gaunlet event.)

Ohooho I love this question. So im only gonna respond to the episodes you mentioned, since it's been a while since i actually watched the show and I don't remember all the episodes. And also since I don't remember them fully, I'm gonna get details wrong. I am fine with that, it still gets the gist down lol. I've got the tvtropes recap page pulled up, so i'll be using that to try and hit the major points it mentions.

So, Memory Blank! Man I've thought about that one, and its the one I'm frankly most excited to answer because it gets to show just how much of a positive impact being friends with Sam and Tucker had on Danyal. So where to start? Their fight goes differently than in canon, but I'm going to start from after Sam makes her wish.

Firstly; she and Tucker are friends, but the two of them are not friends with Danny. He's on his own. In this au, the three of them became friends when they were 11 and Danny's been in Amity Park for about a year.

They met in the beginning with Sam trying to befriend him at first because she realized that they shared similar ideals on environmentalism, but he rebuffed her pretty harshly due to a combination of grief over leaving his home, trying to process the fact that he can never return and will never see his brother again or meet his father, and just plain League arrogance lmao. He really hated being in Amity Park just in general because it wasn't his home and it was the city too.

So he was really rather unapproachable in the beginning. People kept a pretty wide berth of him due to Fenton association and his own vibes.

But Danny's still a kid, and they want socialization with their peers. At 11 he didn't have any friends, and was frankly quite lonely. He decided to approach Sam and Tucker after deeming them "acceptable allies", although Sam wasn't really interested at first up until he did the equivalent of apologizing. Tucker warmed up first afterwards, but Sam really wasn't too far behind.

So thats how they became friends, post-wish though? Lets say that Sam didn't accept the apology and rebuffed Danny, and kinda intimidated Tucker into doing the thing. Danyal closed down, backed off, and then never approached them again because he decided right then and there he wasn't going to chase it. Wasn't worth his effort or time.

Then he just. never approached another person after that because he didn't want to get rebuffed again (he wouldn't admit that it hurt a bit), and he could already tell his efforts wouldn't work. He turned his attention to other stuff. In this timeline it wasn't too difficult to find him at events dedicated to combatting climate change, deforestation, light pollution, animal cruelty, etc. the LOA is an environmentalist group, after all. They just also happen to be eco-fascist assassins-for-hire.

In summary, Sam and Tucker helped Danyal realize the flaws in some of the League's beliefs (the fascism) to the point where he could deconstruct it on his own. Being friends with them made him realize that, frankly, genocide was not the answer to environmental equilibrium, and that the people outside of the League had lives worth living. They also helped quell his arrogance, and just in general influenced him to become kinder even if it doesn't look like that all the time to other people. Sam and Tucker make him laugh, and smile, and just happy.

OG Danyal: wears pretty casual teen clothes. More punky-aesthetic. Has multiple ear piercings. These were self-done. Will have a lip piercing by the time he reunites with Damian, mark my words. Can and will wear muscle tees. Makes puns, jokes, is generally sassy with his friends. Can, will, and has climbed shit he shouldn't be because he enjoys the challenge of scaling a building. It's also very funny seeing Tucker and Sam reenact the "Gregory! HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE?!" meme. Still has a questionable moral compass, but like, he's not an eco-fascist.

This Timeline Danyal: dresses much more sophisticated; dark academia vibe. Closed off, cold. Is 2x more likely to kill someone than OG Danyal, who was frankly, pr kosher with murder already but only if he deemed it extremely necessary. Still an eco-fascist.

Danyal without Sam and Tucker? Still believes in the teachings of the League because he has not been really challenged on them. In fact, he has doubled down on it, actually. Living in the city, growing up estranged and ostracized by his peers, has only strengthened his resolve that all of humanity minus the league (and the Fentons) deserves to be wiped out. He is disgusted by the people around him and desperately wants to go home, even more than the last timeline. The only reason he hasn't is for Damian's sake, but he's been checking in with mother whenever she visits and asking to find a way to come home. She's been steadily wearing down on it; her child is miserable here.

This version of Danyal should not have powers, and is, essentially on the fast track of rejoining the league -- doubly so when he hears Damian is living with father. Clearly it's safe enough for him to be with father, if mother allowed it, and father has become safe enough for Damian to live there. Good. With the threat of two heirs being in the League gone, Danny can return with Mother's permission. And. he probably takes Jazz (and the Fenton parents) with him. Forcibly if he has to.

So Sam has her work cut out for her here, a lot more than in canon, because even when she does tell him that they used to be friends in another timeline, and he believes it, he is not going to give a shit. Clearly they were not as good of friends as she thought they were, if she had wished they never met in the first place. Good riddance, then. This Danny is cold, incredibly hurt, and very closed off.

He is a cave wall in comparison to the Danny Sam knew, and talking to him feels like walking into one. Because he is looking at her with just utter disgust and disdain, keeping a distance like he is revolted by her presence and allergic to her and everyone else's touch.

Which really, really fucking hurts when she knows that in their last timeline, he would actively seek out her and Tucker's company and affection. Sam could read her best friend like an open book, and now its like she's trying to read one in another language she barely speaks. This boy used to smile at her, he used to laugh at Tucker's jokes, and he was so passionate about the things he enjoyed. Now he looks at her like he wants nothing more than for her to drop dead on the spot.

It hurts even more knowing that her last words to her Danny were the words, 'some days i wish we never met'; the way he looked at her afterwards haunts her. For a split second, he looked completely crushed and heartbroken, before his entire body language and expression shut off and he totally closed down on her.

Because by this point in his friendship with her and Tucker, he's told them, he has told them, in a very intimate moment of vulnerability, that they are one of the best things that's happened in his life -- right there alongside the day he first met his baby brother. They are very important to him, and he has finally felt comfortable enough with telling them. There's not a day that goes by that he isn't grateful for their friendship.

So to hear Sam say that some days she wishes they never met? well. That breaks his heart. Just- just a little bit. Sam regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth, and she immediately tries to apologize, but Danny immediately spits back; "Well. I hope you get your wish." and then stalks off.

I'm warring with myself here trying to decide whether or not this new timeline Danyal is at a "point of no return", where nothing Sam says is going to make him attempt to reignite that friendship. Clearly that will end badly anyways, if this is the result of that friendship. He's cut all ties from these people; he feels no prerogative to fix things she broke.

Like, the version of Danyal I'm thinking of here has no close bonds with anyone in the city sans Jazz -- and she? has her own life outside of Danny. She is not his keeper, not his caretaker, and certainly not his therapist. (which i have beef about too, considering how she gets boiled down to 'therapist with no life of her own' but im not going into that.) She has some influence on him, but frankly not enough to really make him challenge his beliefs. Danny cares about her that, if he returns to the league, she is coming with him. Or at the very least, will be spared from the League's goals.

Mmmm. I can't make it a total point of no return though. Sam's very stubborn, and she knows Danny. And while this Danny is still very different, he is still Danny. She'll try and befriend him insistently in a way that might annoy him, but at least not push him away further.

(Tucker, meanwhile, is just soo confused about Sam's very random, very abrupt switch up. Cuz girl he thought you hated this guy? Why are you suddenly trying to get all buddy-buddy with the terrifying Fenton kid. Have you been possessed? Is this some kind of crisis?)

(Sam drags Tucker into befriending Danny because he is the only person she knows that can get him to belly laugh. Tucker is mildly terrified but going along with it.)

Anyways this does end with Sam befriending Danny, or at least getting him to like her long enough that he'll pick up a ghost weapon and face off against Desiree. There's no way in hell he's walking into that portal, that last timeline might have been a 1/billionth chance of it happening and he's not dying for the chance to get powers. And frankly with his training -- which he's probably kept up with even more than the old timeline because he had no one to spend his time with -- he doesn't really need them to be good at fighting them. Just show him how to ghost proof a weapon and he'll handle the rest from there.

But Sam does end up undoing the wish and getting back to her own original timeline in the end. It's the morning after her fight, and the literal first thing she does that morning is get her shoes on and fucking sprriiint to the fenton house. Bursts into tears when she sees Danny and apologizes over and over again. She swears she didn't mean any of it, and to please believe her, and Desiree's still loose and they need to stop her, and she's had the worst time.

She does tell him about the other timeline she just went through, and she hopes that, if it still exists, that that Danyal manages to find friends in the Sam and Tucker there after this. And if not them, then anyone.

Danny's still pretty hurt by what she said, it cut really deep, but he forgives her.

-----

Tucker getting his powers! Frankly things gooo... relatively the same as canon, I think? Actually, no. Danny probably figures out the whole Genie "i wish you would go back into your lamp" thing faster than canon danny since he's not a C student lmao. TV.Tropes doesn't give me too much specifics for a recap on the plot, so we're gonna wing it. For the plot I'm going to say that Tucker gets his powers before Danny figures out the "i wish" thing, which happens relatively quickly.

Danny tries to be... rather supportive of his friend getting powers? Especially since, in comparison to Danny, it was rather painless. However, he's also very suspicious. He doesn't trust the source of Tucker's powers, and warns him to be careful and to let Danny know if he feels off in anyway.

Tucker does end up helping Danny a few times, but the quick progression of his powers and Tucker's willingness to use them more often than not worries him. He reminds him a handful of times that Tucker shouldn't rely on his powers to help -- not even Danny does that. He prefers to use his weapons and martial arts to fight instead. Tucker doesn't listen.

And they end up fighting anyways. Things get resolved, everything turns out okay!

------

Christmas episode straight up just. doesn't happen. Danyal doesn't care enough about the Fenton arguing or about Christmas to be upset about said arguing. He thinks its really childish, but he's not a grinch about all of it.

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Okay it wasn't explicitly mentioned but i have thought about TUE. And I'm trying to think how that would go because it's the result of Danny getting his hands on the math answers and cheating. Which Danyal would not do.

And someone mentioned in the comments on my ao3 under the oneshots there that TUE might just straight up not happen. Which makes sense, Danyal is so different from canon that things don't have to always happen like it did in canon. So that's something I need to chew about, cuz if it does happen, then I'm going to figure out a different way for it to.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danyal al ghul au #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul #usually i'd have a plethora of tags to add. but i dont really have much running commentary in mind lmao #i technically could just blow them all up in nasty burger just without the added 'cheating' thing. however. thats boring.#so i'll do my own thing #things in threes au

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pedgito · 2 years ago

Text

summary | a new place, a new job, and new problems arise soon thereafter. javier manages to weasle his way under your skin in more ways than one. the first—stealing your designated parking spot. (7.5k+ words)

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, subtle pining/suffering on javi's part, very little reference to narcos plot (so, readable if you've never watched), strangers to enemies to...whatever this is, fingering/oral (f receiving), sex & subtle aftercare, open ended, using my very limited knowledge of spanish (pls feel free to correct me)

author's note | translations are spread throughout. this is my first dip into any character outside of my norm so this is mostly just for fun, but to anyone reading, enjoy!

You liked to think you were as level-headed as they came, always seeing the best in people, always giving them the benefit of the doubt, even here in a place that feels foreign, fresh off the job of a position you were hired to a few weeks ago. Not even a month yet and you were already on the precipice of your first problem.

A situation, perhaps.

You extensively remember paying for the specific parking spot correlating to your apartment number. It was simple, you paid for it, so by those laws, it was yours.

Yet somehow, there’s always a car parked in your space.

The first time isn’t a problem, opting to fill the blank spot next to it that is assigned specifically for visitors anyways. How could they have known?

It’s not a big deal. Until it happens again.

Same car, same color. That Jeep Cherokee was turning into your arch-nemesis, one more day of stealing your parking spot away from your keys digging into the paint of the driver’s side door.

Well, you weren’t that evil. But, you were definitely thinking about it. And maybe part of the problem was how unexpectedly stressful your job actually was, working alongside a bunch of macho, testosterone filled DEA agents with a severe lack of manners and time-management outside of catching the bad guys.

It always left you with a mountain of paperwork to deal with, not to mention that ridiculous errands and goose chases you were sent on for a file, or a can of fucking coffee beans because no one had the sense to replace them when they ran out.

And maybe if the car stood out more you would’ve clocked it earlier, but it doesn’t.

There comes a point where you can’t take the blatant disregard any longer, poised to catch the culprit in the act as you lean against the front hood of the car, jingling your apartment keys around your finger, rehearsing your supposed speech to scare off whoever owns the car.

But, that falls dead on your tongue the moment the owner descends the stairs, appearing from the same floor your own apartment resided on, eyes widening in disbelief.

It was a miracle you both had avoided each other this long.

“Javier?” You spit out, like a bad taste in your mouth.

Javier eyes you weirdly, still speaking calmly, “Hola, hermosa—I think. You live here?”

You nod slowly, wondering why he seemed so calm, so unbothered.

Ah, right. He wasn’t the one worrying about a parking spot, rather, he was the one stealing it.

“Yeah, por un par de semanas.” (for a couple of weeks)

Not that it mattered to Javier.

He laughs under his breath, fiddling with his own keys as he reaches for the handle. You push away from his car, standing steady on your own two feet, arms crossed over your chest and rubbing against the buttons of your blouse, still dressed up from work.

“You’re parking in my spot, Javier.”

Javier eyes the surrounding area, seeing nothing amiss.

“Where’s your car?” He asks, avoiding the accusation entirely.

“Right there,” You point at the car parked beside him, eyes narrowing at his lack of reaction, “beside my parking spot. You know, el que yo pago para.” (the one I pay for)

“Cariño,” and if there was a word that could make your blood boil quicker, it was that, the same condescending tone he always used, “I’ve had this spot for weeks.”

“But it’s mine now, Peña.”

“And mine sucks,” He admits, “this is the only shaded area around the building, it’s fuckin’ hot out, my car—“

“Isn’t my problem!”

He’s never heard you shout before, feeling the frustration radiating from your frame.

It was yours, rightfully so. But, that did change the fact he’s been parking there for weeks now, stubborn as he is. Javier isn’t budging either.

“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, motioning toward your car beside his.

“I’m not paying for that one. I’m paying for this one.” It really is that simple, but you’re starting to think he had rocks for a brain, nothing rattling around up there besides catching Escobar and cheap sex he could catch on the regular with a bit of cash.

Yes, you knew—most of those men were one in the same, bachelors with a yearning to get off but not enough game to score it for free.

“No te soporto,” It’s a soft mumble under your breath, something meant for yourself, even if it was aimed at Javier, before looking at him, “fuck this, keep it.” (I cannot stand you)

Javier stares for a while, a moment too long in fact, his eyes lingering on the stretched fabric of your shirt, pulled tight over your chest where your arms cross, quickly traversing their way back up to your face, watching his entire trail of eyesight with annoyance.

“That’s it?” Javier definitely expected more of a fight, but you rolled over and keeled so fast he almost wishes you would’ve fought harder. He’s feeling gracious today though, so extends whatever metaphoric branch he had to give.

“You clearly don’t give a shit,” He’s leaning against the side of his car’s front hood now, diagonal to you as you take a few steps back, crossed arms moving until your hands met your hips, “but I’m the one running errands for you dumbasses all day, so we’ll see how long this lasts.”

In most cases that would come off as a death threat, but to you, it just meant smuggling sugar into his coffee instead of straight black like he usually enjoyed—just enough to fuck up his morning a little, throw him off kilter and enjoy the look on his face when it turns up in disgust, amongst other things.

“Eres malvada,” Javier comments amusingly, “are you trying to start a war?” (you are evil)

You shrug, “What’s one more to the one we’re already dealing with?”

You find it as a reason to get under his skin, drive him mad. But, Javier has a different reason in mind, luckily he loves a challenge—he wasn’t giving in that easily.

The office is sticky, the scolding, dry Bogotá heat feeling like you’re sitting in the center of a fire that ignited overnight—and the AC was out, meaning the tiny, measly little fan on your desk had to do.

Somehow, Javier seems unphased aside from the line of sweat on his forehead, shirt unbuttoned enough that you can see the start of his sternum, tanned skin hidden behind the baby blue fabric. His tie was laying on his desk beside his coffee—safe from you, for the time being.

Steve is close behind, not surprising, those two chasing each other’s tails like eager puppies. But, Murphy was sweeter than Pena, that much was clear.

He wasn’t holding your parking spot hostage.

“Hermosa,” Javier nods, tapping his fingertips against the patchy spot of wood on the front desk, “good morning, I hope?”

Not in the slightest.

Your eyes flick up wordlessly, stapling the stack of papers with more force than necessary before sliding it into his other hand, his fingers moving in time to catch the stack as it slides forward.

“Trouble in paradise?” Steve jokes, smiling as the words leave his mouth. “She looks like she’s ready to gut you.”

“She is,” It’s a confirmation that has Javier’s face turning up in annoyance, “can I do anything else for you? More paperwork, more coffee—“

“Actually—” Javier starts, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Good,” You turn away, picking up the large stack of files to head toward the filing closet, “ve a atrapar a tu el malo.” (go catch your bad guy)

His eyes linger as you walk away, Steve’s muffled voice coming into focus as you fade, rounding a corner as the click of your heels become softer.

“You managed to piss of the nicest person here,” Steve comments, whistling lowly, “I’m not gonna ask how you fucked that up, because it seems pretty obvious already—“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier asks, throwing his head over his shoulder as he looks at Steve.

“Either bad sex or you’re just being an asshole,” Steve suggests, wiggling two fingers out suggestively, pushing his index down to flip his partner off, “easily both but I’m guessing it’s probably the second one.”

Javier shoved his hand away, forcing the file into Steve’s chest.

“She wants me to give up a parking spot I’ve had since I got here,” He explains, “not happening.”

Steve squints slightly, eyes narrowing on Javier. There was more to the story, but Javier was conveniently leaving that out.

“I didn’t even know she lived there,” Javier adds, somehow trying to convince himself he’s in the right, “it’s a good fuckin’ spot.”

“Pissin’ her off for it?” Steve shakes his head in disapproval, “Can’t be that good, Javi.”

The week drags on, miserable in the heat and with working piling up by the day, it feels never-ending.

And somehow, Javier always manages to make it home before you, even when you both leave at the same time.

As frustrated as you are, things get a little easier when you start getting under Javier’s skin.

Steve bothers you for a cup of coffee one morning, insisting that you always make it better than him—it’s just a matter of overloading it with milk and sugar, knowing that Steve likes it sweet even when he doesn’t want to admit it.

Most of the men drank it black, out of solidarity or whatever—Javier just enjoyed the bitterness. How convenient.

So, his hesitancy when you hand him a cup is warranted.

“You fuck with it?” He asks suspiciously.

“Steve asked for a cup,” You shrugged, pressing it into his hesitant, waiting hand, “I’m just being nice.”

But, one sip from the cup ensures that you weren’t being nice at all as he quickly spits it back into the cup, much to the amusement of you and Steve, who sips happily from his own mug.

“I lied.” You grin triumphantly, sliding his unfinished paperwork in front of him, “Nos vemos, vecino.” (see you, neighbor)

Steve chuckles under his breath, watching the interaction unfold. When you finally leave, Javier is staring at his desk, cup forgotten.

“Like I said,” Steve repeats, “can’t be that fuckin’ good.”

“Shut up,” Javier replies, chair screeching in protest as he stands, “who fucks with someone’s coffee?”

“A seriously pissed off neighbor, apparently.”

And if looks could kill, Steve would be dead.

And Javi thinks that the coffee incident would annoy him the most, but even more, it’s the blatant disregard of his presence on most instances, holding a complete conversation with Steve in his company, not a single greeting his way.

He still greets you every morning. All the same aside from his occasional switch up of endearment.

Cariño, Hermosa, Querida when he felt particularly snarky—but just as you hoped it would get under his skin, Vecina slices like a knife. You dared to use it first, but the tone of his is nothing but feigned fondness.

That and when he opts for your name instead, sickeningly sweet as it rolls off his tongue.

Either way, he notices your effort to ignore him.

Taking out the trash and running into him in the hallway? It’s like you walk right through him.

Running into him at that market down the road from your complex? He’s practically a stranger.

And work? It was harder to ignore him, but you did your damndest to make him feel less than.

It was working great, until it couldn’t.

It’s dark out by the time you see him again that day, covered by the orange of the streetlight overhead and kicking yourself as you stare at the contents under the hood, not having a single clue what you were looking at, what the problem was or what it could be.

“Staring at it won’t fix anything,” Javier startles you, nearly jumping out of your skin as he approaches, shoulder bumping against his chest at his close proximity ,“woah, easy, vecina. Just me.”

Somehow that was worse.

“Car trouble?” Javier asks.

“Among other things.” You snark back, but your voice doesn’t hold the venom you think it does. “Don’t tell me you know shit about how to fix this.”

“I don’t,” He admits with ease, “heading out?”

You sigh, deep and tired as you finally give up and close the hood, wiping your dirty hands on your jeans.

“Not anymore,” Javier takes a quick look at your outfit, jeans and a low-cut top that shows off the curve of your breasts, soft skin of your chest and a small amount of your midsection where your shirt pulls up as you shrug your shoulders, “what, Peña? What’s that look for?”

Javier shakes his head, rubbing his thumb along the tide of a spare key, “I’m meeting Murphy for drinks.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this, but he is—well, he does know. He’s hoping you might tag along, put an end to this back and forth between each other. He didn’t want to be the first to cave, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him to see you despise his existence every day.

“Sounds miserable.” You comment, throwing a warm smile for good measure, it’s so fake that even Javi can’t help but feel a little more offended than usual. “Tell Steve I said hi.”

Javier doesn’t get the chance to ask if you want to join before you’re sulking away, riddled with yet another inconvenience.

Javier catches you in the same position the next morning, dressed for work and shoulders slumped as you stare down blankly at the engine.

“Get in,” He orders, walking beyond your piece of junk and to his car, one hand resting on the hood, other resting on the door handle until you finally acknowledge him, “I can drive you to work.”

“Vete a la mierda,” You groan, “I don’t want your help.” (fuck off)

Javier doesn’t budge, yellow sunglasses perched on his nose, his thumb tapping against the car, “Get in the car.”

And he’s not against standing here until you were both late, but he’s already on the edge of getting his ass chewed out most of the time and he’s done with this—it, whatever game you two were still playing at.

“Think about it,” Javier jokes, “it’s almost like you’ll finally be putting that spot to good use.”

Okay, that might’ve been too much.

“Look, I’ll give you the fuckin’ spot if you stop looking at me like they and get in the damn car,” Not that it mattered now, with that hunk of metal sitting unmoving and useless beside it, "please?”

Javier’s not the type to beg, but the look on your face is soft, resembling defeat, and he wants to help.

“Why didn’t you just bring it up with management?” Javier asked, fist tightening around the wheel as he pulled to a stop. "If it bothers you that much."

“You mean Theresa?” You laugh to yourself, eyebrows furrowing in amusement as you cross your arms over your chest, “She’s pushing 80–don’t tell me she could actually intimidate you.”

Javier shrugs, “She’s got her moments.”

“Messing with you was more fun,” You shrug decidedly, “but it lost its momentum when you stopped being bothered by it.”

“So?”

“I’m stuck with a shitty parking spot, an even shittier neighbor, and now my car doesn’t work, so.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“I don’t mind driving you.”

“You’re missing the point,” He was just as dense as he was attractive and you hated it, “the least you could do is fuckin’ pay me.”

Javier gives you a wild look behind his shades, Jeep lurching forward as he continues the drive.

“For the spot, Javier. If you want it that bad.”

“Oh,” He nods, “Yeah, I can do that.”

That was…easier than you anticipated.

Things improve slightly after that, still giving Javier the cold shoulder on most instances, born out of your own stubbornness.

But he always greets you with a smile, one that you try to return. Plus, you were in better spirits today now that the building had working air and it wasn’t absolutely miserable trying to get work done.

“Here,” Javi pulls you from the chart on your desk, eyes connecting with the small wad of cash, “for what I owe you and then some.”

And you shouldn’t feel guilty taking the money, but you do.

He lowers his voice slightly as you pocket the cash, palms pressed against your desk as he leans in, “I need a favor.”

You sigh through your nose, threading your fingers together and resting them between his outstretched arms, challenging him with a steely look in your eyes.

He slides a small wad of paper he had hidden in his palm toward your hands, “I need those files, can you get them for me?”

You glance at the list of names, looking up at him incredulously, his face not moving an inch. It seemed serious, but it still didn’t justify the fact that he’s absolutely lost his mind.

“I could get fired for taking these out of the building,” You argue in a hushed whisper, “first you want to take my spot and now you want me to risk my job?”

His eyes soften slightly.

And then there’s that word again.

“Cariño, please?”

“How badly do you need them?”

He gives you another silent look of pleading, the tip of his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth as he nods to Murphy several feet away, looking just as desperate. If it wasn’t for Steve, you probably would’ve said no.

“You’re lucky I like Steve,” You admit, shoving the paper into the same pocket the money was stashed away in, “and that you’re down the hall from me.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist firmly when your arm resurfaces, posture instantly stiffening at that movement. His eyes are wide, staring through you almost.

“Thank you.”

And you can see that he means it.

It’s a strange look you haven’t seen before but it’s real.

“You owe me, Javi,” Under the context of what, you weren’t sure, “I mean it.”

The softness you add to his name is enough for Javier to realize that whatever anger you held toward him was slowly disappearing.

The last thing you’re expecting when you exit the sanctioned filing room is a solid chest to the face, and a surprisingly soft hand gripping your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey, Javi sent me,” Steve says lowly, glancing around the corner to check for an all clear—the place was mostly deserted due to the unexpected raid Javier was leading on a few of Escobar’s men, nothing huge, but enough to need backup, yet somehow Steve got shafted, “he’s caught up in something and my place is on the way.”

“Is he okay?” It feels foreign to ask, but given he’s also in a slightly disturbed state, breathing faster than normal like he’d ran here.

“Yeah, yeah. Peña’s always good. Don’t worry about him.”

“And you?” You inquire, sliding the files behind your bag, keeping them out of view, “Why aren’t you with him? I thought you two were partners.”

“My wife, she’s had this date planned out for weeks,” Steve nods toward the front, asking for you to follow, “Connie, she’d skin me alive if I tried to cancel on her, again.”

“Sounds justified.” You shrug, flashing him a polite smile.

Steve nods knowingly.

“And about Peña—he’s difficult, I know.”

“Understatement of the year, Steve.”

“I’m just trying to say that he’s really involved and sometimes that stress kinda…transfers over outside of work.”

And somehow you find yourself at a stand-off with Steve, talking through the open windows of his car.

“So he’s an asshole, but it’s okay because work is a little hard on him?”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’,” Steve scratches at his forehead in search of the right words, hoping they’ll come to him, “I don’t even know why I’m trying to defend him but he’s surrounded by this shit all day, some of us can leave it here—it’s hard even for me some days—“

“Steve,” You bring him back, urging him toward the point, “is this going somewhere?”

“Javi is this job— but you are the one thing I catch him staring at beside our desk and the gun in his drawer. I don’t know, maybe he really does hate you that much, but I’ve known him long enough to realize that if he’s gonna let anyone’s fuck with his day to day, and his coffee, it would be you.”

“If you’re trying to suggest Javi’s in love with me, I’m going to assume you’re insane.”

“No—god, no. I don’t think Peña’s capable of that shit but maybe he’d ease up on being a hard-ass if you didn’t give him as much shit over the parking spot. Also, not sayin’ he’s in the right but is it really that important to you?”

You sling your bag into the passenger seat, following suit as Steve climbed into the car, “At first, yeah. It’s my first time out on my own, dealing with my own shit, and Javi already acts like he’s above it all so seeing that it was him, it set me off.”

Steve shrugs, turning on the ignition. “I think you two have too much in common, honestly. Maybe just…level with him? Have you two ever had a normal conversation outside of work?”

A subtle shake of your head is all Steve needs, then he’s laughing to himself, pulling out of the parking lot.

“What?”

“It’s nothing—“

“Steve.”

“It’s just—I assumed you two hooked up and Javi was a bad time because you went from mildly annoyed to out for blood overnight.”

“Doesn’t seem that far-fetched.” You admit, earning an even deeper chuckle out of Steve.

“See?” Steve boasts, “Don’t give him the time if you don’t think he deserves it, but I’m tired of him sulking around all the time. It’s miserable to look at.”

“And you think I can fix that?”

“Oh, I know it.”

Two hours and a shower later and you find yourself at Javier’s door wondering if it was already too late to try and knock or if you should just stuff the files underneath his door and leave, ignoring that fluttering feeling in your gut that told you to stay.

But, he’s yanking the door open before you can lift your hand, wondering if he heard you on the other side. He’s half dressed, jeans buttoned around his hips but his chest bare, towel hung over his frame signaling that he, also, had just finished up a shower.

The circles under his eyes were a little darker, the color in his eyes a little dull, and his knuckles looked bruised—whatever he’d been pummeling and knocking away at must’ve packed a punch.

“Hermosa, hey.”

Yet somehow he seems relaxed at the sight of you and you offer him the first real smile he’s seen since you met.

“Uh, got the files.” You force them out of your hands and into his, feeling like if you held onto them any longer they would burst into flames. You weren’t sure of the validity or importance of them, but you didn’t want to hold the responsibility any longer. “Everything…okay? Steve said—“

“Yeah. Bad info.” Javier says simply, “Doesn’t really matter.”

You nod slowly, fidgeting with your fingers behind your back, “You know,” and here was your attempt, “when Steve pulled up I joked about how this has to be the first time I’ve seen that parking spot empty since I’ve been here. Too bad my car is a piece of shit and I couldn’t even move it to take it back.”

Javier opens his door wider, bare feet sticking wetly against the wood floor as he moves. He clears his throat, a small chuckle that feels like a giant victory. But, he seems eager—no, antsy, ready to flee.

“Shit, you were going out, weren’t you?” He notices the quick glance you give to his frame, never lingering for too long on one spot. “Bebidas, chicas—that’s how you guys usually celebrate, right?” (drinks, girls)

“Nothing to celebrate,” Javier replies nonchalantly, “they all went home, so.”

“Oh.”

Javier glances back inside his apartment briefly, wallet and keys resting on the countertop, shirt thrown over the barstool by the island.

You both speak at the same time, his head turning back when he hears your voice.

“Goodnight, Javi—“

“Did you want to come inside for a minute?”

You pause, watching his hard exterior melt further.

“Um, sure.”

Thus, the deafening click behind you as you step inside, watching as he tossed the files along the island, before disappearing briefly and returning without a towel, still also without a shirt.

He looks perplexed, glancing over the files briefly.

“Do I wanna know?” You ask curiously, stepping alongside him before wandering a little further, glancing around his space.

It was polished, covered in dark furniture and normal amenities, perfectly plain. It looked half lived in, blanket thrown over the couch and a pillow shoved up against one side. Yet the open door down the hall showed a perfectly made bed. You don’t pry, but Javier can feel the judgment from a mile away. He switches the subject before it arises.

“It’s just work. Do you want something to drink?” He asks casually, sifting through his fridge, “Tento agua, jugo, cerveza…” (I have water, juice, beer)

“Beer is fine.”

Javier slides the beer into your hand a moment later, “So, what did Steve tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, startled by his straightforwardness.

“I mean how much did he tell you about the, uh—the raid?” Javier implores casually, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Oh, nothing really. I asked why he wasn’t there and he told me, but I didn’t try to pry.” You tell him honestly, “The less I know the better, right?”

“And here I am pulling you into that mess for the files,” He jokes, “thank you for that, cariño. Seriously.”

You leave out the extensive conversation you had with Steve about the man standing in front of you, and you hear the words haunting you, nagging at the back of your mind like a bad itch.

You take a long sip of the beer, half dried hair falling over your shoulders as you tip your head back. Javier watches with careful eyes, arms leaning against the island, files pushed further aside.

And suddenly, he seems normal.

In fairness, you’ve never seen him in this environment. His home, his safety, but it’s a juxtaposition to the man you see at work everyday, walking past you with a smirk glued to his face.

Maybe it was only ever really directed at you, but there was always that urge to knock him down a peg. But, not here.

Blame it on your softness, your willingness to want to see the best in people, and how Javier was somehow the end all, be all of gorgeous men in Bogota—he sees the switch too.

The first bad decision was taking the job at the DEA office.

The second? Letting Javier Pena get under your skin so easily.

And between you both, there were enough bad decisions to keep you talking for a week.

What was one more?

He says your name, a dangerous word to leave his mouth at a time like this.

“Javi.”

It’s a warning. An opportunity, his last chance to back away before you both did something stupid. He trashes his empty bottle as he makes his way to you, slipping your own from your grip and onto the nearest flat surface, some mantle or shelf, Javier isn’t sure.

“Do you still hate me?”

It feels like the most ridiculous question to ask, but he needs to hear the answer. Because if you did, he’d back off immediately, walk you back to your apartment, and apologize for ruining your life more than he already had.

But, the other part is praying, hoping that you don’t.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you always know it was me?” He asks softly.

You huff out a short laugh, “What?”

“The car—I mean, I drove it everyday. I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, letting him invade your space, a hand ghosting over your hip, under your shirt carefully, fingertips dancing along your hip.

“You’re not the only guy up there who drives that car, Javi—how was I supposed to know? Are you saying you were doing it purposefully, hoping it bothered me?”

“No,” Javier answers honestly, “but it’s a little fascinating to see you so angry.”

“You should probably elaborate on that unless you feel like seeing it up-close.” You tell him out of pure annoyance, perturbed by the game he was playing.

If he wanted to fuck you, he should just say it.

“You smile all day at those guys, even when they make comments about you in front of your face.” And you’ll hand it to Javier, he’s never been that disrespectful. He appreciates women, and he can be severely pissed off with one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to trash her in front of anyone else, especially not in front of her. “But, I see it—that little scrunch in between your eyes when they piss you off.”

“It’s my job to be friendly.”

Javier watches the expressive lines between your brow start to form.

Javier shifts you slightly, back pressed to his bare chest as his fingertips settle against your skin, just under the ends of your shirt, and despite the ongoing conversation you can’t help but melt against him.

“I saw it that day when you were standing by my car,” Javier continues, “es linda.” (it's cute)

“Javier,” It's a sigh of discontent, of impatience, and he feels the twitch in your body as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, feeling like you were seeing him as a completely different person, yet still somehow the same, “we really don’t have to drag this out.”

He hums softly, pressing a slow kiss against the side of your neck, the soft thrum of your heartbeat against his lips as he stays there, lingers.

“I’m not mad anymore , I’m not upset,” It feels like rambling, but you needed to clear the air, “Just—fuck, I can’t do slow, Javi.”

Slow meant more time to overthink, to feel, and you didn’t want any of that.

“Looks like I didn’t need to leave after all,” Javier laughs against your skin, “tengo a mi chica aquí.” (I have my girl here)

And fuck if you weren’t eager to throw every rule and inhibitions out the window for him.

His bed is just as pristine and untouched as when you entered his apartment, his fingers digging into your thighs firmly, keeping you in place where you were spread out over his lap.

Javier’s thrown off kilter for a moment as you grip his chin, tasting the wide expanse of tanned skin, biting playfully at the sharp edge of his jawline, right by the spot under his ear that has him fighting to stay focus.

Game recognize game, Javier had really met his match.

“Gatita mala,” He tuts, the warmth of his palms spreading over your back, top bare as his thumbs eventually meet the underside of your breasts, rubbing gently until he sees you keen into the touch, “more?” (bad kitty)

You nod eagerly, his eyes never leaving you, not even as he leans forward, mouth at your breasts until he finally takes the leap and licks, nipple pebbling underneath his tongue, bottom lip dragging against the flesh until he can take you into his mouth fully.

The warmth spreads like a flood, twisting at your insides, begging for something more.

“Javi,” You release on a sigh, fingers drifting through the hair at the back of his head as he hums, a soft noise of acknowledgment, “I need you to fuck me.”

“You sure?” He murmurs, mouthing up the center of your chest, latching onto your neck gently before pulling away, his teeth grazing against your chin as he bites. “Tu quieres esto, bebita? (You want this, baby?)

“I don’t need you to be kind, Javier.” You tell him forthright, staring down at him through your lashes, his hands still rubbing a hot pattern into your skin, whatever remnants of your sleep shorts that were left already pushed high up your legs. “You weren’t trying this hard before.”

“What are you saying then?” He asks, following your lips as you pull back, eying you inquisitively as you find his gaze, pulling him in.

Your eyes darken under the light, the streetlight outside of his window flickering faintly, “We don’t need to act like we’re friends,” You explain, “we’re not.”

There’s a long, lingering moment of silence as your thumb rubs along his bottom lip, soothing the natural pout he always held.

“We want the same thing, right?” You ask softly, feeling his hands settle against your lower back, a soft nudge as he presses you against him, not enough contact to satisfy but it stalls you a moment, watching him calculate a response.

Everything he feels like he needs to say never comes, only a nod of confirmation, a clear switch in his eyes as you drag yourself down to his level, pushing him even further, deeper into the back of his couch.

“Good,” You speak to him, lips grazing against his own as you speak, “because getting those files was a pain in the ass and I deserve a lot more than a thank you.”

You soon realize that this version of Javier is hard to deny something when he works for it, pulling at the short strands of his hair as he descends down the couch, to the floor, leaving wet kisses along the way, feeling your body quiver as he reaches your inner thigh, face pinching together in conflicting frustration as you shake your head.

“Javi, you don’t need to,” You quickly assure him, yanking his head away gently, his cheek resting against your thigh as he stares up at you, big brown eyes fixated on your face, “I’m not—“

“Humor me?” Javier counters, flashing you a tired smile, barely recognizable under this light.

You sigh heavily, mostly to release the tension of your anxiety-ridden nerves, gasping as his tongue meets your clit with no preamble.

It forces out a small laugh, involuntarily, his tongue lapping through your center before pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh, fingers replacing his mouth for a beat.

“Tan dulce,” Javier comments absently, working you up easily, moving his fingers at an angle that even you couldn’t reach with your own hands, spine curving up as you pressed your palm out flat behind you, the grip in his hair tightening as he welcome the soft sounds you made, rubbing his thumb along your clit in a slow circle, “como el azúcar.” (So sweet, like sugar)

Your response is feeble, a throaty moan that has Javi’s cock straining against his jeans, reaching down to relieve the pressure as he unbuttons them.

“Why deny this?” He asks curiously, crazy enough to try and hold a coherent conversation with you while his face was buried in your cunt. “It’s the best part.”

He spreads you wider then, thick hands coming up to force your thighs over his shoulder, supporting the lower half of your body entirely as he devours, growling against your cunt.

The sound has you fluttering around his tongue and Javier feels it, bookmarking that for later.

“Fuck me,” You gasp out in a rush when you start to feel the edges of your orgasm creeping up on you, “god, Javi—“

But, there’s something unspoken there as he pulls away, the subtle shake of your legs, not wanting to feel selfish and even a little embarrassed for coming like this, so easy and quick under his touch. Be it experience but he knew what you needed even more than yourself, everywhere to touch, squeeze, linger for just the right amount of time.

“Look at me,” He demands, eyes flicking toward his without question as he slowly pushes a finger inside, filling the loss from earlier, thumb working against your clit until he feels it, “fuck, you like that?”

And as much as you wanted to deny it, he already knew the answer.

You nod quickly, body feeling feverish as your leaned your weight into your hands, steadily pressed behind you as your hips rock up involuntarily.

“That’s right, hermosa.” Javi encourages softly, almost like a purr as the crest of your orgasm rises, flushing over you in waves as you gasp, reaching your hand forward to dig your fingers into his forearm, silently begging him to slow down.

Eventually he does, pulling out gingerly but not before slipping the finger past his own lips, covered in the sweetness of you. He doesn’t make a big show of it, but it’s a small gesture that has your heart fluttering in your chest, a pain that aches deep. He does catch your gaze after a moment though, lazily explaining himself.

“What? I don’t lie.” He shrugs, thumb grazing against your bottom lip until you jerk your head away in frustration—coming here for nothing, but somehow twisting yourself up in the sheets on his couch, his solid figure tucked between your legs, and god, he’s not even wearing anything underneath his jeans. He rises up on his knees, denim hiding everything but the short patch of trimmed hair leading to his still, unfortunately clothed cock.

“Get on your knees.” He jerks his chin upwards and you’re moving without question, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he moves behind you, shuffling around as he digs in a drawer beside his couch, shifting his jeans down until he can kick them the rest of the way, settling his hand over your hip in a comforting gesture, if anything, as he rips the foil packet with his teeth, pumping himself languidly.

He situates himself behind you, one knee pressed into the cushion while his other leg is planted against the floor, finding that once again, his hands couldn’t stop exploring your body, admiring every curve with us fingertips as he nudges you down and into the opposite cushion, palm pressed against the flat of your back as he lines himself up, pushing inside in one fluid motion, an audible groan breaking from his chest as he finally satiates his own desperate need for pleasure.

He enjoys sex this way, prefers it, fulfilling that need to take and consume and fill his partner with pleasure, tell that it was okay to give up control. It's what Javier enjoyed the most, controlling the situation. But, even as he enters you, he feels at a disadvantage.

“Bebita, talk to me.” Javier speaks up from behind you, his gruff, gravely voice cutting through the silence. “Let me hear you.”

You gasp on a sharp thrust of his hips, the wet sound of your slick as it coats him, feeling perfectly stretched by the size of his cock, grip tightening on the cushion in front of you as you feel his hand explore higher, squeezing at the back of your neck to force you deeper into the surface, head turned enough that you catch his expression for a brief moment.

He’s admiring you with a heated, half-lidded gaze as his eyes wander the expanse of your back, settling over the point where you two meet, watching as he sinks into you again and again. But, it’s the grit of his teeth that drives you insane, fucking you with a ferocity that carries so much more than just needing a release.

“Hablas demasiado, Javi.” You groan, feeling the soft pad of his thumb as it rubs at your jaw, earning a low chuckle in response. “You always talk this much with them?” (you talk too much)

He doesn’t need to pry to understand what you’re referring to—and he could act like it hurts his ego, and maybe it does, but he bites back at you just as quickly.

Your name graces his lips in a curse, a prayer, something akin to heavenly as he grips your hips tight, “You’re not them, bebita.”

It feels like a confession, but for your own sake, you ignore it, nodding blindly at his response.

“Fuck,” He growls, dragging a hand along your body until he settle it in the curve of your shoulder, pulling you back against him until you can’t stifle the sounds anymore, moaning out his name for the first time that night, “otra vez, let me hear it.” (again)

You gasp sharply at the sudden change in position, pulled tight to Javier’s chest in a similar position to earlier when you were standing in his kitchen, ultimately more intimate this way, with his mouthing at the shoulder that isn’t currently occupied by his hand, his arm slipping under yours and around the flesh to keep you in place while his mouth sucks at the skin on the opposite side, his name falling from your lips freely as he brings you to a second orgasm with no preamble, a quiet sound leaving you as the high is a little less intense, his fingers rubbing against the small bundle of nerves until you’re begging him to let up.

His breathing is short, hurried as his own orgasm is right there, free arm wrapping around your waist as he hugs you against him, mouthing at whatever parts of you he could reach.

“Gonna cum, bebita,” He warns, tracing a soft line under your breast with his finger until he’s squeezing the mound of it in his hand, “right here, can I?”

If you weren’t so drunk on your own pleasure you would’ve questioned it, but even then you weren’t sure you could deny him. You nod jerkily, feeling him unwind himself from you and guide you around with a steady hand, tapping at your side until he’s got you where he needs, kneeling a little lower, head lolling into his outstretched hand as he supports the weight, rubbing at the soft, tender spot behind your ear as he strokes himself quickly, head thrown back as he comes, moaning brokenly as the feeling overtakes him, spilling carefully onto your chest, your own eyes threaten to shut out of exhaustion but not daring to deny yourself the sight of him, neck outstretched and straining, veins protruding on the side as he swallows hard, gasping as he finally comes back down.

He feels you move to stand but urges you back down, “Stay,” He tells you softly, “I'll be back.”

And he’s not gone more than a few moments before he’s returning with a small towel, wearing a pair of sleep pants he must’ve grabbed from his room first, taking long strides to meet you as he cleans up the mess quietly, his face a little perplexed as he does so, watching as you move to grab your discarding clothing in the process.

“Any chance this convinced you to give me my spot now?” You joke lightly, catching the grin that spreads across Javi’s face, unconstrained.

“You wish, cariño.”

The silence settles as you redress yourself, mindful of Javier’s heavy gaze as he ascends back toward the work in his kitchen, giving you the space you needed.

“Same time mañana?” Javier asks suddenly, gaze landing on you as he scratches at his cheek, examining a paper within the stack of folders. (tomorrow?)

And you’re mentally cursing yourself for the small moment of hesitation you have in answering before Javier’s grin is growing again, releasing a short laugh in amusement at your obvious confusion.

“I meant for work,” He clarifies, “do you need a ride?”

“Oh—yeah,” You shrug indifferently, “I guess.”

The stare that Javier holds is mesmerizing, the type that freezes you in place and holds you hostage.

“Good,” He nods, “—but you know the other offer still stands if you want to.”

“Goodnight, Javi.” You reply with an eye roll, an empty response that holds no hatred.

Javier steps forward in your path, a subtle smirk on his face as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, a gesture that comforts you more than you’re expecting.

“Goodnight, gatita.”

Gatita = kitten

Cariño, Hermosa = both mostly terms of endearment (ie. beautiful, sweetheart)

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