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moonlightndaydreams · 7 months ago

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Little Deaths | a ghostly ot8 story

MDNI 🔞 this is an adult story!!!

La petite mort. ‘the little death' is an expression that refers to a brief loss or weakening of consciousness, and in modern usage refers specifically to a post-orgasm sensation as likened to death.

fem!reader x ghost!Skz

Your driver abandons you at a creepy mansion that turns out to be haunted by 8 cursed, horny ghosts. Their mission is your pleasure.

Word count: 6.8k

Content Warning below

CW: ot8 are ghosts, drugging/intoxication of reader, seduction?coercion?, sexual acts with ghosts, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m & f), vaginal and anal penetration, blow jobs, double pen in 2 holes, double pen one hole, restraints, rough sex, spitting, it's basically a gangbang, sub reader, there is a part where a cock alternates between readers vagina and anus - this is not recommended irl, choking, name calling, pet names. The sexual acts in this story are not meant to reflect how things work irl.

a/n: this story isn't a love story, like I often write here on this blog. It's basically self indulgent ot8 porn. It's my first oneshot that features all 8 members fully, and it was actually so hard to write. I considered posting this story on my side blog @daydreams-after-dark where I write my unhinged shit, but it took so much energy and thought, that I wanted to keep it over here with my other oneshots of similar length.

I hope you enjoy this oneshot. If you do, please let me know your favourite part, and consider a reblog. x. Sorsha.

“Ma’m, I think we need to stop the car, this weather is just making it too hard to see.” your driver called over his shoulder. The rain outside was falling harder than ever, and with it being the dead of night, and on a windy deserted road, you knew he was right. It wasn’t safe.

“But where on earth do we stop?” You replied, trying to see out of the window.

“I think I’ve taken a wrong turn.” He said in a shaky voice. “But… I think I’ve found somewhere we can pull over.”

You leaned around to look between the two front seats of the car, and could just make out the shape of a mansion ahead of you. Your driver pulled the car to a stop in front of the dwelling. “Should we go knock on the door?” You wondered, but your driver was getting out of the car and pulled out your suitcase.

“I think so. I could barely see the road.” He insisted.

You let out a big sigh and climbed out of the car. From what you could tell, the mansion was enormous, and very old.

Stepping up to the front door you saw there was no doorbell. Just a big brass knocker. “You know,” you turn to your driver who plonked down your suitcase beside your feet. “This feels a lot like that Backstreet Boys music video. The one with a haunted mansion.” You gripped the knocker in your hand and knocked three times and waited. “You know, Backstreets Bac-“ You turned to your driver but he was running back to the car, jumping back in and driving away. The fucker!

“Hey!” You yelled after him, but he was gone.

The big front door creaked open, capturing your attention. A young man with fluffy long blonde hair peeked his head around the door.

“Oh my goodness!” You wailed. “I…it was raining…and…well…my driver…he’s just left me here.”

The young man looked at you curiously. “Come in out of the cold.” He smiled warmly. He immediately put you at ease.

“My name’s Felix.” He said picking up your suitcase.

“Y/n.” You replied following him into the mansion. It was quite dark, but you could make out that you were in a large entry hall, with a grand staircase in the centre.

“You will need to stay the night.” he stated. “I’ll take you to your room.”

“Stay the night?” You turned to him. “But I just need to make a phone call, have someone come collect me.”

Felix shook his head. We haven’t any mobile reception, and the landline is down. Due to the storm.”

You frowned.

“Plus,” he began as he started up the stairs. “No one should be driving in this weather.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. He was right. You followed Felix up the winding staircase and along a dimly lit hall. The place was creepy. It felt deserted and cold. Such a contrast from the man leading you to your room. Felix seemed so warm, like sunshine. Why would someone like him live here?

“Here we are.” He opened a door at the end of the hall. “You will be staying here. I’ll bring you up some supper and a cup of hot…chocolate. Yes, hot chocolate.” he rambled. “Please-” he gestured for you to enter the room and placed your suitcase on the floor beside you.

“Feli-?” you turned to the blond man, but he was gone. Weird. “Felix?” you called and popped your head back out into the hallway. But he had completely disappeared. Vanished into thin air.

Despite the cold emptiness of the mansion, your room was stunning. Even if it did look like it came out of a haunted house movie. It had Victorian gothic themed decor, with a huge bed that had four thick posts, and the bedhead itself was a feature piece. It came almost up to the high ceiling. Dim lamps around the walls illuminated the room. The entire space was grand and of another time.

“I suppose I could spend the night here.” you patted the bed. The bedding seemed freshly cleaned, and you noticed there was no dust on anything. It was like whoever lived here was expecting a guest. Was Felix the only one here? You wondered as you opened your suitcase and pulled out your silk nightie.

Your sleepwear seemed far too vulnerable and sexy for such a room and as you climbed into the giant bed, you had thoughts of some beast coming and ruining you in your sleep. Maybe you’d need to stay awake just to be safe?

Knock knock.

You pulled your knees to your chest, and your heart began to pound. Someone’s come to rape you and murder you. Your mind had really spiraled over the past ten minutes.

“Y/n? It’s Felix. I’ve brought you some food and a a-drink.”

You scampered over to the door. “Fel-” you started. But again no one was there. How was he so quick?

On the floor at your feet was a tray with a slice of cake and a big mug of hot chocolate. You took the tray back to your bed. You were hungrier than you thought, practically inhaling the cake within a minute.

You turned your attention to the hot drink, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It was delicious. Rich, creamy, with a hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. You took another sip, allowing the warmth to wash over you. By the time you had drunk the last of it, you were feeling floaty and fuzzy, almost like you were drunk.

All thoughts about your safety left you as you snuggled down and fell asleep.

Your core ached as you felt your body buzz and swirl. Sensations of cool hands all over your body, caressing your legs, and your breasts, making you moan. More. You needed more. Whatever this was, you had to have more or you’d die. Your body felt hot, like it was on fire, and you needed the relief of the coolness that was caressing you.

The sensation moved up your inner thigh, while elsewhere on your body it wrapped around your neck. More across your stomach and breasts. It reached the top of your inner thigh and, ‘oh god yes, touch me there’, slipped inside of you. You felt like you were writhing on the bed, back arching off the mattress. But then it seemed you couldn’t move at all. It was like you were being held down. You tried to cry out, the pleasure becoming unbearable, but your mouth was filled with the same coldness that was inside your pussy. Again, your body cried ‘More’. You needed more. The cool sensation then filled you deeper and deeper and stretched you open, fuller, wider than ever before. Your throat felt full too, and you were certain you were going to choke. Your dreamy vision blurred further until you were seeing white, and the tension in your body reached breaking point. A surge of cold energy filled you and your core burst with a relief like you’d never experienced in your entire life. Your walls squeezed and pulsed around the coldness inside of you.

Your eyes flung open. Your chest was heaving. Your body was hot. Your cunt still fluttering. Fuck. That was some dream. You ran your hands over your body, down between your legs. Your panties! They were gone. You sat up abruptly, your eyes darting around to locate your missing underwear. There they were, at the far corner of the bed. Torn. What the actual fuck?

“You did that to yourself, you know.” a voice said from the corner of the room.

“Huh?” your eyes shot to a man sitting in the shadows in the corner.

“We didn’t touch you.” he added.

You were confused. “We?” you arched an eyebrow, trying to calm your racing heart.

The man disappeared, startling you, then reappeared sitting on the edge of the mattress.

You pulled your knees into your chest. “How the fuck did you do that? Who are you? What are you? How’d you just do that?” you cried shrilly.

The man smiled, his dimpled cheeks and kind eyes making him appear non-threatening. But that didn’t mean he wasn't a psycho killer. A magic psycho killer.

“Here, have another hot chocolate.” he passed you a mug.

The hot chocolate. You scowled at the man. “You drugged me!” you hissed.

The man shrugged. “It’s an ancient remedy. We needed to know if you were compatible with us.”

“Compatible? Compatible for what? What do you mean, ‘us’? You and Felix? What does this drink do?”

“Shh..babygirl. It’s okay.” he hushed you. “The drink merely relaxes you and unlocks what you crave most. I promise it wears off within twelve hours. The drink you had earlier was only one eighth the strength of this one here.” he pointed to the drink in your hands.

You brought the drink to your nose and inhaled. It smelled irresistible, and you resisted the strong compulsion to drink it down. “But why do you want me to drink more? Couldn’t you tell if I was compatible or not from…”

“You are compatible. It was clear the moment you called for us.” He said simply.

Your eyes widened. “Called for you? But I don’t even know you.” you whispered.

“The coldness you felt.” he leaned closer. “On your body. Inside your body. That was us. You could feel us even though we hadn’t touched you.”

You held your breath.

“We could feel you too. We could feel your desire. Your warmth. You aliveness. Your tightness. It wrapped around us.” he whispered.

You whimpered. He, they, could feel you? You bit your lip. “So why drink more?” you arched an eyebrow. “If you know I’m compatible with…whatever this is.”

“Because what I’m about to tell you might be,” he sucked in a breath. “Overwhelming.”

You locked eyes with this stranger and carefully took a big gulp of the hot chocolate. You immediately felt a sense of warmth flow through your body and pooling in your core.

“You see, y/n, we’re ghosts.”

You just stared at him. “What?” you laughed. “Just ‘cos you did some magic disappear-reappear thing before, I don’t believe in-”

The man in front of you turned translucent. Fuck. Your mouth fell open. You could still see him, but his colours were muted, and he wasn’t….solid.

“You’re a fucking ghost?” you choked. This wasn’t happening. Surely the drink has some kind of hallucinogen?

“Y/n, allow me to introduce you to my brothers.” he gestured for you to look around the room. Gradually, seven young, translucent, men emerged from the shadows.

“Holy shit!” you whispered and swallowed hard.

“My name is Chan.” the dimpled mad said. “And here we have Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung.” he pointed to three of the men who waved at you. ‘And over there we have Suengmin, Jeongin, Minho, and you’ve already met Felix.”

“Sorry I drugged you.” Felix blushed and lowered his gaze.

“May we come sit on the bed?” the one named Hyunjin asked. “We won’t touch you unless you ask.” he added.

Why did that something to your insides?

You nodded and the ghost men gathered around and hopped on the bed. That’s when you noticed they were all quite young and very handsome. And they were all wearing the same thing. A gold and black silk bathrobe.

The words of Chan resounded in your head. “You called to us”, “We could feel your desire. Your warmth. You aliveness. Your tightness.”

You pulled the blanket up higher and stared at your drink, considering whether or not to drink more if it was going to help you relax.

“W-what did you do when I called to you?” you asked in a small voice.

“We came straight away.” Another man said. Seungmin, you think.

“We watched you, kitten.” Minho smirked.

“You were so receptive.” Changbin added.

“Your body begged us to fill you, squeeze you. Fuck you.” Hyunjin said silkily.

“But you didn’t… touch me, right?”

“No, babygirl. Like I said, your body showed us what you craved most. We didn’t touch you. I promise. But we could feel you.”

“But why do I crave you?” you were confused as to how this could even be happening.

“We think it’s part of the curse.” The chubby cheeked boy, Jisung, said. “Every so often a woman will stumble upon our mansion. We give them a drink,” he nodded to the cup in your hand, “to see if they’re compatible. Sometimes they just sleep soundly.”

“Those ones aren’t compatible.” Seungmin chimes in.

“And some, like you, are receptive.” Jisung continued.

“Compatible.” Added Minho.

You looked around the room. So you craved these… ghosts? Sexually? Was this a trick? You thought about your dream and how incredible it felt to be consumed by whatever it was that was touching you. Would it feel like that?

“What happens when you find a compatible woman?” You were almost afraid to ask.

“We have to pleasure her.” Chan said flatly.

Your eyes flicked to his.

“And what happens if you don’t?”

“We get tortured.”

Your eyes widen. “Tortured? Why? By who?”

“I think we need to tell her the whole story.” Said Jeongin.

Chan rubbed his chin. “Hmm, you’re right.” He took a moment before he spoke.

“Y/n. When we were alive we were… a harem. Or reverse harem, I suppose. We had our Mistress whom we served… sexually. She wasn’t right, in the head. She went mad. She didn’t want us to age, to get older. So she hired a witch who was meant to concoct a spell that would keep us young for eternity. The spell was not only to keep us youthful either, but also bind us,” he looked around at the other men. “To be sex slaves forever.”

“But it went wrong.” Exclaimed Jisung. “It killed us. Now we’re young, dead, sex slaves forever.” He looked down at the bedspread.

The mood in the room suddenly dropped and you could tell all the men were in a moment of reflection.

“So,” you started slowly. “When a woman comes along who subconsciously requires your… services… then you are bound to fulfill her needs?”

They all nodded.

“Our bodies naturally respond. It’s intoxicating.” Hyunjin said softly. “All of us are aching for you.” His hand reached out and touched your arm. Cold. Cold just like the sensation in your dream.

“What if I say no? What happens?”

“We won’t touch you.” Chan states.

“But we’d be in pain until the next compatible woman comes along.” Said Felix.

“The urge and desire won’t dissipate until we have found another compatible woman.” added Seungmin.

You considered everything they just told you. It was wild. It was far-fetched, and absolutely unbelievable. But here you were. On a bed with a room full of ghosts. Ghosts that were horny for you. You should say no. But you couldn’t. It seemed you were horny for them too.

They were alluring. Tempting. Could they make you feel the way you did in your dream? They weren’t even touching you then, supposedly, and you wondered what it’d feel like to have them really do those things to you, and more.

You took the cup to your mouth. “What happens if I drink this stronger version?” You looked at Felix.

“It will relax you. But more importantly it shows us what your body truly needs to be sated, and who want to do it to you.” Said Changbin.

“There’s no hiding if you drink that. You won’t be able to hold back.” Minho smirked.

“And everything will feel more intense.” Added Jeongin.

“Babygirl.” Chan gripped your arm. “You need to give us your permission. Will you let us pleasure you… fuck you until you can’t take any more?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.” you whispered, and gulped the entire drink down.

“That’s it, baby.” Clapped Jisung.

“I knew from how hard she came earlier that she’d be up for this.” Seungmin added.

“She’s just drank the whole thing. Chan, that was full strength.” Felix was horrified.

“Means she’ll be pliable, we can do anything.” Seungmin said slyly.

“Well, anything she wants.” Corrected Changbin..

“She’ll want us to do absolutely everything. I can tell. This one’s a fucking freak.” Said Minho.

You immediately became lightheaded. And hot. So fucking hot. You threw the blanket off and started clawing at your skimpy nightie. “Hot!” you cried. “So hot.”

Ice cold hands came to your body, ripping the garment from you, leaving you naked, on fire, your skin burning. “Please!” you cried, searching for the cool relief of those hands.

A hand wrapped around your leg, dragging you into the middle of the mattress. More hands started to explore your body. Firm, freezing, so relieving against your scorching skin.

You opened your eyes to find that all eight ghosts were surrounding you on the bed. But they weren’t translucent anymore. They appeared as real as living men. “Touch me.” you sobbed as your eyes darted around to each of them.

“Fuck, she’s perfect.” Whispered Jisung.

You didn’t know whose hands were who’s, but there were so many on your body. So cooling to the skin. A hand cupped a breast, while another pinched your other nipple. Your legs were spread wide and a frozen cold tongue pressed against your pussy.

“Fuck!” you cried out and looked down to find Jisung sucking on your clit. “Fuck! Feels so good.” you panted.

“How does she taste, brother?” someone asked.

“Like pussy.” he groaned. “I fucking missed this taste.”

While your eyes had rolled back into your head from the intensity of what was happening, you felt your arms being pulled above your head, and soft velvet ropes were tied around your wrists. You looked up behind you to see Minho tying the other ends of the ropes to the headposts. “Kitten likes to be tied up.” he winked at you.

Meanwhile, Jisung had peeled himself away from between your legs and Hyunjin was kneeling between them, gazing at your pussy. Just the way he was looking at you and licking his lips made your cunt gush. He noticed and swiped his finger over your dripping arousal, then took his finger to his lips. He proceeded to wink at you, slip off his robe. With the most deranged look you’d ever seen on a man, he lifted your hips to line your entrance up with his cock, and slammed you onto him. His cock felt like a hard block of ice. Thick, hard, rigid. But so relieving inside your searing heat.

He was so strong, he wasn’t even thrusting. He was simply making you fuck him. The binds on your arms were pulled taut every time you were fully impaled on him.

“So pliable.” Jeongin said as he leaned down to suck one of your nipples.

“Like a fucking ragdoll.’ Seungmin mused. “Look how her eyes roll back every time he fucks into her.”

It was so hard to focus on where everyone was and what they were doing. All you knew is that you needed them to touch you. You needed Hyunjin to keep doing whatever he was doing. He felt so long, so deep, and after a while the sharp coldness eased off and his cock started to feel more warm. More alive. You weren’t sure whether your body was warming him up, or if he was cooling you down.

Your core tightened, your orgasm was approaching fast. As if on cue, a finger landed on your clit, and rubbed hard, rough circles on it.

“Please…please…I’m gonna…I…I…so close..” you cried and babbled.

Hyunjin thrust you onto you harder, digging his fingers into your flesh, and the fingers on your clit became more forceful.

“It’s okay, Hyunin’s gonna make you cum.” Chan cooed.

A sudden powerful surge of cold energy exploded inside your cunt, causing your walls to automatically contract around it. “Holy fucking shit!” you panted. “I’m…fuck!!!” your walls clenched tighter than they ever had before, and you were coming so hard you thought your body had split apart. It felt as though your entire pelvic region was pulsing around Hyunjin’s cock. It lasted so long, maybe an entire minute, and by the time you came down, you were sobbing. Hyunjin leaned over and took you in a deep kiss before slipping out.

“No! No!” you cried out. You were too empty now. Your body relaxed into the bed when a few sets of lips soothed you through kisses to your body. “More.” you whispered softly.

“Shh. You’re gonna be plenty filled tonight, baby.” Jisung whispered in your ear, before he hooked his hands under your arms and dragged you so your head hung off the edge of the mattress. He opened his robe to reveal his delicious cock, and you immediately opened your mouth for him. He smirked as he pushed his cock into your warm, wet mouth. He too was was ice cold, but you noticed he began to warm up quickly.

“Baby likes to choke on big cocks, huh?” he snarled. “I never expected such a perfect little lady to turn up on our doorstep tonight.” he pushed himself all the way into the back of your throat. You couldn’t breathe. But you didn’t care. Right now being filled with cock was more important to your survival than air.

“Fuck. You can see it pressing into her throat.” Jeongin hissed. He was setting himself up to fuck you now.

“If you put your hand on her neck, you can feel it.” Jisung said excitedly.

Jeongin reached up and pressed his hand to your neck, squeezing your throat and making Jisung feel so much bigger. He pulled out to let you catch your breath, and then he was stretching your throat out again.

Jeongin twisted your lower half so you were on your side from your waist down. He straddled your bottom leg, pinning it into position, whilst lifting your upper leg to rest on his shoulder. He pressed his hips, pushing his cock into you, and immediately started fucking you fast. He was hitting you so deep that you were certain he was pushing your cervix deeper and deeper into your body, and the way Jisung seemed to be pushing deeper and deeper into your throat, you thought they would eventually meet up in the middle.

Your hands were guided to wrap around two rock hard, ice cold cocks. You had no clue who they belonged to. You didn’t care. All these ghost men were fuckable. You wanted to touch and feel every single one of them.

“Grrr…I’m fucking coming.” cried Jeongin.

“Let’s cum in her at the same time.” Said Jisung.

Then you felt it. The same as with Hyunjin. The cold surge of energy, filling you up from both ends. Your back arched off the bed as you came again. Your hands squeezed around the cocks you were holding. Cries and hisses rang out around the room at the sight before them.

“Good girl. So fucking good.” Purred Jisung as he eased his cock from your mouth.

“Noooo!” You cried. He leaned down and kissed you. Baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good later. I already know what you’re gonna want me to do.” He winked.

Jeongin was gone too. The dicks in your hands also gone, and you whimpered at so much loss. You didn’t have time to cry for too long when you were suddenly dragged by your feet further onto the bed and flung into your stomach. “You’re such a filthy little slut, pup.” Seungmin laid against you, whispering nasty words in your ear. He’d grasped your arms, holding them both behind your back with one hand. Your hair was plastered on your cheek, and he spat on it before pushing your face against the mattress below.

“Please-” you choked.

“Oh, my slutty little pup. I know exactly what you want. But I wanna hear you say it for the whole class to hear.”

How does he know? You wondered to yourself in your delirious state. Seungmin pressed the length of his hardness against your ass.

“Please…fill my ass.” You sobbed. A collective hum spread around the room at your admission.

“That’s right.” Seungmin pressed his tip against your rim. You still weren’t used to how cold their cocks were to begin with. “Such a slut wanting me to put it in without loosening you up first.” He spat on the side of your face again, his saliva sticking in your hair. You needed him to hurry. You needed him to fill you. You were so fucking empty.

Seungmin’s cock breached your rim as he pressed his body further on top of you. The stretch felt overwhelmingly satisfying, while the coolness of his cock soothed the sting. The feeling of being trapped beneath him, arms held tight behind you, the feeling of helplessness intensified your need for him to penetrate you.

Finally, his hips met the curve of your ass cheeks. “Such a tight little hole. He grunted as he started to grind against you. “Not sure how tight it’ll be by morning.” He whispered low in your ear. He started with a slow, steady pace, allowing your body to warm his cock. “Harder…harder.” You mumbled into the mattress.

Seungmin growled and fucked into you, pressing your face further into the mattress. It felt like he was fucking you forever, yet not long enough. You were mumbling and dribbling all over the bed. Then, the familiar feeling of what seemed to be their orgasms, filled you once again, making you come hard. Your cunt clenched around nothing, and you were already desperate to have someone fill it again.

It was as though Minho read your mind, and as soon as Seungmin dislodged himself from your ass, he was dragging you to the otherside of the bed. He stood on the floor and pressed your legs up into a mating press position and drank you in with hungry eyes. “I love watching my cock sink into a pussy.” He said. “Watch with me.”

You looked down just in time to see his cock push inside of you. “Kittie’s hungry.” He smirked as you sucked in his entire cock, and glanced up at you. “Does it feel good?” He asked.

You nodded fervently. “Yes! So good.” You squeaked. He cocked an eyebrow. “What about your ass?” He pulled out of your cunt and pushed fully into into your ass.

“Fuck! So deep. So fucking deep.” You cried. This position allowed Minho to reach the deepest part of you. He fit your cunt so well, but, oh fuck, he felt incredible in your ass too. You wanted him to fuck both hol-

“You really are filthy.” Minho said disbelief. He pulled out of your ass and plunged back into your pussy.

You knew, you really knew, that this wasn’t a good idea, but you wanted him to do it so fucking bad. And he knew! He knew what you wanted. They all seemed to know. You didn’t have to say a word and they knew all the filthy things you craved.

You glanced around you to see some of the others had gathered around to watch Minho fuck your pussy, then your ass, then back to your pussy, while he held you still on the bed.

“Look how her holes stay open waiting for him to put it back in again.” Felix said mesmerised.

Despite your delirium, you had an idea. You wanted someone to finger fuck you when Minho was in your ass. He pulled out of your cunt once more and as he pushed back into your now gaping asshole, Changbin slipped two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s it, Bunny. Binnie’s fingers stretch you good don’t they?” He purred.

Your hands flailed around looking for cocks to jerk off, relieved to find Felix and Jeongin in your hands. “My mouth! Need someone in my mouth.” You whimpered.

“Fuck, she’s perfect.” Cooed Jisung again. “Chan, you should fill her mouth. She’s begging you.”

“Yeah Channie, you haven’t felt her. She’s fucking incredible.” Seungmin encouraged.

Yes. You wanted Chan in your mouth. “Please.” You were crying because you wanted it so bad. Chan straddled your chest and pressed the tip of his cock against your lip. “Open wide, babygirl. Daddy needs to make you choke.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he pushed his cock into your mouth. “That’s it. Suck on it.” He pushed deeper.

Minho picked up his pace, slamming into your ass at an alarming pace, and Changbin was digging into your g-spot aggressively. You were feeling so used, but at the same time so special.

“Changbin’s got four fingers in you, baby. You should see your pretty little holes.” Jisung panted as he fucked into his own hand.

Chan gripped your hair and started to fuck your throat at the same rhythm as Minho was fucking your ass. You didn’t know why taking their cocks down your throat was so incredibly arousing, but it was. You couldn’t get enough. It was almost like you didn’t need to breathe when they were in your mouth, and you wondered if it was some weird ghost magic.

You were pinned down and held still as they forced another orgasm out of you. How much more could your body take? You hadn’t even fucked all of them yet. You started to feel drowsy and your eyes fluttered closed. Chan withdrew his cock from your mouth, and some saliva dribbled down your chin.

“Babygirl.” He stroked your cheek. “Are you okay? You need to wake up for us. You still need more to be sated.”

Minho and Changbin pulled out of you too and came up to check on you.

“We can’t keep doing this if you’re asleep, pretty lady.” Felix stroked your hair and gazed down at you.

You opened your eyes and grinned with a fucked out expression. “Why am I empty?” You whispered.

“Atta girl.” Chan slapped your face, pulling you out of your sleepy moment, and just like that you were ready for more.

“Come ride me, bunny.” Changbin coaxed you over by gripping his cock and pumping it a few times. You licked your lips and crawled towards him, and a few hard slaps landed on your ass as you did so.

Changbin had a thick cock. Maybe the thickest you’d ever seen. You threw a leg over him and reached down to line his cock up with your entrance. You both sighed in relief as you slid effortlessly onto his thickness and immediately began to roll your hips. “Fuck, yeah, bunny. Still so tight, even after we’ve fucked you open.”

You grinned down at him as you found a rhythm with him rolling his hips up into you in the most delicious way. “Kiss me.” he sighed, and pulled you down on top of him and captured you in a deep kiss. You melted against him, as he cupped your ass and pulled your cheeks apart. You panted into Chanbgin’s mouth. “You want Felix at the same time?” he whispered. You nodded.

Like clockwork, you felt the mattress dip behind you. “It’s okay, love. Lixi’s gonna help keep you feeling full.” he positioned himself behind you and lined himself up with your ass.

Although your ass had been stretched by two cocks already, Felix was met with some resistance due to Changbin already filling you up so good. But Felix persevered, pressing and pushing until he was fully seated inside of you.

A few of the other men gasped at the sight of seeing you filled like this.

“Felix,” said Changbin. “You know what she wants us to do. Are you ready to give it to her?” Felix grabbed hold of your hips, pressing his fingers into you hard, and began to fuck you with hard, sharp thrusts. He snapped his hips quickly, forcing you to cry out in choked sobs. At the same time, Changbin gently rolled his hips up into you. The difference in technique and pace was driving you insane. The feeling of both your holes stretched like this was overwhelming. They were going to break you into pieces. You were sure of it. You were crying and sobbing, eventually collapsing onto Changbin and letting them fuck you dumb. Drool was dribbling out of your mouth onto Changbin’s shoulder, and you felt like you were losing your sense of consciousness.

“P-please…please…ruin me…fuck me…feels s’good…so deep… full.” You babbled.

“She’s so dumb from cock. Look at her. Eyes unfocused. Drooling.” Minho observed.

“Her cunt is gushing around Binnie too. You all know what she wants next, don’t you?” Jisung winked at Chan.

“C’mon fellas. Fuck her harder. She’ll fall asleep if you’re too gentle.” Minho snickered.

Both Changbin and Felix doubled down, both finding a matching rhythm, and slamming into your holes. Even though you knew what to expect from theirs orgasms, it still hit you hard, taking you over the edge with them. The three of you were a trembling mess by the time they pulled out of you.

“Pup, show us your pretty used holes.” Seungmin requested. You happily obliged by leaning your head into the bed, ass in the air, and spreading your cheeks with your shaky hands.

Whines, whimpers, sighs, and mumbled “fucks” filled the room as they all gazed hungrily at your sloppy, used holes. “Fuck, I wish I could ejaculate. I’d cum all over that ass.” sighed Hyunjin.

“I’d fucking cum in there and watch it ooze out.” added Minho.

“Babygirl.” Chan had laid himself on his back, leaning against the pillows. “My turn to feel your pussy. I’m out of patience.”

You sauntered over to him, and kissed him. “Turn around, babygirl. Show ‘em how you ride reverse.” You straddled him, reverse cowgirl, and swallowed up his cock whole. Chan’s cock was ice cold like the rest of the men, but he was much, much bigger. He stretched you out like you were made for him. “That’s it. There you go. There you go.” he cooed once you planted your feet into the mattress and used your legs as leverage to bounce yourself up and down his length.

All eyes were on your hole swallowing Chan’s cock, and then sliding up to reveal just how wet and slippery you were. Hyunjin was lying on his stomach watching everything curiously. A few of the others were pumping their still hard cocks. You even noticed a couple of the men were translucent again.

You eyes landed on the one man you hadn’t fucked yet. Jisung. He looked at your pussy desperately, like he was in pain. He needed you. He looked up, locking eyes with you, and in an instant, he crawled over to you. “Hey baby. You ready for me?” he grinned.

“I am.” you whimpered.

“Okay, lean back on me…that’s it.” instructed Chan. “Let’s push your legs up. Good girl. That’s it. Make room for Jisung.”

Jisung kneeled in front of you and rubbed his cock against your clit. “Please.” you plead. You watched as Jisung pushed against your entrance, beside Chan, and when the tip slipped in you cried out. “Fuck.” you squeaked. “It’s so…fuck…the stretch…it’s” your hands gripped onto Jisung’s arms to hold yourself in place as Jisung pushed further into your cunt.

Jisung’s cock was cold, where Chan’s had warmed up and the difference in temperature allowed you to feel the two distinct penises that were inside you.

“I’m gonna push all the way in now, baby.” Jisung pushed his hips hard, and with your pussy so wet, it gave way just enough for the rest to slip in.

“Fuck, it’s so tight.” Jisung’s eyes squeezed closed.

“Full…S’full.” You groaned.

“Stuffed full of cock.” Seungmin admired.

The other men had gathered around and watched in awe as they watched your pussy being fucked by two cocks at once. Chan continued to hold your legs up out of the way while he fucked you from below. Han leaned over you as he snapped his hips as vigorously as your cunt would allow.

‘’Open.” demanded jisung. You opened your mouth for him and he spat into it before crashing his mouth onto yours. Apparently ghosts don’t ejaculate, but oddly enough they have saliva.

“This what you wanted, babygirl?” Chan nibbled your neck. You answered with a whimper.

“You love being stretched like this. Filled so deep with cock?” Jisung said, panting. “You don’t have to say anything. We already know. We know how after this you want us to all take turns double penetrating you.”

You moaned in agreement.

“One in the pussy…one in the ass. Or two in your tight cunt like right now.” Jisung pressed his mouth against your ear. “Maybe even two in the ass?” he whispered. “Maybe we should get everyone to pair up ready?”

You yelped, and clenched tighter around the two men.

“She likes that idea.” Chan chuckled.

“Well it’s her idea, remember? We’re the sex slaves.” Jisung grunted as he pushed in as deep as possible.

“Good thing our erections last so long. Our pretty Babygirl is so needy. Lucky we're here to take care of her.”

Your body felt floppy, like they could bend you and stretch you however they wanted, and your body would accommodate. All of your attention was focused on the sensation in your core. You felt so full. Their cocks reaching deep inside you. What state would it be in when they’re finished? You didn’t care because after this you wanted them to do it all again.

Jisung changed his angle to concentrate on your g-spot, causing your body to start shaking. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. You were a helpless, sobbing mess, needing to come, but not wanting to yet.

Minho and Felix moved closer, one on either side of you, and took hold of your trembling legs, freeing up Chan’s hands.

Subconsciously, your hands found their cocks and you started to jerk them off.

“You gonna come with us, babygirl? I can feel you’re so close.” Chan encouraged as he wrapped a hand around your neck to choke you.

Jisung sat back on his knees and began to rub your clit as he and Chan continued to abuse your pussy with hard, relentless thrusts.

You threw your head back, wanting to cry out, but with Chan’s hand squeezing you, it turned into a gurgling sound. Hands groped at your tits, most likely Minho and Felix while they held your legs. You felt the tip of a cock on your cheek, and Chan turned your head so you could open up for Changbin.

You couldn’t hold on any longer.

“That’s it, babygirl… let go.” Chan whispered.

“Come for us.” Hyunjin said. Words of encouragement resonated around the room.

The tension inside you snapped, setting off your orgasm. Your cunt clamped down, causing Chan and Jisung to come too, moaning and cursing under their breaths. The force of both of their cold energies extended your orgasm, thrusting you into a new realm of pleasure. It had you pulsing, squeezing, shaking, and then squirting all over their cocks.

“Fuck, she squirted so much! Like a fucking faucet.” Someone growled.

Changbin came in your mouth, and with Chan still choking you, it heightened the feeling of your orgasm and you squirted a second time.

“Good fucking girl.” Purred Chan as he continued to roll his hips into you.

“She’s the most compatible we’ve ever seen.” Noted Jeongin.

“We’re gonna pull out now, baby.” Jisung stroked your cheek. You grasped his arm and shook your head.

“No! Need more!” You sobbed.

“I thought she was meant to be satisfied by now.” Said Hyunjin, confused.

“It’s like the more we give her, the more she needs.” Observed Felix.

“We have to keep going until she’s satisfied.” Confirmed Minho.

“What a fucking shame.” Sneered Seungmin as he approached the bed and pulled Jisung out of your cunt and lined himself up.

A/n: I have similarly unhinged oneshots and drabbles that you may enjoy on my side blog @daydreams-after-dark .

General Taglist is open for both blogs.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @chansbabyg @kangnina @vanillacupcakefrosting @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @enjaken @newhope8 @jehhskz @weareapackofstrays @bethanysnow @queenmea604 @queen-in-the-shadows

Again, my tag links have been messing up. 😫😫

#skz smut #skz x reader #skz ot8 #han jisung smut #skz oneshot #bang chan smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut #lee know smut #chan x reader #han jisung x reader #changbin x reader #seungmin x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader

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aphrodeiities · 3 months ago

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ᴛʜᴇ 1° ɪɴ ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏʟᴏɢʏ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ

involves my own research along with the help of janduz.

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THE DEGREE IN THE SIGNS.

THE DEGREE IN THE PLANETS.

THE DEGREE IN THE HOUSES.

♱ the 1° is the first degree to belong to a sign, which is aries. this degree specifically means being in unity for something, being a singular, and individual and being the divine. it speaks of the possibilities that can be reached, taking control of the future and embracing changes, where you are innovative, in risk and doubtful. it is a degree of the universe and being a trendsetter.

what does it mean when the 1° occurs a lot in a chart?

person needs to become independent, might depend on other people too much and takes time to learn lessons on their own. the native is bright, and charismatic and need to be unafraid to take the jump when it comes to new opportunities. person has to be unafraid to try new things.

THE 1° IN THE SIGNS

♱ 1° in aries - pioneers, trend-setters, dare-devils. they're willing to grab any opportunity they come across, they see the potential in themselves and everything along with other people. they're confident but can be very arrogant and even too violent/aggressive. they like to take the control of their lives, hate it when other people tell them what to do.

♱ 1° in taurus - divine beauty, can be stubborn to embrace changes, this could make them be considered as bratty people. could over-spend and are likely good at cooking, unique way of creating/embracing art. independency with money, possessive as well.

♱ 1° in gemini - can be very mean people, could make people do whatever they want. pretty hands and trendy people. though they might follow the crowd too much and be very anxious. intrusive thoughts and doing things impulsively, indicator of being popular online. beautiful siblings or children.

♱ 1° in cancer - protective over family, willing to do anything for them. a momager, or has one. sometimes can be lazy; could come from a well-off family or could make it happen for theirs. could be the first to move out or could move out really young. great mother, and doing something different to what family expected. emotional outbursts.

♱ 1° in leo - very arrogant and prideful people. known for something specific. can be very optimistic and wise. likes to be challenged, and challenges a lot of people, could change a lot, and has much passion for stuff, the type to make their passion into a job and can succeed.

♱ 1° in virgo - has many skills, being very competitive, can be honest people and very anxious. can achieve success in many ways/work-fields. sport/health oriented and can be religious. the type to realise their destiny is their own, and other people might find it hard to have the native with this degree listen to them. spiritual healing is important.

♱ 1° in libra - dresses like a goddess, like to be spoiled. generous and gentle, likes to please people and be liked by others. a popular person in their friendship group, popular in general. likes to feel like they belong into a friendship group. learning how to be dependent on themselves.

♱ 1° in scorpio - generous. could lead or join a cult, a magician, a survivor, being a successful person, wealthy. other people might copy them a lot. they inspire a lot of people. they're popular and magnetic. can be obsessed with wealth, the type to betray others over it.

♱ 1° in sagittarius - creative people, other people could look up to them. divine knowledge, can be very stubborn, active and direct. likes to be the centre of attention, could get in trouble a lot and can doubt beliefs, specifically systematic religion.

♱ 1° in capricorn - owning a company, very intelligent and clever. being a leader, the oldest relative/sibling. confident, might have authority doubt them and their beliefs. they oversee a lot of stuff, they could sometimes feel like they have the entire world on their shoulders.

♱ 1° in aquarius - innovative and unique people. popular people in their group, the face of a group. successful and wealthy people. intuitive/psychic people. known online or in a community. first to do stuff and having others follow their ideas. divine knowledge.

♱ 1° in pisces - very magical people. psychic dreams and divine energy, can be very insecure and doubtful. sacrifices a lot and strong ancestors/ancestry. believes in strong principles and morals, and can be people who can be lazy and care free.

THE 1° IN PLANETS

♇ 1° in sun - definitely being someone who gets much attention, and can be unsure with what they want to do in life, they inspire other people to creative. having divine aura and likely can have a respect father figure, or they're the person who is respected, can be given lots of opportunities. native can be explosive.

♇ 1° in moon - beautiful people. intuitive/psychic people. "divine woman" and divine wisdom. might follow the heart too much. can be explosive and has unpredictable feelings. beauty spots and having the need to belong to a tribe.

♇ 1° in mercury - very straight-forward people. can be excellent at marketing, and are popular people online if they try. can adapt to new situations easily and might have the habit of speaking over people, loud relatives and a clair. can be very articulate.

♇ 1° in venus - normally the one to initiate the first move. other people could want to copy their style or their beauty. likes to make money and be around friends. face of the beauty standard/conventional beauty, divine beauty but could get insecure easily. can do risky stuff related to beauty like botched surgery. likely to have envious friends. can imply of having a beautiful spouse.

♇ 1° in mars - explosive anger, likely to get into arguments with men/the same sex. very competitive and are likely to get into accidents, be careful with cars! though could have an infatuation with cars. "you only live once" attitude and can be very confident and controlling. can be aggressive as well, depending on the aspects. can imply having a beautiful husband.

♇ 1° in jupiter - very creative people, innovative and directors. could have a God-complex, could be worshipped or could worship others. can be someone with a strong belief/moral system. could have a high horse and can be someone who takes control of their lives. can make many possibilities for themselves and can be very direct.

♇ 1° in saturn - could like to be alone. leader of other people. owning a business. politicians/strong political views. struggle to believe in themselves and being someone who has controlling authority figures around them. can be one themselves; respected people.

♇ 1° in uranus - first to do something and could appear as other-worldly to other people, whether it be aura or features. something about them stands out. popular friendship group, unpredictable/doing stuff on the whim. psychic people. car racing, likely to embrace changes or bring them to other people.

♇ 1° in neptune - clairvoyant or has another clairy. always in their mind. maladaptive day-dreamer. doubts themselves a lot. beautiful person, can get walked over, can be someone who is one with the universe. can be unsure with how they look, very dreamy people.

♇ 1° in pluto - fiery person and mean. possessive and has a specific life path. always aiming for opportunities and can be someone who can be arrogant and conceited. stubborn to embrace changes but life is working hard for them to listen and go through stuff. much influence and popularity. could be prone to accidents.

♇ 1° in north node - very bright path. fame indicator. first to accomplish something. hot-headed. scars on the face and distinct features and can be someone who likes to be dominant. they see the potential of other people, the type to take on any path they want.

♇ 1° in black moon lilith - could be known for something specific, can be hated on. could surprise everyone by doing better than expected. slut-shamed and having dangerous beauty. Dark Goddess like beauty. vengeful and can be against authority. indicator of from rags to riches.

THE 1° IN THE HOUSES

♱ 1° in the first house - divine beauty, structured faces and prominent cheekbones. confident person, sees possibilities every where and can be an opportunist and innovative. they can be very head-strong as well. taking direction of their own lives.

♱ 1° in the second house - beauty indicator, always finding a way to make money. family-oriented, can adapt to different financial changes, nice/divine singing voices. great money-makers.

♱ 1° in the third house - main sibling/cousin, pretty relatives and pleasing or direct voices. might have a lot of siblings/cousins. might've had to change schools a lot. popular on the internet, nice nails ideas. but can be hesitant when it comes to do things. but can sometimes say whatever is on their mind.

♱ 1° in the fourth house - main family member. mother is top-dog or doubts herself. native could get embarrassed easily. religious/active family. supportive family and can sometimes be the black sheep family member. beautiful home, could be ancient or historic.

♱ 1° in the fifth house - performers. karmic children and love life. broadway or influencer. beautiful children and also someone who is generous and sympathetic. ego can get them into trouble, main child in the family, could be someone who wants everything.

♱ 1° in the sixth house - competitive people or has competitive enemies. can be someone who is spiritual/religious. can be a person who wants to make it, can be someone who is anxious. could doubt their own skills, might change workspaces a lot, loves/close to pets. could live a risky life or do a risky job.

♱ 1° in the seventh house - risky relationships. can be an insecure person. someone who gets hesitant with relationships, likely to believe in soul-mates. successful spouse and being someone who wears the pants in the relationship. could be obsessed with romance. can easily get partnerships, could like to feel like they belong somewhere.

♱ 1° in the eighth house - be careful with finances and drugs. could be obsessed with sex. can find out secrets/information about other people easily. can change their life around easily, could be protective over friendship groups, over themselves. could have religious psychosis; lucid dreams and shifting. likely to be in a cult.

♱ 1° in the ninth house - cult indicator. can be a leader or preacher for/to others. having adventures around the world and can teach people new information. parent might've been a priest and could be very spiritual and taking life in their own hands. could have unique opinions and can be someone who appreciates other religions ad cultures.

♱ 1° in the tenth house - having a career they want and not following what other people want them to do. ceo energy and competition in the work-space. much responsibilities and can be the face of a company or a product. any career can suit them, they're confident but needs to learn how to take the leap of faith.

♱ 1° in the eleventh house - internet famous. loved on the internet and can be people who are seen as a Goddess or teacher. can be seen as someone who starts new trends. unpredictable future, unsure of what to do. finds new way to make more money or friends. karmic/soulmate friends, but could be paranoid of them.

♱ 1° in the twelfth house - spiritual psychosis. anxious person. mind can be their own enemy or even fame. manifestors and feels like they have to teach or protect everyone. hesitant people. another indicator of shifting and lucid dream; can be a victim of bulling. expressive eyes. can stall a lot.

masterlist

degree theory masterlist

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cusimmrbrightside · 3 months ago

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I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won’t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

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wheeboo · 4 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.”

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Jade! I have a request for hotch if that’s okay, I was thinking something like he’s dating sunshine!reader who goes to a police precinct with the team and the sheriff/deputy insults Hotch in front of her (maybe she’s not part of the BAU so he doesn’t realise she knows Hotch?) and she snaps and punches him/pushes him to the ground and afterwards she’s really quiet and refusing to tell anyone what happened cause she doesn’t want Hotch to hear that people were bad mouthing him. Everyone is confused cause she’s usually so bubbly and it’s disconcerting to see her so stern but she has to protect her man damnit 😤

(Ps I’m the anon who got confused about rules n you’re right I was looking under guidelines not requests 🤦🏼‍♀️ sorry!)

hi babe, thank you for your request! (and no worries at all, no sorry necessary!!)

—hotch is dumbfounded when you slap a deputy sheriff, but you have your heartfelt reasons. fem, 2k

You're not specifically BAU, but when Hotch calls, you answer. You don't look BAU either in your skirt with your blue laptop carry case; twice you're asked what you're doing in the precinct and if you need assistance, but eventually you get to the centre of the action upstairs, meandering through the detective's desks toward a conference room with a sticky-taped sign that says to knock before entering.

"Hey, Spencer," you say, shouldering open the door. "They leave you behind?"

Spencer turns away from his white board. "I'm more useful here right now. Did you bring the ethernet cable for Garcia?"

You put your laptop case on the table and pull out her desired cable. "Where is she?" It's hard-pressed for Penelope to be found anywhere away from her computer during case times. You must get twenty or more rejection emails a month from your fellow tech analysist. Sorry, working a case :'(

"Bathroom. There's a kitchen if you need coffee. You have a badge?"

You flash your visitor's badge at him. "Get you one?"

"Four sugars. Thanks, L/N."

You flash him a smile. The kitchen is back the way you came and to the right. It's nowhere near big enough for the workforce, three tables and one microwave next to a sink full of mugs. You smile at anyone who looks at you and beeline for a coffee pot. No one questions you. They must be used to outsiders invading their space this week.

"Mean fucking guy."

You tilt your head to the side, hand paused in their cup cabinet above the sink. You shouldn't be nosy, but they're not being very quiet, either.

"He has to be mean, I guess. That's a tight ship to run," says a second voice.

"I'd understand it if I thought they were getting somewhere. It's been four days, and between the string bean and his pushpin map and that tech girl who won't shut up? They're doomed. The boss is either too stubborn or too damn stupid to realise."

You close the cabinet and turn around.

"I fucking hate this shit. Ties in their suit jackets coming into our investigation and chasing the wrong leads. We could've had Miller in cuffs two days ago if Hotchner hadn't shut us down, two days ago! And now another kid is dead, and there's not a drop of remorse on him. He doesn't care about doing his job, he–"

"He what?" you ask. Your heart is beating hard before you've so much as parted your lips, your hands trembling. You screw them into tight balls.

"Excuse me?"

Your opposition is a rough hewn man in a deputies badge, a cup of coffee held between two paws. He narrows thick salt and pepper brows at your question, his mouth screwed into a telling snarl.

"You think Agent Hotchner doesn't care about his job? So why is he here? Why did he agree to take the case?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

You shake your head in annoyance and take the FBI badge from your little cross body bag. You toss it on the table, your beaming face looking up at him a juxtaposition to the glare you wear now.

He stands up from his table. The lunch room hushes but the riot of precinct cacophony stays strong just outside of the door, a thrum that battles your roaring heart. You're so angry you can barely speak, and it'll only get worse.

"I'm sorry you have to hear it from me, darling, I am, but your boss out there? Agent Hotchner?" The deputy scoffs. "He's a fool running blind. He turned away from the real issue here. He's a prideful, narcissistic idiot who's let the power of his paycheck get to his head, and as far as I'm concerned? So long as he stops us from arresting Jaden Miller? He's a murderer, too. The blood is on his hands."

You know you're going to slap him from the moment he says 'murderer', but the knee to his crotch straight after is a surprise even to yourself. All you're thinking for one horrible white-hot moment is How can I hurt him? It's shameful, and you slam your knee up a second time anyhow.

—

"You can tell me what happened now or later, but it's going to be much easier on you if you tell me now."

Hotch hates this part. What he wouldn't give to have someone else here to reprimand you. He understands why Gideon left and he wouldn't want him back unwillingly, but Hotch thinks your nightly phone call may go over smoother tonight if it were Gideon standing in his place. Half the time Hotch finds he's uninterested in scolding you. It's why you stay firmly in your department and away from his bias in the BAU. He can't be optimal at his job while you're around.

It's not limited to telling you off, of course. When you're near, he wants to act like it. He wants to take your hand, hold your arm, rub a palm between your shoulders. He wants to pull you into his lap, or pinch the soft lobe of your ear between his fingers to watch you shiver, blow warm air at the back of your neck to hear your laugh. This cold silence is his worst nightmare, but he can't cross the line.

Well, he can't cross the line too much.

In the privacy of a cordoned, borrowed office, Hotch can sit beside you. The blinds are closed, and his intimidation act wasn't getting him anywhere anyways. More flies with honey than vinegar.

"I can't show favouritism here, do you understand? Especially when you're being physically violent against the deputy sheriff." Hotch watches the soft pillow of your bottom lip tremble in a private terror. "I know you wouldn't do this for no reason. I know. Give me a reason to take your side and I will."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Did he say something inappropriate?"

You don't answer.

"Did he?" Hotch can feel the anger he's been pushing down start to rise. When a woman like you, happy-go-lucky, pretty, and always smiling, turns to violence, it's not hard to picture why. He knows full well the horrible things a man can say to a woman. "Please, trust me to take care of this."

"Hotch, I really don't want to talk about this. You can reprimand me, send me home."

"No. Tell me what he said."

You glare at him. Hotch finds with a heart-skipping hurt that it's the first time he's been on the receiving end of your disdain. "No. I don't want to."

"And I don't want to send you home." He knows how he looks, stony-eyed and furrowed brow. He has to try hard to relax into a more neutral expression. "I won't. Not when I know you'd never hurt someone."

"Well, I did."

"We all do things we don't mean to in anger."

In the quiet, he can hear Emily asking loud questions about what happened, and her almost comedic gasp as someone informs her of the situation. Morgan couldn't find the words to tell Hotch over the phone what happened, just told him to hurry back, and it was doubly difficult to get the story out of Spencer, who'd been the one responsible for standing in your way.

"He called her a bitch," Spencer told him. "I didn't want to hold her back after that."

The sheriff deputy has a good hundred pounds on you, so no matter what he called you, Hotch is glad you were pulled away.

Hearing that you'd been called a bitch set his nerves aflame. When Spencer explained that this was said by a man on his knees after a swift jab to the crotch, Hotch was more confused.

He follows a whim. He's biassed for sure, but he knows you're the most beautiful woman in any room that you walk into. It doesn't shock him that a high-ranking authority figure would take advantage of his position to make a pass at you.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he says softly. "Whatever he said to you, I– I'm not supposed to support violence, but I understand if it got too much. Sexual harassment is unjustifiable, and I'll stand with you and your actions completely."

"He didn't harass me, Aaron," you say, looking down at your knees. You're wearing dark stockings, pinching at the fabric distractedly.

"Did he touch you?"

"No, Aaron–" You sigh frustratedly. "I don't want to tell you what he said because it's not true."

"He insulted you?"

"He insulted you." You glance at him and then away. "I couldn't stand it."

If there weren't cameras in the room he'd bundle you into his arms and kiss the slope of your cheek, because how is he supposed to handle this? You're hitting people when they talk bad about him now?

Hotch doesn't need to ask to know it was bad. You're a well-meaning, well-adjusted person. You'd hardly hit somebody for calling Hotch a jerk. Something severe would've been said to have pushed you over the edge, but, to his detriment, Hotch has heard a thousand awful things about himself from a thousand different mouths, and he doesn't worry about what it was.

"Alright. Listen to me carefully." Your shoulders stiffen. "I don't want you hurting people over me. I don't need you to defend me. I don't want you to fight my battles for me, and I certainly don't want you assaulting people on my behalf."

Your lip again begins to tremble. "I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry." He covers your knee in his hand gently, ducking his head to meet your glassy eyes. He's gone about this the wrong way, upsetting you unnecessarily. He rushes to correct it. "I love that you want to defend me, I love that you did, and it isn't lost on me how much it means to have you at my side, but… You could have been seriously injured. Honey, picking on someone your own size is a double-sided coin. What if the deputy hit you back?"

"I'm not afraid of getting hurt."

He leans down more, imploring, desperate to be heard. "I'm afraid of you getting hurt. Me. I'm worried someone's going to hurt you when I'm not around."

"He was saying all this stuff about you and it wasn't true–"

"It's okay," he says, shaking his head slowly from one side to another. "It doesn't matter. I know what people like him think of me, and he's not in an easy position." He drops his voice to a murmur for your ears alone. "I'm not saying you should agree with him, I can't tell you that I like him much."

You laugh weakly, the sound quickly melding to a sniffle. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I shouldn't have hit him. I don't know what came over me."

"We get angry for the people we care about."

He can't kiss you, really, not at work, but he can show you some heavy affection. It's a boundary crossed. Luckily, Hotch knows you won't report him.

"Thank you for defending me. You can stay on the case if you promise not to do it again," he says, squeezing your smaller hand in his, drawing a lopsided heart with his thumb into the back of it.

"I'll promise not to do it again if he promises to keep his stupid mouth closed," you mutter.

"Is it wrong of me to like this version of you?" he says.

You look him straight in the eye, your usual lightness restored, if dimmed just a touch. "I like all your versions, Agent Hotchner."

"Good. Remind the version that's your boyfriend to treat you accordingly tonight. Okay?"

You nod emphatically, both relieved and chastened. "Okay. Thanks, handsome."

You look tired. Tonight, he'll kiss you like he means it, maybe a touch too rough but apparently you're a hard ass now who can handle it, and he'll hold you close even if he can't give you the attention you deserve until the case is done. He'll make sure you know how much he appreciates your protection, rub your back for hours just the way you like it while sleep fails.

"You're welcome," he says. He has more to say but there's no more time to waste. There's still work to be done.

It'll come easier with you at his side, he's sure.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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myfictionaldreams · 1 year ago

Text

Day 27: Gloryhole - Nick Fowler

Summary: You worked in a club that catered to the wealthy and powerful, with the job to satisfy them all in whatever way they wished. But what happens when the person needing satisfaction happens to be your boss, Nick Fowler?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, reader!stripper/prostitute, multiple customers, oral (m!receiving), degradation, possessive, deepthroat, fingering, glory hole, rough sex, praise kink, sir kink, creampie

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Everyone gathered in the centre of the club, lounging on the lavish couches or on the edge of the stage that had multiple poles and dancing areas. The place was squeaky clean and, in the brightness, looked pretty respectable for a nightclub, showing the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent by the owner on maintaining the building. However, once the lights began to dim and the music turned up to a deafening level, the club became a haven for those with power and money to do whatever seedy activities they wished.

It paid well, especially the tips from specific customers, so you were more than happy to get dolled up every night and pleasure men and women in the back rooms, dance, or perform if it was what they wished.

Picking at your intricately designed nails, you chatted casually with the other girls and one of the security, waiting for the boss to come and inform everyone where they were positioned for the day. To ensure that your skills are kept up to top quality, the girls are usually moved around, and today, you were hoping to avoid being on the stage, needing a break from spinning and dancing as your muscles were starting to feel the strain of it.

The whispers hushed to silence as Mr Fowler strutted in, his signature smirk and crisp suit hugging his body to perfection. You couldn’t help but straighten your posture, the nervous butterflies fluttering in your stomach that always seemed to come whenever he was in the room. He was a powerful man and your boss, making your need to impress him more severe.

“Evening, everyone. I hope you’ve all had a good night's sleep because you’ve got a long night ahead of you. We have some special guests tonight who have heard the rumours on my…samplings”, he gestured to the girls around the room that he’d made sure all had different ethnicities, shapes, heights, eye colours, everything you could possibly think of to appease to whoever would come and spend their money in his club. With his hands in his pockets, Mr Fowler began leisurely walking around the room, addressing each girl and where he wanted them to be.

Your breaths paused as he stopped before you, his startling bright eyes exploring your body, which was covered in a dressing gown as you’d decided to change after finding out where you would be working tonight. Refraining from letting your eyes roll as his exquisite aftershave floated over your senses, you waited for your instructions.

“Sweetheart, you’ll be in the hole. I want you to be at your very best today. I’ll be sending my special guests to you throughout the night as they like to keep things anonymous”.

He only continued with his instructions to the other girls once you’d responded with a nod and “Yes, sir”, but his eyes lingered on your bottom lip that you’d tugged between your teeth.

It had been a while since you’d been to the glory hole, but you were somewhat thankful for this as it wasn’t as strenuous as dancing on stage for hours. You also took it as a compliment in a sick sort of way that he had trusted you to be in his most famous of locations, especially with there being some important guests.

As everyone was dismissed, you walked to your locker and prepared for the night. There wasn’t much point wearing clothes when you’d be switching between using your mouth, pussy, hands and ass if it was what the customer wished for. So, you kept the dressing gown on and collected a pillow, bottle of water, towel, and some lube.

The glory hole was in a unique set of cubicle toilets; however, even this was luxurious and not anything like the dark and dingy glory holes you were used to seeing on porn websites. Instead, it was bright and welcoming, even if it was designed to be a toilet other than the hole in the cubicle at the end. Waving to the security guy who was stationed outside of the door, you entered and breathed in the regal scents from the air fresheners as you walked to your stall. There was a small shelf above the toilet that you placed all your items on except for the pillow, which you placed on the floor, knowing you’d spend a lot of time tonight using your both and wasn’t prepared to destroy your knees by being on them for hours on the marble flooring.

As the music increased, you sat on the toilet lid and scrolled through your phone, waiting patiently for the first customer. 20 minutes pass, and the door opens, the music intensifying for a moment and then dimming as the door clicks closed. Quietly, you switched your phone off and slid onto your knees, getting comfortable on the pillow as you heard the customer step into the toilet cubicle next to yours and could see a flash of expensive-looking pinstripe suit through the circular hole in the wall.

Seconds pass, and then a had cock is slipping through the hole. Your mouth descends onto it instantly, licking a long strip up the underside. It was a couple of inches long, so you had no issue taking the length entirely, which seemed to please whoever was on the receiving end of the oral sex if the groans were anything to go by.

He didn’t last very long as you gathered the cum into your mouth and quietly spat it into the tissue. You’d learnt from past mistakes that swallowing too much cum on a night like this only made it settle heavy in your stomach and left you feeling queasy by the end of the night. It wasn’t like they could see anyway, as the customers were usually zipping themselves up and exiting.

The next few were in similar situations. They were sticking their dick through the hole, and you were sucking or jerking them off to completion. Every so often, there would be someone who wanted to dirty talk, calling you their slut, whore or other unimaginative derogatory names that increased the firmness of their length. It was all white noise to you. You were here to do one job, which, to be truthful, you did very well, so if they wanted to be vulgar, they could because, at the end of the day, you were still getting a fat paycheck.

There were occasions when the customers would push a wad of rolled-up dollars through the hole as they zipped themselves up again, which you happily stacked on the shelf. These were your favourite customers, and sometimes, when you were lucky, you’d have a couple of fingers stick through the hole, wishing to pleasure you and hear your moans. Most of the time, you faked it as it was always an awkward angle, or they just thought ramming their fingers in and out without any clitoral play would ever be enough. It wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that you were faking an orgasm as you scrolled through TikTok.

The night passed by steadily, and so far, you’d received very positive responses from the customers, and even though your jaw was aching and hands tingling from the amount of squeezing you’d been doing, it was definitely one of your better nights. It had also become incredibly warm in the windowless room, so your dressing gown had been hung on the back of the door so that you were completely naked.

The door opens and closes as you rush to shut the water bottle in your hand, swallowing the cool liquid that soothed the dryness in your mouth. Slow, calculated steps echo and bounce off the walls as you wait on your knees for the next customer, not thinking anything of the powerful stride walking towards you. The cubicle's door opens and shuts with the lock finding its home as you try to peep through the hole to have a glimpse as to who is next.

A flash of a black suit and then a thick, long cock is passing through the hole. Your eyes widen for a second, staring at the dick in front of you. It was the best-looking cock that had been in here tonight. The dark pubes were perfectly trimmed. Even though it had an incredible length, it still was rock hard and throbbing in the air, the veins bulging along the shaft and the bulbous tip a beautiful deep maroon that you complimented would look good as a lipstick shade.

Whoever it was, had a magnificent member that for once had your abdomen warming with arousal, and you hoped that whoever it was would ask to fuck your pussy, just to feel your walls stretch around it.

You licked the palm of your hand, deciding to get a feel of him first. Your fingers only just reached each other as you wrapped around his shaft, feeling the velvety soft skin and the firmness of the thumping blood beneath the surface. He was hot in your hand, and as you squeezed him tightly and moved your fist towards his tip, a clear drip of precum bubbled into the hole.

Your tongue darted out, catching the liquid and swallowing. The moan you produced was genuine because, for once, whoever it was, the skin tasted clean and not like he’d been sitting in his ball juice for hours on end. Even the precum had a satisfying salty taste to it, but you blamed those thoughts on the increasing flame between your legs.

Sitting up further on your knees, your tongue began to gently lap at the underside of his cock, following the movements of your fist. As you reached the base, the overwhelming scent of aftershave brushed over your nose as you completely froze, eyes widening and breath stilling.

A deep chuckle that you recognised immediately floated from the other toilet. “Hmm, finally recognised me at last, have you, sweetheart?” Mr Fowler confirmed your suspicions. Your body didn’t know how to handle this news. One the one had it still in fear, throat drying and heart pounding beneath your ribs. However, it also burned even more desperately with the need to satisfy him and do something you had been hoping for for months.

Even though Nick Fowler was an incredibly handsome man, he had always kept to himself, never once indulging in the girls he employed, which helped to gain the trust of the employees. This was a double-edged sword for you, having always found him attractive beyond words, but knowing any advances that you made would be worthless and potentially see that you were fired.

So now that he was here, cock resting on your tongue and in your palm, you were conflicted with what to do.

“You see, I’ve been hearing some very, very good things about the goings on in here. So much so that these gentlemen tonight have booked in with us for a further four nights, which means my profit has increased a whole fucking lot. And that’s all down to the perfect princess in the end stall.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to say. It wasn’t like you’d been going out of your way to pleasure the people coming and going from the glory hole; you’d just been doing your regular sucking and touching, so to hear him speaking so highly of your work had a deep shiver running down your spine and pooling between your legs.

“With all the high praise, I thought it would be a good idea to come and see what all the fuss was about. Test the goods, if you will. Do you think you can handle me, Princess?”

Your eyes fluttered close at the nickname, as simple as it was, the way his deep, sultry voice seemed to kiss the air, making everything seem like the most cheek-warming compliment; you were ready just about to do anything your boss asked of you.

“Yes, sir”, was your quick verbal response before your sexual acts continued. Squeezing your fingers around his cock again, your mouth moved at the same time to the very tip, wrapping your warm lips around him entirely and letting the natural weight of him lay against your tongue.

Closing your eyes, you tried to forget that it was your boss on the other side of the wall and that this was probably the most crucial blowjob that you’d ever given before.

Your mouth filled with salvia, helping to wet his length as you lapped over his size with delicate little licks as your hand moved up and down the base of his shaft. Mr Fowler sucked in a breath through his teeth as his cock throbbed in your mouth. “Didn’t think you’d be such a tease, show me what you’ve got, Sweetheart”.

Your smile for a moment before taking more of his length into your mouth, pressing your flat tongue against the sensitive underside and hollowing your cheeks to suck him in. Opening your eyes, you watched more of his cock disappear into your mouth as you forced yourself to relax your throat, a skill you had mastered since working for him.

Nearly the entire length of your boss’ cock slipped down your throat, causing a bulge with how your airflow was completely cut off, the lining of your eyes flooding with tears from the overwhelming sensation. There was still a portion of his member that hadn’t entered the warm cavernous home of your mouth, so your hand squeezed and tugged so he was utterly stimulated.

“Fuck! I knew that pretty little mouth of yours would be trouble”, Nick groaned, trying to push his hips against the wall to try and fuck your face. You tried not to choke on his length at the tiny compliment mixed into his words.

Pulling back slowly, you made sure to suck his cock thoroughly whilst licking every inch that you could. Now you knew he liked what you could do; you were desperate to see just how much you were able to make him moan.

You deepthroated him again, choking and holding your breath, eyes continuing to water and more saliva filling your mouth. Eventually, you were able to find the perfect rhythm of bobbing your head up and down his cock, listening to the gruff quiver of his voice as his palm slapped against the wall of the toilets as he became delirious due to the pleasure.

It was nearly unbearable how turned on you were. Your throbbing clit was begging to be touched so gently you spread your knees and slipped your unused hand to gently circle it, adding pressure whenever he made a noise like a reward for yourself.

The evidence of your arousal was soaking over the tips of your thighs, drenching the two fingers being used to stimulate yourself. Eventually, you needed more, especially as your chin was becoming coated in drool as the blowjob became more sloppy. Lowering your fingers, you couldn’t help and bust in a moan that caused your throat to vibrate around the cock within as those two wet fingers slipped into your hole and curled.

“Holy shit, do that again”, Mr Fowler begged behind the thin wall. You moaned again as your hips bucked to meet your finger's movements. “That feels so fucking good, I knew I’d never regret hiring you. Do you only offer your mouth?”

You pulled off the end of his mouth with an audible ‘pop’ and swallowed thickly the considerable amount of saliva in your mouth as you tried to find your words. “No, they can have any part of me they’d like”. As you explained, you pumped his cock with both hands, forgetting about your pleasure for a moment.

“Good girl,” his praise was like a sweet symphony to your ears. “Has anyone else used the other services tonight?”

“No, Sir. Only my mouth and hands; a couple have fingered me but nothing else”.

Nick growled as his fingers appeared over the top of the cubicle as he tried to hold onto something. As you wished for a moment that, there was a camera in his toilet so you could see him flush against the wall, holding on for dear life. “So you’re telling me that all those powerful people out there are spending all their money for another four days just because of a couple of sucks and tugs? You really are special, aren’t you? Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to share you in here and keep you all to myself”.

Biting your lip, you tried to stop yourself from grinning, just listening to him becoming possessive, which was a widespread occurrence during these intimate acts. Many of the people were so overcome with the pleasure that they’d decided that they would keep you all to themselves to use if and when they needed you. Usually, it earned an eye-roll, but right now, you were dripping wet and ready to hand in your notice if it meant you could just stay by his side and suck his cock every day.

“I’d be more than happy to let you feel my other talents, sir”, you suggested before thinking it through properly. Not that you’d regret this offer, as you were incredibly horny and wanted nothing more than to please him further.

The wall between you both creaked under the pressure of Nick’s hands gripping the top as his hips began rocking, causing his cock to push and pull through the hole. “Oh, princess, you have no idea how badly I want that right now”.

With great enthusiasm, you stood on shaky legs, ignoring the pins and needles that formed in the balls of your feet, having been on your knees for so long and turned around, facing away from the glory hole. Spreading your legs and reaching between them, you grasped his cock once more and began to position him between your legs, where you closed them firmly, trapping his length between your damp thighs.

You rocked your hips, causing his dick to press against your pussy folds, rubbing your clit and for him, he was trapped in the tight, wet hold of your legs as he fucked your thighs.

“So fucking wet and soft”, he muttered under his breath, and once more, you wish you could have been watching his face, wondering if his eyes were just as glazed as how yours were feeling at that moment.

You had him fucking your thighs for a few moments longer and then decided to change things up, not wanting to wait anymore as your feet widened the stance, and his cock nudged against your hole.

The moan you released was mouthwatering for Nick as he felt the sensitive tip of his cock become lost within your tight, gummy walls. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your hips moved backwards, slowly to give yourself a chance to adjust to his thick size until your cheeks were flush against the wall.

“You’re so big, sir”, you blurt out, body shaking with trepidation at the pressure of being stretched for him.

“I am, but you’re taking me so well, Princess”. Even his encouraging words had you mewling with quivers, wanting and needing more of him.

Leaning forward, you reached out to the other side of the wall, pushing off of it to help you ride his cock in the limited position that you had with the glory hole. Thankfully, Mr Fowler began to fuck the wall, so you were both thrusting into each other with increasing speed and strength. He seemed to fit you perfectly, stroking against all of those special nerves that built the tightening warmth in your core. Each time he pushed back inside of you was like a million exploding fireworks of pleasure to blossom throughout your body. You never wanted it to end.

As you tried to rise onto your tip toes to try and push back onto his harder, your pussy suddenly clamped down harder around him, like it was laying claim to him, holding him tightly and never wanting to let him go.

“Sir, oh my- I’m cumming, Sir, please don’t stop!”. You were thinking of nothing else but the cock pounding into your pussy, begging him with everything that you had for this orgasm to reach its peak.

“I can feel you, Sweetheart. So tight around my cock, you’re doing so well for me. Be a good girl and cum for me, and I’ll give you what you really want”.

Nick fucks the glory hole with even more enthusiasm as you are forced to have both hands against the opposite wall to push yourself even harder back against his cock. Your cunt was squeezing him so tightly he was nearly seeing stars as you finally came. Your knees wobbled as your walls spasmed in flutters through the orgasm, more fluid dripping down onto your thighs as you cried out for Mr Fowler.

He was shouting something as well, but you weren’t able to understand what it was he was saying as the faint, satisfied buzz filled your ears, and the edge of your orgasm began to calm. You were exhausted, but you didn’t stop fucking hard back against the cock until you were aware that there was thick, warm fluid seeping into your cunt as Nick’s thrusts stilled, his cum filling you completely.

It took all of your strength not to collapse to your knees as you both tried to recover from the fucking. As the softening cock slipped out, followed by a gush of cum was when you could finally fall back onto the pillow on the floor with a satisfied moan.

Being back in this position, you were able to watch through the hole as Nick began to tuck himself back into his suit, not even bothering to clean yours or his juices that gleamed over his length. Your cheeks warmed at this sight, knowing you’d remember it for the rest of your life.

Mr Fowler released a deep breath and reached into his back pockets, and once more, you wish you could see his face, but all you were able to see was his waistline and hands as they rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a hefty roll up of cash that he shoved through the hole and landed in your lap.

“This’ll cover any further tips you would have made for the remainder of the night. Which you can have off. Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll drive you home, Princess”.

#nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler smut #the 355 #the 355 smut #nick fowler one shot #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine*

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finelinevogue · 1 year ago

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the best thing

summary - you hate harry after that one night together, but when you need someone the most he will always be there

a/n : mentions of sexual assault, quite intense scenes, crying, angst, drunkeness

word count : +3.8k

pairing : ceo!harry x reader

You don’t know how you got here.

One minute you were eating crisps at home and watching reruns of Friends, then the next thing you know you’re at an exclusive event in the centre of London with your best friend; Leia.

Apparently, your best friend is now dating some actor who is in with all the A-list celebrities and so she can get into all these cool events now.

This party was hosted by none other than Harry Styles, billionaire and CEO of StylesTech. He happened to be the one man on Earth who you absolutely despised. Well, maybe he wasn’t the only one.

Harry became a celebrity when he got put on the front cover of GQ’s magazine for sexiest man alive four times. That’s right… four.

Harry was friends with James, your best friends new boyfriend, and had said she could also invite a plus one. The more the merrier was what Leia had said over the phone.

Now you were here.

Some rooftop bar in the heights of London. The lighting was very low, the music was very loud and the room was completely packed.

There was a dance floor where people were grinding more than dancing. There was a bar, which apparently was a free-bar. There was panoramic views of the city and tiny people below, making you feel like a Goddess up here in the clouds.

“We’re going to get drinks, you coming?” Leia asked you, James tugging on her hand to move them through the crowd.

“Yeah.” You nodded and grabbed onto her open hand.

You weaved through the crowds, apologising for people you bumped into.

You felt slightly too single here. Everyone seemed to be clinging onto someone and yet you were clinging on to a couple - third-wheeling to be precise.

When you reached the bar Leia and James ordered together, leaving you wait for another waiter to come to help you.

You waited a few more moments, before someone whistled behind you like they were calling over a dog.

“Oi, Henry. Serve this lady now.”

You turned around with a disgusted look on your face, only to be met with Harry Styles in front of you. He smirked at you when he noticed your facial expression.

You scoffed and turned back to Henry. “Don’t worry yourself about me. You can finish whatever job you were doing, hun.” You smiled at the young boy, who looked terrified of his boss behind you.

“No, he won’t.” Harry came and stood beside you. “She’ll have a vodka cranberry with ice.”

“She has a fucking name. Prick.” You mumbled the last word under your breath. “Sorry, Henry. I’ll actually have a Long Island Ice Tea, please. Thank you.”

Henry was off, probably to get away from Harry and make your drink.

“Sure your tolerance can handle a Long Island?” Harry laughed beside you.

“Don’t act like you know me, Harry.” You sneered his name.

“Oh, but I do know you. Don’t I? Know you very, very, well.”

You huffed, trying to not let his words effect you.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. Specifically, the night he was talking about. It had been one night back when you were working in a rival tech company. You had been issued to attend a conference weekend, there had been limited numbers of rooms and Harry - the gentleman at the time - had offered you a space in his room.

That night you had too many vodka cranberries and ended up sleeping with Harry that night - although not much literal sleeping actually happened.

The point of hatred for Harry occurred when he left in the morning after you’d confessed that you could see yourself liking him. You’d offered yourself to him for a date together and all he said was; ‘I don’t do seconds.’

Hence, the birth of the hatred for GQs sexiest man alive x4.

“That was one night, years ago. Wasn’t anything to remember.” You sneered.

You lied. It was actually one of the best nights of your life and no one has been as good since.

“Except it was. You didn’t scream that much because you were hating it.” Harry sipped on his glass of whiskey.

“You’re a fucking pig.” You grabbed your drink that Henry had given to you now. “Stay away from me, Harry.”

“Then why did you come to my party?”

“I’m here because of Leia, not you.”

You scoffed and walked off, leaving Harry leaning against the bar in his gorgeous suit to stare at you as you walked away.

The little black dress and heels would do wonders for the power walk away from him. He could see what he has been missing.

You saw Leia and James standing at a table and went over to join them.

“Hey.” You said on approach.

“Hey babes.” Leia smiled as James wrapped his arm around Leia’s waist.

“Cosmo?” You asked, pointing to Leia’s drink.

“You know it. And what the fuck did you get?”

“Long Island.”

“Do you even like them?” Leia laughed.

“No.”

“Then why—”

To prove a point. “Dunno.” You shrugged, taking a sip and feeling sick already from how disgusting the drink was.

“Oh hey man.” James unwrapped his arm around Leia to shake hands with someone. Unfortunately for you, it happened to be the one man you were trying to stay away from.

“Hey. How are you?” Harry asked as they bro hugged.

“Good, good yeah. This is my girlfriend, Leia.” James introduced her.

Leia smiled politely, shaking his hand, and you suddenly wished you’d told her that the story behind the ‘One-Night-Stand’ guy had been this guy. “Hello. Great party.”

“Thanks.”

“And this is Y/N, Leia’s best friend.” James introduced you, not realising that you didn’t need an introduction.

Harry stuck his hand out for you. If you didn’t shake it someone would know something is wrong, so you could your hand in Harry’s and tried to ignore the soft skin against yours. Instead, you tightly squeezed as if you were trying to strangle his hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

You just tightly smiled, not feeling like returning the sentiment.

“Have we met before? You look very… familiar.” Harry had the cheek to say to you. He was an evil man.

“No. You don’t really have a face that I’d remember.” You pulled your hand away from him in disgust.

“Oh really? I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s not.” You smiled, returning to your drink and trying not to gag with how awful it tasted.

“Uh, so, what are you drinking Harry?” Leia asked, clearly sensing some tension between you.

“Vodka cranberry.”

“Ah no way! That’s our Y/Ns favourite drink.” Leia smiled genuinely.

“How coincidental.” Harry faked a shocked face.

“Yeah. Truly.” You rolled your eyes.

“You two must be soulmates or something.”

“That would require two people going on an actual date.” You stabbed into the conversation.

“I guess..” Leia looked awkward now.

“Your capable of going on a date, aren’t you Harry?” You innocently questioned, turning to face him.

Harry’s nostrils flared and it looked like he was biting back from saying something brass. Instead of speaking, he shot back a good half of his drink.

“Lovely speaking to you, Leia. James, we’ll catch up in a bit.” Harry nodded his head to them both. You didn’t miss how he didn’t acknowledge you as he left the table in a hurry.

You breathed a sigh of relief after he’d gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Leia asked you immediately.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“You and Harry. The sexual tension was insane!”

James nodded his head in agreement.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Y/N… C’mon. I’ve seen a penis and a vagina have less sexual tension than you and Harry. Get a fucking room next time.” Leia fanned herself.

“I give up.” You shook your head and downed the rest of your disgusting drink.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“To find a fourth wheel for me.”

•••••

Twelves minutes later and you’d managed to find someone to spend the rest of your night with.

His name was Jordan and he was very good company. Attractive company too.

You two were cornered away in the back of the room in a circular booth. A tray of shots lay empty in front of you and another tray contained full ones.

You were playing a drinking game to get to know each other and now you were absolutely spinning. Your head had taken a hit after the fifth shot and now you were nine deep and couldn’t stop yourself.

“M-my turn.” You laughed as you hiccuped.

“Okay.”

Jordan sat close to you, his arm wrapped around the back of the booth where you were sat. His eyes were deep brown and his hair was light blonde. He looked the complete opposite of Harry, which maybe was subconsciously a choice.

“Favourite sex position?” You giggled immaturely.

“Hmm. Doggy. I actually hate seeing a girls face when we’re fucking.” He replied and you had to take a shot because he answered honestly.

That should’ve been your first red flag about Jordan.

You just laughed instead.

“My turn. Have you ever masturbated?”

“Alllll the time. No guy does it for me anymore.” You laughed sadly.

Jordan took his shot and then moved in closer towards you. You tilted your head so he could speak into your ear.

“I could fix that problem for you.”

Your eyes bugged at his forwardness.

“No thanks.” You shook your head and laughed to try and keep it civil.

“Oh c’mon. You’ve been flirting with me all night and you know it.” His hand dropped onto your shoulders and pulled himself closer. His other hand dropped onto your bare thigh and started rubbing up and down on your soft skin.

“No I haven’t!” You laughed the situation off.

“You have. And I bet you’re all excited ‘cause of it.”

He started moving his hand further up your leg. Due to your toxic alcohol intake your reaction times were a little slower, but when his hand had made it underneath your dress-skirt you gasped and tried to tug his hand away.

“No. Please stop.” You said softly, whining as he tried to push his hand higher.

His face came closer again and he started to kiss your cheek. You tried to move your face away but his other hand was there to trap you and keep you close.

You started to worry because of how dark it was and how hidden away you were. Everyone was busy dancing and drinking away and none the wiser about the situation you were in.

“Give in, you tease.” His hot breath felt disgusting against your skin.

“I said no. Please.”

You struggled to push him off. Both your hands were focusing on his hand on your leg that you couldn’t do much to get his face away from yours.

“You’ve been teasing me all night and now we get to play.” He laughed.

Tears formed in your eyes as you kept pushing and pushing and pushing. You kept saying no over and over again, but Jordan was just not listening.

He felt disgusting on you and it made you feel just as disgusting.

Jordan just kept laughing whilst you were crying.

An employee caught your eye - in fact, it was Henry. You thought he might’ve come over to you and help, since he could clearly see you crying and struggling with Jordan on you, but instead he turned and walked away.

You sobbed then, thinking that might’ve been your only chance to get help and he just left.

You wondered whether it was because Harry was a dick to him.

You closed your eyes and tried to think of happy thoughts as Jordan started attacking your neck.

You tried to think of Harry. It wasn’t hard.

He was constantly on your mind.

“You taste so good. Stop denying me all of you.” Jordan bit your neck too harshly to be pleasurable.

“Jordan, no!” You shoved with all your strength and managed to completely get him off. You were pissed now. Your mascara may have run, your eyes red and blotchy, your breath shaky, but that was all he was getting from you.

“No?” Jordan scoffed. “NO?”

Jordan grabbed your cheeks and pulled you towards him.

“Ow.” You mumbled through his harsh grip.

“Listen here you little bi—”

“The fuck is going on here?”

Jordan dropped your face and straightened his jacket, whilst you turned your head to find who you already knew was there; Harry.

His voice had sent a wave of calmness through your body the second he started speaking. Now he was standing there with a deathly look on his face you couldn’t help but feel relief.

And you noticed Henry standing behind him, looking just as angry.

“Hi boss. Just having fun.” Jordan responded.

Harry looked between Jordan and you. Jordan looked dazed and content, whilst you looked broken and scared.

“Are you okay?” Harry looked intensely at you.

“She’s fi—”

“I wasn’t fucking speaking to you, was I?” Harry rhetorically asked. “Y/N, come here, love.”

Harry held out his hand, palm facing up.

You made no hesitation as you weakly moved away from Jordan and towards Harry.

Harry helped you stand up and kept a tight hold on your hand. It grounded you, his touch.

“Can I touch you? Just on your face?” Harry asked you softly and you nodded.

Harry cautiously held your chin and moved your head to the side, noticing the red mark and blood on your neck. He hadn’t taken note of your legs yet, but he would come to find red marks on them too.

Your teary eyes were wiped by Harry’s careful thumb. You looked down at his shoes the entire time, too afraid to look at him. You knew you’d crumble if you did.

“Are you okay?” He asked you again.

“No.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I-I was really scared, Harry.” Your voice broke and Harry immediately cupped the back of your head and brought you into his chest. You collapsed there and Harry’s hands held you up strong.

“You’re okay now. I’m here, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Harry said, whilst nodding his head discreetly to the two security men.

They came over within seconds and yanked Jordan out of the booth. His protests were no match for the security guys. As he was being escorted out, Harry stopped him to say “See you in court.”

After Harry had thanked Henry with a nod and smile, he walked the small distance over to the same booth and sat down on the edge of it, pulling you to sit on his lap.

Your body was still wracking with sobs, but only because the adrenaline of the situation had been too much for you.

Now you knew you were safe, it was too much.

Harry made you feel safe.

He rocked you as he held you. It was too loud to have a quiet, serious, conversation, but his actions spoke loud anyways. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s okay now.

You heard Harry shout to someone for a glass of cold water, which was brought back to you within a minute.

"Here, sunshine, drink this." Harry spoke closely to you so you could hear.

He held the glass up to your lips and tipped it back slowly for you. Your hands were too shaky to hold onto it yourself, but you managed to drink carefully with the help of Harry.

He even knew when you'd had enough.

Harry's hand cupped the side of your head and brought you to rest back onto his chest. His head stayed rested on top of yours and you both just sat like that for ten minutes or so. It was hard to know exactly how long.

You just sat and thought about everything that had happened tonight and everything that could have happened. Mixed with that, your brain was constantly thinking about Harry and how much, no matter how hard you try otherwise, you like him.

Your heart feels constantly pulled towards him. He's like a beacon in the middle of a storm, safely guiding you towards home.

Just as those thoughts were circling your mind, Harry made his move.

He told you he was going to stand up, so you let yourself slide off his legs onto your own shaky ones. You thought he might be leaving you to go back and mingle with the other guests, so you stood shy to the side.

Harry leaned over to Henry and whispered something in his ear to which Henry nodded.

Before you could make plans as to what you were going to do now, Harry held out his hand to you again - giving you a choice to take it or not. Of course, you took it.

He squeezed your hand in reassurance and then lead you off and out of the room.

You two made no conversation as you wandered out of the noisy room and into a quiet staircase. Harry started walking up the stairs, so you followed him.

It was another two minutes before you made it to the top of the stairs and through a door that led to a rooftop. It was only very small. It overlooked the city skyline, with hundreds of twinkling lights casting shadows over the small space.

There were twinkling fairy lights too, up here. They were knotted around various creeping wall plants like ivy. In the corner of the square space there was a big L-shaped sofa with plenty of cushions and throws.

Harry turned back to smile at you, leading you to the sofa.

He sat down and let go of your hand, allowing you to choose where to sit.

You took one last glance at the skyline and up to the moon, before deciding.

"Wanna sit next to you." You said in a small voice.

"Okay." Harry smiled perfectly.

He shuffled back into the corner of the L-shaped sofa, sitting up and letting his legs stretch out on the chair in front of him. He patted his lap next with a smile. You shuffled over to him and sat on his lap, perpendicular to the way he was sitting so your legs stretched out along the other length of the chair.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"Mhm."

Harry wasn't too sure though, and next thing you knew he was gathering a couple of blankets to throw over your legs and shoulders.

"Better. Thank you." You nodded.

"You're welcome."

"It's beautiful up here."

"I guess it is."

"Is it all yours?" You questioned.

"What? Everything up here?"

You nodded. Harry then took your hands in his and started to play with the few rings you had on.

"No. Not everything is mine."

You looked up at him and into his eyes, noticing he was looking straight back at you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you thought about the implications to his words. You couldn't help but let a blush and smile take over your face. If he was implying what you thought he was then maybe you were in with a chance of Harry liking you back.

"What do you want to have? You're a billionaire. You could have anything you want." You asked, curiously.

"No even a billionaire can buy everything." He smiled sadly.

"Well, what do you wish you could buy even though you can't?"

Harry chuckled under his breath, "Redemption. A second chance. Love."

You tilted your head back against the sofa, your head feeling less and less drunk by the minute. You sighed, looking at the beautiful moon and wondering how lonely she must be up there.

Loneliness is something you've suffered with for far too long.

You wanted to find that connection with that someone who makes you feel wanted, feel loved and feel chosen. You craved it.

You chuckled.

"What?" Harry asked, softly caressing over the back of your hand.

"It's just funny, is all."

"What is?"

"Us, wanting the same thing. Wonder if we want it from the same people." You tilted your head to the side to face Harry, watching him lick his lips as he looked at yours not-so-subtly.

"You already know we do." Harry said quietly, leaning in towards you.

Your breath hitched as he got closer, your heart beating faster than your brain was processing the motions. You knew you wanted to kiss Harry as badly as he wanted to kiss you, but not like this. Not yet, at least.

"Harry, wait..." You said, watching him stop immediately.

"Fuck. Shitting, fuck. Sorry, Y/N. That was completely inappropriate of me. I mean.. After... Tonight and us... and...."

Harry shot back to his original position and ran a stressed hand over his face as he tried to work through his thoughts.

You smiled as you watched him panic, before taking his stressed hands in yours and kissing the back of it softly - right over that small triage of freckles you knew sat pretty there.

"Hey. It's okay." You reassured him. "I'm not stopping you because of what happened this evening. I'm stopping you because I feel I deserve to know why I wasn't enough the first time around."

This was you standing up for yourself.

"Weren't enou-.. Y/N, love. God, I was such a dick. I never, ever, left you because I thought you weren't enough. I left because I didn't think I was. I was a nobody back then. I looked at you and saw someone who could literally be the epitome of sunshine, and then I looked at me and all I saw was a dark cloud that would cover you. I never thought someone as bright, as happy and as golden as you should ever have to be with someone like me. Hell, it's still a thought that niggles away at the back of my mind. But, I've learnt that I can't let those thoughts win. I owe it you myself, and definitely to you, to at least try."

"Well that was as good as apologies get." You sniffled, trying to hold back the happy tears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, for our wasted years. I... I just wasn't ready for us back then and I know I was a prick about it."

"You were. A right big prick."

Harry wiggled his eyebrows and you had to fake punch him for it.

"I'm sorry." He said honestly. "And I'm sorry for tonight too."

"That wasn't your fault, okay? I promise." You squeezed his hand.

"Okay. I'm still suing that motherfucker though."

"You're a billionaire already!"

"So? I was going to donate the money to a sexual assault charity or something." He shrugged his shoulders like what he just said was no big deal - like he hadn't just shown his truest heart.

"You're a good person, Harry, who deserves good things." You moved closer to him.

"I am?"

"Mhm."

"Do these 'good things' include you?"

"I don't know. Do you think I'm a good thing?" You teased him.

Harry leaned in closer. "No. I think you're the best."

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles ceo #ceo harry styles #ceo!harry #harry styles fic

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 9 months ago

Text

I am planning to write an article about all this after discovering your page because like, I fell out of love with Swift as a person a long while ago maybe after Lover (my peak because my aesthetic) but I didn’t actively dislike her until the whole environmentalism fiasco

Even then I didn’t particularly care about her as a person or defending her, or attacking her cos like duh she’s a rich person of course she kills the planet too she’s not special either way

I’ve just always found her a little fascinating as a subject of art in a positive sense and the more I read here… I’m fascinated (derogatory)

Like I still really respect her work and technique as an artist and I have some appreciation even if it’s in a derogatory sense for how it ties into her real life and the skill as well as cunning it takes as a business woman

But it’s becoming more and more obvious the more I read that my perception of her being this person who gets unusually attacked for the same things that every other singer/songwriter does…. Is no longer correct.

And I’m adding this reblog because ever since she started dating Travis…. And this is a thought that came to mind when I first saw her first pictures at a game

Is that Taylor…. Just lived long enough to see herself become the villain

Like she has to understand the optics of this right? She is, symbolically, the white, popular cheerleader girl with the jock boyfriend that she used to shade in songs

He seems like…. A guy. I’m not gonna add anymore insults because that’s not my style but even if he were less…. Questionable politically, I…. She has evolved from having the “underdog, shy girl in the corner who’s overlooked for the popular cheerleader” veneer while being the popular girl (toxic)

Just

The popular girl

Optics and all

Like she is the poster child for Mean Girl now. Does she realise that?

I just saw a post on pinterest calling everyone who was annoyed by all the T*ylor Sw*ft reaction cuts during the Super Bowl misogynists and I left a couple comments about how she just sucks actually so I think I might need y'all to pray for me

#anti taylor swift #I’ve not actively liked her in years so I’m not like #upset over this but just #puzzled I suppose #she did a good job of masquerading to the point that #even with the environment issue I was still pretty neutral #in the sense that uh yeah she’s not any worse than any other celeb #idrc about her either way #but like now I’m starting to dislike her because yeah #Prae called it #(no gloating I was aware she was crappy for other reasons #but prae you were right too about the very specific self centred and manipulative behaviour)#and like I have further thoughts on this a lot more it deserves a full discussion #a full post #so I will #but yeah wow

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megalony · 4 months ago

Text

Junior

This is a new Dominic Luca imagine from Swat that I had an idea for, I hope you will all like it. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff

@jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Swat Masterlist

Summary: While Luca is at work, his wife gets taken into hospital and he breaks down when he finds out she's gone into premature labour without him there.

Enjoy.

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Luca could feel the bruises blossoming on his skin like malicious works of art. He knew the moment he took his shirt off, he would be able to see petals of blue and lilac painting his skin with leaves of mustard yellow. With centres of navy blue as dark as the Pacific ocean from the impact of the bullet lodging in his vest.

He knew the back of his right shoulder was going to be painted and he was going to see various other colours splashed across his left arm from where he collided with a coffee table when he took down one of the suspects.

He wondered if the impact of the bullet against his vest felt as bad as actually being shot. It felt like he had a bullet indent in his skin already, like there was a crevace indented deep into his upper back over his right shoulder.

His head hung down as he followed the team back inside Swat headquarters and his fingers worked hard to hook the keys of Black Betty onto his holster belt where they always stayed.

"You good?"

He felt Deacon pat his lower back, specifically avoiding his shoulder because they had all seen what happened.

All of them had reacted fast when a suspect went to throw down his weapon and accidentally set it off in the process. Luca and Hondo had their backs to the suspect, they had been advancing down the corridor when the bullet clocked Luca in the shoulder. And everyone had been surprised when he carried on with the job. They should see his arm shaking and his expression taut to hide the agony he had been in.

Putting on a brave face didn't wash with the team, but even Hondo couldn't force Luca to get seen by the paramedics. He could still move his arm and his hand and Luca had dealt with dislocated and broken bones, he knew his shoulder was fine. The worst he would have was a torn muscle and he dealt with those almost every other month.

"Battered and bruised, but I'm good." He gave his right shoulder a roll, clicking the joint into place and moving the muscles at the back which felt shredded.

"Surprised you can still drive, Luca." Chris commented as she passed him and overtook the team, taking the lead in walking through to the gym.

"Please, nothing gets between me and Black Betty."

Luca was their designated driver. No one touched the jeep when he was around. It was his preferred duty, he was their fastest and most efficient driver and everyone knew it. He knew all the back streets, the quickest routes, he could cut corners like a champ and he was good in a chase. And Luca didn't drive like he was on a heist. His driving was smooth and steady at the best of times especially in a panic which is precisely what they needed when they were on a chase or a time sensitive mission.

His shoulder had pained him when he was driving them back to headquarters, but Luca hated being a passenger. He didn't want to give the reigns over to someone else.

But Luca knew he was going to have to get a Hell of a lot of painkillers to dull down this ache and get him through the next few weeks at Swat. He might have to find one of those herbal remedies that always worked on his aches and sprains rather than an injection from the doctor. He didn't like needles.

He began to scratch the base of his neck as they rounded the boxing ring and aimed for the locker room. Everyone was slugging along by now, barely lifting their heads, dragging their feet, shoulders hung forward. Everyone needed to get out their protective gear and refuel in the kitchen.

"Tell me we don't have to cook anything." Street tossed his head back with a quiet groan, nothing but food playing on his mind.

"I think there's some leftovers in the fridge."

Luca continued to drag his nails back and forth along his neck, trying to work out the kinks in the muscles, but it wasn't working. He only seemed to relax when (Y/n) was around. He held tension until his wife was within his sights, and then he could somehow melt into a puddle beneath her touch. The last time she'd given him a massage he almost fell asleep straight away. He was always calm when he was with her.

The five of them trudged around the boxing ring, aiming for the double doors at the end which would lead into the locker room. But their walk slowed down until they were barely moving at all when a familiar figure walked towards them.

The commander.

He had one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket and his other hand wiping back and forth across his chin in that stiff, tense manner that indicated something wasn't quite right with him.

His eyes focused on the floor like he was calculating each step he took or working something out in his head. But when he finally lifted his head and looked through those narrowed eyes, his sights set on one person and one person only.

"Luca, can I have a word?"

That didn't sound good. Those words sent shockwaves down Luca's spine right to the tip of his toes like electric shocks beating through his nerves.

He hadn't done anything wrong. He shouldn't be in trouble for anything. He was one of the straight-cut members of Swat, he was third-generation and he was damn good at what he did. No one had a problem with Luca and no one had ever known him step a foot out of line or break the rules. He could get very fiery and worked up on certain subjects, but his heart was always in the right place.

"Uh, sure." His nails scratched a little too tightly down his neck as he dropped his hands to clench them together in front of his stomach. His hands began rubbing together and he raked his nails over his knuckles, doing anything with his hands to rid himself of his sudden nervous energy.

His back straightened and his shoulders squared up, despite the ache it caused in them. He veered away from his team which felt like falling out of sync as he moved to the right to stand in front of the commander.

"Everything okay, boss?" He refrained from scratching his hands and settled for clasping them together in front of his chest in one of his usual, nervous mannerisms. Something barely any of the team would take notice of, the only one who knew it was a nervous habit was his wife.

Had he done something wrong? Had Hicks found out that Luca got a bit ruffed up on this call and refused to be treated by the paramedics? Was he going to insist that Luca went to the doctor for an exam?

"(Y/n) called while you and the team were out, she was taken down to the hospital."

All of Luca's blood ran cold in his veins like he had been submerged underwater. He could feel his lungs stuttering in his chest, coming to a halt while his shoulders sagged and his lips parted, but he couldn't find the words he wanted or needed.

Hospital. (Y/n). That wasn't right.

"Why? What happened?"

"Her water broke, she's gone into labour." Hicks tried to speak as calmly as he could in a quiet voice so no one loitering about would be able to pick up on their conversation.

He'd been mulling over how to have this talk with Luca. He knew he couldn't waste any time, as soon as he knew the team were back he was on his way down here to tell Luca the news. But he knew it wasn't going to go down well and he could see Luca was already about to either blow up or break, he wasn't sure which.

"No." Something akin to a smile fluttered across Luca's lips as he shook his head, believing this to be some sick joke being played on him. "No. She- she can't, she's what, twenty nine weeks. She can't go into labour now."

That wasn't right. That wasn't possible.

They were only just at seven months, they weren't supposed to be thinking about labour for another eight weeks at least. Why was (Y/n) going into labour? What happened while he had been at work? Luca never thought it would happen this early, not when so far, everything had gone smoothly with the pregnancy.

(Y/n) had been fine, morning sickness had finally tapered off and at their last scan the baby had been healthy in every way.

Luca wasn't supposed to come on shift and worry about his wife going into early labour without him being there. (Y/n) didn't have any complications that would warrant this happening and Luca stupidly thought that something like this wouldn't happen to them because they had no other issues thus far.

His hands dropped from his chest to clench into fists at his sides that were shaking like he was desperate to climb into the ring and go five rounds with whoever dare oppose him.

"You need to go to the hospital, Luca. Captain Cortez already went down so (Y/n) wouldn't be on her own-"

"When did she call? Why didn't you tell me?!"

How was Captain Cortez at the hospital before him? No one but Luca was supposed to be at the hospital with (Y/n). He was her husband. This was his baby. He didn't even have a clue if (Y/n) was actually going to have the baby now or if she had just had contractions which the doctors might be able to stop.

Luca was supposed to be with (Y/n) if anything happened. He was supposed to have his hours cut down once (Y/n) hit thirty-seven weeks. They had planned for him to do less shifts during the week when she reached that marker so that when she went into labour, Luca had better chances of being home with her. He didn't want to miss a thing.

"You were in the middle of a raid, I couldn't pull you out Luca, I had to wait until the mission was complete-"

"Bullshit." The word spit like venom from his tongue and before Hicks could try to explain, Luca was gone.

He spun on his heels, his boots hitting the floor with vigour as he bolted from the gym, slamming through the double doors so violently they shook the walls and the foundations of the building.

Tears burned in the corners of Luca's bloodshot eyes that were stinging like they were full of acid. This couldn't be happening to him. This wasn't fair. Why him? Why couldn't this happen to anybody else? He and (Y/n) had done nothing wrong to warrant this. Luca didn't even know what he was going to be walking into when he got to the hospital. He could have missed something important.

Labour might have stopped when he got there, or it could have progressed. (Y/n) could be screaming out for him and Luca was still here.

They should have told him. Cortez or Hicks should have radioed through to Hondo and told him to cut Luca from the mission and send him back to headquarters. They could have continued the mission without Luca, it would still have been a success and worked without him. They had no right to keep this from him and put the mission before the sake of his family like that.

His presence in the locker room sent chills through everyone's blood and his raging temper could be felt in all of them.

Before he was three steps into the locker room, Luca whipped the bulletproof vest over his head, ignoring the ache in his shoulder which was nothing more than a minor inconvenience compared to the panic swarming his heart. He tossed the vest into his locker, along with the holster strapped to his waist. And his trembling hands fought to keep steady and find his car keys that were bundled up in his backpack.

He didn't have time to get changed out of his work clothes. He had no time to get his things in order or change into his sweatshirt and jeans rather than his cotton work shirt and cargo trousers he was still wearing.

He swung his backpack on his shoulder and kicked the locker door so violently it swung open and closed all of three times before finally staying shut. And there was a significant indent in the sleek grey metal from his boot.

"Luca… everything okay?" Street was desperate to reach out for him but he didn't dare. Luca didn't look like he was in the mood to be calmed down and reaching for him might just set him off.

They could all see the tears freely streaming down his face which was burning red like the fires of Hell.

It didn't take much for Luca to get emotional, especially about things that hit close to home for him. But it did take something extremely worrying or powerful to get him to cry so freely like this and right now he was one sob away from breaking.

"Luca, what happened?" Hondo closed his locker, taking precise steps towards the blond but he didn't get close enough before Luca was turning on his heels and sprinting for the door.

"(Y/n)'s having the baby."

***

Luca wasn't sure what he was going to find when he entered the hospital room. It felt like he was running in a nightmare. The corridors stretched on for miles, the numbers on the doors went in the wrong order and didn't make any sense and he could feel the seconds ticking by.

By the time he finally locked his eyes onto the right room and read the numbers over and over to make sure it was the right one, he couldn't breathe. All the blood drained down to his feet, his shoulder stopped aching and all Luca could feel was his heartbeat throbbing through every inch of his skin. No pain, no terror, no numbness, just his heartbeat and a wave of uncertainty overwhelming his senses.

Whatever he had been expecting on the other side of that door wasn't the sight he was faced with.

Luca felt the door swing shut behind him and it caused a shudder to vibrate through his skin.

His frantic eyes did a sweep of the room that was much calmer than he had been expecting. No nurses, doctors of midwives fluttering about. No frantic cries or panicked voices or beeping monitors.

His wife was laid in the middle of the bed, knees pulled up, arms around her waist and head burrowed down into the pillow. Tears stained her face, her eyes looked swollen and tired as if keeping them open was too much effort. And sat on the chair pulled up close to the bed was Jess, Luca's Captain.

The Captain looked the least held together Luca had ever seen her. He wasn't used to the panic in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands and the lack of composure.

"I'll give you two a moment alone." She squeezed (Y/n)'s arm and forced the smallest smile she could before she got up.

Her hand found Luca's arm as she walked past and he couldn't find his voice so he settled on nodding. Hoping his expression was enough to thank her for staying until he could get here. She didn't have to come down and be with (Y/n), but Luca was grateful she had so (Y/n) didn't have to be alone.

When the door closed behind her, Luca forced himself to move, he couldn't stand in the doorway waiting for answers.

Luca slumped down on the side of the bed, feeling like he could just melt into a puddle then and there. But when his eyes suddenly set on (Y/n)'s trembling arms that were slowly moving up and down over her stomach, his head started to shake.

No.

"It's a boy."

No. He'd missed it. He knew this would happen. Luca felt something shift when he got in the car and started his frantic drive down here. Something inside him started to scream that he wouldn't make it there in time, and he had been right.

She'd had the baby without him. They didn't tell him in time. Why didn't Corte or Hicks pull him off the mission? Why couldn't they have told him as soon as (Y/n) called so he could of been here?

This was their first baby. This was something Luca had been searching for his whole life, waiting to find someone to give his heart to and start a family with. He wanted to be a dad. Luca wanted to be a better dad than both his grandad and his dad had been. He wanted to be there for (Y/n) for everything with the pregnancy, but the birth was something Luca had been adamant he wasn't going to miss out on.

"W-where is he?" He was almost too afraid to ask.

It didn't seem to bode well that Luca couldn't see any nurses or midwives fluttering about the room. There was no incubator or baby in here. His wife had been crying for a while, judging by the tear stains on her face and her laboured breathing.

"The ICU… we can go see him soon."

"He's okay?"

Luca couldn't help the shiver that tore through him while he reached forward for her hands. He unfolded her arms from her chest and pulled her arms onto his lap while his thumbs began to brush up and down the back of her hands.

He waited as patiently as he could, watching (Y/n) as she tried to sit up straighter and lower her legs down. But moving made her ache and stretching out didn't feel good when all she wanted to do was curl up and make herself disappear.

"Too early to tell. H-he was so tiny." Another tidal wave of tears started to fall until (Y/n) was trembling, broken cries leaving her lips.

It broke her heart to see Luca bow his head and watch his broad shoulders begin to shake with each silent cry that wracked his body. His grip on her hands tightened and he pulled them closer until he was imbedding her hands into his lower chest, wishing it would do something to relieve the agony that was crippling him.

"We can see him soon though, right?" Luca lifted his head, unable to fight off the hope that dwelled in his eyes.

He had missed the birth, but he wanted to see his boy. He needed to. This wasn't sinking in and it wasn't going to cement in his brain that he was now a dad until he had his boy within his sights. It didn't seem right to look at (Y/n) now and see her stomach already in a different shape. He didn't like it. This was too early. Their boy was going to be so small.

His thumbs continued to glide over the back of her hands and she nodded, calming down one of the many nerves building up in Luca's chest. (Y/n) didn't know when they would be able to go down or when a nurse was going to tell them where exactly their boy was, but she knew someone would come and talk to them soon.

Once he had been taken to be examined, the nurse told (Y/n) that once he was cleaned up and weighed, he would be set up on any machines he needed and in an incubator. This hospital was going to be his home for the foreseeable future. But (Y/n) had been reassured that it wouldn't be long until she could see him and she could stay with him as long as she liked.

Another tear rolled down (Y/n)'s face and it broke Luca's heart. He took a deep breath before he let go of her hands in favour of cupping her face instead. His thumbs stroked lovingly beneath her eyes and he pushed forward until he could rest their temples together.

His lips tried to curve into a tepid smile when he felt (Y/n)'s hands clutching at his wrists, causing him to shake along with her.

"You w-were supposed to be here, with me. I was so scared, Luca." Tears fell down the bridge of her nose and trickled over Luca's hands.

She wanted him here. She had been screaming when Jess turned up in his place, assuring her Luca would be here as soon as he could. (Y/n) knew what that meant. He was on a mission that was 'too important' to jeopardise for (Y/n)'s sake. She had been put in second place, something that was never an issue before. But (Y/n) needed him.

She needed her husband here when she was told she was going into premature labour and it couldn't be stopped. She wanted Luca to be holding her and telling her it was going to be okay. She needed him beside her as their little boy was born, especially when she didn't know if their baby was going to be okay or not.

She tried to tilt her head down but Luca's hands prevented her from doing so. He kept their foreheads pressed together, swallowing down the cry burning at the back of his throat. He couldn't find the will to open his eyes because he knew looking at her was only going to crumple his composure and shred his heart into further broken pieces.

Their noses brushed together when Luca pressed his lips to hers, tasting the salt tears trickling across her lips and down her chin. He could feel her rapid, shallow breaths pausing while he kissed her, allowing her system to calm down. Her hands clutched his wrists tighter and her tongue battled against his and she leaned back into the pillows as Luca leaned further into her.

"I tried," He gasped against her mouth, his lips hovering so close they were still touching and his eyes bore into hers. "I came as soon as Hicks told me, I swear baby I swear I tried-"

"Swat comes first though, right?" There was something ironic, almost sarcastic in her voice, but no anger or malice like the words intended.

(Y/n) knew the game. She knew that the team always told their partners that Swat came first. During birthdays, parties, hospital visits, days off, school meetings and plays, if Swat called, it was prioritised. Family was put on the back burner and (Y/n) understood that.

All the dates they had cut short, their days off that turned into nights alone while Luca was called into work. The panic of wondering if he was going to be okay, the hazard pay that didn't make up for the threat of losing Luca every day he went to work. The amount of times (Y/n) had made a trip down to the hospital when Luca got hurt. The nights she had woken up to find him crying from bad memories or waking up from horrid nightmares.

She coped with it all because she understood. She understood someone had to do this job and Luca was one of those people. He looked after everybody, he protected people when no one else would and he loved his job like it was his family.

But today was the one day where (Y/n) wished she could of come first. She wished Luca would of been here, that he would of been allowed to be by her side. And she stupidly thought that maybe, just maybe, Luca would come to be by her side and favour her over the job.

"No!" The dark tone to Luca's voice made (Y/n) shudder and jump against him. "Not anymore. You always come first, you and him. You're more important to me than anything else in my life and if I knew, I would of left that mission without a second thought. I'll always choose you."

"Luca-"

"Always. You understand me, you come first to me." He was at the point of almost shaking her head to get her to understand.

(Y/n) tightened her hands around his wrists but she nodded. She could see the resentment and the fury burning up in his eyes from not being here in time. From not being told on time.

If they told him straight away, Luca would have turned around and run back out that building. He would of come down here straight away because before (Y/n), Swat was his life. Luca had nothing but Swat and that was okay, that was enough. But now, now he had (Y/n) and their little boy and Luca knew from the beginning that he would always put them first.

If his family ever needed him, he would be there. This was no different. He knew now, he was here now and he wasn't going to let anything take him away from his wife and son. This was where he needed to be and this was where he was going to stay.

***

Tiredness ebbed away in the corners of Luca's eyes and at the back of his mind, but he tried to push it to one side and ignore it.

The first hint of a smile began to form on his lips when he looked down. He pulled the sleeves of his leaf green sweatshirt down until the cuffs were folded over his hands. His nails scratched into the worn material and he rubbed the cotton between his thumbs. An old habit he hadn't gotten out of, hiding his hands in his sleeves.

Both arms pinned over his chest like he was giving himself a comforting hug and he leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the plastic that separated him from his little boy.

His arms left his chest and moved down to press on the incubator, tapping lightly in time with the heartrate monitor.

He wasn't sure what to say. Was his boy going to hear him properly? Was he going to take notice of the sounds around him?

"Hey, little guy."

For what had to be the tenth time this morning, Luca carefully slid his right hand through the small circular opening in the side of the incubator.

His fingers skimmed across his little boy's chest, just a small, delicate touch that was barely there. Luca couldn't find it in himself to be comforted by the feeling of his little boy breathing steadily like this. Not when he knew it was the machine that was making him breathe. As soon as that tube was removed from his nose and he was breathing on his own, Luca knew he would feel a lot better.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a premature baby this small or this close up in person. None of his friends had ever had a baby this early and he was only close enough to his friends at Swat to know and be around their kids. Deacon's kids had all been born around their due date. Never like this.

It was unnerving to think that if he put both hands in the incubator, his son would barely fit in the palm of his hands. He only weighed two pounds. Luca had never seen a baby so small and lightweight. He was like a doll.

"We can hold you later, you know. God, you're so small."

The back of Luca's fingers skimmed across his boy's arm, up and down in a slow motion. It still didn't feel real. Luca never thought that when his first child would be born, they would be hidden away in an incubator like this, kept alive on wires and machines and barely the size of Luca's hands.

He thought he'd be cradling his son in his arms, surprised at how big he was and showing him off to friends and family. Waiting desperately to take him home. Not waiting five to six weeks for him to develop and get well enough to be taken home without life support.

It all looked so strange, considering Luca had never seen any neonatal equipment before.

The incubator was here to make his boy feel like he was back in the womb and to get him to grow and develop. Luca knew realistically that his boy wasn't going to feel frightened or as if he was on his own, but Luca hoped that his touch would help his boy somehow.

He stroked his thumb against the back of his hand, noting how his son's skin was like sandpaper. A bit gritty, somewhat coarse and extremely fragile. If Luca applied too much pressure he might break his skin.

"I don't know how to hold you though, I don't wanna hurt you."

He knew the nurses would get his boy out the incubator and show them how to properly hold him and get skin contact, but Luca was nervous. His boy had cotton wool over his eyes to protect them from the light so they could continue to develop. There was a breathing tube taped into his nose that was constantly making Luca's eyes well up with tears. He had a cannula taped into his head beneath the tiny hat to keep him warm. There were monitoring stickers on his chest, wires stuck to his skin and a tube through the cord where they would feed him.

"Your grandad's gonna come down and see you soon, and I bet the team will be asking about you and wanting to see you."

He couldn't quite get his head round the fact that he could now call himself a dad. He could tell people he had a baby boy. This little life right here, that wouldn't fit in his hands, was already alive and here.

This was his boy. This was the little person he was going to be cradling at night and settling to sleep and feeding and washing and dressing him up and taking him down to visit the team. This was the little boy that in a few years, Luca would be proudly showing off at headquarters and showing him where his dad and grandad had worked. Where Luca was now third generation.

He wasn't going to impose that on his boy, though. Both Luca's father and grandfather had drilled it into him that Swat was his legacy, it was what he should do with his life and it was luck that Luca never wanted to do anything else. He wasn't going to make his boy feel like this was where he belonged. As far as Luca was concerned, the Swat legacy could end with him. As long as his boy was safe and happy.

"I don't know how I'm gonna get through these next few weeks, I just wanna take you home already."

He was desperate. He felt like one of the robbers he was always taking down at Swat. He wanted to steal his son from the incubator and take him home. He wished he could of kept (Y/n) and their baby safe. He wished he could rectify things so their boy was born nearer his due date, when it was safe. But now he was here, Luca just wanted to pick him up and take him home.

He didn't know how the next few weeks were going to work when he and (Y/n) weren't going to be able to take him out of this. They would get to hold and cradle him for a while, they would see the nurses feeding him and changing him and checking his vitals. But they couldn't do anything from this side of the incubator.

Luca wanted his boy to know what a cuddle felt like. He wanted to be able to give him a kiss and hold him and let him know how much he was loved already.

"I must have had intuition or something, 'cos I already put the crib up last month. So that's ready for when we take you home."

(Y/n) had chided him for putting it up so soon, but now with the way events had turned out, Luca felt like it must have been a forewarning. It was one less thing to sort out, but Luca was going to need all the tasks and work he could find to get him through these next few weeks to tide him over until he could take his boy home.

Luca found it fascinating to look at the tiny nappy they put on his son. It didn't look right, being so small and compact and seeing such tiny legs sprouting out which only looked the length of Luca's index finger. And when his eyes trailed up to look at his son's small head, he was relieved that his boy now had a little lime green cap on to help keep him warm.

Luca didn't want anyone removing that cap. Not when he knew that was where the IV line had gone.

Everyone knew that Luca wasn't good with needles. If they were going into his skin he would throw a fit and lose his rag, but if he was seeing someone else get a needle or an injection, it made him queasy. He was relieved he hadn't seen the nurse put that cannula into his son's head, that would have given Luca a blackout.

He was glad the cap covered the IV line which could only be seen popping out the end of the cap behind his tiny ear that was smaller than Luca's thumb.

"I should of been there," His words were quiet and lost on himself and they brought tears to his eyes. "I wanted to be there… I'm sorry, little guy. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He knew his son was never going to know or begrudge the fact that Luca hadn't been there at the birth, but it was something Luca himself was going to have to live with. He was never going to forgive himself for not being there, for letting (Y/n) down and making her think she came second to the job. Luca was going to be there for everything else. For both of them.

Anything and everything they needed him for, Luca would be there. He wasn't going to miss another thing in their son's life and he was going to make sure he was there for (Y/n) too.

Just as he slid his hand from the incubator and went to rest both arms on top of the plastic, Luca felt a familiar pair of arms circle around his waist. And a familiar face pressed into his back just beneath his broad shoulder blades. His lips curved into a grin and he slowly slid his hand down to hold onto (Y/n)'s wrist.

"Hi babe, you okay?" He twisted his body so his left hip was pressing against the incubator, allowing him to weave his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and tug her closer.

She tucked herself into his chest with her cheek pressed against his sternum so her eyes could focus on the incubator in front of them. The feeling of Luca's hand feathering up and down her hip and the feel of his lips against her temple faded out when (Y/n) looked at her little boy.

"Hm. How is he?"

"The little trooper's doing good." Luca spoke against the top of (Y/n)'s head, breathing into her hair while he leaned back so she could slouch against his chest.

Tilting her head back, (Y/n) gently pressed her chin into Luca's chest so she could look up at him.

He had dark circles beneath his eyes and a hazy look in his pupils, showing off his desperate need for sleep. And the red rings beneath his eyes showed off the fact that he had been crying again. All he had done since he got here was cry, not that (Y/n) blamed him when she was much the same.

She could see he looked like he wanted to cry again so she started to slowly glide her hand up and down his back while she tucked herself further into his chest.

The way he slouched and grinned tiredly but endearingly made (Y/n) smile and attach her lips to his neck.

"We need a name for him." Her words were soft and her tone was even softer, melting along the edges while she smiled against his skin and grazed her teeth dangerously close to his throat.

They couldn't keep calling him baby Luca, it didn't sound right when (Y/n) was so used to using their joint last name to refer to her husband. Calling him Dom wasn't something (Y/n) liked to do because it didn't fit well when everyone else just called him Luca.

"What were you thinking?"

"I know you didn't want to name him after your grandad… but what about naming him after you?" (Y/n) could see her words surprised him. His hand tightened on her waist and his eyes shot down to look at her like she had spoken in a foreign language.

As close as Luca had been to his grandad when he was younger, they had their disagreements over the years and they had never been as close when he grew up. The one and only memory Luca was happy to think of these days was when he passed for Swat. He didn't want to name their baby after his dad or grandad, especially not if that would put a weight on their shoulders and make their son feel like he was obliged to join in the Swat tradition.

But (Y/n) thought it might be better to name him after Luca instead. She could already see that Luca loved their son to death and would do anything in the world for him.

"After me?"

"He's a fighter, like you. He needs to be strong, and you're the strongest person I know."

Luca tilted his head down and pressed his lips to the top of (Y/n)'s head, doing his best to ward off the tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want to cry anymore, not today. He twisted so he was properly facing her and looped his other arm around her shoulders with his hand cupping the back of her neck. He felt her hands clutching at his back and he sighed into her hair, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"What about Junior?" Luca knew it would be too confusing to start calling their son Luca and Dom was more of an adult name. But they could call him Nick or Junior, the latter sounded more appealing to Luca. He could see himself walking into Swat, introducing everyone to his little double. His Junior.

A smile spread across (Y/n)'s lips as she pressed her face further into his chest, inhaling his scent as she kissed his sternum through his sweatshirt.

"I like it."

#imagine #swat luca imagine #swat luca #swat cbs #swat x reader #swat #dominique luca #dominic x reader #dominic luca #dominique luca imagine #luca x reader #luca imagine #hondo harrelson #david deacon kay #jim street

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Text

Her Protector And His Hubris

Pairing: Bodyguard!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Being Stalked, SMUT, Mother's Death, Mentions of Attempted School Shooting, and Getting Shot.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 11.4K

Summary: Drew's job is to protect her, but he falls for the brilliance of his client and this turns into a whirlwind romance. What can go wrong?

A/N: Damn, this is so long. Also, this is inspired by the Twisted series by Ana Huang, specifically Twisted Games. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

The sounds of glassware clinking and small talk fill Drew’s ears as he surveys the restaurant. The dim lighting makes him anxious because it impedes his ability to notice any threats. At least, it’s better than when she goes to those ridiculous house parties. Those were not only a safety risk, but irritating to the thirty-year-old man. Her laughter draws his eyes back to her. Ugh, she’s laughing at something he said. Drew doesn’t know what Y/N sees in Sean. This is her third date with him and Drew can easily see that they wouldn’t make it far in the relationship. Sean doesn’t give a tip when they go out to eat. Volunteering in any capacity would be beneath him. And she seemed oblivious to the way he would ogle at her breasts. Drew’s fist tightens as he observes Sean reach over and take Y/N’s hand. Sean brings it up to his lips, kissing up her wrist to her elbow. Drew wants to take Sean’s hands and crush his fingers for the way he touches Y/N. Sean’s touch is consensual with the girl, yet it isn’t welcomed by her bodyguard. Drew knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her as her protector. It’s not his place.

Drew is supposed to be a professional. He’s a bodyguard for heaven's sake; one wrong move and she could be in danger. But what is it about the way her eyes sparkle when she eats those incredibly expensive macarons? What is it about the way her hips move in a teasing manner as she walks ahead of him? What is it about the way her nails glide across the table that makes him wish they are scratching down his back? What is it about her that drives him crazy? Y/N Y/L/N has been his client for a year now and it hasn’t been easy. Not because there are constant threats against her, but because she makes him want to throw away any sense of duty to the job and ravage her. At first, he thought it was just his primal sexual needs that attracted him to her. However, over the year of getting to know her, he realizes he genuinely loves and admires her.

He began working for Magnus Y/L/N after one of Magnus’s competitors threatened the CEO’s daughter. Magnus didn’t waste any time in hiring Drew to protect Y/N. Drew thought that Y/N was going to be like all his other clients. Spoiled. Rude. Self-centred. Greedy. She was none, but one of those things. Being spoiled by her father her whole life engraving the trait into the twenty-three-year-old woman. She was spoiled in the sense she could get whatever she wanted, not in the sense that she would demand the riches of the world. He was pleasantly surprised to find she would always use please and thank you with everyone, even those far below her social class. She would volunteer to read to children at the library purely because she enjoyed the company of the kids. She would not hesitate to help her friends out with money for rent if they needed it. So far, Magnus’s rival has yet to act on his threat; nevertheless, Drew would be there to protect her if he does. It is not only his career; it is his life purpose because he has fallen in love with the young socialite he is tasked to protect. He would lay down his life for her.

The bubbles of jealousy in Drew’s stomach start to subside when he sees Y/N’s face fall at something Sean said. Irritation replaces her smile and Drew feels satisfied with this turn of events. He can see she just wants to get away from the man ahead of her and Drew wants nothing more but to take her back home. Y/N calls over the waiter asking for the bill. Drew knows she will pay for the cheque. She is all for taking turns with paying for dates. Sean never pays though and she is too nice to point it out. It’s not like Sean can’t afford it. He works at the most prestigious corporate law firm, which happens to be his father’s. Drew isn’t going to complain if it’s the reason why Y/N no longer wants to be around the man.

As the waiter approaches the table with the chequebook, Drew heads over to the table, ready to escort Y/N out of the restaurant. She pays for the bill, standing up with a glare at Sean. “I wish I could’ve seen what a pig you were before I went on two more dates with you,” she snarls at him. Drew helps her put her coat on and hovers his hands over her lower back to guide her toward the front door. Sean scoffs, “Whatever. You wouldn’t have been that good of a lay anyways.” Y/N doesn’t so much as look over her shoulder at the childish man. She refuses to let him get to her. Drew’s hand turns into a fist and he leans closer to her. “Do you want me to take care of him?” She shakes her head, “No, it’s fine. He doesn’t deserve any more of my brain space. He’s a pig.” The only thing that could stew Drew’s anger is the need to comfort Y/N. They walk towards her car and Drew holds the passenger’s side door open for her. She whispers a thank you as she slips into the seat. “Home?” he asks once he gets behind the wheel. She nods, letting her attention be drawn out the window. His lip tightens at her upset look, “I’m sorry he was a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.” She keeps the silence going, only returning with a hum in thanks.

When they get back to Y/N’s penthouse, Drew opens the door for her and does a quick visual sweep of the living room to make sure nothing is amiss. He is satisfied with her safety and holds her hands as she takes off her heels. She walks to her bathroom to get rid of her makeup and change into more comfortable clothes, while Drew heads to the kitchen to take out the dulce de leche ice cream from the freezer. He finds her waiting on the couch in sweatpants, an old t-shirt and a claw clip in her hair. She holds out her hand for the ice cream and he hands it to her, joining her on the couch to view whatever show she chooses.

He isn’t surprised to hear the familiar jingle of Bob’s Burgers’ theme song. She has been re-watching the show recently on Disney+. This tradition has been a part of their daily schedule since she made him crack nine months ago. During the first three months of his employment, he would listen to her beg him to join her nightly unwindings. Drew refused, stating it was unprofessional of him to do so. He gave in after three months when he saw she had a hard day and she needed some comfort from someone. She had been late for work because the car wouldn’t start. Her lunch, which she had packed and was looking forward to, was dropped on the floor after an idiot bumped into her. And to top it off, she got into an argument with her father about a charity she wanted to support. Drew knew she needed someone in her corner, so he didn’t even wait for her to ask to sit down beside her on the couch with a pint of ice cream he knew she loved.

They spend the night in comfortable silence, laughing at the Belcher family’s hilarious hijinks. He can speak up and ask her what Sean had said, but he knows all she needs right now is something to get it off of her mind and Drew would give her that. He would do anything for her.

———

Drew hates it when Y/N goes to parties. They are loud, crowded and dark. It makes his job ten times harder. Add the fact that he has to deal with a drunk client and he dreads the times when she announces she is going out for a party. Y/N doesn’t normally get drunk. She rarely drinks more than two drinks at any event because she hates the creeping headache that happens even as she drinks her first one. However, tonight, Drew can see she just needs to let go of everything just for a night. He stays close behind her, towering over everyone in the party, which gives him an advantage in terms of her protection. His eyes are caught by a commotion in the room. It looks like a fight is breaking out in the other corner and Drew wants to get Y/N out of here before it can escalate to harm her. In the split second, he turns away from her, Y/N has managed to get up on the table behind him and is now dancing without her shirt on.

The party people’s cheers draw Drew’s attention back to his charge. His eyes widen at her drunk dance and he tries to ignore the aching strain in his pants. The swell of her breasts is on full display thanks to her lack of a shirt; her skin pressing against the lacey bra that she wearing. He looks around the room to see the arousal of the other men in the room and all he wants to do is punch every single person eyeing her. He needs to get her down from there; if not for her safety, then because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for causing a scene at the party. How is he going to get her down from there safely? “Y/N, Precious. Please, come down from there,” he pleads, holding his hand out for her to take so she can get down. He can hear the boos of the drunk boys around them. He shakes off his annoyance at them and looks back toward her. Her arms cross, “No, I like it up here.” She turns her back to him, continuing her dance for the crowd.

Drew sighs, knowing that was probably the answer he was going to get. If he pulls her down by the arm, he risks dislocating her shoulder or her falling and hitting her head. So he only has one choice. He hops up on the table and sweeps her off her feet. Now carrying her bridal style, Drew gets off of the table and walks toward the front door. The men in the room yell at him for stopping her show; he couldn't care less. He looks as she comes down from the excitement of the party and relaxes in his arms. His heart flutters when she lets out a soft breath, resting her head against his chest with her eyes falling closed. As he heads to the carl, Drew knows Y/N Y/L/N is going to spell out trouble for him.

———

It’s been one week since her drunk performance and everything has been calm in her life. Y/N remembered what had happened the next morning, instantly mortified by her behaviour and thankful Drew was there to stop her from causing even more of a commotion. The party was filled with children of the country’s richest and most powerful people, so she doubted she would be in any scandal tabloids, yet just the thought that she had behaved like that embarrassed her. Y/N knows she shouldn’t look at her bodyguard the way she does. He is there to protect her and he always maintains his work composure, but she can’t help it. He understands her like the back of his hand and can provide her comfort like no one else by doing little things. His contract stipulates he is supposed to cook her breakfast in the morning and he goes one step further by making her favourites. Her father wanted her to have sustenance in the morning because he knew she was one to skip the first meal of her day, so Drew could’ve just made her eggs or microwaved oatmeal, but he didn’t. The breakfast she receives is picture-perfect and tastes just as good.

She gets out of the car, thanking Drew for holding the door open for her. They head to the apartment building’s elevator and wait in silence as they reach her penthouse floor. The note taped to the door is Drew’s first indicator that something is amidst. His hand finds the gun at his side and this pulls Y/N away from her phone. “What’s wrong?” she questions, looking around the room for something she has missed. Her eyes spot the white paper standing out against the dark wood of the floor. He heads ahead of her, checking over his shoulder that there are no threats in the small hallway. No one should have access to this floor. It requires her fingerprint and keycard in the elevator to enter. All mail is vetted before passing on in her mail room and any building updates are left there as well. So there is no regular reason why the paper should be on there.

As their feet reach in front of the door, she is finally able to read the words scattered across it. I saw your little dance, last week, doll. You really should be more careful with showing people what is mine. A picture of the scene in question is printed below. She lets out a terrified gasp, covering her mouth with her hand.

Violated. She feels violated by what she has just read. She may have been okay with the idea of feeling shirtless in front of everyone at the party in her own intoxicated state, but having someone speak about her in that way feels is a violation. Couple that with the fact the speaker had the guts to put the thought on her door and it is an invasion of her privacy. The picture is the cherry on top of the unsettling cake. The person, who dared threaten her, must be someone in her inner circle. Why else would they be at the party? How else could they have gotten into her heavily guarded apartment building?

Drew can see the panic and fear in her eyes. He turns her away from the door, pulling out his phone to call for backup. She can hear him ordering the police to be called and his security company’s tech analysts come down to sweep the whole building. Her mind goes numb with what to do as more and more people arrive to assess the situation. She can only stand there and watch as everyone who comes tears her home apart, looking for anything out of place. When her bedroom needs to be searched, Drew takes the responsibility of looking through it with her cautious eye on him from the doorway. He makes sure to put everything back exactly how he finds it, taking especially care with the notebooks he knows are her journals. He finishes with her room and invites her to sit on her bed while they wait for the rest of the house to be checked. The all-clear is given around eight o’clock and everyone leaves the apartment in search of clues somewhere else, leaving behind a small army of extra security to guard her house. With a new active threat, Drew’s presence alone isn’t enough to keep her safe.

Until they know more about the situation, Drew thought it would be safer to remain in her apartment, where he knew every inch of the building and the security measures in place already. There have been no indications the person, who made the threat, had made it into the actual apartment. Not sure if her cook is the one putting her at risk, Drew takes dinner into his own hands. He isn’t much of a cook, but he finds pasta and a jar of sauce in the pantry. He gets to work, making a note to search up how to make some of her favourite dinner meals like he did when he first got the job and had to make her breakfast.

He finishes the meal and places it in front of Y/N, who sits waiting at the dining room table with a blank stare and her knees to her chest. He sits to her right and pushes the plate toward her to snap her out of her thoughts. “I know it’s scary to be here right now, but we’ve checked the whole house and there is no sign the intruder came into the house. It’s safe. I’m here and I promise I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you,” he whispers. The last part is mostly a silent vow to himself. Her eyes glance upward at him, “I’m not hungry.” The only thing she manages to get out. The unreasonable side of her is telling her the intruder had somehow touched her food. Drew sighs, “Precious, you have to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning. I let not eating lunch slide, but I really need you to eat dinner. Do you want me to make you something else?” The care in his voice causes her to pull the plate closer to her; she can feel his eyes on her as she brings the fork to her food and then her mouth. He gives her a smile before digging into his own food.

She follows him into the kitchen after dinner and watches him do the dishes. He doesn’t let her help out, so she leans against the counter. Once he is done with the chore, she heads to her bedroom and listens as his footsteps stay close to hers. She starts going through her nighttime routine, getting her pyjamas and heading to the master bathroom to change. She can feel his eyes on her the whole time and she is comforted by the fact that he is still taking care of her. He should probably leave her alone. They’ve checked the whole apartment. No one is there and his room is down the hall, so an invader would have to go past his room first without his notice to get to her and that is impossible. He doesn’t want to leave though; he wants to make sure she is okay.

The door to the bathroom creaks open and she walks out in light pink sweatpants and an old white t-shirt. He knows she is getting ready to go to sleep. He is about to leave the room when her voice calls out. “Can you stay please?” He turns back to her with knitted brows. She points to her bed, “Can you stay with me in my room?” “Y/N, I don’t think that’s wise,” he advises, leaning against her door frame. She steps closer to him, “Please, I’m scared to be alone. I don’t think I’ll get any sleep if I am.” This hits a nerve in him. Drew is always caring for her well-being. Telling her to eat. Reminding her to go to sleep. Little things like that. Drew lets out a loud breath, nodding his head. “Let me just go change my clothes and I’ll be back,” he notifies her. He leaves her room and she settles herself into her bed. For tonight, she has to stay in this house, but tomorrow, they’ll be able to get their barrings and maybe find somewhere else to stay. Her skin crawls at the idea someone thinks she is their property and they went through so much trouble to let her know.

He returns in a Western Carolina University t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The sweatpants may be a little baggy on him, yet it doesn’t leave anything to her imagination and she feels her thighs clench together. She shouldn’t be imagining how good it would feel to be stretched out by him. He’s her bodyguard. He must have a partner of some kind. A girlfriend. A boyfriend. A spouse. He’s too good-looking and sweet not to. She may have been living with him for a year now, but she knows nothing about him. He doesn’t really talk about his personal life. She’s only been able to pick up a few things about him over the year. His favourite book is East of Eden; she’s seen him read it about three times since he moved in. When he misses home, he goes to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for his mom’s chicken casserole. And now, she knows him or someone he knows went to Western Carolina University.

He sees her on the bed and his footsteps bring him near her. She swears it’s like there are rocks in his feet because his steps are heavy and slow. He hesitates as he pulls the sheets back and causes the bed to dip as he lies down. The covers are pulled against his chest when Y/N turns to him to place her head on his chest. He doesn’t say anything. They can both feel they need this physical contact to be soothed. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is a little shaken up by the whole ordeal like Y/N. What would have happened if they had been home? What would have happened if they got home earlier and had run into the intruder? It doesn’t sit right in him as he listens to her breaths fall shallow and sleep comes over her. Drew is not lucky enough to fall into the same state as her. His insomnia and need to protect her will keep him up for most of the night.

———

Drew is surprised when he wakes up from a five-hour sleep. Normally, he sleeps no more than two hours a night and that is if he is lucky to get any sleep at all. Something about having her in his arms while he lies in bed must bring peace to his insomnia. He looks at her with a sleepy smile. His eyes fall on the clock and he should probably get up to make breakfast so they can get their day started. He needs to come up with a new protection plan and assess if she is still safe in her apartment. His limbs untangle from hers; he does his best to not wake her up as he gets out of bed. He’ll get hot while cooking, so he slips off his shirt and leaves it on his bed before going to the kitchen. He pulls the door closed but not completely, leaving a little sliver open for him to be able to come to check in on her.

She wakes to an empty bed and she wishes it isn’t. Panic fills her, thinking something has happened to Drew. The sounds of pans hitting each other fill her in on where he is. Her heart swells at the thought that he is still making her breakfast after last night’s scare. She is about to leave the warmth of her bed when her eyes fall on something on her bed. The gray shirt once on Drew’s chest now rests on her blankets. He was so gracious to her last night and took care of her. He didn’t have to stay with her the whole night; he could’ve sneaked out of her room as soon as she fell asleep, but he didn’t. Solely the thought of him brews something between her legs that needs to be fixed before she goes down to eat. She should have enough time while he is cooking.

Her hand reaches out for the shirt to bring it to her nose. The smell of his Versace cologne and the smoke from the cigarettes he sneaks fill her senses. He has been hiding that he smokes ever since he found out she isn’t a fan of the tobacco-filled sticks. She shouldn’t like the smell of the cigarettes, but she can’t help that it reminds her of him. The shirt falls to the side of her head; she uses her hands to pull down her pants and underwear, leaving her shirt on for some warmth. One hand goes up underneath her shirt and the other goes up to her mouth. She puts her fingers in her mouth before bringing it down to her weeping pussy. A wet finger plunges into her hole, causing her to cry out in pleasure. She had failed to see her bedroom door was not completely closed.

Drew stops his movement as soon as he hears her scream. He shuts the stove off, moving the pan off of the hot burner. He runs upstairs to her room. He stops just short of the doorframe when he hears her pants. It is obvious what she is doing by how breathy they are. It’s wrong to keep listening, but he hopes he can get a hint as to who she fantasizes about while she satisfies herself. It takes every bit of self-restraint he has not to pull his penis out of his pants and jerk himself off to the sweet sounds coming out of her mouth. “Drew.” His name falls off of her lips; this has to be a dream. There is no way the woman he loves, his client, is masturbating to the thought of him. He peeks his head through the door and suddenly his dick starts pressing against the fabric of his pants. While her hands are placed on her vagina and breast, her face is to the side, burying itself into a gray piece of fabric. He recognizes it as the shirt he left here before he went downstairs to make their breakfast. What he is about to do is inappropriate; nevertheless, he needs to be the one drawing those sounds from her.

“You made me think you were in danger, Precious. Instead, I find you touching what should be mine,” he snarls, taking a step into the room. The use of the word mine should cause turmoil in her stomach; however, she knows he isn’t using it in the same sense as the note. Drew uses mine to mean an exchange. Whereas, the note made her a possession of her writer and that doesn’t sit well with her. If Y/N gives Drew a piece of herself, then he will give her one right back. She would be an object to whoever wrote the note. He stalks closer to the bed, getting a better look at her soaked pussy. She feels the bed drop under the weight of his upper body; he stays kneeling at the foot of the bed. His hand wraps around her ankle and she yips as he pulls her closer to him.

He takes a chance to glimpse up at her face, which is staring down at him with want. She gives him a minuscule nod and tries pushing his head toward her aching heat. His neck resists her force, chuckling at her actions. “Aren’t you eager, Precious?” he teases, smothering his head between her legs. He laps at her folds like a man who hasn’t drank water in years. Her hands grip the sheets beneath her, creating waves in them. Drew’s eyes narrow at her hands and he brings them to his hair. Her nails graze his scalp as she throws her head back with a moan. He pauses for a second, wanting to appreciate the look of bliss on her face and the symphony coming out of her mouth. His mouth continues to work against her, making her feel incredible in ways no man has before. “Drew, please. Keep going,” she begs. Her fingers bring his head closer to her, clenching around his tongue. He pulls back with a smirk, “You like this, huh? Do you like being eaten out by your bodyguard?” Her head bobs, wrapping her legs around his head. She grinds her hip into his face.

His tongue darts into her vagina bringing her to her climax. “Hmmm. I love the sounds you are making for me, Precious. It’s my favourite sound in the world,” he mumbles, cleaning her up. He stands up and admires her body twisting to the side in contentment. She sits up, eyeing the way his pants aren’t hiding anything at all. She scoots to the edge of her bed and brings him in between her spread-opened legs. Her hands meet the skin of his bare chest. She points a finger against him, tracing down the middle line of his abs. She reaches his lower abdomen and slips her hand inside of his pants. “Now, it’s my turn to hear the pretty noises you can make,” she instructs in a sultry voice.

Her hands shove him back a little, so she has enough space to sink to her knees. She grips his dick with her hand, rubbing up and down. It drags out the most amazing groan out of him. She can the wetness pool in between her thighs again. He spots the way her legs come together and it makes him even harder. “Precious, this feels so good,” he pants out. She needs something to loosen the friction, which means she opens her mouth and brings his length into it. She sucks at the tip. Her tongue swirls around the head of his dick, tasting his precum. “You taste amazing,” she praises before shoving herself further down his cock. He hits the back of her throat and she stays there for a second until she needs to pull back for air. She lets the air into her lungs before taking him into her mouth. Her head moves on his shaft and she continues to repeat the routine for a few minutes. He starts to feel a tug at the pit of his stomach, causing him to twitch in her mouth. His hips start to move back to meet her in the middle and unleash the tightening in his belly. She eagerly swallows everything he gives her.

He pries her head off of him, gazing at the way a string of his cum connects his tip to her lips. “Get on the bed,” he orders. She climbs onto the bed and looks at him through her eyelashes. Her lustful stare hardens him again. She removes her shirt while he takes care of his pants. He dives into bed beside her and twists them both to their sides so her back is pressed against his chest. Mimicking the positions of her hands when he caught her, his fingers play with two of her buds. She can feel his hot breath on the back of her neck as he twirls her nipples to arouse her. He is satisfied by the dampness between her legs and grabs his dick instead to guide it into her pussy.

His thrust brings her hand to his bicep over her shoulder and she digs her nails into the skin. The slight pain it brings is worth it if it tells him how well he is doing to make her feel good. “You are clinging to my cock so beautifully. I think I might cum right now, but lucky for you, I have better stamina than that,” he groans, continuing the bring his hips against her ass. His hand on her breast goes to her hip to help keep her in place. He finds her G-spot, making her curl in on herself a little. His back follows her shift forward and his lips find her neck. She feels his teeth squeeze her skin between them, throwing her head back to give him more access. The grip on her hip is so strong that she is sure there will be a bruise later on. Eventually, she starts needing more out of his pace, so she propels backward to meet him. With both of them now working together, a knot starts to build in her lower abdomen. “Drew, I’m about to come,” she cries out, tensing her hand around his bicep. As her walls start to clutch around him, her face falls forward and he can no longer see her face. He focuses on aiding her in her climax.

The hold she has on his penis hinders his ability to drive forward, yet it doesn’t stop him from hitting the spot inside of her that helps uncoil the formed tangle. He works her through her high, yanking himself out once she is loose enough. She rotates onto her back and smiles at the sight of him. He shifts to be hovering over her on his elbows. His lips connect to hers, separating so they are barely touching, “That orgasm was for you, but do you think you can have another one? This one is for me. I want to see your face while I unravel you.” He places his stiff dick between her legs and looks at her for permission to continue. She feels a little sensitive, except she wants to give him another release like he just gave her. Her skull jerks up and down.

He grins down at her, kissing her as he enters her again. Her slick from her recent orgasm helps him do it with ease. She lets out a whimper because of her delicate state; head dropping to the pillow. In this second round, he is much slower, wanting to take his time with her. There is no guarantee he will ever get to be in this position again, no matter how much he prays to be. He brings her into her arms and buries his head into her neck, leaving prints along it with his mouth. The feeling of her wrapped around him tugs a moan out of him. It encourages him to persist, wanting to be in her vice once more. Another petit mort constructs within him. He desires to hold off a little longer; this must last longer. He can think of one way to be in this intimate moment forever. “I love you,” he rushes out. She looks away with disbelief in her eyes, “You don’t have to say that just because we are having sex.” He freezes, pulling back to see her eyes. His hand cups her cheek; his thumb ghosts her lips. “I’m not saying it because we are having sex. I’m saying it during sex,” he clarifies, searching to see if she understands. Her shoulder shrugs, “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is it means I truly mean the words. I’ve felt it for a long time. There was never a right time to say it,” he spells out. “I love how you ask the cook to buy me uncrustables and leave them in the freezer. I love how you always bring water to your drunk friends on a night out. I love how the universe gave you everything and you still give everyone all you have.” Her heart must’ve beaten out of her chest and jumped into his mouth to his chest because he had her heart entirely. “I love you too,” she confesses, the truth in her eyes. The joy he feels at her words combined with the gripping of her vagina brings him to an early climax. Thick ropes of semen come out of him as he presses forward with his hips again to ride it out.

She follows soon after, pressing his body against hers by wrapping a leg around his hip. Their heaves overcome the room, a reminder of the line they crossed and never want to reverse. He slips out of her, now soft after the exercise they just went through. His body collapses to her side, exhaustion taking over him. She nudges her skull upon his arm, letting him sling it around her shoulder. “Can you carry me to the bathroom, Drew? Please,” she inquiries. He looks down at her with a grin, “Of course, Precious.” His feet plant on the floor, rising to the side of the bed. She gazes at his naked glory ahead of her. He kisses her forehead and assists her in sitting up. Her arms and legs enclose around him, bringing them chest to chest. His hands support the bottom of her thighs as he walks to her adjoining bathroom. He flips the light on and opens the toilet lid to allow her to sit on it. Before removing her from the toilet, she hears water dripping from the shower head. Steam fills the room and he transports her to the shower. Since she doesn’t like baths, she went all with the design of her shower. A room-size stall. Waterfall showerhead. Side jets. A little alcove to sit on. The whole nine yards.

He sets her down on the seat, going to get the shampoo. He returns and starts working the soap into her hair. “Did you really mean it?” she mutters, barely louder than the water. His arms wrap around her shoulders, “Every single word.”

———

They didn’t have a label for what their relationship had blossomed into and they didn’t feel they needed one. She is his and he is hers; that’s what matters. It’s been a month since the stalker incident and there hasn’t been another. Y/N thought she would need a break every so often from seeing the man she loves every single second of the day, except it isn’t the case. It’s Drew’s monthly day off and she craves his company more than anything. He didn’t want to leave her side either, especially with the stalker at large, but it would’ve been suspicious if he had stayed. What they have between them is meant only for their knowledge. Throughout the day, they both found themselves peeking at the clock for a sense of how long until they could be together again. Y/N’s knees would bounce at her desk at work and Drew would wander the streets of New York City, buying anything that made him think of her. As he walks through the front door of her apartment, it’s a real struggle for him to hide his grin from James. James Notting works for the same security agency as Drew and replaces Drew on his days off. James spots his counterpart and his eyebrows connect. Drew is back earlier than normal.

“You can go now. I’m back on duty,” Drew informs, placing the shopping bags on the table. James shakes his head, “Are you sure? You still have two hours left.” “Yeah, I ran out of things to do,” he states.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Where is she?”

“The kitchen.”

As if on queue, the sound of a pan dropping on the floor reverberates around the apartment. “I’m okay.” They hear her yell from the other room. Drew looks at James in confusion. They both know she can’t cook. “Don’t ask me. She’s been in the kitchen for about an hour and ordered me not to enter,” James explains, grabbing his stuff to leave. Drew locks the door after James exists and enters the kitchen to figure out what his precious is doing. “Precious, what are you up to?” he interrogates. Y/N jumps at the sound of his voice, hiding something behind her back. “What are you doing back home so early?” He chuckles and steps toward her, caging her against the counter and between his arms. Neither of them answers the other’s question. She grins up at him and kisses him quickly as a distraction. His tall stature makes her attempts futile. He glances over her shoulder to see slightly burnt roasted potatoes on a pan. The scent of herbed chicken hits his nose and he scans for the source, finding it on the counter beside them. “Are you trying to make dinner?” Her attention shies away from him, which he returns with a finger under her chin. He can feel the warmth growing on her cheeks.

“Yes, but it didn’t go as well as I thought it would. I thought it would be easier. You don’t have to eat it.”

“Non-sense. It looks delicious.”

Excitement blooms in her and she gets serving dishes out of the pantry. He helps her set the table in warm silence. Everything is in place and they seat themselves at the table. She happily serves him food, waiting for him to take a bite. The first thing he tastes as the potatoes make contact with his tongue is a bitter undertone that overpowers everything. He resists the urge to crumple his face like paper. Her eyes are trained on him, anticipating the review of her cooking. He can’t dim the hope in her eyes, so he has no choice but to lie. She put so much effort into this dinner for them. “This tastes wonderful, Precious. I didn’t know I was protecting such a good cook this whole time. You should help me make breakfast,” he applauds. “Here, let me serve you some so you can try.” He selects the unburnt potatoes and cuts her the chicken thigh before handing her back the plate. It’s not like the meal is horrible, the potatoes are just a little burnt and Drew wants to keep the secret to himself.

She thanks him in a whisper. She digs into her meal and he can see she is enjoying it. He lets out a small satisfied sigh and gets back to eating. Y/N is a slow eater, so it’s not a surprise Drew finishes eating first. His head rests on his chin and he resorts to gawking at her. She can feel his stare on her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Because you are. And I would kill anyone who would dare to hurt you. Your heart belongs to me.”

“And yours belongs to me,” she repeats, leaning over to give him a kiss. She doesn’t have to worry about being safe. As long as Drew is around, she has nothing to worry about.

———

The weekend means they can spend all day in her apartment. Her work week was left behind for forty-eight heavenly hours of the two of them together. While cuddling on her couch with the TV on, he realized they hadn’t checked the mail since Friday, so he went down to get it. He listens to the whine of the metal door opening as he reaches in to take the mail out. He looks through the different envelopes and finds one with his name written across the front. The writing is vaguely familiar. His hand tears open the paper and pulls out the letter. You don’t deserve her. She is mine. Under the writing is a picture of his longing glances at her. It is clear to anyone the feelings held within him. He folds the paper and puts it into his pocket. He should probably send it to the lab for analysis, but it would bring suspicion to his relationship with Y/N. He doesn’t need anyone’s help. He could keep her safe by himself; nothing would happen to her with him by her side. Plus, this is more of a threat to him and he isn’t scared by some loser's threats.

He enters the apartment to find the couch now empty. He can hear the shower running and his mouth turns into a curve. She has been putting off showering while he is around because it always ends up with them having sex. He decides to give her a break and rests on the couch. Something on the coffee table piques his interest.

It’s a thick rectangle wrapped in purple paper and pulled together by a red ribbon. There is no note that he can see. He rips open the gift and finds a special edition of East of Eden. It’s a stunning hardcover copy with golden sprayed edges. He thumbs through the pages and lands on the title page. She had written on it. I hope you like this special edition of the book. It’s just a little gift to show my appreciation for everything you do for me. I love you so much. -Y/N <3. His heart is touched by her actions and tears form in his eyes. The distant sound of water hitting the shower tiles is replaced by her footsteps approaching her living room. Her hair is being held up by a green towel and a white one is wrapped around her breasts to cover her. “You’re back! And you found my gift. Do you like it?” she inquires, joining him on the couch again. He brings her onto his lap; his hand resting on her bare thigh. “I did find it and I love it. Thank you, Precious.” His lips kiss her neck and his hand makes his way to the front of her body. “After I’m done thanking you for the gift, I’m also going to have to punish you for taking a shower without me,” he growls against her skin, plunging into her now-drenched hole.

———

Drew sits across from her at the cocktail bar, enjoying the way she laughs at the stupid joke he made. It is inappropriate for him to be sitting with her in public. No one is around to object to it though. The patrons of the dive bar could care less about who the couple are to each other. This isn’t the type of establishment Y/N could often be found at, except she has a point to prove.

They had been trying to figure out what to eat for dinner when Drew made a teasing remark. “What should we get for dinner? We can order Fortunas, Petite Coquette, or… Why are you looking at me like that?” she grumbled. He shrugged, “Everything you eat is so fancy. Have you ever eaten food that you don’t eat with a fork and knife?” She gently slaps his biceps. “I eat sushi,” she argued. His brows raised, “You use chopsticks for those. Let me reword my questions. Do you ever use your hands to eat something?” “Yes! I use my hands to eat oysters,” she pointed out, continuing to scroll through their food options. “You are still proving my point, Precious,” he teased. Y/N got up from the dining room table and headed to her room. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to get ready. You should too. I’m going to prove you wrong,” she told him.

This is how they find themselves in a dive bar in Brooklyn. The waitress arrives with their food and places it in between them. They both thank her as she walks off. Drew studies the wings on the plate and his eyes fall on her again. “Are you really going to eat those with your hands?” She flicks her head up and down, reaching over to grab a wing. He delights in the way the sauce smears across her fingers. She bites into the meat, humming at the taste. “See, I’m using my fingers,” she demonstrates. Her stained hands are held up to his face. He takes it into his hold and licks a little bit of sauce off of it, “Hmm, you did. You picked a good sauce. I like it.” He picks up his own wing to devour. “How are your siblings?” she asks. He gives her a surprised look, “You remember I have siblings?” “Of course, it’s one of the only things I know about you. I just realized we know so little about each other,” she notes, wiping her hands with a napkin.

“My siblings are good. One of my sisters just had a baby girl. What else do you want to know?”

“Aww, I love babies. You’ll have to tell me more about the baby later. As for what else I want to know… hmmm… When we first had sex, you were wearing a Western North Carolina t-shirt. Did you go to school there?”

“I did. I double majored in English, and Screen and Television.”

“Really? I can see why you did English because you are always reading when we are home, but Screen and Television? If you majored in those, then why become a bodyguard?”

His shoulders shrug and his vision drops to the food. “Yes, screen and television. I’ve always wanted to be an actor, but once I graduated, I realized it wasn’t practical. So I enlisted right after I graduated and after six years in the service, I decided not to renew my contract. It got too much for me,” he recounts. She can see how his tone has mellowed out and she reaches across the table to hold his hand. “It must have been a hard few years. Thank you for protecting our country. In a way, we can technically say you were protecting me that whole time too. How did you get into the security business?” His thumb circles the skin on the back of her hand, “You’re welcome. And I guess you could say I was made to protect you. After I left the army, it just made sense to become a bodyguard. The skills I learnt in the army transferred over quite nicely.” “Makes sense. You are very good at your job. I always feel very secure when you are around. How long have you been a bodyguard?” she continues the conversation. “I’m coming up on two years on Sunday, actually. I did one year as protection detail for a bunch of different clients and the almost one year I have with you.” She takes this information in and files it away for when they get home.

The waitress returns with another plate of wings and this time, there are carrots and celery on the side. Y/N’s face scrunches at the sight of the celery. “Yuck, you can eat all of the celery. I don’t like it,” she imitates like a child. She picks up a green stick and waves it at his mouth. He tilts his head to the side, “How can you not like celery? Have you tried it?” Her head shifts from side to side, “No, but my mom didn’t like it.” The conversation pauses at the mention of Katrina Y/L/N. Drew knows the story of Y/N’s mother.

Katrina Y/L/N was a guidance counsellor for a public high school in an underdeveloped part of New York. She didn’t work for the money. She worked to truly make a difference in the lives of children who needed her. Unfortunately, it was what brought her life to an end. One of her students had been expelled and he had returned to the school for his revenge on everyone, who he blamed for his expulsion. Katrina had been able to stop him before anyone could get hurt, except when the police arrived, they didn’t know. One wrong misinterpretation resulted in Katrina falling to the floor and she was bleeding to death. Y/N’s father wanted to sue the police department for all it was worth and obliterate the officer, who had accidentally shot his wife. Y/N talked Magnus down from his vengeance. They had all the money they needed and nothing could bring Katrina back. Katrina had chosen to save the young boy from the bullet and twelve-year-old Y/N had a much better idea of how she could honour her mother. With her father’s help, she designed outfits for a fashion show. Tickets were charged to some of the biggest names in the business and all proceeds went to an organization that helped renovate public schools.

Drew had learnt all of this when he was doing research on Y/N after getting his job. He remembers going through the pictures of Y/N waiting outside of the school for her mom to come back. He remembers the pain on her face when the coroner wheeled her mother out on a gurney. He wished he could’ve been there to keep Katrina safe for Y/N, but nineteen-year-old him wouldn’t have had any idea what to do.

“Well, you aren’t your mother. So you should try it,” he suggests, wanting to ease her discomfort from the thought of her mom. She considers his order and takes a bite out of the stringy vegetable. Her face shows her discomfort at the taste in her mouth. Drew chortles at her expression, taking the stalk out of her hand. “Okay, so maybe celery isn’t your thing. At least, you have me to eat all the mean celery,” he jokes and finishes the rest of the disliked marshland plant. Y/N’s lips don’t rise at his joke, “My mom always used to say I would make an amazing fashion designer one day. She would let me style her outfits for different events with my dad. Could you imagine? Eight-year-old me going through my mom’s closet and picking out whatever I wanted her to wear. I look back at some of her old event pictures and think she really must have loved me to have worn some of the things I chose.” He smiles at the imagery of the girl he loves playing dress up with her mom. “She did love you. You know that right?” he confirms. The corner of her mouth softly raises, “I know. She told me it every second she could. I just wish I could know if she is proud of me. She may have said I would be a good fashion designer, but I want to know if she is proud of my choice to actually pursue it. I’m not doing anything noble like her.”

He can sense the comfort she needs from him and he gets up to head behind her chair. His arms wrap around her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace. His lips meet the skin of her cheek and then the shell of her ear. “She would be so proud of you. Precious, what you are doing is noble. You took what you love and you used it to give back to the community. That is noble,” he reassures. He can feel her breath hitch at such physical touch from him in public. They’ve never been this close to each other in proximity to other people and she is thanking the fact no one in this bar would care about the daughter of a big CEO. Her arms reach out behind her to bring him in closer, “Thank you. You made me feel better. Do you think I can talk to you more about my mom? My dad rarely likes to talk about her.”

“I will always be here to talk about your mom if you want, Precious.”

———

All week Y/N would return home from work and immediately shut herself in her home office, ordering Drew to stay out of the room. He doesn’t know what she is up to. Maybe she just needs some space from him. He starts suspecting that isn’t the logic behind her motives once she demands Drew stay in his bedroom until she comes to get him. He hasn’t stayed more than ten minutes in what used to be his old room following them getting together. Her room has practically become his. He could cheat and look at the security cameras in her living room, but he doesn’t want to spoil whatever surprise she has for him. The sound of the front door opening causes nerves to grow in him, except he trusts she wouldn’t do anything to put herself in danger. He busies himself with reading the copy of The Son by Philipp Meyer Y/N bought him.

About an hour later, a quiet knock on the door captures his attention. “You can come out now,” she announces and opens the door for him. The open door reveals her wearing the pink sundress he loves so much on her. She beckons him to follow with a massive grin. Their feet slap against the hardwood floor and as they round into the living room, he finds a space full of people. He examines the faces of everyone. He recognizes every single one. Her father. James and their co-workers. His friends. Some of his army buddies. And lastly, his family. Hung across the fireplace is a banner that says Happy Two Years As A Bodyguard, Drew! Everyone cheers at his arrival and he searches for Y/N for answers. She sees his face, “It’s a party to celebrate two years of being a bodyguard.” He wants to hug her, except it would be inappropriate in the opinion of the party guests. To them, Drew and Y/N are just a bodyguard and his clients. The only argument as to why Y/N throws a party for him is her personality. She loves commemorating other people’s accomplishments.

“This is fantastic, Y/N. Thank you,” he acknowledges, wishing he could give her a kiss. She casts her sights downward and swings her arms behind her back, “It was nothing. I had fun planning it and making the decorations. It kept me busy.” Drew starts to examine the decorations with a newfound appreciation upon learning she crafted them by hand. “You did all of these. Y/N, these are incredible,” he acclaims. He is impressed by her craftiness.

He recognizes the smell of his mom’s chicken casserole and his stomach grumbles for a taste. The swarming of his loved ones to congratulate him stops him from being able to do it. Drew is catching up with an old army friend when Y/N presents him with a plate of his favourite foods. “Sorry to interrupt. Drew hasn’t eaten all day. I want to make sure he does at some point today,” she explicates in advance of her walking away to chat with Magnus. His world starts to spin on its own axis. One where she is the axis at the center of his earth. Her effort to concern herself with his well-being and to plan a party for him shows her adoration for him. He couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend and he thinks it is time to officially label who they are to each other. Not to the world. Merely for them to know what they mean to each other.

———

The guests left a few hours ago after helping with the clean-up, leaving Y/N and Drew to relax on her couch. The words on the page aren’t being processed with Y/N’s head on his lap. She flips through the pages of her magazine. He perceives the way she halts between articles to write down some notes. His digits drag through her hair in admiration. This moment is perfect to legitimize their relationship. “So,” he begins to fixate her view of him. She drops the magazine to her chest. “I was thinking that maybe I could start calling you my girlfriend. Obviously, I won’t be telling other people, but I just think it could be something for us. To prove our devotion to each other.” She beams at him and sits up. Her lips smack on his. “I would be happy to be your girlfriend,” she confides to him. The pressure in his heart diminishes and beats at a steady pace. He feels like the world is in his hands because she quite literally is.

———

Drew acknowledges it isn’t logical to keep Y/N from the outside world. She can’t stay in the comfort of their home forever. Besides, he treasures the way her hair is a wave in the wind and her eyes are stars in the sunlight. Freshly cut grass nauseates him and he fights through the feeling to keep doing his job. She wishes he could sit with her during her picnic, yet she comprehends his need to stay vigilant. The wine glass in her hand meets her lips and she gulps down the aromatic alcohol. She takes a bite of the brie from the charcuterie board. The breeze from the wind almost carries her magazine into the air. He has to hold in his enjoyment of her chasing after the booklet. She approaches him, finally catching it in front of him. She straightens up with a sense of accomplishment; however, her expression plunges alongside her widening eyes.

He can’t ask her what is wrong. Her body shoots around him so their backs are facing each other and then he hears it. The one piercing crack that is so familiar to him. His certainty of what the sound was is confirmed when more booms don’t follow. It’s not fireworks. Her body stumbles into his as he wrenches in her direction. She collapses in his arms.

It shocks her that she couldn’t really feel anything at first. The pressure on her shoulder reminds her of when she got her ears pierced. The bullet breaks through her skin like the puncture of a needle. The next thing she feels is nothing, probably because of the adrenaline going through her body. A crimson stain flowers on her shirt, resembling a rose. As it spreads, the numbness switches to a burn. She starts to think she is being felted into a small wool animal. The whip of another gunshot causes panic to grow in her. What if Drew was hurt? The voices around her start to blur together, becoming one big mush of noise to her. Her eyelids droop like an unsupported bridge, slinging between open and closed until she is kept in a state of unconsciousness. Is this how her mom felt that day, eleven years ago? Is this the day she gets to be reunited with her mother again?

———

Their environment should’ve been under constant scrutiny from him. He shouldn’t have let himself be distracted by her. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be in surgery right now. She wouldn’t have had to save him from that bullet. His hands and shirt are covered with her blood thanks to the disconnect of her right axillary artery. He doesn’t want to chance missing an update from the doctor if he gets cleaned up. The doctors are uncertain about her fate, but they are doing everything they can to help her. He wishes he could say the same about himself.

Drew is aware of his appearance because of the hush that comes over the room. Hospitals are already quiet, but this is different. The silence has a hollowness to it. “Where is my daughter?” Magnus roars as he storms toward Drew. Drew's hunched posture adjusts at the entrance of his boss. He rises to his feet, trying to hide his tears. “She’s in surgery,” he manages to croak out. Magnus’ heart tumbles into his belly, “What do you mean she is in surgery? What happened?” “W- She was having a picnic, sir,” he stutters out. “She was standing in front of me and then all of a sudden she saw something that caused her to put herself behind me. She took the bullet for me.” Magnus’ eyes narrow and his eyebrows form a v, “You were supposed to be her protector. That’s what I hired you for. So how come I’m finding out that my daughter is in a life-or-death situation because of you?”

“It’s my fault, sir. I was distracted and my guard was down. This is all my fault.”

“Of course, it is! I hope you know that you are fired immediately. You failed to keep my daughter safe. Now, tell me you at least caught the asshole, who hurt her.”

“I understand your decision, sir. And I managed to fire a shot to incapacity the assailant. He is in police custody.”

Magnus nods in satisfaction, “At least, you can do that right. Do you know who he is? Do you think he was hired by Demitri to hurt her?” “I do know, who he is. No, I don’t think Demitri hired him. I think he is connected to the note Y/N received a few months ago. I’ve identified him as Sean Cox. Y/N and he went on a few dates. She ended it after the third date and he said crass things to her,” Drew relays to Magnus. Magnus snaps his fingers and his own bodyguard rushes to his side. “I want you to find out everything you can about this Sean Cox guy. Now!” he orders, returning his anger back to Drew. “I want you out of her apartment by the end of the week. You are dismissed.”

———

The doctors were able to stabilize her in surgery and she’s been in a coma for a week. James has been updating Drew on her condition now that his co-worker is her full-time bodyguard. Per his contract with the company, he gets to take a full month off in between contracts that require him to live with the client and if the month is going to be anything like this week, Drew is going to fall apart. His insomnia keeps him awake to ruminate on the possible ways he could’ve saved her. And he keeps coming back to one conclusion. If he wasn’t smitten with her, then she would’ve been unharmed. Not only because he wouldn’t have been preoccupied by her vision, but because Sean wouldn’t have grown jealous enough to want to hurt Drew. His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

James’ name flashes across the screen and Drew scrabbles to pick it up. “Is she okay?” he worries through the phone. James stops him before he can rant, “She’s fine. She is awake. She actually woke up from the coma two hours ago. I haven’t called yet because I figured you didn’t want to come while Magnus was here. She’s been asking for you.” “She’s awake? I’ll be there soon,” he states, hanging up his phone and getting out of bed.

———

Drew greets James with his head as he walks through the doors of Y/N’s hospital room. He finds an exhausted-looking Y/N, lying in the bed. A smile paints across her face as soon as he sees her and he is pained by the notion as to why she is here. “Hi,” she rasps out. He joins her at her side, “Hey, how are you feeling?” “As good as you’d expect after being shot. The doctors say I should make a full recovery,” she retells. “I was thinking since my dad knows about us now, that once I’m discharged, we can go on a trip somewhere. Maybe Bali or Italy.” He wants nothing more than to agree. To tell her that he’ll go anywhere with her. Apart from the fact that he came here for another purpose. He doesn’t return her grin and she hunts for it. She yarns for him to return the excitement. “Drew, what’s wrong?” she interrogates, reaching out for a hand he can’t bring himself to give. He knows it will be too hard to let go of.

“Your dad fired me.”

“I know. I’m not dating you because you work for my dad. I’m dating you because I love you.”

“I was fired because I couldn’t protect you.”

“Drew, it wasn’t your fault. Sean was the one with the gun. He was the one who fired it.”

The chair scrapes against the floor and Drew rushes to the window. His hands slamming against the sill startles her. “You don’t get it,” he yells. “I can’t be with you. You almost died because of me!” Y/N wants to rush to his side, except the stabbing pain in her shoulder stops her. Drew hears her wince and hurries to her side. “What are you saying, Drew? Are you breaking up with me?” she cries, tears pooling in her eyes. He steps away from her, back facing her. He can’t do what he needs to do if she is looking at him. “Yes.” No more words can escape his mouth; he needs to keep his composure.

“But my heart is yours,” she sobs, trying to hold his hand. Drew needs to get away from her, “Well, you can have it back. I don’t want it anymore.” He hates being cruel, yet it’s the only way this will go faster. “Drew, please. It’s not your fault. Please,” she argues.

Drew doesn’t have anything left to say and he doesn’t want to force her to be in his presence anymore, so he leaves her behind even though it kills him. It kills him to listen to her weep and not do anything about it. He craves to bring her into his hold and kiss her tears away. She may not believe this is all his fault but it is. It was his flaw that sent her to the hospital. His fatal flaw was thinking he was the only protector she needed. It was his hubris.

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