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wheeboo · 2 months

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

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 TWO). 17k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 37k

notes: for some reason even tho this whole part is almost as long as the first part it still feels rushed asf lmao. there are a bit of time skips between most sections, and prob a noticeable decline in quality the more u read HAHA. idk what else to say other than i hope you all enjoy and thank you for joining me on this journey <3 your feedback and reblogs mean the world to me !!

part one | part two

The taste of the salty breeze is sharp on your tongue. Sand raids onto your sandals and crawls playfully up to your ankles as you step foot on the expansive beach.

“Ahh, it’s been a long time since we’ve gone to the beach!” Wheein exclaims proudly while running up to you and locking arms with yours, her hair tied back in two french braids, the carefree grin to her face infectious as ever. “No sad thoughts today. We’re here to have fun, ‘kay?”

She grabs you by the shoulders and eagerly shakes your body before you have the chance to respond. Wheein is right𑁋no sad thoughts today, it is. Seungkwan dashes up from behind as well, carrying with him two plastic bags full of drinks and snacks when the three of you stopped by the convenience store earlier. You carry a large blanket in your grasp as you all make your way to a spot a good distance away from the water. Ah, and you’ve brought your camera along too.

It turns out that Wheein and Seungkwan had planned a surprise trip to the beach solely to celebrate your art being selected for the museum. But even though that didn’t happen, they still wanted to cheer you up and lift your spirits (meaning, they stood by your front door for nearly half an hour and constantly shone their phone flashlights to get your attention inside, practically dragging you out of bed. You still love them either way).

The beach isn’t that busy at this time in the late afternoon during a weekday, so finding a quiet spot is easy. You lay out the blanket on a patch of smooth sand, making sure it's free of any debris. Seungkwan sets down the bags of snacks and drinks, and Wheein helps arrange everything neatly.

The water laps calmly up the coast, stretching for miles under the soft glow of the sun. As you settle yourself on the blanket, you catch sight of a trio of seagulls flying peacefully overhead while feeling the warmth of the sand below you and the cool breeze hitting your skin.

It’s hard not to look at the picturesque scene right before your eyes. A sun, sunrise, or sunset on the beach is something you’ve painted many times before, but you probably wouldn’t tire of it. There’s a variety of colours that the sky contains𑁋from fiery oranges and bright blues to soft pinks and purples𑁋and many people would say it’s the easiest background to capture on a canvas. But you know better.

Taking a hold of the camera around your neck, you adjust the lens and frame the seemingly endless skies right within the small viewfinder. The shutter clicks a few times as you capture the vibrant hues of the sunset slowly but surely beginning to take its course, freezing a moment of beauty in time.

After taking a moment to review the photos, you bring the camera back up to your eye again and whip your head around with the intent of taking some candid shots. However, you certainly don’t expect to capture the face of Joshua mid-laugh. He's not looking at you, or the camera, but at Wheein and Seungkwan who seemed to have quickly dropped their belongings in order to greet him. There’s two other boys behind him too𑁋Jeonghan was one of them, the other one you weren’t able to put a name on, but the wide grin on his face was enough to tell you all that you needed to know. All of them are too far for you to be able to read what they’re talking about.

Happiness looks good on them, You think.

Zooming out just slightly, a singular click is all you need to capture. It’s like everything that you need in a small, rectangular frame𑁋an encapsulation of pure joy. You lower the camera and take a few seconds to admire the candid show, the way the sun casts a golden glow on their faces, and the unguarded expressions of happiness that make the photo more than just perfect.

Bringing your camera back around your neck, you stand up from the blanket and slowly approach the group. Joshua is the first to notice you come up, as he always is, and his face doesn’t shy away from seemingly brightening up. He’s wearing a plaid button down shirt with a few of its buttons undone, a seashell necklace around his neck, and a pair of black shorts. You also notice his guitar case slinging on his shoulder.

You muster up a surprised look towards Wheein and Seungkwan about the guests you weren’t aware that were invited𑁋not that you’re complaining at all.

Wheein waves a hand in front of your face, directing your attention towards her.

“They’re here to sing!” she tells you, signing animatedly to you.

You lift a brow, letting your hands move in the air as if you’re conducting. “Sing?”

“I thought it would be a fun touch!” Wheein exclaims, then she steps closely right in front of you, seemingly lowering her voice and signing briskly so the others wouldn’t see, “I’m doing you a favour here.”

“Y/N! This is Seokmin,” Seungkwan gestures to the boy who finally has a name standing right next to Joshua, spelling out the letters of Seokmin’s name with his hands.

Immediately, Seokmin switches whatever he was holding in his right hand𑁋a microphone stand?𑁋to his other hand before extending it out to you for a handshake in perhaps the most humourously, gentlemanly way possible. The goofy grin on his face is enough to make you giggle as you shake his hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” You sign to him, and Seokmin’s eyes light up in awe at the way your hands move. He turns towards the others with a questionable look, and when they tell him what you signed, his grin widens even more.

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Seokmin exclaims, the enthusiasm bouncing off him. Then he briefly glances between you and Joshua, wiggling his brows and adding, “I’ve been told a lot about you.”

Glancing over at Joshua, you notice the way he brings his head down to his feet for a moment, but then he lifts himself back up and meets your gaze with a fond smile.

“Okay, you guys can go set your things up. Seungkwan and I will set up the snacks and drinks,” Wheein says. “I say we go in the water after the performance. Who’s in?”

Right away, the remaining five of you come to a simultaneous agreement. Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Joshua begin to move towards a spot a little further down the beach where they can set up their equipment. Wheein and Seungkwan grab the bags with the food and drinks to set them up near the blanket, leaving you behind to soak in the sight of the beach once more.

“Right here is good.” Joshua motions to a spot on the ground where Jeonghan sets up the speaker for the microphone. “Did you bring the extension cord?”

Jeonghan pleasantly rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he whips out the extension cord and connects it to the speaker with ease. “You really don’t believe in me, don’t you?” Then he glances past Joshua’s shoulders, smirking faintly to himself. “Target incoming. Six o'clock.”

Joshua turns his body around, wiping away the sand from his hands, and his eyes land straight on you approaching up to him. The corners of his mouth turn upward at the sight of you, dazed eyes lingering on the way you carry yourself quietly toward him. The sunlight catches in your hair, and the backdrop of the ocean makes you appear like a painting that had come to life. He quickly clears his throat.

When you come up to him, you hold out your phone towards him.

Didn’t expect to see you here today

Joshua stifles a half-hearted laugh, plucking the phone from your grasp to type right below your line.

Is that a bad thing?

As you read the message, you could only scowl playfully, before taking your phone back.

How did you even know about this anyway?

After scanning your message, Joshua glances around before pointing at something behind you𑁋to Wheein and Seungkwan, who were both dashing away from a wave that was washing onto the shore.

“Your friends are really adamant about cheering you up,” he remarks teasingly. “I couldn’t just say no.”

You could visibly see the utter panic in Wheein’s face from afar when Seungkwan nearly stumbles into the wet sand, her hands coming to grab the younger boy’s arm to pull him up. Then their faces shift into a fit of laughter. You really don’t know what you would do without them, honestly.

“Thank you,” You sign to Joshua when you turn back to him.

Joshua’s eyes roam over your face with a soft, contemplative expression. Then he motions down to your phone that was in your grasp, and you hand it to him, your fingers briefly brushing against each other.

A thoughtful look spreads across his features, before he types a response on your phone, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and you read his message:

You look beautiful today.

The words on the screen seem to glow brighter than usual, and you feel a rush of affection flood into you like the waves at high tide. Your hand nearly goes limp, almost dropping your phone into the sands below, your heart stuttering in your chest as you regain your composure. For once, even communicating with your hands feels clumsy, inadequate.

But before you can say anything, a damp hand lands at your shoulder, and you whip your head around to see Wheein standing there, hair dripping wet and chest heaving with exhaustion.

“If we don’t start, I’m going to kill Seungkwan,” Wheein says while exaggeratedly signing, face scrunched up in annoyance.

You scratch the back of your neck bashfully before turning off your phone and averting your eyes away from Joshua. You drag Wheein away to help her dry off while the others set up the rest of the equipment.

By the time everything is set up, there’s a small gathering of curious beachgoers nearby who seem to be drawn by the preparation going on. Some were sitting on blankets spread out on the sand, while others stood in small groups at a respectful distance.

You find yourself sitting on a blanket with Wheein and Seungkwan right next to you. The two of them were conversing with each other, and all you could do was watch Joshua. He takes out his guitar from the case before sitting on a folded up plastic chair. He runs a hand through his hair and seems to strum a few notes, probably checking the sound levels𑁋Jeonghan sends him a thumbs-up from the side. Seokmin also sits down in a chair right next to him, adjusting the microphone to his mouth and tapping a few times on its head.

“Hello, everyone!” Joshua announces into the microphone. He’s too far away for you to read his lips properly, but he’s still signing for you, for you to understand even when you’re not directly in front of him. Did he practice all of this beforehand? “Thank you all for stopping by to listen.”

It’s hard to fully catch what he signs next. He might be nervous, you think, but that’s still endearing in itself. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the beach, as Joshua begins to strum his guitar. Seokmin fixes himself up to the microphone, fingers tapping beats against his thigh. His face shifts into focus, eyes closing to the music taking over that you can feel reverberate through the fresh air.

Joshua's fingers dance across the strings, then Seokmin's voice joins in. You watch their performance unfold, catching glimpses of their expressions𑁋Joshua's focused yet occasionally glancing your way with a reassuring smile, Seokmin's eyes closed in immersion with the music.

At the corner of your eye, you see Wheein and Seungkwan swaying to the music. When Wheein turns towards you, she reaches down to grab your hand into hers and lifts it up into the air with a grin, swaying your hands together from left to right. She also does the same with Seungkwan, and it’s just the three of you moving your bodies enthusiastically to the music as it swarms throughout the lively atmosphere of the beach. The small gathered audience around seem caught in the moment too.

When the first song ends, you clap along with the others, feeling the exhilaration of the performance blossom within your chest. Joshua lets his eyes roam around, briefly settling in your gaze for a moment, and the sight of your genuine joy only encourages him even more. He nods to Seokmin, who flashes him a thumbs-up, and then they dive into the next song.

It’s an emotional one this time. You could tell from the pensive looks on everyone's faces𑁋Seungkwan seems like he’s even about to cry𑁋and it only makes you think what they’re singing about. But you don’t let it bother you; instead, you still slowly sway your body, closing your eyes and letting yourself immerse in the moment.

Grains of sand slip through the cracks of your fingers. The sun has almost fully set at this point, merely just a golden half-circle sinking into the horizon. Water drips down your hair and skin onto the towel below you, goosebumps crawling its way up your arms from the night breeze that was beginning to settle in. You have no idea what time it is right now𑁋the beach is probably going to close soon, you think.

The others are still wading in the water, except for Jeonghan who might be passed out on another blanket not that far away from you. The events from the past few hours have started to rain down on you, a small yawn leaving you as you use the towel below to dab at your legs.

However, you feel something encase around you suddenly, and you perk up to the warm feeling of a towel being draped over your shoulders. Looking up, you see Joshua standing right above you, a towel of his own in his hands. He places himself down right next to you as if it was the most natural thing to do, and you let him. You like… being close with him like this.

Joshua dries off his hair with the towel, and you have to take your gaze away from the fact that his arms are exposed because of the sleeveless black top he was wearing. His hair comes out in a loose mess, wet strands sticking to his forehead. He glances over at you for a second, sending you a brief smile, and again, you avert your eyes away, moving your neck around to ignore the heat creeping up your body.

You don’t suppress the smile passing over your own face, though.

A light nudge at your side blinks you back to reality, making you turn to see an illuminated phone screen right in front of you.

Tired?

That was all to make another yawn leave you once again. Joshua just chuckles at the way you angle your face away from the phone screen, trying to hide your weariness. He brings the phone back to type something else before showing it to you.

Feeling happy though?

You almost want to scoff at that, but you don’t. It’s hard to not notice the way you feel happy right now. Maybe you’re glowing or something, maybe the pain that you feel in your cheeks is from all the smiles that was plastered on your face throughout the day. Whatever it is, you can’t deny it𑁋yes, you feel happy.

Joshua sees it too. There was probably no use in asking. The answer blooms on your features, perhaps brighter than the first stars beginning to twinkle above.

And so, you simply nod.

When Joshua retrieves his phone back, there’s a subtle shift in his face that was noticeable in the light. His fingers start typing across the screen, but then it stops, starts again, and stops.

He turns to you, expression turning serious. “Is it okay if I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

You huddle more into the towel and meet his gaze with a curious tilt of your head. His eyes flicker between you and his phone. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he hesitantly shows you the screen.

Have you ever wished that you could hear again?

For some reason, Joshua expects for you to be taken aback by the question, maybe even awkward or offended. But, instead, a relaxed look graces your features, a subtle curve at your lips, and you shake your head. Then you take the phone, typing out:

Not really. When I lost my hearing at 7, I used to cry to sleep knowing I won’t be able to hear my parent’s voices again. But over time, I didn’t let it bother me. It’s a part of who I am. It doesn’t make me any less than anyone else. It doesn’t make the world any less beautiful than it is now. There will always be challenges, like missing out on a joke or an important announcement. But I’ve learned to find beauty in the little things. Like feeling music through vibrations, or how sunlight hits my skin and tells me that the day is beautiful. I could read people’s faces and feel their excitement or their sadness. These are sounds in their own ways. So no, I don’t really wish I could hear again. I’ve found my own way to listen and be heard.

You even feel out of breath after typing all that out, but you feel lighter. Your heart feels completely vulnerable right now, all the thoughts swirling around you seem easy to catch in another’s hands. But Joshua is gentle with those thoughts, as if he’s placing them back down on the ground for you to navigate them together. You notice a flicker of something akin to awe wash over his features as he quietly reads your words to himself, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. Then, he starts to type.

For me, I’ve been surrounded by sound all my life. Voices, instruments, the noise of the city. It’s kind of hard to imagine going through life without it. I’ve learned to grow up analyzing tones, pitches, chords, and notes. And because of that I get afraid of being the one off-key. But I like being quiet with you. And I like talking to you. And I like getting to know you. There’s a part of me that thinks I wouldn’t get tired of looking at you. I don’t know if it’s the silence that helps me focus, but I just know it helps me focus on you.

You swear you don’t even blink when you read over his words, once, twice, five times over. There’s a tugging at the strings of your heart, a sweet ache spreading through your chest, a sensation much to the pull of the ocean’s tide. When you draw your eyes away from the phone and to Joshua, his gaze meets yours in the middle, a hesitant question lingering painted over his features.

He brings his hands once more. He points to himself first, then faces his hand towards his chest, putting his thumb and index finger close to his chest with the other fingers extended out. Next, he slowly moves his hand forward, bringing his thumb and index finger closer together. And finally, he points to you, like you’re the last piece of the puzzle.

“I like you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and that familiar flutter of butterflies takes flight in your stomach, but it’s demanding this time and impossible to ignore. Letting your eyes drift over his face𑁋from his somewhat damp, tousled hair and down to the curve of his lips𑁋you know exactly how you feel.

Without hesitation; without doubt, you kiss him the next moment. It’s a tentative touch at first, making Joshua’s eyes widen in surprise and you pull away with uncertainty. For a second, he could only gaze at you, but then an adoring smile blooms across his face, an admiring sparkle in his pupils. Then he tilts his head just slightly, almost in a teasing manner, and leans back in to capture your lips against his once more.

Even when your eyes flutter to a close, you still feel his smile against your skin, matching the warmth that spreads through you like strokes of paint on a canvas, like music that fills a silent space. Something comes to cover over your hand on the towel𑁋Joshua’s hand rest over yours, warm and securely, thumb coming to reassuringly rub over the skin there.

When you pull away, you have the urge to bury yourself in the towel wrapped around you or run away in a fit of panic. You end up doing the former, burying your face further in the soft cotton. But Joshua doesn’t let you completely disappear, a shy chuckle of his own leaving his lips as he reaches out to gingerly tug the towel down just enough to reveal your eyes.

“Hi there,” he says softly, before some worry stretches across his face. “Are you okay?”

You loosely release yourself a bit more from the towel’s grasp around you and meet his eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

“I meant what I said,” Joshua continues. His hand still rests on yours while he lifts the other one to sign again, “I like you. I really do.”

Glancing down at your laced hands, you absentmindedly brush away a few grains of sand that stuck to his knuckles. His skin is warm to the touch, and the intimate gesture makes you take a shallow breath. You lift your gaze back to this, and he follows the way you bring your hand up.

You stick out your pinky finger, almost like a promise, and extend out your thumb as well, before moving your hand back and forth to sign,

“Me too.” You continue to run the tips of your fingers over his hand. I like you too.

“Did Seokmin tell you about Jihoon?”

Joshua sprays a bottle of disinfectant on a table before grabbing the rag that was hanging loosely on his shoulder. “Who?”

“The producer guy.”

The smell of the chemicals sends an unpleasant crinkle to Joshua’s nose. He pauses his cleaning for a moment. “Haven’t heard of him.”

“Well, he’s a producer apparently. A fairly new one. I think Seokmin mentioned that he went to high school and university with him𑁋wasn’t entirely close to him, though. Just a name that was sort of tossed around.” Jeonghan stops to take a loud bite out of a bag of chips. “But I’ve heard he’s got a studio opened now somewhere. So maybe…”

Joshua lightly chuckles. “You know I’ve gotten scammed from this type of stuff, right?”

“I’ve done my research.” Jeonghan promptly sits up in the chair (yes, he’s not helping with cleaning at all). “No heinous crimes have been committed. If anything, the only thing I could find on him is𑁋”

“Yo, Jeonghan! Where do you want this box of shit?”

Jeonghan turns somewhat annoyedly towards the source of the voice: this guy named Wonsik that he had hired recently since having Joshua as the only other worker around was proving to be insufficient. Joshua can’t say he’s exactly a fan of him though. His attitude is a bit… brash, to say the least.

“Just leave it in the storage room,” Jeonghan says, pointing in the direction with a chip in his hand.

After wiping off the final corner of the table, Joshua feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. As he takes it out and catches a glimpse of the notification, he can’t help but smile to himself.

Joshua takes off the apron he’s been wearing, neatly hanging it up on a hook by the door that was designated for staff.

Jeonghan catches him mid-chew. “Curfew time?”

“Yep.”

“Gross,” Jeonghan mumbles sarcastically while crumpling up his bag of chips. “You know, just because you’re in a relationship now doesn’t mean you get to slack off on closing duties.”

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. “Whatever, I’ll make it up tomorrow.”

Wonsik emerges from the storage room, catching Joshua’s attention with his loud, assertive footsteps and nearly running into him, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He mumbles something about finally finishing taking in all the boxes, carrying the last one labeled with supplies, his expression a mix of boredom and disdain as he spots Joshua preparing to leave.

“Finally taking off, huh?" Wonsik sneers, eyeing Joshua up and down. “Off to be the hero for your little deaf partner?”

Whatever politeness Joshua had to his features had faded away in an instant, his jaw clenching tightly to the words. He adjusts the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder and meets Wonsik's arrogant gaze evenly.

“Watch your mouth,” Joshua says sharply, a warning edge to his voice that cuts through the room like a knife.

“What? I’m just saying it must be hard to deal with them, that’s all. Like how do you even communicate? Doing your little hand stuff? Must be an ass to handle all that shit.”

Joshua's nostrils flare at that, sensing his patience wearing thin at Wonsik's blatant insensitivity. His fists clench at his side momentarily, but he keeps in his anger, knowing that losing his cool most definitely won't help the situation at all. Taking a deep breath, he meets Wonsik's eyes with a steely glare.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joshua replies firmly. “Don’t you have some human decency and respect in you?”

Wonsik just scoffs haughtily. That dumb, conceited smirk on his face widens even more as he leans casually against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Hey, I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. It's not like I'm wrong, right? You could do so much better, man. You’re just pitying them because you feel bad.”

Just at that, his words strike a nerve in Joshua. “Y/N is more than capable of handling themself. They don’t need anyone else’s pity, least of all mine. So why don’t you mind your own business? Learn some respect while you’re at it, asshole.”

Wonsik shoots Joshua a final contemptuous glance before turning on his heel, shoving past Joshua, and disappearing back into the storage room, muttering something under his breath that Joshua isn’t bothered to decipher.

Heading back into the main area of the café, Joshua stops right before the door to turn towards Jeonghan. “Do me a favour and𑁋”

“Don’t worry,” Jeonghan interjects, waving him off dismissively. “He won’t come back tomorrow.”

Joshua’s shoulders visibly relax at that. “Thanks,” And when his hand lands on the door handle, he stops again. “I’ll do that thing, by the way.”

“That thing?”

“Mhm.” Joshua just nods. “I’ll ask Seokmin about Jihoon.”

Joshua hums quietly after every pluck of his guitar string, twisting the tuning pegs at the head of the guitar with every note deemed off-key. The sounds leaving his guitar bounce off the walls of your apartment and blend with the smell of leftover ramen that lingers in the room.

You sit across from him with two steaming cups of tea in your hand, carefully placing them on the coffee table in front of him. He glances up from tuning his guitar, eyes softening as they meet yours. Resting the guitar against the arm of the couch, he gratefully takes the mug that was waiting for him on the table, taking a quick sip of the jasmine tea you had prepared.

You peer at him worriedly, forming a claw shape with your hand and moving it downward to sign, “Hot?”

Joshua shakes his head, sipping once more and setting it back on the table.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you reassuringly.

Placing the guitar back on his lap, he positions his arms comfortably over it as if preparing to play something. Yet he catches the way your eyes watch his fingers glide over the strings. Joshua fixes his posture and presses his back against the couch behind.

“Do you want to try?” he asks. His fingers rest lightly on the strings, demonstrating a chord before letting them hover, waiting for your response.

The hesitation within you is shunned aside from the subtle hope of his invitation. Warily, you shift closer to him, settling between his legs as he positions the guitar in your grasp. His hands cover over yours, guiding your fingers over the frets and showing you how to press down on the strings. The wood of the guitar is smooth under your touch, vibrating weakly as you pluck the strings a few times tentatively.

His breath fans over your skin as he leans closer to help adjust your grip on the guitar neck. You have to turn your head in order to see if he’s saying anything to you. His face is so close to yours now that you can see the fine details in his expression. There’s a slight tiredness in there too, but you don’t comment about it.

Joshua's fingers move dexterously as he shows you another chord. This time, you press down with more confidence, and the sound resonates more clearly. He watches your face light up, and you can feel the vibrations of the strings through your fingertips. It’s a bit ticklish and you can’t help but giggle softly at the sensation. His hands still hover over yours for a few moments, but then he pulls back to give you a bit more space.

The chords you're playing aren't perfect𑁋they come out off-pitch and you aren’t able to tell, or the strumming patterns are a bit uneven𑁋but Joshua doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mistakes.

After some time, you cautiously set the guitar on the floor, letting it lean back against the couch. By the time you finish taking another sip of your tea, Joshua is already holding out his phone to you.

If I wanted to get your attention without accidentally scaring you, how could I do that?

A feeling of déjà vu slithers down your body at the question, and you could tell Joshua feels it too. Briefly, you think about the first time the two of you met. It’s quite surreal how far you’ve come already.

You grab his phone to type:

I wouldn’t worry about scaring me like before, since I know that it’s you. I’m familiar with you. A small tap on the shoulder is okay, or you can flash your phone light. Wheein and Seungkwan do that to get my attention if they’re outside the door

Joshua reads your response, then shoots an understanding look, a thoughtful curve to his lips. The next thing that you catch is a yawn leaving him, which he tries to cover up with a sheepish smile.

“Tired?” You sign to him.

“A little bit,” he replies meekly. “Just some things on my mind.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued at that.

Joshua practically melts into the couch, the exhaustion in his posture evident as he stretches out his legs and lets out a soft sigh.

“Work has been picking up a bit, people are ridiculous sometimes,” he starts, a twinge of frustration to his features. “I haven’t been able to go busking recently either, but… I think an opportunity came up. For music.”

Your eyes widen with interest, and you lean forward slightly, encouraging him to continue.

But he only hesitates. “I just don’t know if it’s worth pursuing. There are so many people out there who make big promises, but not all of them deliver. I don’t want to get involved in something that could turn out to be another dead end.”

A frown crosses its way across your lips. You can sense his apprehension and understand the reason behind it, but you also recognise the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Slipping out your own phone, you type:

You should go with what your heart is telling you to do. I’ll be there to support you either way :)

Your words drip of care and affection, feeling the uncertainty in his heart soften when he pinpoints the sincerity in your eyes. For a brief second, his gaze flickers down to your mouth before returning back up to your gaze. Without another word, he leans in, letting his lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss.

Even in the few weeks the two of you have been together, moments like these will take some time to get used to. It’s both intimidating and exhilarating, comforting and thrilling all in one. But it’s undeniable that it feels… right, natural.

As cheesy as it sounds, that is what his heart told him to do at that moment𑁋to kiss you as a way to say thank you. A shy, boyish grin tugs at the corners of Joshua’s mouth when he pulls away. He takes a visible deep breath, as if drawing strength from your closeness, attentive eyes roaming over your face for any discomfort, but he finds none. The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire, if anything.

“Cute.” He lightly taps the bud of your nose, causing you to scrunch up your face in response. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You only smile and nod under his gaze, signing with a simple, “I know.”

You lose track of time in front of the canvas when a yawn of your own leaves your mouth. Admittedly, it’s been hard motivating yourself to paint lately ever since your rejection at the exhibition, but somehow this time around, the colours on the canvas look more… livelier.

You glance between the unfinished canvas and to the candid picture that you took that day at the beach of your friends’ smiling faces. If this is how you’re going to encourage yourself to get back into painting, then so be it: painting a moment that you could simply define as happiness.

When another yawn leaves you, you swirl your paintbrush in a murky cup of water to clean it off before setting it aside. You stand from the chair and stretch, feeling the stiffness in your muscles from sitting in one position for too long. When you shift your gaze behind you, the sight that appears before you sends a leap of surprise through you.

Your eyes land on a sleeping Joshua, whose head rests against the arm of the couch, relaxed body slumped against the cushions, and one of his arms dangling off the edge. Tiptoeing over to him, you grab a blanket that Wheein had crocheted for your birthday from a nearby armchair and drape it over him. He shifts slightly at the movement but doesn’t wake, instead settling more deeply into the couch with a soft, contented sigh.

You don’t have it in to wake him up, because this feels right𑁋him at your place, falling asleep, and a sense of peace floating through the air.

If Seokmin didn’t come along, Joshua would probably have turned around on his heels by now and declined the offer.

Apparently Jihoon’s studio was located in a somewhat sketchy part of the city, and it took only one tumultuous month later to finally set a date to meet up. Joshua glances around the area, taking in a few worn-down buildings and graffiti-covered walls, wondering if this is really the right place.

“This place better not be a dump,” Seokmin mutters under his breath, scanning around nervously. “I swear, Jihoon has always been a bit of a mystery, but he’s got talent for sure. He was practically the maestro of the entire music program back then.”

“And you reunited with him… how?”

“At the gym,” Seokmin answers, but it’s more under his breath as if he was a bit embarrassed by it. The sly laugh that leaves Joshua makes him jut out his bottom lip. “I wanted to know his workout routine! I didn’t even recognise him after all these years.”

Joshua just rolls his eyes, the lighthearted banter lessening some of his nerves.

It would be his first time to walk into an actual studio. Somehow, Jihoon’s place was a good size to accommodate a variety of sound equipment and a living space at the same time. Compared to the gritty exterior, the inside certainly had more of a calming ambience. Neon lighting illuminated the room, casting a warm glow over the sleek equipment and musical instruments. Records lined the shelves and posters of artists decorated the walls, all bringing more character to the place.

Jihoon himself was the epitome of calm and collected, bringing an aura of meticulous confidence that caressed every inch of the studio. He’s been working independently this entire time, and according to Seokmin, he's been steadily putting a name for himself in the underground music scene right after graduating from university.

“So,” Jihoon starts, spinning around in the chair he was sitting on. Even when he was wearing a simple pair of sweatpants and a black tee, he still appeared effortlessly cool. “you’re a singer?”

Joshua looks down at himself for a moment as if questioning his own presence here, fingertips gliding steadily over the strings of his guitar. “Yeah. Been busking for the past year or so. Played guitar for my entire life. I’ve written some of my own songs, too.”

Surprisingly, this is enough to convince Jihoon. “Alright, then. Show me what you got.”

In its entirety, it was a surreal experience, and there’s just this inkling, this pinch of hope in the space between the tips of Joshua’s fingers whispering to him that he’s finally on the path to accomplishing his dreams. He’s never heard the sound of his voice so clearly before. Unlike the studio, there are no walls surrounding him when he busks𑁋only the open air, the street sounds blending with his music. But in the studio, the environment is different.

It’s as if his music is finally being given the space it deserves to breathe and thrive, just like he had always wanted for it to do.

The excitement is even evident in the way he’s gripping your hand as the two of you are walking back to your place together later that same night. Walking together has always been routine between the two of you, yet now there’s a certain lightness in the air knowing you both share the same love for these moments together.

Joshua feels the way you squeeze his hand, and when he looks at you, you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

So are you planning on seeing him again next week?

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it doesn’t take long for the corners of his lips to curve up.

“I think so,” he answers, eyes lighting up with optimism. “I think I might be getting to where I want to be, you know?”

The excitement that trickles down his body flows through your interlaced hands, and you find yourself smiling alongside him. You love knowing you get to be a witness of this pivotal moment for him. You love seeing him happy just as much as you love being happy around him.

When you reach the entrance of your apartment building, your hand still hasn’t left his. Joshua gazes past your shoulder towards the door, and then back to you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks, a teasing tilt to his head. “Even for just an hour?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, only giving him a simple shake of your head.

“Hm, am I that much of a distraction?” he muses, stepping just a tad bit more closer to you, and you know you’re digging yourself more into the ground at this point. “I love watching you paint though.”

You attempt to power through the way his words send a jolt through you, stubbornly standing your ground with the most serious expression you could muster. It’s not that you don’t want him to stay with you a little longer𑁋because you might quite possibly set everything aside for him without a doubt𑁋but you’ve made it a goal to get back into painting on your own terms and slowly but surely regain your confidence.

After putting on a small pout, Joshua’s gaze just softens. “Promise me you won’t stay up late?”

You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern and signing, “Promise.”

He still doesn’t let go of your hand, his thumb coming to caress tenderly over your knuckles. Joshua’s eyes flicker to your lips, and he leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. Then he leans in and pauses once more, nose briefly brushing against yours, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight,” he signs when he pulls away, running a hand down your arm before reluctantly stepping back.

You could never get over the satisfying wave of relief that hits you whenever you complete a painting.

The first time you finished a painting was when you were eight years old. It was a simple watercolour painting of your family house, distinctively placed on a large hill instead of being surrounded by your neighbouring homes. Your mother had stuck it on the refrigerator for as long as you could remember alongside other family photos until it got too worn out from being taken down and put back up so many times, even being forgotten at some points when other mementos covered it. The fridge seemed so empty without it.

Seeing that painting every day reminded you of the joy of creating something with your own hands𑁋filling a space with something beautiful and meaningful, just like you had envisioned it in your mind. It’s not just about copying the photograph you used as reference; it’s about translating those fleeting, joyful moments into something real. You want people to look at your painting and feel the same happiness, the same warmth that you felt in that moment. It’s about capturing a moment in time and making it last forever. This is what art means to you.

“This is stunning, Y/N!” Wheein exclaims when you stand right next to her. “You made the sand look so real! And you used such a gorgeous gradient for the sky. You gotta give me some tips later! Have you thought about showing this to your teacher?”

You frown a little at that. You haven’t exactly been putting in the effort to show up at all. The sting of that rejection at the exhibition still lingers, making you hesitate to put yourself out there again. You’d rather put on a show for yourself before determining whether or not it’s worth sharing with others.

“I don’t know,” You answer.

“That’s okay!” Wheein says brightly. “But whenever you’re ready, let me know. We can make a killer portfolio together.”

You let out a laugh at that, mentally taking note of her offer for the future. Wheein just nudges you lightly on the hip with her own.

“You seem so much happier lately,” she acknowledges teasingly, a sly smirk crossing her face. “probably because of a certain someone…”

You feel a light flush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance away with a smile that you can’t quite hide. It hasn’t even been that long since you and Joshua have been together. Yet even though you can call him your boyfriend, he still gives you the space to grow, to dream, and to be yourself, just as you do with him. And in those times you two are together, reveling in the quiet language of your hands, letting your guard down has never felt this easy. You could share a simple smile with each other and the world seems a little brighter, a little more colourful, and a little more hopeful and meaningful.

“Oh my gosh, you’re smitten!” Wheein exclaims amusedly. “If that’s not love in your eyes, I don’t know what is.”

Love. What a silly, little word𑁋so small, yet carries so much in between its letters.

You just chuckle to yourself, savouring the way the word swirls around you.

[07:15 PM | y/n] are you nearing the place? I’m waiting by the front

You turn your phone off and bring it down, searching around for any sight of Joshua. Passerbys fill up your field of vision, all of them rushing past or casually walking by with their own different lives, but you don’t see him among the crowd. You check the time again, noting that he’s already fifteen minutes late, but you remind yourself that he’s been at Jihoon’s studio for the majority of the day and has probably been busy.

As you continue waiting, the slight chill of the evening air runs through your bones. It’s getting noticeably colder outside as winter is approaching closer and closer. You glance at your phone again, but the screen remains dark. Another ten minutes pass, and you could feel the worry creeping up your spine. It’s not like him to be this late without a reason.

The vibrant evening around you slowly begins to lose its charm, the excitement within you boiling down into a pit of disappointment, and the thought of standing alone any longer becomes unbearable. So, with a heavy sigh, you decide to walk away, pushing away the disappointment with every step that you take.

[07:28 PM | y/n] I’ll be heading home. let me know when you’re finished at jihoon’s

You slip your phone into your pocket, feeling a twinge of sadness as you start walking towards the nearest crosswalk. Above you, the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement below and swallow the lively colours of the evening.

Approaching the crosswalk, the signal light shines a deep red, instructing you to stop and wait. A crowd of people all stop behind you as you wait for the light to change, and you become acutely aware of their presence surrounding you.

Your eyes wander across the street, where the traffic light turns red, and cars begin to slow down. Anticipating for the light to signal for you to cross, a sudden flash catches your attention from across the street. It looks like a flashlight, and it was flickering in a deliberate pattern.

The moment the signal light turns green, the flashing stops, unraveling Joshua standing on the other side. People brush past you in order to cross the street, yet you can only find yourself frozen. There’s a flash of urgency you catch to Joshua’s features, and your focus narrows on him as he dashes across the street toward you.

He’s breathless the second he reaches you, and his face is flushed with relief and desperation.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises, signing frantically to you. “I lost track of time. I tried getting on the bus to get here faster but the traffic was bad. I…” His shoulders sink in dismay. “I’m sorry.”

You just shake your head dismissively, but it’s not hard to miss the subtle hurt in your face and the way you sign back to him. “It’s okay. I know your music is important to you.”

“You’re my top priority,” Joshua says quickly, eyes intense with sincerity. “Let me make it up to you, okay?”

His words send a flutter that makes your heart ache in your chest. Joshua reaches down and takes ahold of your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You feel a warmth spread through you as he intertwines your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner back at my place?” Joshua offers, his lips curling up in a hopeful smile. “Jeonghan is staying at a friend’s place tonight, so it’ll just be us.”

You look up at Joshua, your heart racing at the thought of spending the evening with him.

“Okay,” You sign to him.

It’s been years since the last time you saw a record player. Your parents used to have one in the corner of the living room. It was a vintage piece, and you remember how your father used to meticulously handle the vinyl records, placing them carefully on the turntable before lowering the needle. You didn’t hear the music that came from it𑁋the music that they played before you lost your hearing was vague to memory𑁋but you loved watching the way the needle danced across the grooves of the records.

Joshua has an entire vinyl collection, and you look through each one curiously. You see names like Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Frank Sinatra, Nirvana, The Beatles, and even some contemporary artists like Billie Eilish, Boys Like Girls, and Lana Del Rey. The covers of each one are like pieces of art themselves, with their vintage charm and intricate designs.

When Joshua turns away from the stove, he looks at you, where you’re already peering at him.

“Do you want to play something?” You sign to him, thinking that he might want to listen to something while you’re here together.

Joshua’s eyes only soften as he takes in your question. “You don’t have to play anything.”

You smile bashfully. “I want to.”

He feels a tug at his heart at the pleading expression to your face. He briefly checks the food cooking on the stove before walking to where you’re sitting on the floor, his vinyls scattered in front of you.

“Okay,” he tells you. “Pick whichever one you want.”

Joshua watches as you carefully pick a vinyl𑁋you end up picking The Beatles, a classic𑁋and with practiced hands, he helps you place the record on the turntable and lowers the needle. You watch as the record starts to spin and the needle settles within the grooves.

You turn toward Joshua, signing, “Is it playing?”

The sound that comes off the record player is a bit distorted at first, but after some time, it manages to smooth out. Joshua just nods, his face lighting up with a smile at the way you appear so engrossed by the spinning record.

Dinner comes by in a jiffy. The singular kitchen light hangs above the small table that you both are sitting at, the aroma of Joshua’s cooking wafting through the air. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the simplicity of the meal𑁋steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, and fluffy rice𑁋makes it all the more comforting. You definitely would have preferred this over restaurant food.

You eat slowly, savouring the flavours of each bite. You can feel Joshua's eyes on you, and you can't help but smile.

“Good?” he asks.

You give a few enthusiastic nods, and the sight lights up Joshua’s face even further.

The record player was still faintly playing music in the background, yet the quietness that he gets to share with you is what he cherishes the most. It’s not awkward or forced; it’s a comfortable silence that pleasantly wraps around you both. The occasional pop or crackle from the record player blends in with the sounds of your contented chewing and the soft clinking of utensils.

Afterwards, you find yourself settling on the couch in Joshua’s living room as you wait for him to come back to the bathroom, and you take the time to peer around his space.

You already know that he’s living with Jeonghan too, so you love how you’re able to easily distinguish the small snippets that belong to Joshua. Apart from the collection of vinyl records, you also see a few microphone stands and a keyboard set up in one corner, as well as an empty guitar stand where you know his guitar belongs.

Letting your eyes drift, the coffee table in front of you catches your attention. There’s a couple of coasters, the remote for the TV, a cute succulent in the middle. But then your eyes land on something else.

On it, you spot a book laying flat on the table. Curiosity piqued, you reach over to examine it. The book is a sign language dictionary. You open it to find that it’s filled with detailed illustrations of hand signs, and throughout the pages you see Joshua’s handwriting scattered throughout. Some of the pages are marked with sticky notes, others you spot silly doodles of smiley faces in the corners.

You hardly ever thought about the amount of effort he put into learning how to talk to you, to understand you. A small part of you feels bad that he has to go through all this trouble to learn sign language. But then you remember that he chose to do this, that this was his decision, not yours.

The spot on the couch right next to you dips down slightly as Joshua sits down. He glances at the sign language dictionary in your hands and glances at you with a soft, curious look, and it makes you look away sheepishly.

Dropping the book in your lap, you fumble for your phone, typing out:

You did all of this for me?

When Joshua reads the message, a small chuckle leaves him.

“I wanted to get to know you better,” he tells you, your eyes flickering between his hands and his lips. “I don’t regret it at all.”

As his words wash over you, you feel your fingers struggle to put together how much this is affecting you. You type after a few thoughtful moments.

It must have been hard. I’m sorry

Joshua only shakes his head. “It was worth it. I promise.” He pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. “Do you want to know the first word I wanted to learn?”

You watch as he picks up his right hand, opening it up so that his fingers pointed up and his thumb toward his cheek. Then he fans his fingers across his face, and closes his hand in a relaxed fist to sign the word beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” he finishes, his fingers gracefully forming the sign again. “I happened to have thought that the first second you walked into the café.”

You could only stare at him incredulously. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s expressed this kind of affection in your few months of being together, it still takes you by surprise, still sends those surges of flutters shooting down your limbs, still makes your mind go blank and your hands go limp.

Cowering behind a hand of your own, you motion a shy finger at him, before rolling your hand over your face, then forming a Y-shape with your hand, and shaking it slightly.

“You’re beautiful, too.”

Joshua purses his lip together at that, suppressing the giddiness threatening to stretch across his features.

“Well,” he starts, cocking his head to the side endearingly. He won’t ever get over how adorable you are when you’re flustered. “I say we compliment each other quite well then.”

From there, the two of you let out some shared, heartfelt laughter, and it sounds like absolute music to Joshua’s ears. He shows you the pages he’s gone through in the book𑁋from the alphabet and grammar, to basic common phrases, and to more, nuanced, complex sentences𑁋and it looks like he’s more than halfway done with reading and annotating through it. He eagerly points out the words and phrases he's already mastered, and the ones he's still struggling with. It's cute seeing the little doodles and notes he's written in the margins.

When he places the book back on the table and turns to you, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“I can teach you,” You sign to him, a willing passion in your hands.

Joshua lifts a brow, copying your movement. “Teach me?”

When you nod, his face morphs into a pensive look. After a few moments, he brightens back up.

“How about the seasons?” he suggests. “We can start with those.”

You begin with spring. Your hands move as if they’re opening up to new life, the gesture mimicking the blossoming of flowers. Joshua watches intently, his eyes following your movements carefully, before mimicking the motion a few times.

Next, you move on to summer. You form a fist with your palms down at your forehead, before taking your index finger and drawing it across your brow a few times, almost as if you’re wiping away a drip of sweat.

For autumn, you use your hands to mimic falling leaves from a tree off your non-dominant elbow, making a gentle fluttering motion.

Finally, you teach him winter. You simply make a shivering motion, as if you’re cold, and Joshua chuckles as he imitates the sign. You watch in awe as he successfully goes through the signs a few times without a hitch. Giving him a few rounds of claps, he gives a shy, pleased smile, clearly proud of his progress.

“I hope we…” Joshua starts, some unsureness flowing through his hands, but he signs the seasons so easily (unbeknownst to you, he already knew them). “...we get to see spring, summer, autumn, and winter together.”

Perhaps he could feel the way your heart swells in his hands, because he’s cradling it so preciously as he speaks, and he looks at you with such hopeful eyes.

You want to spend every single season with him.

Later that night, you find yourself standing in front of the sink in Joshua’s kitchen, washing the dishes because you lost him to a game of rock-paper-scissors.

As you’re rinsing off the final dish, a light tap lands on your shoulder, making you wince for a second before quickly relaxing. A pair of arms then sneaks around your waist, pulling you close and causing you to nearly lose your grip on the plate.

Joshua gently rests his chin on your shoulder from behind. His breath hits your neck as he wraps his arms around you. He stays like this for a few moments, simply savouring the closeness of your presence against him. Then, with a mischievous smile that you don't see, he brings a finger up and slowly begins to trace your back lightly with the tip, almost like a whisper against your skin.

I…

Curious and slightly ticklish, you crane your neck slightly to look back at him over your shoulder, scrunching your face up as you try to focus on deciphering what he’s trying to write.

… l… o… v… e…

Joshua pauses momentarily, sneaking a glance at the way you’re standing so still in his hold, before tracing the final letters.

…y… o… u.

Eyes widening, you shift around in order to face him, and Joshua rests his arms on either side of you, hands gripping onto the counter behind and practically enclosing you in.

He leans in, and the world seems to narrow altogether. His half-lidded eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, as if asking for permission, and you could only anticipate what’s coming next as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chuckling softly, Joshua inches even closer to you, and you feel his nose lightly brush against yours. But instead of pressing his lips against yours, he first kisses your forehead softly, making you shoot your eyes open in a bit of a confused daze.

But before you can fully process everything, he’s leaning in once again, and this time, his lips gently meet against the tip of your nose. You crinkle it back as a pout runs across your mouth, and Joshua’s grin widens even more.

“What’s with the face?” he teases, feigning a hurt look. “Is it because I haven’t kissed you properly yet?”

You answer with him a shy, petty tug at the fabric of his shirt.

“Give me a smile then,” Joshua insists impishly. “Please?”

Just from that alone, a shy curve sprouts at your lips, and Joshua just watches with a satisfied look.

“Hmm,” he hums skeptically, but is leaning in closer anyway. “I’ll take it.”

Then he finally kisses you, mouth moving with an ardent sweetness against yours that renders you breathless. He playfully chases after you as you manage to escape out of his grasp. But he’s quick to catch up to you anyway, the sounds of your giggles mingling with the soft crackling of the record player as you both collapse on top of the couch.

You tentatively trace I love you on his back when you’re both settled on the couch together, legs intertwined and your head perched at the crook of his neck. He’s asleep, you consider𑁋you can tell by the way you feel his chest rising and falling against yours.

Yet after you write those words, a shaky, relieved exhale leaves him that you don’t hear.

“All you have to do,” Jihoon starts, offering a seemingly heavyweight set of headphones in his other hand towards Joshua. “is press play right here, and tell me what you think.”

Joshua takes hold of the headphones as Jihoon scoots a bit of his chair away to give him some room. He places it carefully over his ears, feeling the soft cushions envelop them. Then after taking a deep breath, he reaches over to press the play button on the keyboard, and Joshua can feel his heart racing in anticipation.

Upon playing, he’s greeted with the familiar sounds of his guitar filling his ears, and then his voice comes in. Hearing himself in such a professionally produced track and not just as raw vocals bouncing off the walls of his room is absolutely unbelievable. He could also pinpoint the subtle layers Jihoon has added to the track𑁋a faint drumbeat and soft vocal harmonies.

It was a song that was once simple lyrics in a dusty journal and a few rough guitar chords. It wasn’t meant to be anything grand; it was originally a personal project made on a whim in the middle of the night just to channel his feelings and his dreams into something palpable.

But now, hearing it with such rich yet attenuated production for the first time, it feels as if the song has taken on a life of its own.

“Holy𑁋wow,” Joshua says the moment he takes off the headphones, staring at Jihoon with disbelief. “Are you sure this is my song?”

Jihoon chuckles at that. “Positive, man.”

Joshua’s eyes remain wide. He holds the headphones in his hands, turning them over and inspecting them closely as if trying to decipher the magic hidden within.

“I never imagined it could sound like this,” he admits meekly. “I mean, I’ve always dreamed about this, but... to actually hear it like this? It’s incredible.”

Jihoon nods encouragingly. “You had the foundation; I just built on it. I’m telling you, with the right push, it could really connect with people.”

Joshua leans back in his chair, still holding the headphones in his grasp like it's a sacred bar of gold, and lets out a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“The recording will be on this USB drive,” Jihoon shows off a tiny, ruby red drive in his hand. “I’ll work on polishing it up a bit more, but this is essentially it. You could also gain some attention from your busking gigs. What do you say?”

Well, it’s not like he can say no to that.

“I’m in,” Joshua replies with a grin.

The minute that he steps out of the studio later that day, a breeze of cold air suddenly nips at his cheek. Joshua brings his head up to see the sky thick with clouds, and to his amazement, delicate snowflakes begin to fall, gently drifting down and settling on his hair and shoulders. It’s the first snowfall of the season.

There’s something almost magical about the way the snow falls, he thinks. As he continues to walk through the streets, there’s a sense of renewal that washes over him, a fresh start, just like the song he’s worked so hard on and the dreams he's held at the tips of his fingers. He takes a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs, and pulls out his phone to text you.

[05:39PM | joshua hong] Still have time to meet up later?

Your reply comes in almost instantaneously.

[05:41PM | y/n] just left the museum :) it’s snowing outside!!!

[05:42PM | joshua hong] Dress warmly ❤️ I’ll meet you at your place?

[05:42PM | y/n] I will. see you soon ❤️

Chuckling to himself, Joshua pulls the jacket tighter around his body and stuffs his hands inside his pockets, quickening his pace at the thought of seeing you.

When the season of spring rolls over, trees are budding with beautiful, bright green leaves and flowers are blooming in a vibrant array of colours. Spring has always been one of your favourite seasons, and this year is no different𑁋especially if you get to see it with the people close to you.

You’ve been coming back to attend your art class at the museum, and you’ve decided to pick up a small side role as a teacher’s aide to earn some extra money since more people have been enrolling into the art programs. So far, it’s been very rewarding and fulfilling, and meeting new people who share your same passions has been a joy.

Plus, you could proudly say the spark for painting has been getting stronger and stronger each passing day.

Wheein greets you with enthusiasm when you walk out of the classroom, explaining with annoyance about how one of the girls in her classroom was someone she heavily despised back in high school. Seungkwan shows up when you both step out of the museum, and you have to remind them that you can’t sacrifice your plans with Joshua to hang out with them at the arcade that just opened down the street.

“They’re in their honeymoon phase,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes teasingly.

“They’ve been in their honeymoon phase for, like, half the year now,” Wheein grumbles, though her irritation is more playful than serious. “It’s not like they’re going to stop anytime soon.”

“And Y/N is practically dating a celebrity at this point. Have you seen the way people are talking about his music online?”

Your best friends are boasting about your relationship right in front of you, making you roll your eyes. But you can’t help the way your cheeks colour with a tad bit of embarrassment and… a hint of proudness too, because they’re right.

Joshua has had a few more songs released under his name, and performing at the busking centre has become a regular part of his schedule, his days working at the café lessening as he’s been focusing more on his music. His performances have been slowly drawing more attention, both locally and online, and it’s clear that his passion is shining through. You’re incredibly proud of him𑁋you’ve always had been.

Your footsteps are as light as a feather by the time you reach the busking centre. There’s already a good size crowd gathered around, and you can see Joshua sitting in the middle, propped on a stool with his guitar. Seokmin is there too, sitting on a stool of his own with a microphone in front of him, and there’s one more person. Judging by the small details that Joshua alludes to𑁋with the man’s distinctive button nose and laid-back stature𑁋you could only assume it’s Jihoon sitting behind the keyboard with a calm and focused expression.

As you, Seungkwan, and Wheein find a spot at the edge of the crowd, he seems to spot you almost immediately in the midst of singing a song, his eyes lighting up the moment they meet yours. He gives you a small smile, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. Joshua looks completely at ease as he tunes his guitar, his fingers moving cleverly over the strings.

He looks really, really pretty. The sun seemed to be shining down on him in all the right ways, the sleeves of the white collared shirt that he was wearing pulled up to reveal his forearms, and a dainty pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The subtle spring breeze rumples his hair just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

The entire crowd is captivated, yet it's as if he's singing directly to you, and in a way, he is. The vibrations fly through the air and hit every inch of your skin and into your chest, each note reverberating in your heart. You watch the way his lips move, the way his eyes light up, and the way the crowd responds𑁋it all tells you just how special this moment is.

As the song comes to an end, the crowd erupts in applause once again, and you find yourself brightly clapping along with everyone else. He looks over at you, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. Then he stands up with Seokmin and Jihoon following, the three of them taking a bow together, before he sets his guitar down and makes his way toward you.

Seungkwan and Wheein give you knowing looks before stepping aside to give you two some space, leaving to approach Seokmin and Jihoon.

“Did you like it?” he asks while signing to you.

You purse your lips together, shooting a musing glance up at the sky, before signing, “You already know what I think of it.”

“In fact, I do not,” Joshua responds playfully, stepping a bit closer to you. “That’s why I’m asking you, love.”

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning mock suspicion, and he seems to already know what you’re trying to point out.

“Of course I’m fishing for compliments,” he adds on with a cheeky grin, endearingly wrinkling his nose that his glasses slide down just a bit. “Your opinion matters the most to me. Winning your approval means that I’ve accomplished the world, you know.”

You can't help but laugh faintly at his words, though his earnestness warms your heart. Tentatively, you reach out to adjust his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. His gaze follows your movements as you pull away from him slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up even further.

“It was wonderful,” You sign back bashfully. A blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise how cheesy it sounds, but Joshua’s features only soften as he reads your hands and catches a glimpse of a twinkle in your eyes when you look at him.

He reaches down and takes one of your hands into his. “That was all that I needed to know.” Then he glances at the time displayed on his phone and looks back at you. “The aquarium is still open, right?”

Your eyes widen at that𑁋that’s right, you were too caught in the moment that you nearly forgot about your plans𑁋and you give an eager nod.

“Perfect,” Joshua chips eagerly, his hand squeezing yours encouragingly. “The painting you did the other week reminded me of the jellyfish exhibit.”

“This awfully feels like a break-up.”

Joshua furrows his brows at that while folding one of his shirts and placing it inside a box. “What are you even talking about?”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Jeonghan retaliates jokingly, fauxing a sulky pout. “and moving out. I thought we had something special going on here.”

“You were the one who wanted me to move out in the first place.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically, slumping his body against the doorframe of Joshua's now half-empty room. “That was before I realised how lonely it would be without you here. And now you’re spreading your wings and flying off.”

As sarcastic as that sounds, the corners of Joshua’s lips turn up fondly. If it weren’t for Jeonghan taking him in as his roommate from the very beginning ever since moving away, he wouldn’t lie about feeling a little sentimental.

After packing up the remains of his clothes, Joshua stands up from sitting on his ass on the floor for two hours straight, crossing his arms together and shooting Jeonghan a pointed look. “You know I’m only going to be living like… fifteen minutes away, right? And I’ll still be working at the café.”

“I’m officially putting you as full-time then.” Jeonghan’s lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Screw that,” Joshua huffs with a laugh. “I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“Right, because you’re so famous,” Jeonghan remarks exaggeratingly. “Heard you signed a napkin for someone the other day.”

Joshua snorts at that in response. Okay, he’s certainly not as famous as Jeonghan depicts him to be, but apparently famous enough for someone to approach him and ask for his autograph on a napkin. Apart from the gigs in the busking centre, he also has a few social media accounts set up where he can post song covers on occasion and drop updates about his music.

All he has is his presence, a guitar, and a dream that’s slowly taking shape right before him. He knows it’s a long road ahead, but even with the small progress that’s been made so far, he’s hopeful, determined.

The new apartment is small but cozy. It’s not much, but it’s a place to call his own𑁋his own little corner of the world. He decides it’s not worth the energy right now to unpack everything and instead settles on top of the lone mattress that’s currently on the middle of the floor, feeling both exhausted and oddly content.

He stretches his body on top of the soft surface and lets out a sigh of relief as he sinks into the mattress, gazing aimlessly at the barren ceiling above him. The remnants of packing are scattered about the place, with boxes sitting in corners and unopened bags lying around. His guitar sits on its stand right next to the window. There are still many things to figure out𑁋how to decorate the place, where to put everything, what this all means for his future.

But for now, he allows himself this moment of stillness; this brief, quiet pause before turning the page to the next chapter.

After nearly nodding off, a few knocks at the door jolt him awake. He blinks in surprise, pushing himself up from the mattress. Stretching out his tired limbs, he makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing on the other side.

You stand there with a bag clutched at your side, suspended under the singular hallway light that highlights the fondness in your eyes. You shake the bag lightly.

“Food?” You sign to him.

Joshua swears his heart drops down to his knees just from that alone, his exhaustion melting away from your simple offer. Then his stomach rumbles, as if in agreement, reminding him that he hasn’t exactly had a proper meal the majority of the day from how busy he was with moving in. The nod he gives you makes you chuckle.

As you step inside his new place for the first time, you take a moment to gaze around at the barren walls and scattered boxes. Like any new, fresh canvas, the space holds so much potential and possibilities. If it’s home for Joshua, then it’s also… home for you too.

The two of you sit down cross-legged on the mattress while unpacking the bag of its contents. The aroma of takeout food travels through the air. You spread out the food between you, and Joshua seems to light up upon seeing the familiar, comforting dishes.

Sharing a meal together feels a bit different now. You don’t exactly know why, but there’s a subtle shift in the air you haven’t noticed until this very moment. There’s a sense of beginning, of making this place feel like home, and it’s oddly intimate. It's a blank slate waiting to be filled with new memories. New memories that you can’t wait to make with him.

Joshua feels a nudge at his knee while chewing on a sushi roll, seeing that you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

Can I show you something?

He swallows his bite of sushi and looks up at you with curiosity, taking a second to clear his mouth while giving a nod.

Shrugging off the nerves, you set your plate of food down to reach into the bag. You pull out a small canvas, and when you turn it over to show him, it shows a beautifully painted scene of a sunset casting over the horizon. The vibrant hues of yellow and orange blend seamlessly with soft blues and purples. Along with that, the silhouette of a couple sitting together𑁋with one leaning their head on the other’s shoulder𑁋under a tree completes the picture.

Joshua reaches out to touch the canvas, letting a fingertip caress over its coarse surface.

“This is beautiful,” he tells you. “Did you make this for me?”

You nod, and he watches closely as you type on your phone.

I wanted to give you your first piece of decoration for your new place

Joshua’s eyes soften as he reads your message, the warmth in his chest spreading to his entire body.

“It’s perfect, honey,” he says. “I’ll be sure to hang it somewhere special.”

In your eyes, you can already imagine it hung on the empty wall beside the window, where the morning light will cast a gentle glow on it and bring the colours to life. In your eyes, you can imagine your easel sitting right below it, with Joshua’s guitar propped right beside it…

“I should have the stuff to hang it in one of the boxes. I’m not sure which one though.” Joshua’s eyes flicker between the unopened boxes standing intimidatingly in the corner of the room, letting out a small, airy laugh. “But I’ll find it soon, I promise.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile, as if conveying that there wasn’t any rush in finding it right now.

When you both finish eating and cleaning up, you find yourself sitting on the mattress, body turned so that you are staring out the window of Joshua’s apartment, reveling in the stillness of the summer night and the way moonlight filters on the wall. Your silhouette is quickly joined by another one as Joshua settles closely beside you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

At the corner of your eye, a glowing phone screen catches your attention, on it displayed a message from Joshua.

What are you thinking about?

The question almost seems silly somehow, yet you ponder for a few moments, before taking the phone to type back:

I made a big decision today

Joshua lifts up an intrigued brow, and he tilts his head inquisitively at you, the soft brown tones of his eyes glistening like honey. It makes you lose your train of thought briefly as your fingers drift clumsily across the screen.

I’m going to participate in the upcoming exhibition at the museum. I’ve been thinking of trying again for a while now

“You are?” Joshua’s eyes widen. “When is it going to be?”

“During fall,” You sign in response.

Fall isn’t that far away. The reminder seems to gnaw uneasily at your nerves, and Joshua notices it right away.

“Feeling nervous about it?” he asks.

You nod slowly, the weight of your decision settling heavily in your chest.

“It’s okay to be nervous. I know it didn’t go well last time,” Joshua continues. “But, well𑁋you already know what I’m going to say, right?”

Now, the nod you give is a bit more confident. You bring your hands up to sign, “I believe in you.” You wonder if it’s his favourite phrase, since he’s said it to you so many times before. It holds a special place in your quiet conversations.

“Exactly.” He wiggles a playful finger in front of your face, the moonlight makes his eyes twinkle with reassurance. “I believe in you. I’ve seen the way you pour your heart into your art. No matter what, you’re going to shine, love. And you have to believe in yourself too, okay? That’s the most important step.”

Joshua reaches over to grab your hand into his, squeezing firmly, before bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss right at your knuckles. You melt at that𑁋probably into the mattress at this point𑁋and hang your head down bashfully.

When the silence rolls over again, you lean your head on Joshua’s shoulder, your silhouettes intertwining together on the wall.

Maybe this is where you belong, after all.

There’s a quiet comfort you find in the palette of fall: the colours of leaves changing to warm oranges, reds, and yellows, the subtle crispness of the air that reminds you of the sweet taste of cinnamon rolls, and the way the sunlight feels a little softer on your skin.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating for weeks. You toy anxiously with the sleeves of your cardigan as you walk into the museum, the grand hall stretching out before your eyes.

It’s all familiar just like last year𑁋the same setup, some familiar and new faces. More people are probably participating than last time since the art program has grown exponentially, and the thought fills you up with trepidation, if anything. Wheein is also here too engaging in the exhibition, Seungkwan was going to come later, and Joshua had already texted you that he's on his way after ending his performance at the busking centre early (though you insisted he didn’t have to… yet he did anyway) though you’re unsure when he’s going to arrive.

Along with the other artists in the room, you take a seat as you wait for the exhibition to finally begin. Then you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you perk up to see Wheein quickly engulfing you in a hug before pulling away.

“Jeez, there you are! You’re sitting like a wallflower and I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she rambles quickly that you don’t entirely catch what she’s saying, but you could tell she’s nervous too. She takes a visible breath, and brings her hands up. “How are you feeling? Heard there’s more competition this time.”

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Nervous, but excited. I feel more prepared.”

Wheein nods, her eyes lighting up at that. “Good. You've got this.” She glances around the room before turning back to you. “See you on the other side?”

“Definitely,” You assure her, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you.

Wheein squeezes your hand with a firm look one last time before moving off to find her own spot. A short while later, the exhibition officially begins with a long speech by the museum director once more. There’s still no sign of Joshua anywhere, but you tell yourself that you got this.

Ignoring your sweaty palms, you spot your artwork hanging on the wall. It feels like a small part of you is now on display. And for the first time, there’s a feeling of pride that wraps around you comfortably. You feel more prepared than last time; with the help of Wheein, you wrote down some written statements you could present to the critics and the visitors who come by if they ever ask about your piece.

A few minutes later, an interpreter approaches you𑁋one who isn't late this time, thankfully𑁋and you greet her with a friendly nod. She offers a kind smile to you, and you feel a bit more at ease, knowing that you’ll be able to communicate effectively with any critics and curators.

As people start to crowd around the extravagant hall, you find yourself observing their reactions from a distance. Some pause to study your piece closely while reading the written statements you prepared. Others seem to take in the scene with thoughtful silence and then move on to the next artist after you. However, before you know it, time seems to slip away fairly quickly, and you’re surrounded by a sea of curious faces willing to engage in discussions about your painting.

It’s a bit overwhelming having to explain and answer to so many people at once where you can feel their eyes practically boring into you, but you’ve rehearsed this part so many times that you feel yourself becoming more comfortable, more natural in the way you’re confiding in your work.

As much as art can be interpreted, reinterpreted, and misinterpreted, you know that in the end, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Your work is supposed to continue conversations, not end them. And you hope that yours does just that.

After talking to a sweet-looking old couple, you take a moment to catch your breath. You can’t tell if the stars have possibly aligned for you or if it’s just the magic of the night that’s making everything feel so right.

Just as you're starting to relax a bit, a familiar, comforting sight at the corner of your eye captures your attention. And when you bring your head back up to welcome the next visitor, you find Joshua right in front of you, coming up with his arms behind his back and a playful look on his face. He’s dressed in a comfortable navy blue sweater and a pair of beige jeans, appearing effortlessly handsome and soft as always.

“Hello,” he greets warmly before stopping in front of you, letting his eyes trail past you in order to roam over the large painting that sat behind. So this is what you’ve been keeping a surprise all this time. “Your painting is beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?”

You blink in surprise at his sudden performance on being a visitor, biting back a smile creeping up your lips and the affectionate flutters bursting in your stomach.

Gesturing to the painting, you start to explain as your interpreter steps in to translate to Joshua. You start with the basics of your piece: the inspiration, the styles and techniques you used, and what you hoped to convey, and Joshua listens attentively, though he seems to be more focused on you than anything else. For some reason, him being the only one standing here is making you more nervous than the group of people you talked to earlier.

“I could see the passion you put into your piece,” Joshua says softly. “It’s admirable. It was the first thing that caught my eye when I walked in here and I could tell that there’s something truly special about it𑁋that there’s a lot of heart in it. So thank you for sharing this part of you to the world. You have a gift, honestly.”

You find every ounce of wanting to thank him shy away as a blush rises to your cheeks. Instead, you give a small nod, head hanging down as if the floor was the most interesting sight in the world, feeling overwhelmed by his words. If you look at him, you’d feel like you would melt into a puddle on the floor.

Joshua chuckles quietly at your reaction before giving you one last lingering look. You watch as his shoes walk out of your line of sight, his presence leaving behind a comforting feeling to settle in your chest, right by your heart. You feel like you can conquer the world right now.

When you finally bring your head back up, you don't spot him anywhere. For a moment, you scan the large room, looking for the familiar navy blue sweater, but you assume he’s already moved on to another part of the exhibition.

You let out a breath you hardly noticed you were holding until now.

As the evening winds down and time is getting closer to the dreaded announcement of results, the atmosphere in the museum starts to shift from the excitement of the exhibition to a more anticipatory hush as everyone returns back to their seats. The tremble in your hands returns back once more as you peer around anxiously, hoping to see some sight of a familiar face𑁋of Joshua, of your best friends, of anything.

Minutes later, Wheein and Seungkwan run up to you with wide, beaming grins. Joshua isn’t with them, though. Your shoulders deflate slightly.

“They’re about to announce the results!” Wheein exclaims, signing to you with more enthusiasm than you can ever have right now. “How do you feel?”

“I swear I saw so many people gathered at your painting earlier,” Seungkwan adds in. “That’s got to be a good sign, right?”

“Not all the time,” Wheein reassures him with a disappointed tone, but she keeps a light-hearted smile. “Usually it just means people were interested, but hey, it’s definitely a good sign! You should be proud of yourself, no matter what happens, Y/N, okay?”

You force a smile at that, trying to hide the nervousness that’s crawling up your spine. You're not sure if you're ready to hear the results, yet at the same time, there’s a pang of excitement that’s hard to not acknowledge too.

The museum director steps up to the podium once everyone scrambles to return to their seats. You shoot glances around the room, spotting familiar faces, some looking calm and composed, others nervously tapping their feet or fidgeting with their clothes. You can hardly catch up with the way your heart is racing like it's running on overdrive, but you attempt to readjust your focus to the director.

“Now, I would like to formally express congratulations to all who have claimed a place in this year’s annual exhibition. We had an outstanding number of participants and submissions this year. It was a very challenging time for the judges…”

The director’s voice is steady, yet each word that you watch leave his mouth seems to stretch on as your nerves make the second feel like minutes then to hours. Your palms have become clammy, and you grip your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into the skin of your palm.

“…the judges have taken into consideration to select the works that stood out in originality, technique, and emotional impact. And now, for the results…”

Your breath catches as the director begins to announce the winners slowly but surely, one by one, heartbeat thumping stronger with each one. The names come and go, each following with a few moments of applause erupting around the room that you echo along with as the artists hop onto the stage to retrieve their certification from the director. It’s like a momentary pause of time before the next.

The moments that pass feel as if a small weight is being lifted from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier, more pressing sense of anticipation, of dread, of doubt. Déjà vu starts to seep into your thoughts as you bite at your bottom lip and bring your eyes down from the stage, feeling your chest tightening with hopelessness. There’s no point.

And it’s because you’ve become so attuned to your thoughts that you don’t notice the collective murmur of excitement that ripples through the crowd right before you. You pick up to clap your hands for the name was just called, only to be met with quite literally everyone’s faces on you. Nothing but confusion clouds your mind.

Are they… clapping for you?

The realisation hits you hard, and for a few long seconds, you’re caught between disbelief and elation. Your body feels absolutely frozen in place; everyone’s mouth is moving too fast for you to fully process; the world around you feels like it’s spinning. The moment seems to stretch into an endless void, and you can barely believe what’s happening. The crowd’s faces blur into a sea of smiles and congratulations… for you.

Your name𑁋your artwork𑁋had been recognised.

You nearly tumble on the way to the front at the way your legs feel numb underneath you, each step feeling as if you’re floating on air. Perhaps this is really just one, long, tortuous dream, but the way your trembling hands clutch the certificate as you receive it from the director feels startlingly real.

The director offers you a handshake and an acknowledging smile, but you hardly register it all in your mind. In those short moments, you take the opportunity to swiftly scan the room, catching sight of Wheein and Seungkwan clapping happily for you, and Joshua standing right next to them. He’s clapping along too𑁋is that a bouquet of flowers in his hands?𑁋with a warm, proud smile painted across his features. You consider it more important than any of the applause around the room; more important than the award itself, ironically.

You make your way back to your seat, the certificate feeling both heavy and light in your hands. Every congratulatory smile that the other artists send to you is like a burst of warmth against the cool autumn night.

As the last of the names are called, you find yourself drifting among the crowd, eyes in search of your friends. But it isn’t long for your body to be engulfed by the arms of Wheein and Seungkwan who have managed to squeeze their way through the crowd to find you, their faces glowing with uncontainable excitement.

“Y/N, you did it!” Wheein exclaims, her eyes glistening with joy as she shakes you by the shoulders. “I knew you could! I’m so proud of you!”

“I told you it was a good sign!” Seungkwan remarks to Wheein before facing you with a wide grin. “Shit, I’m about to cry again𑁋I’m so happy for you, Y/N!”

As their words sink in, an overwhelming bubble of triumph grows within you. A shaky laugh leaves you as they continue to shower you with their happiness, heat beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes from how much your heart feels so fully right now.

Wheein drags Seungkwan by the wrist to greet the other artists, and you’re left standing at the very side of the museum, gazing wandering around through all the faces within your vicinity. You don’t see any sign of Joshua anywhere. Did he get lost?

With that, you pull your phone out to text him, before your eyes widen in surprise at the way you missed a message from him sent five minutes ago. You were a bit too distracted by everything else that you didn’t feel the notification of his text.

[09:03PM | joshua hong] I’ll meet you outside ❤️

Without any hesitation, you slip your phone back into your pocket and make your way toward the exit of the museum, leaving behind the lively inside and into the peaceful night. The cool autumn air greets you with a refreshing embrace as you step outside, the sky painted with the soft hues of dusk.

Joshua isn’t standing that much farther away from you, spotting him waiting idly by the small gate at the entrance of the museum, a singular spotlight shining down on him from above. As you start to approach him, he seems to notice and turns his body toward you, a smile spreading across his lips.

“What are you doing out here?” You sign to him curiously.

Joshua’s lips form a thin line in thought, signing back expressively while answering, “Too noisy in there, and I thought you deserved some fresh air. Plus, I wanted to give you something.”

After that, he pulls out the bouquet of flowers from behind his back and extends it toward you with a sheepish look.

“I know you probably already saw them, but I couldn’t hide it any longer,” he tells you. “Congratulations, my love.”

The pleasant fragrance of the flowers float to your nostrils as you take them into your grasp. The flowers themselves are a perfect assortment of colours you find dear to your heart, like each one was personally handpicked for you. The thought and everything else has heat prickling at the corners of your eyes. It’s all too much and just enough at the same time.

Joshua grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you close to him so that one of your arms is wrapped around his waist. He places a small kiss on the top of your head before leaning down to look into your eyes.

“Look at you,” he coos softly, perhaps a pinch of tease behind his words you detect. “You’re glowing.”

You nearly laugh at that, coming out as a shaky and probably ugly snort instead that makes you bury your face into Joshua’s shoulder. Maybe you are glowing, maybe it’s just the spotlight hanging over, or maybe you’re just too happy to even care. You feel his chest lifting and receding from the laughs of his own as you cling to him. For a moment, everything else fades away𑁋the museum, the crowd, the nerves.

When you pull away slightly, he’s still looking at you, taking the chance to let a finger slowly caress the skin of your cheek. There’s stars in his eyes that you could pinpoint, ones that seem to shine brighter than even the largest of constellations. You feel like you could get lost in them, in him, and for a moment, you do. Your breath hitches in your throat.

A gentle breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves, the soft rustling of leaves surrounding the two of you. It's as if the world has paused, giving you a moment to simply be with each other.

You bring the arm that was around his waist back to your side. He still holds you by the hips as you bring a hand up to sign.

“I know that I can’t hear,” You start to sign slowly, his gaze flickering down to your hands curiously. “but I can feel your voice when you hold me.”

Joshua nods thoughtfully. He seems to contemplate something for a moment, before bringing his hands from your hips and up to sign.

“How does it make you feel?”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to find the right signs to express what you're feeling. It's hard to put into words, or even signs, the way you feel when you're with him.

“Safe… loved…” You draw your fingers graciously through the air, and Joshua’s eyes soften with affection as he watches. “...heard… understood…”

The words fly off your hands and swirl around like a planet orbiting its sun. As you peer into Joshua's eyes, you know he understands. He's always understood.

“I want…” You begin hesitantly, somewhat feeling silly at what you’re about to ask from him. “...to feel you say something to me.”

Joshua’s eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head intriguingly, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You start with taking the fingertip of your hand touching your chin, before drawing it away in the form of a small arc. Next, you point to yourself, then you point towards him. Taking both arms, you cross your arms over your chest as if you were hugging yourself. And then finally, you point back at yourself.

“Tell me that you love me.”

A faint hint of a smirk crosses his features, before it softens into a simple look, a simple smile. Joshua just steps back forward and takes you back into his embrace, letting you press yourself against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close enough that you could possibly even feel his heartbeat. You love feeling that as well.

You swear that if there was one place you could stay in forever, it would be in his arms. And right now, it was only the beginning of something beautiful.

“I love you,” he tells you. For the first time, you don't read his lips to know he said it, yet you feel those three words resonate through your entire being and down to the very core of your heart, just where they belong.

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missmarveledsblog · 1 month

Text

A kind of sex education part 2 (platonic cas x winchesters x reader)

Summary : after the whole porn ordeal , castiel finds tumblr and the world of fanfiction has him asking more curious questions which the residents of the bunker are not so happy to answer .

warnings : mentions of smutty fics , cas being the curious baby in a trench coat we love .

After the whole angel porn ordeal , they were more careful with what cas was watching not wanting history to repeat itself . Like monitoring a toddler on an iPad. Especially given that y/n wouldn't come out of her room for days not wanting to look any of them bar sam in the eyes . Dean even limited his teasing when it came to the subject . Today he was luckily out while cas was on laptop , Sam and Y/N were looking over some incoming cases seeing which needed to be handled first .

" interesting this is very interesting " the angel spoke making them look over both slightly relieved not see or hear an explicit image on the laptop.

" I've been on a interesting site that led me to many other over the last couple of days " he spoke up .

" what was that buddy" she smiled over. Their joy short lived when he uttered the next few sentences out of his mouth .

" tumblr that led me to all these other sites , did you know there is fanfiction of us like the play we seen except it's classed as what they call smut " he looked up at the two .

" why didn't I go on the supply run , why am I here when he finds this shit " she cursed up at the ceiling .

" could be nothing " sam offered a weak smile .

" did you know most popular is Dean x y/n fiction seems as though you are most shipped although there are some of Dean and sam with you too " he mused .

" but I could be wrong" sam winced taking the laptop off of cas completely .

" how do you find these things " he asked looking through the tabs .

" I'm very pop culture savvy now " cas said proudly .

" what the hell man why are you reading all these " sam groaned wanting burning his eyes out seeing an explicitly wrong image of Dean and himself (no to wincest) . " you are actually popular with them Y/n " sam mused .

" that's after that stupid ghost hunting website and chuck " she grumbled wondering where she was going to start her new life.

" hey there's even some with you and cas " he chuckled.

" Alaska or maybe Australia would be better it further Away " she mused .

" wow these are extremely detailed " sam continued .

" would you call Dean daddy , the stories seem to think you would " cas asked .

" what the hell did I walk into " the man in question walked into the room .

" my resignation " she mumbled hiding her head in her arms.

" destiel is another popular one " sam chuckled.

" cas found smutty fanfictions " she looked up to see the clueless expression on Dean's face.

" they suggest that Y/n is a sub and you are a Dom " the angel stated.

" wanna see if they're right sweetheart " Dean winked .

" wanna kill me cause I can't be dealing with this" she countered wondering if she could also legally change her name.

" why are they so descriptive on the parts , have they seen them" cas sat looking between the three .

" the way Dean sleeps around they probably seen his " she reasoned.

" they also suggest you like..." .

" do not even finish that one" she growled .

"so many kinks cas did you google all these" sam asked eyes widening at the search history.

" i was looking at chucks book and comments said to check out the tumblr versions " he said looking confused to what he did wrong. " they forgot to add that birthmark just below your tits " he added matter of factly .

" when did you see her ... what he got to see i didn't" dean turned to Y/n , who honestly rather be stuck with Crowley for eternity than this .

" he walked in while i was getting dressed and it not a birthmark it's a scar from a battle with an old favourite bra "she could feel her cheeks redder than they've been so far . "i'm going to my room to pack for my new life in australia" she stormed out her room .

" she's kidding right?" dean asked looking to the mean .

" you should dom her and make her stay , they said she responds to good girl" cas explained .

" i wonder if she would let me come with her " sam mused walking out after her.

another awkward dinner bobby was almost afraid to ask. Although dean was smiling more than the others.

" cas read fanfiction , pornographic fan fiction " dean explained .

" i've also read some theories too, like bobby is Y/N Dad and not her uncle" cas smiled making bobby choke on his water.

" their theories cas they're not right ... right? " she laughed but stopped when she notice bobby expression or how he would barel look at her.

" i mean it's a possibility " he mused truthfully making her jaw drop

" great more daddy issue not like the place is drowning in them with these two " she pinched the bridge of her nose and point at sam and dean.

" so the theories of dean being her soulmate are true " cas asked.

" probably " dean shrugged winking at her .

" why did i ever come here, sam wanna move to australia with me " she ignored the other three men .

" look me and your mom had a brief thing , your dad well your dad agreed while he..." .

" australia sound nice " sam agreed cutting bobby short .

" hey stop denying our love even nerds on internet think we'd be hot together"dean spoke up .

" cas from now on stop the curiosity or so help me i will make you eat the computer " she groaned learning too much information for the day .

"we need to do dna test " she turned to bobby .

" you can pick me up at 7 " she turned to dean before walking out leaving the men speechless .

" i got punished" cas pouted .

" i got a kid kinda " bobby gulped .

" i got a date " dean smirked .

" and i got a rock ... It's a thing on tiktok ... what cass isn't the only pop culture savvy one around here " sam shrugged .

part three

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tarot-archives · 5 months

Text

hands. hands. and more hands. —Simon Riley

fluff | comforting simon and scolding him

Simon always had calluses, even before enlisting. His hands were etched on the butcher knife from frequent use. To the point that even the owner had to buy a new one for himself. The handle fits perfectly, with deep engravings of his print, and thick calluses pressing on its body to reshape the figure.

Now, Simon had returned home from training. His hands, were more worn than before, with scars and burns painting on the canvas of his skin. He didn’t have anyone to take care of him after all. No one to scold him for the mud caking under his nails. No one to swipe his hands away if he hadn’t washed them before eating.

Bottles of hand cream on your nightstand take twice as long to finish since he was shipped out too.

But he’s here now. The bed dips, it’s no longer a place fit for two. He’s grown bulky, more lean than fat, his back straight after months of corrective training. You wonder about the history of his scars so you asked.

“This one was from doing push-ups,” he proudly said.

“Just push-ups?” you were disturbed that push-ups can leave serious scars. “why is it on your knuckles then?”

“Had to do them against the gravel. Under the heat of the bloody sun,” Simon thumbs over the discoloration on his skin. “It was hot enough to cook an egg and burn through skin. Even had those hard pebbles that push up the bone.”

You grimaced, “the bone?”

Simon looks down at you, then snickers, “almost, but not yet. No.” He lies more easily now. Gentlemen know not to burden a woman’s heart. Especially his best friend.

You sighed in relief. Your fingers now brushing over his palms. The question, tipping itself over the edge of your tongue, as you hesitate to ask. But Simon knows you enough not to wait for a verbal query.

“These ones were from the rope,” he turns his hands to face you. Thick skin on his fingers, especially on his thumb. All of the digits are dry and in need of a deep clean. He looks down at your furrowed eyes and disappointed glare.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to make a fuss about it since Simon was the strongest person you ever met, but how could you make him understand your thoughts. That you are mad about his lack of self-care. That his hands found home at the barrel of the gun instead of a knife. Both items share the same violence. Both professions are bloody and messy. Both his choices were out of necessity for his family.

Simon doesn’t speak as he lets you feel his rough skin. Your digits travel in between his fingers, over his knuckles, finding a new reason to be more worried than the last. But as you were about to lift your hands away, he entwines his hands in yours.

He made sure you won’t run as he says: “There’s no reason to worry.”

You shake your head in disapproval, “How could I not?” Your voice cracked. Warmth spread to your cheeks at your choking defeat. “What would you do if your best friend always put themselves in danger?”

“Save them from dumb decisions,” Simon answers.

“But I’m not at the battlefield,” you gripped his hand harshly as an outlet of your frustration. “what can I do when you’re halfway around the world. And it would be months before I can hear again from you.”

Despite your strength, it was nothing to him. He had experienced the butt of a rifle lodged into his hand as punishment. Your hold wasn’t a means for pain, but a way for you to deliver the words you left unsaid. So he returns the gesture, thumbing your skin in small circles, speaking in the language you spoke— the love language of touch.

So you lean into him, understanding the silence and his affection. Realizing that his hands weren’t always a place of violence. It was your safe space, before the blood and the gore.

He held your hands when you were anxious during preschool. He held your hands to keep you by his side amongst the busy street. He held your freezing hands when you left your mittens at home. And in more sacred moments when his lips touched a cut to heal it faster….

It was never about fixing him up. It was always about taking care of your best friend. All homes, when not properly maintained, tend to ruin quickly compared to others. And taking care of Simon was your way of making do or returning his kindness.

“I need you to take care of yourself more,” you ordered.

“yes, ma’am.”

“you can’t keep coming back here expecting a manicure.”

“Of course,” he brushed away your gentle reminders. His arms pull you into a hug, purposely tipping you over to fall towards him. Simon was never the kind to fuss over the weight of your body over his. His heart welcomed you, accepting you as a part of him and all the burden you carry.

#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #fluff #cod x reader

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myocsfanfictions · 6 months

Text

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 2

Ysilla had been right. Her dragon had survived for the first weeks of his life, and it kept getting bigger. No one believed it, but he did, and the girl spent the majority of her time with her dragon.

Since it survived, her lady mother had agreed to make the Maester write to King's Landing so that the keeper of the Dragonpits could take a look at the dragon.

Soon, Ysilla found herself on a ship, cradling her dragon in her arms, heading to the Capital.

She had been when she was only two, or at least that was what her mother had told her. She had to go because her uncle wanted to meet her. But Ysilla had little memory of that. At that time, her aunt Aemma was still alive and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But only some months after her visit, she had died, giving birth to her son.

Her aunt came from the Vale as well, and Ysilla would have liked to remember her. But she really couldn't.

"You'll be taken care of," she whispered to her dragon, caressing his head. He seemed to like her touch, which made her giggle. "You are a strong one," she said proudly as his tail circled her wrist and moved his black wings.

Ysilla arrived at King's Landing by ship in five days. When she could see the shape of the city, the girl ran to the front.

King's Landing was huge, and she could already see the Red Keep and the Septon of Baelon. It looked so different from Runestone. Her castle was set on the tall mountains, and it was smaller than the Red Keep.

When her ship arrived at the dooks, her eyes noticed a knight wearing the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. He was a young man, olive-skinned and dark-haired. For some reason, his features made her blush. Her mother didn't let her hear songs much; Royces were strong warriors, and in a hard land like her own, there was no time for stories. But the few that Ysilla had heard talked about beautiful knights, such as the one that was waiting for her at the docks.

"Princess Ysilla," the knight greeted her with a bow of his head, which she reciprocated, holding her dragon in her arms.

"Good day, Ser," she answered politely, feeling a faint blush creep upon her cheeks at the realization she had no clue what the knight's name might be.

"Ser Criston Cole, my princess," he said gently, "I'll be escorting you to the castle. The King is waiting for you." He gestured towards a big carriage. The girl blinked her purple eyes in amazement. She never used those in Runestone; her mother taught her how to ride as soon as Ysilla could. Even her ride to the port had been made on the back of her pony.

Ysilla nodded silently, ready to follow the knight, but she didn't miss the way Ser Criston's eyes lingered upon her dragon.

"He is good," she said, suddenly afraid that they didn't want her dragon to enter the carriage. "He always obeys me, I swear," she assured him.

Since her dragon was born, Ysilla has never separated from him. He has become a dear friend to her, and he was always with her.

"Do not fear, princess," he smiled down at her, "Shall we go?"

Sadly, the carriage had no windows. Ysilla would have liked to watch the busy streets of the city, but she could only hear the people outside. She could not understand any words; they were just buzzing. Riding on horseback to the castle could have been more entertaining.

The dragon in her hands moved, and Ysilla looked down at it. He was still trying to find a way to move as swiftly as possible, trying to put all his strength into his front legs. Sometimes, he hurt her with his claws, accidentally scratching her skin. But Ysilla was patient with him.

"How old is he?" Ser Criston Cole asked her. She knew he had seen her dragon's missing legs, as he had noticed her dark hair streaked with silver.

"Almost two months old," she answered, biting her lower lip, feeling a bit shy. "Ser Criston," she called after some moments of silence, "Is my father here in King's Landing by any chance?"

The knight shook his head, "I'm sorry, princess. Prince Daemon is still fighting on the Stepstones." She flushed with shame. She should have known, but she stupidly had hoped that maybe he would have came in King's Landing after hearing of her arrival. She had just being stupid.

"Oh, thank you." The little claw of her dragon trying to keep himself up made her look down so that their eyes would meet.

You are here, though, she thought, caressing its head.

Once they arrived at the Red Keep, Ysilla felt so small looking up at the stone that built the castle.

"Ysilla Targaryen," her presence was announced as she stepped down the carriage, helped by Ser Criston. On the steps at the entrance of the castle, Ysilla noticed a man with long silver hair wearing black and red vests. On his face, there was a short beard, and he was smiling at her. He was the King Viserys and Ysilla's uncle. Next to him a young lady, with auburn hair tied at the back of her head. Her hands were resting upon her swollen belly. She must have been the young Queen Alicent, her aunt.

"My dear niece," the King said, walking towards her with open arms.

"Your Grace," she knew how to talk to the King; her Maester had thought of her well.

"You've grown so much, my dear," he said, gently smiling at her. At that, Ysilla felt like blushing. She knew how she was supposed to talk to the King, but not so much to her uncle, so she decided only to smile.

"You must be tired," the sweet voice of the Queen got her attention to see her stopping next to her husband, "And hungry."

"You are very kind, my Queen," she spoke shyly, "But I'd like to ask you to make sure my dragon is healthy."

Both the King and the Queen looked at the little beast in her arms. And Ysilla noticed their eyes linger at on the dragon, searching for the hind legs.

"It is-"

"Strong," she spoke, interrupting her uncle, blushing, "But we do not have Dragonpit in Runestone."

"Then we should bring him to the Dragonpit," another voice said from behind the King. She was a pretty girl with long silver hair and a smile, dressed in a soft yellow gown. Ysilla knew who she was: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"You want to think about it, Rhaenyra?" Ysilla's uncle asked. The girl noticed the princess making a strange face when her father spoke as if she didn't want him to share words with her. But when Rhaenyra's eyes went back to Ysilla, she smiled again.

"Of course," she said, gesturing towards the carriage.

"He is so pretty," Rhaenyra told her once the carriage moved again to bring them to the Dragonpit. Then she frowned as she got closer, taking a better look at the hatchling. Ysilla brought him closer to her.

"Thank you, princess," Ysilla answered, waiting for a comment from her cousin. She knew she would; everyone did. Ysilla's mother was not even sure that he would have survived.

"How's he called?" The question surprised her. She was ready to answer any question about her dragon, but not that. Ysilla blushed.

"I still have not named him," she admitted, ashamed.

"And why is that?" Asked Rhaenyra curiously.

"No name fits," the girl answered, caressing the head of her dragon.

Rhaenyra smiled. "It will come," she assured her, "Give it time."

Ysilla looked up, her lips curling up, appreciating her cousin's words. When she did so, she noticed the neckless of smoke-grey steel with a deep red ruby in its center. It was shining brightly, even if there was not so much light inside the carriage.

"You like it?" Rhaenyra asked, touching the necklace with her fingers. Ysilla nodded shyly.

"It's Valyrian steel," her cousin said, and Ysilla's eyes grew large.

"Like Lamentation!" She exclaimed, remembering the Valyrian Steel sword that House Royce possessed.

"And Blackfyre, or Dark Sister," Rhaenyra said, talking about the swords that one Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wife Vysenia possessed.

"Father wields Dark Sister!" She knew all about those matters. Ysilla loved Valyrian Steel. Rhaenyra chuckled, nodding her head.

"Exactly!" She exclaimed before touching the neckless once again, "This was his gift."

Those words confused Ysilla. Her father had given that necklace to Rhaenyra? Why? Perhaps for her name-day, no doubt. If not, why? But did her father usually give gifts on name-days? Ysilla never received anything from him, nor did she know. Or maybe he did!

He must have if he had given something to Rhaenyra, Ysilla though. Her mother probably never gave her presents because she was still a little girl of five—too young for such jewelry.

It must be it, she thought, looking down at her dragon when he moved in her hands.

The Dragonpit was huge. Set atop one of the hills of King's Landing. The Hills of Rhaenys, Rhaenyra called it. The main door of bronze and iron was so tall that Ysilla felt her neck ache when she tried to look up. The Dragonpit was the home of the royal dragons of House Targaryen. Ysilla looked at her dragon as they walked inside, wondering if he would have liked to stay with the other dragons more. Maybe, that was the right place for him.

The Maesters of the Dragonpit were like nothing Ysilla had ever seen. They spoke a strange language that she had never heard before.

"Do you know High Valyrian?" Rhaenyra asked from next to her. High Valyrian was the language that was spoken by the people of Valyria. But Ysilla did not know it. No one in the household was Targaryen. And her mother wanted to raise her proud and strong like the people of the Vale and Ysilla wanted to be. But a part of her wanted to be Targaryen. She was a Targaryen, and she felt ashamed when she shook her head, admitting that she did not know High Valyrian. Rhaenyra observed her for a moment before starting to talk with the Dragonpit Maester. The man spoke to Ysilla, who only frowned, but then Rhaenyra touched her shoulder with a gentle smile.

"He'd like to see the dragon," Ysilla held it a little more, knowing that she had to let him go. The man was waiting, but she could only focus on the dragon moving in her hands.

"It's going to be alright," she assured, looking at the purple eyes of the hatchling. You are a good dragon," she said before moving her arms so that the man could take him. He squirmed, complaining as Ysilla took a step back.

The man put the dragon on a stone table. The little beast had some difficulty staying still due to the lack of its hind legs. But Ysilla observed him proudly as he found his balance using his wings, his long black and purple neck standing eloquently as he got more confident.

The man started to talk, and Ysilla turned to Rhaenyra, who was waiting for her to translate.

"He is deformed," Rhaenyra said, "The hind legs had not developed. He should have been dead by now," Ysilla's heart beat fast, full of worry, "And yet he is strong." Rhaenyra added, "Strong muscles, strong wings. It is unlikely that he will perish." Ysilla felt tears in her eyes, "He is growing good for his age. He says it is a miracle."

"So he will be fine!" Ysilla exclaimed happily. Rhaenyra nodded her head with a happy smile. Then the man talked again, and Ysilla waited patiently for her cousin to translate.

"He needs to be watched over," she said, "If he survives the furst year of age, he will be fine."

Ysilla was so glad to hear, and after asking the permission to go to her dragon, she happily caressed his head.

"You are going to be fine," she assured him, "And we are always going to be together."

________________________________________

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9

If you want to be add to the taglist just let me know.

If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

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the-raven-lady · 2 months

Text

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor.

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty.

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target.

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it.

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing.

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.”

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.

“So unwilling to have fun–”

She had just been bait.

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—”

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror.

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t.

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight.

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down.

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes.

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor.

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks.

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

#there will be smut eventually #i did not and will not pull any punches on this one you have been WARNED #using my questionable life experience to make a good dark fic #enjoy you filthy sinners #night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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nekassvariigs · 2 years

Text

I saw someone having a post mentioning if a character from one piece would be certain about age gaps so here i am in a silly goffy mood.

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

Idea: Waking up/Walking around not realising youre wearing a shirt saying "Dilf patrol" and going out on the ship/certain places causing some interesting conversations.

Raighley, Shanks, Mihawk, Law, Kid, Doflamingo

Special addition: Bepo for cuteness

I know kid and law arent dilfs but theyre fun to write

Kid

Way too busy to notice it at first until someone points it out.

Hes flabbergasted.

"Into experianced men huh?" he comments brows furrowed in question.

It took you a while to register.

"I know i dont qualify as one but give me a few years."

You couldnt be more embarrassed, not to say anytime he asks you to stand on lookout he'll yell "DILF PARTROL" full blast embarrassing you each time.

If hes into you he'll paint over one of his shirts the words "certified dilf" while working on his gagets. If you catch him in the act give him a sly smirk and run for your goddamn life.

However if you both happen to wear it at the same time again its now your turn to shout over the entire ship "DILF SPOTTED" the moment you see him. You'll distract him so horredusly he wont be able to unhear it for the next week.

At some point you both take a picture, altough the main focus is you zooming in on his tits where the label he drew on was.

"Let me see the photo."

You show it to him proudly and prepare for self defense.

"You little shit." hed scoff ,however his ego was lifted that hed certified dilf material.

Doflamingo

This pink flamingo has been walking around you all morning trying to be subtle.

It was getting on your nerves.

"Can you ATLEAST pretend that your subtle, Youre like 10 meters tall dude you wear a PINK FEATHER COAT."

"So?" He picks his teeth with a toothpick.

"Why are you following me?"

"Your shirt."

"What about it?" you get more annoyed by the second.

"Not your dresscode madamoiselle?" you give him a fake smile with your eyes.

"Ha..Hahaha..HAHAHAHA, i must send this to the navy." He takes a photo.

"Fuck do you mean send it to the navy?!"

"Look, i can already hear "it's the dilf parol woman" with your face plastered all over it."

Oh he really was pushing it huh.

With a loud FWAP the shirt lands flat on his face right on the centered plastered with the writing.

"I think they'd like this one better."

You show him the picutre. There he is this wooden shelf for a man in his pink ridicilous coat with his face covered in a shirt thats says "Dilf patrol" boldly.

"My ass im gonna let you have your way with it."

Onsues a battle between two idiots.

Nearing your defeat you splur out "Y'know if you had a kid you'd qualify for it."

"Huh- Yeah right."

"Im dead serious."

"..."

"Time to take one for the team." He said confidently.

Raighley

Usually you stay over at Shakky's rip-off bar having known the owners well half owner Raighley. You never managed to catch his wife on time however, she was always out so one good day you treated yourself to a hands on barman experiance pouring yourself a drink, mind you its late so its okay.

Whilst mixing your drink you hear the front door open Raigley in sight he catches a seat.

"One whiskey on the rocks ma'am." he gets cozy until seeing you prepare your drink. You shake the mixture the tshirt you wore frurrowing all sorts of ways.

"?" He sees something written on it.. not fully tho, so he'll take a another peek in a bit.

Your drink made, you start his grabbing some ice and whiskey for the foxy man.

"Here ya go~" you happily chirped at him offering his drink.

It wasnt until you were mid drink he said "Say would i qualify as a dilf?"

ah the burning sensation of choking on alcohol.

"What?" you ask him barely able to breathe.

"You know, I mean not to shoot myself in the foot i do happen to look good for my age." he takes a swig of his drink calmly.

"F-First off, where is this coming from? Second off what!?" You stutter, Raighley barely dared being so cocky, and now all of a sudden this!? Did he hit his head?

He doubles the K.O pointing to your shirt at which you stare down, immidiatley embarrased for showing your interest in older men un such a dumb way.

Cheeks blazing you admit defeat, giving him a thumb up weakly.

"You're overqualifed.."

"That so?" He smirks hand on his beard in question.

Now confidently you humm altough your legs were giving out.

Who woulda thought you had one of the hottest man, not to mention the most humble one around teasing you like this when youre compleatley unprepared.

[continuation awaits (￣^￣)ゞ]

Law

Poor guy was hoping to eat his meal in peace when you come in theough blazing the words dilf patrol on your shirt.

He literrally chokes.

"You alright capitan?" you ask him.

He swallows dryly, "Yeah..." he stares at you, then at the writing, then at you,the writing and at you for the last time.

"Y/n-ya, You know our crew mostly has guys around the age of 20, right?"

"Riight.. , point being?" you curiously ask.

"Point is WHO ARE YOU PATROLING FOR?!" Not gonna lie he was determined to know.

"!!?" Shocks sets in as you realize what youre wearing.

"Haha oh this thing, well you know give it a few years everyone will be aprooved, even you Law." you chuckle lips pointing in a whistle like manner.

He mentally stopped until he lowered his cow-print hat lower over his face, continuing eating without furter comments.

Hoo... Oh my.

"C-Capitans blushing!" Bepo alerts everyone in the dining hall. Startling you and Law himself.

"Was not, shut up!"

"I'm sorry!" he bows apologizing.

"Well in anycase we have time dont we?" You chuckle pouring yourself some tea.

Few meters behind you you hear more bickering about "Dont joke about this!" et cetera.

Mihawk

The silent man was trying to enjoy a morning newspaper till perona started babling to him about you.

"Whats the issue?" the blandly replies.

"Have you seen what shes wearing its not cute at all!" she pouts pointing to you , a pastry in your mouth the shirt revealing the writing.

Lightning stuck in his head.

"We all have preferances.."

He didnt want to even think about it.

"Thats right, we all have preferances" you pouted back disagreeing with her.

"Of all things you choose old hot guys seriously!? Pick something cuter next time!"

Bwaaa~ You drop your pastry.

"Who says i like old hot guys?"

"Your shirt says.." He nonchalantly interrupted.

"Ah so it does, WHAT?!" You strech out your shirt noticing the writing 'Dilf patrol'

"As long as she can handle it, i see no issue." He adds in.

Your jaw dropping, how can he be so relaxed about this.

"Stop embarrasing her old man-"

The bell dings in everyones head striking a nerve.

Everyone locks eyes.

Silence follows.

It was the tensest breakfast youve ever had with the two of them.

After breakfast you chose to clean the dishes upon hearing a knock.

"Not my buisness, but good choise." And he leaves just like that.

No dishes were washed for the next 30 minutes out of sheer incapability to understand his approval.

Shanks

All bark all bite he doesnt hold back.

He digs the shirt, calls it trendy,odd but trendy, hes seen worse.

"Y/n, i qualify."

"For what?"

"You can count me as a dilf, no?"

Your brain shortcircuts.

"Well.." You eye him up and down making him wait impatiently.

"I mean sorta? Youre not really the hot DAD material are you? "

"I can be though." he shoots you a grin.

"Caaan you?" you hiss back at him.

"Wanna seee for yourselllf?"

[Continuation awaits (￣^￣)ゞ]

Bepo!

You had just woken up having no actual shirt to wear from your regulars you scramped one from the dryer. You didnt even bother to check which one it was you had agreed to train with bepo.

"Goodmornin'. " Hes as polite as ever.

"Mornin' bepo, lets start some warm ups?"

You both proceed to train along eachother however the longer it lasted the more people gathered around you two.

"Whats this about?" You question wiping the sweat off your forehead with your shirt.

"Mm Maybe because youre wearing that today?" ,his fluffy paw points to your shirt.

Every guy in a 10 meter radius was giving you thumbs up making you red as a raindeers nose.

"Y/n, whats a dilf anyways? Some new monester out there?" He innocently asks

"Haha y-no?, Do you wanna know?"

He nodds.

"Well its a preferance for older attractive looking men that have kids or had kids who grew up."

"So.. Do you like ..." he was deep in thought..

He didnt know what to ask.

"Ah mabye Vice capitan Ben?"

Pffttjfjfhdha

"Dont think hes got kids, but hes attractive so i approve." You wipe ur nose at the thought.

Next day Bepo shows around with a shirt labeled

"Shaved ice patrol."

What an innocent creature..

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years

Text

Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

#monsters in the garden #ettore #ettore x reader #ettore x you #ettore imagine #ettore smut #ettore fanfic #ettore fanfiction #ettore fic #high life #high life fanfic #high life ettore #ewan mitchell #Spotify

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3lder1ch-l0verz · 5 months

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could u do some fluffy anakin x obiwan or reader headcanons please?

Hey, sorry I took so long to respond! Work and school is a difficult balance. So I've been burned out. Sorry if it's short doll!

Anakin:

You two met during one of his missions

Found you fascinating, you were so interesting to him!

Once he got to know you, he practically became your best friend!

Very overprotective, he wants to keep you safe

Loves cuddling, it brings him peace

Very touch starved, so he always seeks you out for affection

Loves words of affirmation, he constantly seeks your approval!

Melts when you give him forehead kisses or anything like that

Brings you little trinkets he thinks you'd like

I believe he has ADHD, so he'll sometimes have a random hyper fixation (His top two being star ships and droid models), he'll talk to you about them for hours!

Proudly keeps anything you buy him displayed in his quarters, especially if it's related to his hyper fixation

When his emotions start to overwhelm him, he'll be unusually quiet and nuzzle up to you.

He secretly loves cooking, he's constantly making you your favorite food

He melts when you praise him! Especially after a hard day!

Would adore you if you pranked obi-wan with him, better yet if you can get along with him!

#l∅verz fic #x male reader #l∅verz work #l∅verz writes #x gn reader #star wars #headcanon #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader

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hey-august · 6 months

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A Line from Me to You - Chapter 5

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1 ... Chapter 4, check out the story tag for all the chapters)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: NSFW, we finally got some and there will be more to come!! buggy x afab!reader, little pieces of bad smut, yearning, slightly pervy buggy, male masturbation, fantasizing about cunnilingus, no use of y/n.

A/N: Things are starting to heat up! The gist of what happens in this chapter is what kicked off this entire story, so I'm very excited to reach this point.

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The offer to let you pick the next book made you smile. There was a romance story you picked up at port a few months ago that seemed safe. It might not be as well-written as the last two books, but this one shouldn’t have anyone sobbing uncontrollably or induce nightmares. The most painful part of this novel would likely be the snarky comments from your reading buddy, as the main character princess embarked on an overseas voyage to meet the prince she was betrothed to.

“An arranged marriage? Really? That’s romantic?”

What you weren’t prepared for, were the feelings Princess Kas began to harbor towards the guard assigned to keep her safe. As you rooted for the blooming feelings, the other reader felt differently.

“He barely pays attention to her. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“Sometimes the heart wants what it wants.”

“Ew.”

Both characters were traveling in disguise and were mistaken for a couple in love.

“Of course. That is so cliche.” The looping handwriting managed to carry a condescending eye roll.

“It’s sweet! So what if it’s cliche.”

Dedicated to keeping her royal highness safe, Jasid fulfilled the unexpected role and performed so well that both you and Kas felt butterflies.

“C’mon, boy! Give yer girl a proper kiss!” As the song ended and the dance winded down, a rowdy voice from the crowd called out for affection. Jasid met Kas’ eyes and she nodded slightly. He nodded back and leaned in to press his mouth against hers. The kiss was soft and gentle, like the first flower of spring. Before Kas could fully lean into the kiss, Jasid pulled back and spun her as another song began. Later that night, Kas lay in bed thinking about how the night unfolded. She thought about how Jasid held her. It was different than any other time they were close. It felt warmer. And his lips were so soft. Fingertips traced her lips as she wondered if Jasid was thinking the same thing. A frantic knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts. “It’s me, I have a question,” came the guard’s breathless voice. He waited for Kas to crack the door before launching into the question that dragged him to this room in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry about the kiss. Was that okay?” “It was okay.“ Her voice was soft but not timid. “You can kiss me again, if you’d like.” The princess eased the door open further, letting the light from the hall illuminate the airy nightgown she was wearing. The invite was all Jasid needed to crash his lips against Kas’ and savor her sweet taste. His hand trailed up her barely clothed body, following the curves until he reached-

Oh. Oh shit. What kind of book was this? What kind of fucking book did you buy? Did you pick a literal “fucking book”? Skimming the next few paragraphs with frantic eyes confirmed what genre of book you selected. Naughty and downright filthy words stood proudly above the other common-place and more chaste language. Feeling dirt covering your fingers and climbing up your arms, you forcefully closed the book. Maybe if you slammed it shut hard enough, the words would rearrange themselves.

Staring at the cover, you considered your options. You could throw the book overboard. You could burn it. Rip it to shreds. Never put it back into the cubby under the bench. But then what? You two could move onto a new story. Except you didn’t have another book lined up - not one that you hadn’t read yet. Then the choices would be to stop the book club or risk reading another story that would rip you to shreds. Or stick with this one.

Your eyes rested on Princess Kas’ breasts, which were pushed high enough to bring you an answer. You had to keep going. It wouldn’t be right for you to keep the other reader from finishing the book. Regardless of their snide remarks and endless quips, you couldn’t decide to leave the book unresolved on their behalf. Afraid your resolve would waver, you grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled a message.

---

Although the book wasn’t the type of story Buggy would go for, he was invested. Most days he could hardly wait to start his evening routine. Duties were unceremoniously bestowed to others and projects that required the captain’s special touch and knowledge were completed in single afternoons without breaks, all so he could end the day with a drink, a story, and the extension of your company. As he got dragged into yet another royal family story, Buggy realized that it was your words that actually pulled him along. He willingly followed the trail you left in the pages, picking up the pieces to study them, and to hold onto them.

The story itself eventually found a spot to reside in Buggy’s mind. It sat patiently, waiting for the pirate captain to realize why he allowed it to take up residence. Waiting for him to realize an uncomfortable truth. The flutter in his chest when he saw you on the ship was anticipatory excitement about reading with you in secret. His hands were jittery because it was a book they wanted to hold. His eyes lingered on you because that’s what they were used to doing with the books you shared. Those were the lies that Buggy believed with certainty, until he uncovered the truth in the story.

With mouthfuls of liquor settling in his stomach, Buggy lounged in bed and hoped that sipping a second glass would soothe the pounding in his chest. He knew that excitement would push him to read too quickly, to skim through the story and sprint towards the treasured ending, but he wanted to savor this nightly ritual.

The pirate swirled the liquid in his mouth, letting it attack his tongue and pull his attention to the self-inflicted burning. He swallowed what hadn’t evaporated or trickled down his throat. He hissed through his teeth as the heat briefly increased in the emptiness. Satisfied as numbness overtook his tongue, Buggy adjusted his reading glasses and picked up the book.

Rather than following your footsteps, the pirate found himself chasing a reflection of himself. He read about heartbeats that rattled in rib cages, lonely hands that longed to hold another person, and shy glances that easily turned into bashful observations out of the corner of eyes.

As Jasid’s face flushed while dancing with Kas, so did Buggy’s. When Jasid’s mouth felt dry and he struggled to swallow the unprofessional words he wanted to whisper in the princess’s ear, Buggy felt the taste of his own unspoken words. Unnamed emotions that didn’t evaporate on his tongue, but remained and burned hot with flames that were fanned by the next few pages of the book.

“Hey, I didn’t realize this was a raunchy book. I understand if you don’t want to keep reading it together. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Buggy pulled the note aside and skimmed the upcoming paragraphs. Pirates often have different opinions of what is considered inappropriate, but the language used in the next scene was something this particular pirate would also label as “raunchy.” It looked like the two characters were interrupted before things got deep, but enough happened to even make an adult blush a vibrant shade of red. Buggy didn’t need a mirror to know his cheeks were rapidly approaching the same color as his nose.

Fingers slipped under the reading glasses and Buggy pressed his hands against his face. They were cool against his skin and the pressure was comforting. It tamped down the embarrassment and shame overtaking his body. He didn’t want to stop for many reasons, most of which resided in his head, while a few newer reasons lived lower. Reasonable voices said it was just a book - you two were sharing a story and nothing more. The deeper voices were too jumbled to hear clearly, but their desire was difficult to ignore. Both voices agreed on one thing, though. You left the decision up to him. You didn’t want to stop reading the book together.

“I’m a grown man, it would take more than this to make me uncomfortable.” After a moment of thought, Buggy drew a silly face after his note.

That lie was quickly exposed by the few annotations you left behind. While there were fewer than usual, Buggy found himself dwelling on each mark until his head was spinning. Thoughts and fantasies were whipped into being, like sweet cotton candy. The clown ignored the indulgences, just as he ignored the sweat collecting on his forehead and chest.

Small butterflies danced in the margins, pointing out moments that took flight. Lines about tentative kisses that gave away to dancing tongues, hands dragging along hips, the clink of a belt, and more were underlined. Singular words and short phrases were littered across the page - wow, ew, shut up and kiss, bodies can’t move like that, oh shit, nice.

Buggy tried to follow your lead, but every time his pen hung over the paper, it couldn’t find a spot to descend. While there were words that spoke to him, they weren’t words from the author. Eventually, he did find something that he needed to acknowledge.

Kas pulled away from the kiss, looking breathless and dreamy. Jasid reached up to swipe her spit-coated lips with his thumb. Her tongue darted out, enticing the guard to press into her lips. As the princess sucked on the digit, Jasid felt his balls fill with cream.

“That’s not a thing.“

---

Buggy would fight to be the first to admit that not only was the overall story mediocre, but the author had a sketchy understanding of anatomy and romance. Even you couldn’t resist correcting some of the mechanics - tits don’t engorge with desire and there isn’t a water balloon of arousal that explodes to soak panties.

Regardless of poor word choices and bizarre descriptions, Buggy found himself invested in the increasingly erotic scenes. After spending a few nights and mornings with a heaviness and an ache in his pants that couldn’t withstand bumps and bounces from normal movement, the pirate couldn’t ignore the swelling between his legs any longer.

Holding the book open with one hand left the other hand free to palm his erection under the blankets. The pressure made his breath shaky. Buggy tried to tell himself that it was the story that had such an effect on him, but his eyes sought out your handwriting over the typed descriptions. With each sentence you underlined, every word you circled, and the comments you left, Buggy heard your voice whispering in his ear. You were telling him what you liked. What you wanted done to you.

The hand slipped beneath his underwear and wrapped around his hardness. Buggy had ignored the way his cock cried for attention for weeks, wishing that it was a passing obsession, but his longing only continued to increase. What began as lustful fantasies that plagued him at night turned into domestic daydreams that chased him during the day. The two swirled together to create an irresistible delusion that beckoned the pirate closer with each twitch in his hand. Storing your notes and remarks in his head, Buggy set the book aside and closed his eyes.

Replaying the papery sound of the book closing allowed the scene to start. You would be sitting in his bed, propped up by the pillows he was currently leaning against. In one hand you would hold a book that you were deeply engrossed in. Your other hand would be in Buggy’s hair, holding his head between your legs. His arms would be wrapped around your thighs, holding your legs wide open, just like you underlined in the book. Your skin would be stained with his face paint from the sloppy kisses he’d lay thickly on your legs and hips. Your heavy breathing and the ruffled sound of a page flipping every few moments would fill his head. And when the teasing became too much, you’d say his name so softly. That’s all you’d need to do for the pirate to dive in and get his fill.

Buggy stopped stroking himself and spat in his hand before returning to the visions. He fisted his cock, imagining his spit was your slick. It would taste delicious. Better than any alcohol. He would drag his tongue along your slit, eager to eat everything you gave him. It would be a waste to let anything drip on the bed below.

Eventually, you’d put the book aside so you could put both hands on his head. Your heels would dig into his back as you start to grind against his mouth. Even if his nose got in the way, you wouldn’t mind. He would gladly drown in your smell and your taste. While he would also willingly die smothered between your thighs, his fingers would dig into your soft skin and keep your legs spread so he could continue to access this delicious feast. Buggy would drag his tongue from your leaking hole up to your swollen clit. He’d lick and suck the sweet treat until you trembled and cried his name.

Twisting memories of you saying his name to fit this narrative, Buggy felt his own climax approach rapidly. Cupping his heavy balls, the pirate grunted as he stroked himself and twisted his hand slightly at the tip. While his hands weren’t attached to his arms, his entire body felt impossibly tight. His abdomen ached with the immense tension building. The feeling was equal parts frustrating and euphoric.

Relaxing the clenched jaw holding his dry mouth shut, Buggy groaned your name to himself as he came. Hot white jets shot across his stomach, nearly reaching his sternum, before slowing to a dribble that caught on his fingers. There was a lot. Some wayward deposits began trickling down his side, while others gathered in his belly button.

The movement tickled through his body hair, but Buggy couldn’t care less. His mind was gone, drifting into yet another soft fantasy. One where your head would rest on his chest, your bodies sticking together with sweat from a passionate session together. He could easily imagine your finger trailing through the hair on his chest as you told him about the latest book you were reading.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #hey-august a line from me to you

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asukamood · 9 months

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In the Snow (Cold Front)

***

This fandom does not have enough fanfiction for what the game is worth so have this to try and make up for it.

This game was developed by @racheldrawsthis and it’s completely free, I highly recommend you try it out!

Link to the game

***

Warnings: Bullying??, minor violence

Ships: Romantic or Platonic Winnie x Augustine (Though considering they are still children; it would probably be better to see it as platonic.)

Synopsis: “Come on Winnie!” A young Augustine exclaimed as he tugged Winnie out of his front door by the sleeve. “It has not snowed in ages here; we have to enjoy it as much as we can!”

“I don’t want to!” The poor boy whined, resisting him as much as he could and holding onto the doorway like his life depended on it. “The others would not want to play with me!”

***

“Come on Winnie!” A young Augustine exclaimed as he tugged Winnie out of his front door by the sleeve. “It has not snowed in ages here; we have to enjoy it as much as we can!”

“I don’t want to!” The poor boy whined, resisting him as much as he could and holding onto the doorway like his life depended on it. “The others would not want to play with me!”

Augustine pouted at that, his eyes narrowing in a cute frown as he suddenly let the other boy go who, not expecting that, yelped as he ended up falling backwards. Thankfully though, any major incident was prevented as the culprit caught Winnie into a hug.

“How can you be so sure when you didn’t even try?” Augustine questioned, turning the other around before grabbing his cheeks and squishing them. “We talked about that yesterday you know!”

Winnie looked down, one of his hands on Augustine’s wrists. If he had any plan to push the other child away, it was soon abandoned as he stared at the ground, eyes filled with potential tears.

“I know...” He sniffled. “But I can’t help it, I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to impose either--”

“You won’t be, I’m telling you!” Augustine sighed as he let the other’s face alone. “But if you’re that scared, I guess we can try it another time. We can just spend some time together.”

Winnie looked up, bighting up. “Really? That doesn’t bother you? I mean, I wouldn’t want to prevent you from playing with your friends--”

Before he could go on any further, he jolted as he felt the other flick his forehead.

“I told you, if you want me to be your friend, you’re going to have to make me want to be your friend and so far, you haven’t had the opportunity to do that so today is the day!” He then pointed his finger toward Winnie. “You better put in your best effort because I only make friends with cool people!”

Winnie blinked his tears away, smiling as his traits adjusted to the determination burning in his soul. “I will do my best!” He exclaimed, earning a nod of approval from the other boy.

“Good good, that’s the spirit!” He grabbed one of Winnie’s gloved hands before pointing to the horizon. “Let’s go on an adventure then! We’re going to save and give the snowmen the land they rightfully deserve!”

Winnie titled his head to the side. “What does that mean though?”

“I have no clue!” Augustine proudly said, his free hand on his hip. “It sounded cool though, so I said it!”

“It did.” Winnie enthusiastically agreed, letting himself be dragged by the other to the nearest park.

As they walked, a few of Augustine’s friends waved at them to which he responded by waving back and having Winnie do so as well. A sigh of relief left the other boy as the other children did not seem to react badly to it, simply going back to their own activities with a smile.

The two of them arrived near a frozen lake, a giant tree hiding them from sight. Once they reached that spot, Augustine let go of Winnie’s hand and face planted into the snow, waving his arms and legs around to make a snow angel.

Winnie blinked, chuckling before joining him, the silhouettes of the angel seeming to merge with one another near their arm.

Winnie was the first to stand up again to admire their work, smiling brightly. “I’ve never done a snow angel before.” He admitted, the other boy, who was still on the ground, gasping from shock.

“You haven’t? You missed half of what is good in life then!” Augustine stood up as well, watching Winnie curiously.

“Well, where I’m from it never really snowed so...” He pat him on the back, before running off to another spot.

Winnie followed him, albeit a bit slower than him. “Does that mean you’ve never done a snowman as well?” Augustine asked, already gathering snow chunks for the construction of a new being.

Winnie shook his head, crouching next to him and watching what he was doing. “I’ve never made one.”

Augustine thought hard for a bit before speaking up again. “In that case, I’ll teach you! Better follow what I do well!”

Winnie saluted. “Sir, yes sir!”

The other boy tilted his head to the side, his confusion so clear it would be easy to imagine a question mark drawn next to his head.

“The people in the TV always do that.” Winnie explained sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Was that weird?”

The two stared into each other’s eyes in silence for a solid three seconds before bursting out laughing together.

“Alright, no more joking around!” Augustine stated, still laughing in between his words. “We still have many people to make with the snow!”

“Sorry!” Winnie apologized, quickly getting into position.

***

“Augustine?” His mother’s voice suddenly reached his ears, interrupting the two children in their endeavour. “Where are you?”

“Oh no!” Said child whispered, face palming. “I totally forgot to tell Mom we were going to the park!” He turned to look at his companion. “Winnie, can you keep guard for me? I won’t take long, I promise!”

Said boy nodded, his hands still in the snow trying to make a good base. “You can count on me!”

“Thank you, I’ll be right back!” With that, Augustine ran off toward his mother to explain their disappearance, leaving Winnie with their snowman friends, not suspecting that anything would happen.

***

‘Wow, it took more time than I thought to calm Mom down!’ The boy thought to himself as he walked back behind the tree. Just as he was about to step in though, he suddenly stopped in his tracks as he heard a sob.

He ran there, worried in his tone as he passed the tree. “Winnie? Are you o--”

His eyebrows furrowed at the sight in front of him. Their snowmen were gone, most of their parts lying miserably on the ground and even their snow angels disappeared, their forms having been deformed because of being trampled. Footsteps covered them and were oriented toward the weeping Winnie in the middle of the snowmen graveyard, missing his winter outfit and left in his indoor clothes.

Having heard him, the other child turned in his direction and just cried harder upon seeing him.

“I’m sorry!” He cried out, burying his face in his hands. “I really tried to protect the snowmen; I really did! But--”

“Hey hey, calm down!” He crouched to his level, his hands in front of him to show he was not angry. “What happened? And where is your coat?”

Winnie sniffled, shaking. “These tall people came in and destroyed everything!” He made big gestures with his hands as if to show the other the difference in height between him and them. “And when I tried to stop them, they slapped me and took my clothes!” He wept as indignation passed through the other boy’s face.

He was about to insult them, most probably, but then he took notice of how red Winnie’s face looked and realized that he must have been freezing there. Just to make sure, he grabbed one of Winnie’s hands in his own and even through the fabric, he could feel how cold the limb was.

“You’re so cold!” He remarked, standing up and pulling the other on his two legs as well. “We have to go back inside before you get a cold!”

“But--” Winnie looked back at the snowmen carcass.

“No but, come on!” He took off one of his gloves and handed it to the other boy. “Here take this one!”

Winnie frowned. “But what about your other hand?”

“It’s fine,” he reassured, taking one of Winnie's freezing hands in his warm ones. “See?”

The boy finally nodded, slipping the glove on. They began walking toward the entrance of the park before they were stopped by the other children who noticed the unusual state of the newcomer.

“Augustine!” One of them called out, his eyes darting back and forth between said child and Winnie. “Why is your friend crying?”

With encouragement from him, Winnie started explaining what happened during Augustine’s absence, a small group of children forming around them.

“That’s horrible!” A girl exclaimed before unwrapping her scarf and handing it to him. “Here, you can have that for now! I have a hood anyway, I’ll be fine!”

“O-oh-” Winnie stuttered, taking it, and thanking her quietly. He looked surprised at how kind the other children were being to him right now. Turning to Augustine, he noticed the way the other looked at him as if saying ‘I told you they would like you.’

“Do you remember what the bad guys looked like?” One of the boys suddenly asked, gaining everyone’s attention.

“They were two.” He began, looking up at the sky. “One of them was really tall with orange hair and freckles on his face and the other had dark hair and brown glasses--”

“With a line across his cheek, right?” Said boy finished, Winnie looking up at him in surprise.

“Yes... how did you know?”

“My father told me about them.” He responded. “Apparently, they are in middle school and are well-known for causing trouble.”

“We can’t let them get away with this!” Augustine suddenly exclaimed, making Winnie jump in surprise. “Do you know where they could have gone?”

As the group all thought deeply, one girl suddenly pointed toward the entrance. “Look, they’re the bad guys, right?”

“Wow, it’s really them!” Another guy said. “We should get the adul--”

But he did not have the time to finish his sentence, Augustine already running toward them. Since they were holding hands, Winnie was brought along as well, their two silhouettes leaving the area as the other children sighed and ran in the opposite direction to get their parents.

***

“Hey you!” Augustine called out, pointing at the ginger person, who was holding Winnie’s bright blue coat in his hands. “Give Winnie his coat back!”

His friend scoffed at him. “You should go home kid; your parents must be so worried about you.” The other snickered, not paying any attention to the two children.

“Not until you give it back and apologize!” He stood firmly in place as Winnie’s face paled seeing the reaction of the two others at the last word. He attempted to drag him to safety but the other would not budge.

“Apologize?” The taller one repeated before laughing as he gripped the child by the collar. “Now listen here--”

“Put him down!” Winnie shouted, grabbing the attention of the other guy.

“Ah for fuck’s sake, do they not know how to shut up?” He groaned, walking menacingly toward Winnie.

The boy froze, looking around in panic. His eyes landed on Augustine who still looked as brave as ever despite being in a very disadvantageous position. He wanted to run away but that expression stopped him.

He was there because of him; it was not right for him to just run now!

He noticed a little rock by his feet and without thinking grabbed it, along with a ball of snow before chucking one at the middle schooler walking toward him and the other at the one holding Augustine captive.

The rock landed on the guy’s cheek, making him take a step back and reached the other in the eye, making him yelp in pain as he released both Augustine and Winnie’s coat.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” The one with the glasses yelled as he sprinted toward Winnie, fist raised. The child braced himself for the impact, raising his arms to protect himself but it was in vain as an adult voice came from behind.

“Stephen!” The teenager froze in shock. “How many times have I told you to stop bothering the other children?!” The woman yelled, freezing the two.

“But Mom-”

“No but!” She replied, grabbing both teenagers by the ear, and dragging them somewhere else to scold them. Their father stayed behind, reaching for Winnie’s coat, and handing it back to him.

“I’m sorry for my sons’ behavior.” He sighed, helping Augustine. “Were you two hurt?” They both shook their heads, making the man heave in a sigh of relief.

“Thank the stars, I’ll make sure this never happens again, you can count on me for that.” The two children nodded as the adult walked away toward his wife.

Winnie played with his fingers, feeling too guilty about putting Augustine in danger to look him in the eyes. “I...”

“That was so cool!” The other exclaimed, snapping the other into focus. Augustine had stars in his eyes as he shook the other child. “The way you just went peeew with the rock and snow was awesome!” He praised, rendering the other speechless.

He was finally released, the other grinning from ear to ear as he extended his fist toward him. “I’ve made my decision; I want to be your friend!”

Winnie’s eyes sparkled at that as he fist bumped him. “Thank you, Auggie!”

The other tilted his head. “Auggie?”

“Ah-” Winnie’s cheecks flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I uh... that came out of nowhere!”

“It’s fine, it sounds cool! You can keep calling me that.” He shook his hand. “Happy to be your friend, Winnie.”

***

“Well, someone seems to be in a good mood!” Winnie’s mother remarked as she put the plate on the table. “What happened?”

“I made a friend.” The boy with a wide grin replied.

#cold front #cold front game #cold front winnie #cold front augustine #winnie bosko #augustine orlov #fanfic #fanfiction #this game is so underrated hello??#ngl I’ve been having ideas of writing the game events but through Winnie’s POV but school is kicking my ass as we speak #i hope no one has done this yet #I would be devastated #fluff #angst #ship?#ship? maybe #platonic or romantic

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areyoudoingthis · 1 year

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S2 coda fic series

Wanna be with you all my life

Edstede. Rated E

Ed gets an orgasm. As a treat. - "I almost expect you to start purring any second," he jokes. The collar still sits around Ed's delicate neck, jingling softly every time he moves. The thought won't leave his head. He runs a hand slowly through Ed's hair, then smooths it down his shoulder, his bicep, repeats the gesture on his other side. "Stede, are you fucking petting me?"

The art of fishing

Edstede. Rated T

It's been a few weeks of their newfound domestic intimacy when he feels the need to say the words. He's held safely in Stede's arms, warm in their own bed, in their own room, on this ship that is their home. "You were a mermaid when I almost died." - Ed tells Stede about his near death experience. Stede comforts him.

Put the collar on, Captain

Edstede. Rated E

The collar makes an encore. - He reaches tentatively for Ed's hair, delighted to be allowed to pull it aside to reveal the expanse of his neck. He opens the clasp on the collar and reaches around Ed to slide it in place and close it securely. He doesn't miss the full body shiver that runs through Edward when the collar is resting safely against his skin once again, bell tucked neatly into the hollow of his throat. Ed turns around to look at him. He looks ethereal in the bright afternoon light, hair a halo of silver around him. His next words are like molten lava poured over Stede's head. "What would you have me do, Captain?"

Port in a storm

Edstede. Rated E

Some days he feels like he never woke up from the dream where magic was real and Stede was a mermaid. Not because this -their relationship, their life together- doesn't feel real, because it does, it feels real like the breeze on his face and the ground beneath his boots and the immensity of the sky above him, but because he never knew any of what he's experienced with Stede over the past few weeks was possible. In his wildest fantasies, maybe, he dreamed of sweet tea and fine fabrics, the warmth of good brandy sliding down his throat while the fire kept his feet cozy and Stede's voice spread like wildfire through his chest. But his imagination failed him so completely when it comes to Stede Bonnet. - Stede takes Ed dancing.

Do you want to know a secret

Edstede. Rated G

"Do you want to know a secret?" Stede whispers in his hear. "I love you, you nut. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Press me to your heart

Edstede. Rated E Stede draws the curtains shut, enclosing them in the dark, intimate space of the bed nook, anticipation running recklessly through his veins. He turns to Ed, looking up at him expectantly on the bed, the cascade of his hair loose around his shoulders and his eyes huge and vulnerable, bathed in the golden light of the fireworks the crew is setting off on deck. - Ed cries out, grips Stede's arm tight enough to bruise, and Stede will wear the lovely shades of purple on his skin proudly, a mark of their passion to match the ones he left on Ed's thighs earlier. "That's it, hold onto me. Let me give you what you need." He needs to take care of him so very desperately. - Picks up right after Stede closes the bed curtains. Tender, horny sex ensues.

Now I'm water

Edstede. Rated G

Ed makes his way back to Stede after watching the ships burn. - Something settles into place within him as he hacks and slashes his way back to Stede. He doesn't want to do this anymore, he's certain of that. But maybe he doesn't have to burn his bridges to get to where he's going. Maybe everything he's capable of can serve him well sometimes, maybe there's some middle ground between fisherman and pirate.

As we go hand in hand

Edstede. Rated G

The memory flashes through his mind of Ed gifting a couple of kids on the Republic a bag of gold and a pair of knives, and claiming they weren't pirates but inn owners afterwards. How long has he been thinking about this? How long has this been a dream of his?

#my fic #ofmd spoilers #there's three of them now!!!#posting them here so i can pin this

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dailydragon08 · 3 months

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Closing The Tomb

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader Summary: The sequel to Darkness Calls. Luke deals with the consequences of almost using the dark side to save your life, leaving you in suspense of whether he'll re-implement the no attachment rule in his new Jedi Order. With the ghost of Obi-wan pushing him one way while Luke's heart is pulled another, secrets are revealed and friendships are left hanging on the edge of a knife. Warnings: Slight anti-Jedi/anti "no attachments" rhetoric, mainly against the stringent rules the prequel era Jedi had. Major angst, with Luke struggling a lot and feeling very guilty. Reader gets a brief, nondescript leg injury at some point that heals quickly (realizing I injure reader's leg a lot specifically so Luke can carry her lol), mentions of Luke having insomnia and PTSD, slow burn, mutual pining, angsty ending that will be resolved in the final part 3 of this trilogy. A/N: Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, and my masterlist can be found linked in the pinned post on top of my blog. This fic is also included in my AO3 (DragonHeartstring360). Stay tuned for the final part 3 and enjoy!

You squinted to see through the oncoming smoky haze. Stars wheeled in a circle with a thin, glass-like pathway cutting through the middle of a dark sky. It glowed faintly, casting its reflections on none other than Luke’s terrified face. He stared straight at you before glancing at the two pieces of rope he was clinging to. Obi-wan Kenobi held one end while a man who bore a striking resemblance to Luke held the other. You recognized him as Anakin in his prime, except this Anakin’s eyes kept flashing yellow. Everyone looked at you before turning to each other, and chaos ensued. Obi-wan and Anakin both bore down on their ends of the rope and pulled as hard as they could.

Luke squeezed his eyes closed and grimaced, mumbling, “wait…no…I can find balance…with both—”

“No, you can’t,” the others said in unison before pulling even harder.

“Luke, just let go!” you yelled, but to no avail as the ropes suddenly wound their way up Luke’s hands to wrap around his arms like snakes.

Obi-wan and Anakin pulled even harder, and you could see the strain on Luke’s arms from where you floated above. You tried to yell your friend’s name again only to have him stare at you with horror—the eye closest to his old mentor it’s usual blue, the one closest to his father an ominous yellow—

Your eyes flew open as you hyperventilated. You clutched your bed sheets to reassure yourself you were home on the Redeemer before looking around at the cargo hold that Luke had lovingly converted into a bedroom just for you. You remembered how excited he was to show you the imperial shuttle once he’d finished his renovations. At first, you’d thought he was just excited to show you his work and were sad at the thought that he might leave soon after. There was nothing to describe the amount of relief and joy when you realized there wasn’t just one bedroom, but two—and Luke had proudly announced this one belonged to you and you alone and he’d love for you to travel with him, so you could both learn more about the ways of the Force and the jedi from each other and hunt for ancient texts and artifacts to help restore the order.

You sat up and took in the darkness of the hold. That had felt like an eternity ago and you could feel the anxious pressure building in your chest at the thought of things never being that easy, warm, and welcoming again. Luke had been avoiding you ever since the incident aboard the imperial cruiser. Amid some jammed communications, you had almost been sucked out of the ship’s porthole into space along with your attackers and Luke had barely saved you in time – but not before nearly slipping to the dark side to aid in his rescue. You knew he was ashamed of himself and could sense his turmoil through the Force any time the two of you were in close proximity (which was unfortunately becoming less and less). He was still polite, helpful, and kind, but there was a new distance and coldness to him that felt like a knife in your chest.

You swung your feet over the bed and half-heartedly stuffed some pants and shoes on. The fact that you were sleeping in an oversized shirt of Luke’s only added to your own turmoil as you shrugged a jacket over your shoulders. Padding through the dark, empty main hold of the ship revealed Luke’s bedroom door still wide open like it had been when you’d gone to sleep and R2 nowhere to be found. You quietly made your way down the landing ramp to where the ship sat on Khofar, where the two of you were hunting for yet another Force artifact to further your studies and the resurrection of the order. Crickets chirped as the moon hung full above with a gentle breeze. You thought how much you and Luke might have even enjoyed the peace of this place if he would just forgive himself.

Voices floated through the trees, along with the telltale whistles of an astromech and you followed, careful to make your footsteps as light and quiet as possible. A winding dirt path through the trees led to a small clearing with a fallen log. Luke sat with his back to you, and you recognized the glowing blue figure of Obi-wan’s ghost. R2 was nowhere to be seen and you wondered if Luke had sent him away. The idea that he had worried you; he took R2 everywhere with him and must’ve really been in a dire state if he told him to leave.

“…cannot tell you what to do,” Obi-wan continued as you quietly wedged yourself behind a tree trunk. If either of them sensed your presence, it didn’t stop them from talking. “It will be your order, after all. But I don’t think it was wrong for the Jedi Council to impose the no attachment rule during my time exactly for reasons such as this. One mistake does not guarantee your downfall, but as Master Yoda used to say: fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. A lesson your father unfortunately learned very well.”

“But there was still good in him,” Luke argued, his voice rough and strained from lack of sleep. This was the third night in a row he’d snuck off to converse with his Force ghost council—and would likely be the fourth day in a row of dark bags under his eyes. “And I managed to convince him to turn back to the good side and help defeat Palpatine because of our attachment. Isn’t that what you always thought was his destiny as the Chosen One: to destroy the Sith? How could I have convinced him to do that without our attachment? And I couldn’t even imagine where I’d be without Han or Leia…” His voice turned quiet and mournful. “Or Y/N.”

“This is your order, Luke. I cannot and will not interfere too much. There’s a possibility you could be right, and this could be a new age and era for the jedi where attachment isn’t as dangerous.”

“But without the danger of the Sith, wouldn’t that make it less dangerous? Couldn’t I make teaching about healthy attachment or connection versus unhealthy possession part of the training I give?”

A bird cawed low and long overhead and you glanced at the sky to see the first flecks of light shine through the trees. You hoped that didn’t mean Luke had been awake all night.

“Just because the Sith are less of a danger doesn’t mean the dark side is any less so,” Obi-wan continued. “You still need to be vigilant. It can still be a very slippery slope that’s difficult—near impossible—to come back from. The choice is ultimately up to you and I will respect whatever you decide. But keep in mind what you almost did because of your attachment.” He glanced quickly at your hiding spot before turning his eyes back to Luke. “More than one friend on this planet is waking, so I think it’s best you either start your day or get a few final moments of rest while you can. I will be here if you need further guidance on this matter.”

You stayed put behind your tree, but knew the resounding silence meant the ghost had faded into the morning light. Luke sighed long and hard before there were several rustling noises. When no footsteps followed, you peeked around the tree to see him sitting cross-legged in the brush with his back to you. For a moment, you admired the slope of it and how his perfectly tailored jacket clung to the toned muscle. Luke was so good at sensing you from much further away, there was no doubt in your mind he knew you were there. Was he choosing to ignore you? Or was he just really that tired that maybe he didn’t notice?

Either way, you suddenly felt very unwelcome and made your way back to the ship as quietly as you could. During your absence, R2 had also returned and was refilling Luke’s waterskin at the sink. He beeped sadly at you as you passed towards your room. You laid a comforting hand on his dome and knew he was feeling the weight of his master just as much.

With a wave of your hand, the hydraulic door closed behind you. You sat back on your bed, kicking off your shoes and flopping back to stare at the ceiling. What if Luke did decide to re-implement the no attachment rule? What would that mean for his relationship with his friends, his sister—with you? You doubted he’d send you away—at least, not at first. He’d never explicitly invited you to be part of his new Jedi Order, but he’d hinted at it several times. And why would he have made a whole bedroom in the Redeemer for you, reiterated that this was supposed to be as much your home as his several times, and still be taking you on Force-related missions with him if he was planning to give you the boot? But even if he didn’t ask you to leave, you weren’t sure how long you could handle this new cold and distant version of Luke. It was too painful—especially with your growing feelings for him, and what you had thought were his growing feelings for you. Maybe that’s why he was so afraid. He’d never really explained to you why his father fell to the dark side outside of something to do with a secret, forbidden marriage with his mother. But was that the whole story? You had a feeling not, but felt it wasn’t your place to ask either Luke or Anakin’s ghost. You’d never even spoken to any of the Force ghosts.

But if the old jedi had forbade relationships out of fear of it turning into a gateway to the dark side, weren’t they just giving into the very think they preached against: fear?

You sighed as you heard Luke’s boots thump up the boarding ramp. “Hi, R2,” he said sadly. You locked onto his Force signature in your mind, feeling his sadness, confusion, guilt, longing, turmoil, and a sense that he saw himself as unworthy to be the one to lead the jedi to a new beginning. Perhaps against better judgement, you sent a wave of comfort to him through your link and heard his boots stop on their way to his room just ahead of yours. You closed your eyes and leaned into the Force to sense every movement on the ship. His footsteps suddenly turned and halted just outside your door and you could sense him raising his hand to knock, then stop. He lowered it, then raised it, then lowered it again before running a hand through his hair and down the front of his face. He turned and quickly made his way into his room, and you could hear the muffled whoosh of the door behind him. The lack of returning comfort from him made your heart sink and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would just be best to get on a ship and go elsewhere, alone, after this mission was done to dull the pain for both of you.

~***~

Things remained just as stilted and awkward over the next few days as you and Luke stayed on-world. The jedi texts remained elusive, but the planet’s dangers didn’t. Many animals attacked you out of pure instinct to protect their home, and storms and rockslides from the nearby cliff were annoyingly common.

An animal had sunk their teeth deep into your leg at some point and Luke immediately went into protection mode, even carrying you to a secluded spot to clean and dress your wound. The return of his softness, care, and openness as he asked repeatedly if you were all right and if you could walk almost made you tear up in relief. However, once you confirmed you would be fine and could walk by yourself, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He still turned around to check on you many times as you continued your trek, holding out his hand to help you over any unsteady or slippery points on the ground. You relished the feeling of his warm skin against yours, eyeing your initials sewn in red on the new black leather glove you’d given him after his had been lost out the porthole. At least he hadn’t taken it off with a replacement he had lying around the Redeemer (and you knew for a fact he had some extras). That had to be a good sign—right?

Just as the two of you had put enough together to realize there was likely an abandoned temple somewhere up on the mountaintop, a torrential rain began. Luke was at your side in an instant, throwing his cloak over top of you and pulling the hood up over your head.

“This way! There’s an overhang!” he cried, R2 beeping urgently and zipping behind him.

He kept a firm hand on your back as he led you to a shallow lip in the mountainside that would perfectly shield you from the rain. It was small—so small, the two of you had to sit shoulder to shoulder while R2 tried to hide under a large leaf from a nearby plant.

The pounding of the rain almost drowned out the pounding of your heart in your ears as your and Luke’s breaths slowed. This was usually a time you wouldn’t hesitate to lean into Luke’s side or give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but you could still sense his deep anguish through the Force and decided against it.

The two of you had sat in silence before and it had always felt safe and comfortable. This time, it was the most awkward silence you’d ever experienced. You glanced at your friend out of the corner of your eye to catch his sad gaze before he quickly looked away.

“Luke, it’s okay—”

“I’m all right.” He looked anything but. The dark circles were still prevalent and he was beginning to look pale and gaunt. You hadn’t seen him eat much the past few days and he looked especially miserable in his soaked jedi blacks, his hair plastered to his forehead. You realized you were still wearing his cloak and tried to extend it so it wrapped around him as well. Where before he would’ve immediately leaned into you with a grateful smile, he kept himself stiff and stared straight ahead as if you weren’t even there.

“Luke, please, don’t torture yourself. I can guarantee you every jedi has done it at some point. It’s natural. It doesn’t make you—”

“Like my father,” he interrupted quietly, still staring off into the distance at something you couldn’t see.

“You’re nothing like him though,” you prodded gently, hoping this might get him to open up and let you back in. The distance of the last few days was about to make you crawl out of your skin.

“I am though. I have so many similarities to Anakin before his fall. I can’t become Vader—I can’t create another Vader. I—” He shook his head and turned away from you. “It wasn’t just a simple mistake. I have…to be a leader, I have to be able to set an example and protect people, I have to recreate an entire order…” He shook his head before turning to you, his face empty and distant once again. “I’m sorry. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Luke turned his gaze to his feet and was silent for a long time. “Once the rain lets up, we should make out way back to the ship. Then we can try to find a place to land on the mountain to find this temple.”

You sighed. “All right. It’s super foggy up there all the time from what I’ve seen though, so we’ll likely have to use the Force to land.”

He nodded before his silence once again felt like the closing of a tomb door.

~***~

A gentle tug on your nightshirt—well, Luke’s nightshirt—woke you from your sleep. You blinked your eyes open to see R2 by your bedside, chirping urgently with one of his retractable arms attached to the black fabric.

“R2?” you grumbled. “What’s going on?” You reached out through the Force to inspect the ship, realizing Luke’s Force signature felt much too far to be onboard. “Where’s Luke?”

R2 beeped again before letting go of your shirt and rolling towards the door. When you didn’t immediately follow, he whizzed back to your side and whistled again, this time more insistent before returning to the door.

“All right, all right, let me put some shoes on at least.”

You stuffed your feet into your boots, not even bothering to tie the laces in your haste before scurrying after R2. You followed him through the maze-like trees, doing your best to avoid the mud, but knew you’d be heard from a mile away with how soft the ground was. As you followed the astromech through the forest, familiar voices became clear and you couldn’t withhold your groan as you heard Obi-wan for what felt like the hundredth time this week. What bad advice was he giving now?

“…secret marriage with your mother,” he was saying as you neared the stumps they were both sitting on. “He seemed to fear something horrible happening to her in childbirth—or maybe even you and your sister. He seemed to think the dark side was the only way to save all three of you and allow you to live as a family.”

Finally sick of what was, frankly, Obi-wan’s bullshit, you stormed towards their spot. You were sure you looked extremely menacing in your pajamas and unlaced boots, stomping through the mud, but you didn’t care. “Maybe that’s because he was tricked!”

Luke looked back at you in surprise. The Force ghost sitting with him didn’t seem at all surprised by your presence, but you could see the sudden apprehension all over his blue glowing face.

“Y/N?” Luke said. “What are you—um—”

His eyes fell to your legs, but you didn’t give yourself a second to pause and think as you turned your attention to Obi-wan. “You know and have said yourself—because Luke told me—that no one in the order realized how dangerous Palpatine was, or at least didn’t act on their concerns at all, and just let Anakin get close to him because, by your own admission, you thought having an ‘in’ with the chancellor would be a good idea. You didn’t think for a second that maybe Palpatine was grooming him? That he was looking at the lack of comfort, safety, and being allowed to just feel your feelings like any sentient being should be able to do and played on that? You don’t think he provided everything to Anakin that the order wouldn’t specifically so it would all play right into his hands? And you still want to go around saying the ‘only’ reason he fell to the dark side was because he fell in love and had kids?”

“Unchecked emotions are not an option for a jedi—” Obi-wan began.

“I never said they were. But I’m tired of you making Luke,” you gestured to your friend, who was still staring at you in shock, “feel like he’s potentially ruined his entire future as a jedi because of one mistake he almost made—which I would like to point out he pulled himself back at the last minute and didn’t actually use the dark side—and if he ever makes it again, he’s going to become just like Vader. That’s not how that works and you know it. A jedi shouldn’t let their emotions control them, no, but to say they’re never even allowed to have them in the first place? That’s just ridiculous and you know it! If the jedi are going to hold everyone to standards of unattainable perfection, no wonder your order was so easily corrupted from the inside. Your order’s own hubris is what kept them from seeing what was happening right under their noses the whole time. No sentient being should be expected to never have ‘bad’ emotions or never make a mistake, and maybe if Anakin had felt more supported and like he had someone to turn to about his fears without getting excommunicated, he wouldn’t have turned so easily.

“Plus, we’ve met a few jedi who survived the Purge who went on to have ‘attachments’ and never fell to the dark side. I bet there were more jedi that just Anakin who had secret lovers and even children. You can’t tell me in a temple with ten thousand or more jedi that only one ever broke this rule because it’s so ridiculous and unrealistic to expect—”

Luke stood and put himself between you and Obi-wan. “Y/N, that’s enough. Please calm down. These accusations and the lecture aren’t fair to throw at Obi-wan when he’s just trying to help.”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. “You call this help? Ever since you started your nightly sessions with him, you’ve just felt even more guilty and confused and it’s only gotten worse. You’re not even sleeping or eating, and all over some rule that was likely hurting the order more than helping—”

“Y/N, stop—”

“No!” You gestured to the Force ghost’s crestfallen face. “Look at him! He knows I’m making sense. I overheard you the other night, and I think teaching healthy connection versus unhealthy possession to padawans is a great idea. They’ll feel supported while learning that there can be an unhealthy side to things if they’re not careful, but that having those feelings at a base level doesn’t make them evil and they can have someone to talk to about it without being villainized. You were so adamant about there still being good in Vader and bringing him back to the good side, even after everything he did. You know deep down that banning any and all relationships or ‘attachments’ or whatever you want to call them is toxic.”

Luke’s expression had become more guilty as you spoke, but now shifted to annoyed. “Whatever your opinions on this matter, you need to show Obi-wan more respect—”

“No,” Obi-wan finally said. “Stop.” He stood and took a few steps closer to you. “…She’s right. About everything.”

Neither of you bothered to hide your surprise as Obi-wan glanced at his feet before awkwardly folding his hands behind his back. “When I was a young padawan…very young, foolish and inexperienced…I was put on a mission with my master, Qui-gon Jinn, to protect a young woman from dark side agents who sought to terminate her and all the work she was doing to help her homeworld. We became close, and it was often just myself and her, since someone needed to stay behind to protect her while my master was the one to hunt down clues or chase our assailants away. We…” he sighed, looking up at the stars peeking through the tree canopy, “were naïve…and thought we were being careful…”

You sighed and shook your head. For all his blustering about “no attachments,” here he was revealing that he himself had broken the rule. You glanced at Luke as a gentle breeze blew through, rustling the branches above you. The fleeting moonlight revealed the shocked look on your friend’s face as he stared at his old mentor, and you could feel anger and slight betrayal building in his signature.

Obi-wan cleared his throat. “Anyway…I never knew during my lifetime, but once I passed to the Netherworld of the Force, I found out she had a child—our child. She never told me or the boy a thing about it and neither of them sought me out as a result. Luke, your father’s ghost could tell you more himself, but it’s likely true…his relationship with your mother was likely not the entire reason he fell to the dark side. We did allow Anakin and Palpatine to get close…and that was likely a mistake on our part. Palpatine had many years to subtly manipulate your father. The nightmares your father claims about seeing her dying in childbirth were perhaps even planted by the emperor himself. Perhaps if he’d felt he could be more candid without risking everything, things would’ve been easier.

“There’s one more thing I feel I should note while we’re all here…my son did continue the bloodline…and,” he took a deep breath, “his child—my grandchild—is…standing here with us.” He pointedly looked at you.

You stared back in open shock. You definitely hadn’t been expecting that. Luke turned to look at you, just as shocked. You couldn’t help but reach out to him for comfort, feeling the fabric of his jacket sleeve between your fingers as you gazed at a nearby tree, trying your best to process all the information.

Silence reigned for several minutes before Obi-wan interrupted with a hesitant, “Luke?”

Luke subtly slid his hand up so that his pinky finger wrapped around yours. The action nearly brought tears to your eyes, as it was the first return of physical affection you’d received in what felt like forever. “I just…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head. “You’ve been recommending that rule when you yourself couldn’t even hold to it…I feel a bit lied to, Obi-wan.”

“I’m sorry, Luke. Your friend here did give me her honest thoughts and it did give me a slightly new perspective. But you’re right, I should’ve been more forthcoming.”

“And to your own granddaughter,” Luke’s voice shook slightly on the last word as his finger tightened around yours.

“Yes…” Obi-wan turned to you. “I’m sorry. I was unsure how to reveal myself to you and didn’t want to confuse or upset either of you, so thought it would be best to keep some distance. But I see I have done that anyway and for that, I deeply apologize. But…yes, Y/N, you are a Kenobi. And Luke, I will support whatever you do or don’t decide to do with the new order. I trust your judgement and the two of you are both much wiser than I was at your ages. Whoever trains under either of you will be lucky to have you.” He sighed, turning back to his old pupil. “I sensed the turmoil in you, Luke, and just wanted to help, since I already lost your father to the dark side and didn’t want to risk losing you as well. But that is no excuse and I see I should’ve thought through my actions more beforehand. I am sorry.”

“I…I need some space to think,” Luke said before wrapping his whole hand around yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, and walking deeper into the forest. R2, who had been present and silently watching the entire conversation, began to follow him with a concerned beep. Luke placed a comforting hand on his dome. “It’s all right, R2, stay with Y/N.” You watched as the shadows of night swallowed him as he trekked deeper through the trees, leaving you and Obi-wan alone.

You sucked on your lip for a moment before turning your gaze to the man who was evidently your flesh and blood. “Well…um, hi, Grandpa.”

Obi-wan finally cracked a smile. “Hello there…I know I likely can’t say it enough, but I am sorry. Like I said, I was afraid of losing Luke to the dark side, but also afraid of watching you go through the same thing I did: the pain of losing someone you consider family and having to grieve them while they’re still alive.”

“I appreciate that…” You leaned against R2 as he whistled long and low. “But…I think the lessons from the past should be used to inform about the future—not cause fear that makes you run away from things and completely cut them off as options.”

“You truly are much wiser than I was at your age, and I am proud to call you my blood.” He paused, moving to clasp his hands in front of him so that the large flared sleeves hid them from view. “I think it might be best to give Luke some space until he feels comfortable summoning me again. If you are comfortable and feel you’re in need, however, please do not hesitate to summon me yourself if you feel the need.” He gazed at you for a moment before giving you another small smile. “I sense everything will be all right and as it should be with the two of you in time. Please, take good care of each other.” The ghost suddenly faded from view, his blue form scattering on the breeze like smoke before there was no trace of him left.

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. R2 gently bumped your leg as you groaned. “Maker, R2, that was…so much.”

The droid beeped sadly next to you.

“We should probably check on Luke, then head back to the ship.”

You followed the path your friend had taken to find yourself deep in the woods, only the scant slivers of moon through the canopy and the fireflies there to light your way. You sensed Luke’s Force signature getting closer and closer, until you heard soft voices floating over to you. Glancing between several trees, you saw Luke sitting with another Force ghost you recognized as Anakin Skywalker. They were deep in conversation and Anakin put his hand on his son’s shoulder as you heard the name Padmé float towards you several times. You quietly turned, motioning for R2 to do the same before leading him back to the Redeemer.

You barely dragged yourself up the boarding ramp before flopping down onto the couch in the main hold. The lights were dim, and you took an opportunity to let your head thunk against the back of the cushions. It was almost three in the morning and you were exhausted (but likely nothing compared to your counterpart), but determined to make sure Luke returned okay and headed to bed. You closed your eyes for a moment only to feel R2’s retractable arm poking your leg, surprised to feel metal against your bare skin.

You stared at the droid in surprise as he continued to poke your leg with questioning little beeps. You looked down and groaned as you realized. “Oh, for kriff’s sake.” No wonder you’d gotten some funny looks: before storming after Luke, you’d completely forgotten to put on pants and had lectured everyone in Luke’s shirt and your underwear. Sweet Maker.

~***~

You bit your lip as you gripped the Redeemer’s controls. “Okay, help me out a bit here, R2.”

The droid tittered nervously from where he was plugged into a socket near the pilot’s chair. You looked nervously at the thick fog that enveloped the ship. You…sort of knew how to fly? You doubted you’d be much help in a firefight the way Luke would, but you could at least get from Point A to Point B—at least when Point B wasn’t covered in mist so opaque, you couldn’t see an inch out the viewport.

“Stupid kriffing flying,” you mumbled, “and stupid kriffing mysterious Force temple aesthetic.”

Normally, you would’ve relied on Luke for this sort of thing, but after returning from his talk with Anakin’s ghost, he’d crashed so hard, he hadn’t even noticed you quietly come into his room to check on him this morning. He was still sound asleep when you’d gently pulled his blanket to cover his feet, soft snores pouring from his open mouth, his limbs every which way, and his hair in complete disarray. It was likely the first good night’s sleep he’d gotten in days and you wouldn’t rob him of that. It was now eleven in the morning and he still hadn’t emerged from his room, so you figured you’d just go ahead and get the ship settled by the temple so all he had to worry about was waking up and stepping outside. But now you realized that might not have been the best idea.

Relax, you suddenly heard Obi-wan’s voice in your mind. Breathe. Drop your shoulders. Now feel the Force.

You did as bade, leaning so your back was flat against the seat and closing your eyes. You sank into the comforting feeling of life around you, sensing all the animals on the mountaintop scattering to the trees and bushes at the sound of your engines. You sensed a line of statues on either side of you and let the ship slowly sink down to the nearby ground with a gentle thunk. You opened your eyes and sighed in relief as you felt the landing legs of the shuttle settle into safe, sturdy ground.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to see a bleary, pajama-clad Luke in the doorway rubbing one of his eyes with his fist. He hadn’t put his glove over his cybernetic, the hole exposing the wiring laid bare for you to see. The two of you had shared enough private (and sometimes embarrassing) moments that you were one of the few people he didn’t bother to hide it from.

“We’re at the temple.”

He frowned and you tried not to chuckle at how adorably confused he looked with his nightshirt, shorts, and bedhead. “You landed the ship in the fog?”

You half-jokingly pursed your lips at him. “Thanks.”

“No, I just meant—I didn’t—I mean, you’re definitely capable—”

You stood and gave Luke’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Why don’t you go get some breakfast so you can function while we’re in there?”

He nodded before turning and stumbling over to the small kitchenette he’d installed, giving R2 a friendly pat on the way and making tea for both of you like he always did. The past few days, you’d found your drink waiting on the counter with Luke nowhere in sight and couldn’t describe the relief that flooded through you when he did his usual routine of bringing it to where you sat at the table with a small smile and shoulder squeeze. You could still sense some confusion and worry in him and he was quieter than usual—but at least the little signs of affection were slowly starting to come back and he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague.

Once you were both ready (and more coherent), the two of you headed down the landing ramp with lightsabers ready at your hips and an astromech fast on your heels. Although neither of you had found a full-fledged temple in your travels, plenty of places that held Force artifacts also seemed to hold a large amount of ghosts, dangers, visions, and boobytraps. The mist was suddenly much easier to see through now that you had your feet on the ground, which could only be a result of the Force itself.

You followed an overgrown, cracked cobblestone path lined with statues that had been worn away by the weather. You could just make out shapes of what seemed to be different jedi of all races: some were so eroded, you couldn’t even tell what race they were anymore while others were missing limbs, heads, entire upper torsos, and the like. You glanced back at the ship to see you’d landed it perfectly in the middle of the path and couldn’t help feeling proud of yourself. You turned to see Luke glancing at you and chuckled as he sensed your thoughts through the Force.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” he said.

“I mean, I did a pretty good job.”

He gave you another soft laugh. “That you did.”

At the end of the path were some unstable concrete steps leading up into a dark, black pit of a doorway. Half of it’s old fashioned double doors hung crooked on its hinges while the other half lay flat on the floor. You could see the roof had holes in many places while some rooms had crumbling half walls with nothing to shield it from the outside, making you wonder whether the elements had wrecked this place or a battle had.

Luke held out a hand to help you up the steep, crumbling steps, keeping a tight grip on you until you stood at the mouth of the void. The two of you took a deep breath in unison before descending.

~***~

The relief flooding through you as Home One came into view was indescribable, and you could tell Luke felt the same way from the pilot seat next to you. You glanced at him as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting R2 take over. After several hours, you and Luke had managed to find the ancient jedi texts you were looking for inside the temple. Ironically, they had mentioned the no attachment rule themselves, but with a twist—categorizing them as a specific form of unhealthy possession instead of the encouraged healthy connection, just as Luke had described to Obi-wan. It seemed “no attachment” equating all potential relationships was added later. When you’d pointed this out to Luke as the two of you sat hunched over the old parchment, he’d merely nodded before moving on. But you could feel the conflict deep in him, as well as a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed it would take more than just a day or two off to undo.

Just as the Redeemer neared Home One’s hangar, Luke took the controls back over and expertly landed the ship in the bay. He kept his hands on the controls for a few moments and gazed out at the hustle and bustle in front of him, completely lost in thought.

After a few more minutes of this, you gently touched his arm. “Um…Luke? Are you all right?”

He startled before nodding. “Yes, sorry.” He unbuckled himself before standing with you and gesturing for you to go ahead of him. He hung back a few steps as you descended the boarding ramp and you felt your stomach twist as you sensed not all was right with him. Once your feet had hit the floor of the hangar, you turned to see your friend and his droid had stopped several steps up.

“Are you coming?” you asked, fearing the answer.

He hesitated, glancing behind you for a moment as Leia strode over to you from the other side of the bay. “I…think I need a few days to myself to work through everything. This was a lot to process, and I sense some important decisions about the new jedi order need to be made before moving forward.”

You sighed and let your shoulders sink, avoiding his gaze. You had hoped after everything that happened on Khofar, things would go back to the way they were before. Now, they were apparently in jeopardy all over again.

Sensing your turmoil, Luke descended the final few steps of the ramp to stand in front of you, putting gentle hands on your upper arms. “I will come back, I promise. I won’t just abandon you. I just want some time and space to myself to think and not be distracted by all the hustle and bustle of people through the Force.”

You fought the telltale burning of tears in your eyes. “But you’ve always taken me with you when you needed that before.”

“I know.” His own eyes reflected your sadness right back at you. “But you haven’t done anything wrong, and I promise this isn’t goodbye. I just need two or three days, then I’ll be right back. You have my word.”

“Luke!” Leia called with a smile as she got closer.

Luke raised his hand to wave before turning back to you. His eyes turned sad again as he gently wiped a tear away from your cheek you hadn’t realized escaped. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He hesitated, staring into your eyes for a moment with lips stretched thin, before taking your face between his hands and leaving a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

You tried not to cry even more as Leia finally caught up with you, wrapping her brother in a tight hug before looking at him in surprise. “You’re leaving again?” She glanced at you where you stood rigidly gripping your bag’s shoulder strap amidst the usual chaos of the hangar. “And Y/N isn’t going with you?”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Luke said, trying to morph his face into something reassuring, but you could sense his own anxiety pouring through your connection. “Just two to three days.”

Leia glanced at you again before turning an almost scolding look on Luke, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jedi business?”

“Yes,” Luke said, quickly turning to go. You knew from past experience he was rushing to leave before Leia’s commanding tone made his resolve crumble. “I’ll have my comm on if there’s an emergency.”

And just like that, he and R2 disappeared into the ship. As the boarding ramp slowly closed, you had half a mind to jump in anyway and insist he take you with—but that wouldn’t have helped anything. And to be honest, after the experience of the last three days, you were much too exhausted to fight anymore.

You and Leia took several steps back as the Redeemer slowly rose up, turned, then sped out the hangar’s opening towards the darkness. You bit your lip to avoid a show of emotion in front of the princess—you’d never had to watch the ship you had come to know as home leave without you and it was jarring sight. Would your room ever feel the same again? Or would Luke decide he would honor the no attachment rule anyway, and your relationship would turn into something permanently cold, distant, and formal? Just two jedi who work together instead of two good friends. It didn’t help that he hadn’t given you any indication which way he was leaning.

“Okay,” Leia turned to you, arms still crossed over her chest and her brow stern. “Now what’s really going on?”

You finally met her eyes, unable to hold back the tears anymore as you continued to suck on your lip.

Leia’s fiery resolve crumbled and she immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” Some annoyance reentered her gaze. “What did my brother do?”

“Um,” you warbled, wiping some tears away with your sleeve as they fell down your face, “it’s a long story.”

Leia gently rubbed your back. “Well, it’s time for dinner.” She started gently leading you towards the back doors. “Why don’t we both order some food to my quarters and you can tell me all about it? See if I can help?”

You merely nodded, desperate for comfort as you leaned into Leia’s embrace. Once at her quarters sat in front of a healthy smattering of food, you tearfully told her everything. When you got to the part about Obi-wan’s bad advice, she groaned with a sweet Maker, staring at you in shock when you revealed he’d told you that you were also a Kenobi. She sighed and face palmed again at some of her brother’s actions and ended the story with a look on her face that was so annoyed, you knew that look alone would’ve shut the entire problem building over the last several days down in seconds. She tried to reassure you that Luke didn’t have it in him to leave you as the two of you ate, but you could sense her own frustration and worry through the Force.

After eating, you used her attached refresher to wash up, cry for a few minutes in private, and splash some water on your face so you weren’t a spectacle walking back to your own quarters—which hadn’t been used in months with how often you’d been out and about with Luke on the Redeemer. You realized you’d come to think of that set of quarters as your room much more than the one here on Home One and the thought almost made you cry again. You sniffled before sighing and doing your best to keep it together long enough to say goodbye to Leia and walk towards your own bed.

As you reentered the main area of the princess’s apartments, you found them empty, but could hear her voice floating from a side room. You quietly made your way forward to see her in a small den, sitting agitated, straight backed on the edge of a chair with a comm close to her mouth. You couldn’t make out the words, but heard Luke’s voice float through the comm back to her and it felt like your heart twisted and dropped into your stomach at the sound.

“Luke, you know I love you and I understand the immense pressure you’re under,” Leia replied, her voice quiet but still filled with a firm sharpness that brooked no room for argument, “but you need to get it together—”

You quickly escorted yourself out, your speed walking just a step down from running towards your room as you kept your head trained on your feet. The burning in your eyes was building again and you felt your chest constrict the closer you got to the familiar, but lately unused bedroom door, and couldn’t help reliving that feeling of a tomb door booming closed between you and Luke, sealing your fates.

~~~~

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