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wheeboo · 3 months ago

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

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

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

part one | part two

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

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

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

“Why did you decide to hire me again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The vending machine swallowed his dollar. Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It means that it's okay

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pull out your phone again, typing:

The museum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you reach the museum.

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

Thank you for walking with me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we heading to?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you finish totaling it up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to join me?”

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

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

Whatever it is, you want to trust it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you nod again, his heart flutters with victory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I've seen you do better than this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he looks... happy to see you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The way you sign is funny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” You sign to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Café boy?” he mouths to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joshua groans. “Don't you say it𑁋”

“Under the weather of love𑁋”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can get used to that, he thinks.

The colours on your palette just look absolutely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wanted to come

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did your performance go well?

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate for a moment before showing him.

You tried your best. That’s all that matters

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

You wouldn’t have disappointed me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it still raining hard outside?

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

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

Your fingers dance along with your screen once more.

You can stay until it stops

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s beautiful. He’s… beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can always practice here, if you want

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as you tell me about your songs

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

“It’s a deal,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all brings a smile to your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like you’re invisible.

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

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

You aren’t meant for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight reminds you of Joshua.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally, he points to you.

“I believe in you.”

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

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

“I missed you.”

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

“I missed you too.”

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nostalgia-tblr · 1 month ago

Text

WAIT.

does it still count as selfcest if they don't kiss they just hit each other a lot?

YESSSS, lokicestober bunny AND the song lyric title for it in one flash of inspiration!!!! \o/

#no this one's not sylki but i can see why you'd think that #these ones aren't enjoying it though :( or at least one of them isn't :(#my other lokicestober idea turned out to be Implied Non-Con Frostmaster so i am doing VERY badly so far with this event #i have 29 days left though! eventually one of these ideas will end up being proper actual selfcest!#lokicestober #OH THAT REMINDS ME should we have an AO3 collection for this event or an 'official' tag or something?#to help people find all the many many fics we will def be producing in this glorious not-quite-masturbatory month?

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raven-dor · 2 months ago

Note

I saw your recent Edmund fic and I’m obsessed!

Could you do one where Edmund gets super jealous/overprotective with reader? I love possessive Edmund!

mine all mine

the four times in which edmund discovers that he is overprotective of his wife, and the one time she proves to him she can take care of herself

PAIRING: edmund pevensie x wife!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, overprotective nature, sword fighting, typical Narnia violence, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

AN: This is set during the Golden Age, so all of them are adults!! also your title is fair, as in an adjective for just, not at all a description of what the reader looks like!!

part two (mine, all mine, all mine)

one.

He hadn’t meant to listen in to his wife’s meeting, really. But when he noticed Lord Eluna raising his voice, he couldn’t help but linger outside of the door, his hand on his sword's hilt. Y/N’s constantly calm voice interrupted the seething lord. “While I understand the importance of this situation, it does not warrant you to act poorly towards your queen, Lord Eluna.”

The man scoffed. “By marriage. A marriage which could be easily annulled, seeing as you have not produced his grace any heirs.”

Y/N laughed, seemingly not phased by his comment. “We are not in desperate need of any heirs, my lord. If you haven’t noticed, we have a plethora of rulers. Unless you are planning something that would warrant the need of heirs.” She paused, and Edmund could only assume the look on her face, the one she typically made when she was proving him wrong. "Are you?"

“How dare you insinuate-”

Edmund forced down a laugh, barging into the room. “My lords.”

The table of twelve men stood, bowing to their superior. Half hearted ‘Your Grace’s’ were thrown Edmund’s way, but he could not care less. He looked at the man who was still glaring daggers at his wife. “Lord Eluna.”

“Your Grace.” He tore his eyes from the young queen. “We were just-”

“Yes.” Edmund raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I heard. And while I appreciate your obviously kind and thoughtful concern, my wife and I do not need your advice on that particular matter.”

Y/N turned bright red, widening her eyes when all the lord's jaws dropped. “Edmund-”

“I’m sure whatever you were meeting about can be postponed.” Edmund looked around the table, waiting for an answer. “Well?” The lords clambered, nodding quickly in agreement. He smirked and walked over to his wife, holding out his arm for her to hold. “My love.”

She rolled her eyes but still hooked her arm through his. “You are quite dramatic.”

He laughed, ignoring the prying eyes around them. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” The couple walked out the doors, giggling when they knew the lords could no longer hear them. Edmund frowned, rubbing her arm comfortingly. “Do they always treat you so horribly?”

“You cannot keep doing this, Ed.” She sighed.

“What am I do-”

She glared at him. “You know what you’re doing. They will never learn to respect me if you keep coming to my defense.”

“It’s been two years. They should have respected you the minute I married you. Actually-” He scoffed. “They should respect you because it’s the right thing to do.”

They walked into their chambers, collapsing onto the bed. Edmund wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in as she traced shapes into his chest. “You're a gallant and honorable man, Edmund, much more than your lords. But you know as well as I that those old malcontents will never respect me until I give them a reason to.”

“I wish it wasn’t so.” He leaned down, kissing her temple. “You are a much better leader than me.”

She scoffed, leaning into his touch. “Not true.”

“Yes.” He nodded, staring at the ceiling. “You are.”

“If I am..." She appeased him. "It is only because I’ve watched you and your siblings rule with kindness and justice for so long. Please do not put yourself down for my sake.” She stretched up, kissing him gently. “Never put yourself down; you are too perfect for that.”

“If you insist.” He smiled, feeling lovesick. How could he not? The most beautiful woman in all of Narnia, or, more accurately, the universe, lay beside him.

Of course, he felt lovesick.

two.

“Happy Birthday, my love.” Y/N smiled mischievously at her husband. “How old are you now? Eighty?”

He glared, kissing her cheek softly. “What a charmer you are.”

She nodded and took a deep breath, straightening her dress as they prepared to enter the ballroom. “Well, you didn’t marry me for my baking skills.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your baking skills are perfectly adequate.”

She scoffed, looking up at him once more. “Don’t lie to me, Edmund Pevensie.” She fought the smile that threatened to break her act. “You flatter me too much, I think.”

He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her senselessly. He had that urge constantly, but it was especially difficult at that moment. “You are a true beauty. Have I told you?”

She blushed, turning her face back towards the grand doors. “Behave.”

He nodded, still looking at her in awe, enjoying the way her flushed cheeks complemented her dress. He had always loved her in the color blue. “Yes, ma’am.”

The ushers opened the doors, and they stepped forward. “King Edmund the Just, and Queen Y/N the Fair.”

The room exploded into applause for the Just King, and the pair descended the stairs, focusing on not falling in front of all their subjects. Peter, Susan, and Lucy sat on their thrones at the bottom, smiling brightly. Lucy gestured toward the Maestro, and Edmund led his wife to the middle of the ballroom. “I do wonder what they'll play.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Y/N's smile grew as their wedding waltz’s familiar intro echoed through the hall. “This isn’t fair.”

He laughed at the irony. “Why not, my love?”

“It is your birthday, not our anniversary.”

He spun her around the room, whispering. “I happen to like this song.”

“Edmund…” She blushed again. “You should have chosen a song that you love.”

“I did.” The waltz ended, and he bowed. “It reminds me of you; why wouldn’t I love it?”

Her eyes were watering, and he suddenly felt horrible, his stomach twisting. “I’m sorry, did I-”

She leaped up, kissing him soundly. The crowd gasped, but Edmund didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She leaned back, their foreheads touching. “I don’t deserve you.”

His heart felt full. “Quite the opposite, really.” He kissed her once more, nuzzling his nose with hers. “I love you.”

Lucy clapped her hands, pulling the crowd's attention away from the happy couple. “Thank you all so much for attending my brother’s 24th birthday ball!” The room erupted into cheers. Lucy smiled. “Help yourselves to the buffet, or take to the dance floor. Happy Birthday, dear brother.”

The crowd dispersed, and the pair walked up to the thrones, sitting beside each other, still holding hands. Peter muttered, smirking. “Couldn’t have waited until later?”

Edmund rolled his eyes. “Just because you don’t have a love li-”

Y/N scolded her husband. “Ed.”

Peter glared playfully at his brother. “My love life is none of your business, thank you very much.”

Susan laughed. “How is she?”

Peter blushed. “She has a name.” He straightened his posture, looking out into the crowd for who Y/N could only assume they were talking about. “As perfect as ever.”

Lucy giggled. “Have you tried talking to her?”

Peter closed his eyes, leaning his head back against his throne. “I am getting attacked from all sides, it seems.”

Y/N smiled. “I think it’s sweet. You seem very in love.” He smiled back, looking longingly at the buffet table, where a gorgeous maid stood handing out desserts. Y/N nudged him lightly. “You could ask her to dance.”

He laughed, and when he realized his sister in law was not laughing, stopped. “I fear she would not like the fuss.”

“Ah.” Y/N looked over at the girl again. “I will be right back.”

Edmund whined. “Where are you off to?”

“None of your business, Edmund.” She kissed his cheek quickly. “Do have fun at your own birthday party.”

He sighed as she walked away. “How can I when you’re leaving?”

The fair queen glided across the floor with the intention of making conversation with the girl the High King was infatuated with. She had almost reached Peter's love when a hand wrapped around her waist. She gasped, pulling herself out of the stranger’s hold. The visibly drunk lord bowed teasingly. “My Lady, would you care-” A hiccup interrupted his question. “Would you care to dance?”

She smiled politely. “I’m afraid my card is full for the night. But thank you for the offer.”

The man tried to speak again, but she turned around, walking back towards the maid.

Edmund had seen the entire interaction, gripping the handles of his throne tight enough to break the solid stone. Peter whispered. “Edmund, don’t do anything rash-”

“He just-”

Peter gave him the stare, that older brother stare that he tried to reserve for hard moments. “He will be dealt with, trust me, but you need to be subtle-”

Edmund stood up, stalking over to the drunken lord. Peter sighed once more. "He will be the first to give me gray hairs.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “You are twenty-seven, Peter. You’re not graying anytime soon.”

Edmund grabbed the lord’s arm, dragging him out to the balcony. “A nice night, isn’t it?”

The lord was in shock, nodding. “Yes, Your Grace.” He grinned. “It is truly an honor to have been invited to your-”

“It was a nice night.” The young king smiled condescendingly. “Until you harassed my wife.”

“I-” The old man stuttered. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Don’t lie to your king.” Edmund seethed. “If you ever do that again, I will rue the day, believe me.” He took a deep breath. “You will apologize to my wife, and after that, you will leave immediately. You are fortunate that I don’t ensure you are barred from the castle grounds.”

The lord looked upset. Good, Edmund thought, serves him right. “But Your Grace-”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” The old man nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” He stumbled back into the ballroom, making a beeline for Y/N. Edmund watched from afar, smiling as she smiled, actually genuinely smiled. Then he frowned when she let him kiss her hand. Oh, how he wanted to have him banished.

Y/N made her way to the balcony, shaking her head at her proud husband. “What have you done?”

“Nothing. Why do you assume-”

“Edmund.” She crossed her arms. “You must stop.”

“What?” He laughed. “Stop protecting you?”

“Yes!” She yelled, exasperated from his constant watching eye. “I had it handled.”

“He harassed you.”

“Thank you Edmund.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, something Edmund did not appreciate at the moment. “I wasn’t aware.”

“My love.” He stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “As long as there is air in my lungs, I will protect you. It pains me to see you go through these things.”

She smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. “You are a good man, Edmund.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But if we make a fuss about every lord who gets handsy while they’re drunk, the ballroom will be empty.”

He rolled his eyes. “Good. Get rid of the whole lot of them. I would rather it just be you and I anyhow.”

Y/N gasped, smacking his chest lightly. “Edmund!”

“No one should have to deal with that.”

“Well, I agree. But you can’t-”

“Good.” He nodded, ignoring the fact that he just interrupted her. “Who were you talking to after that incident?”

“Peter’s love.” She smiled. “That girl is quite kind. Spirited, too.”

Edmund laughed, pulling Y/N in. “Perfect for Peter then.”

She hummed, leaning her head on his chest as they looked back into the ballroom. “Perfect for Peter.”

three.

It had been Edmund’s idea to go on an afternoon ride. Y/N had reminded him of the recent attacks that they were investigating, but he’d ignored her. Their horses galloped through the fall woods, leaves falling as they flew through. Phillip muttered. “Her horse is much younger than me, no wonder she keeps beating me.”

Y/N’s horse, Vilja, laughed. “Perhaps you are simply slow, Phillip.”

Y/N fought against the laugh that threatened to spill out. “Now Vilja, play nice. Remember, Phillip has to hold Edmund and his ego.”

Edmund scoffed, shoving his wife playfully as they slowed. “What happened to playing nice?”

They tied the horses beside each other, walking through the woods leisurely. “It is perfect outside, is it not?”

Y/N nodded, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. “It is.” She smiled as the lantern came into view. “It’s been too long.”

Edmund hummed. “We’re happy here.” He looked down, his heart beating fast. “You would tell me if you weren't happy, I hope.”

“Of course, Edmund.” She smiled. “I'm very happy here. I only meant we’ve been here for a long time. After all, it has been thirteen years.” She looked back at the lantern, pulling Edmund along with her. “I wonder how long it’s been there.”

He laughed, kissing her temple gently. “Who cares?”

“Edmund…” She leaned into his touch. Feeling mischievous, she pulled out of his hold, sprinting further into the woods.

Edmund groaned, chasing after her. “This was funnier the first time.”

The nymphs giggled as they watched the couple run through the woods. Edmund spun in the clearing, squinting as he tried to find his wife. “Y/N, you know I’ll find-” A piercing scream broke the joyful nature of their fun, and his heart sank. “Y/N?” He waited for her response, another scream echoing through the forest. He ran towards her, unsheathing his sword. “Y/N!” He broke through the woods, finding his wife backed against a tree, a wolf growling in front of her. Edmund stood in between them, pointing the sword at the wolf’s head. “We don’t want to harm you.”

The wolf simply growled. Odd. Edmund whispered. “Stay still, my love.” He stepped forward, addressing the wolf once more. “You have one more chance to leave us. We won’t harm you if you do so, you have my word.”

The wolf leaned back, lunging at Edmund, and he slashed his sword, killing the animal in a single blow. Y/N stood silent behind him, staring at the ground. “I thought all animals spoke in Narnia.”

“So did I.” Edmund knelt beside it, checking for any witchcraft of any sort.

Y/N smiled sympathetically, kneeling beside him. “She’s gone.”

“He was wild. There had to have been-” Edmund was silenced by a gentle kiss. He blushed. “What was that-” She kissed him once more, smiling.

“Edmund, she is gone. For good. And you saved me.” She mumbled. “Even though I could have reached for my sword-”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and extending his hand. “Let me guess? You had it handled?”

four.

She was radiant in that blue dress, Edmund observed from afar. After he had expressed his love of her in the color, she had ensured that almost all her dresses were that light blue. The rest of her dresses were her favorite color, which Edmund loved on her almost as much.

Unfortunately, others enjoyed looking at his wife as well. Lately, in Edmund’s opinion, her sworn guard had been looking at her for much too long. He was a conventionally attractive man, Edmund could admit, but he didn’t like that the young knight was looking at his wife the way Edmund himself looked at her.

He hadn’t brought it up to Y/N, not wanting to be called overprotective for the hundredth time. So he watched from afar, making sure that the knight didn’t make any untoward actions towards her.

They were currently in the garden, and Y/N was smelling the flowers, laughing and making polite conversation with Ser Ellington. The young man laughed back, reaching out to stable her when she stumbled over a root. Edmund clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain calm.

It was his job after all, to make sure his queen was safe.

But when he reached out and grabbed a flower, extending it to the kind woman, Edmund snapped. That was not his job. He practically stalked forward, interrupting whatever conversation the two had been having. “My love.” He called out. “You look radiant.”

She blushed. “Edmund, I thought you had your meeting.”

He nodded. “I did, but we finished early, I thought I would accompany you for the rest of the day.”

“Of course.” She looked over Edmund’s shoulder at Ser Ellington. “You are excused for the day. Thank you, Ser.”

The knight bowed. “My Queen. Your Grace.”

Edmund watched suspiciously as the young knight walked away, only turning back to his wife when he turned the corner. Y/N smirked, tilting her head just so. “You have no need to be jealous, my love.” She turned back to the flowers, smelling them.

Edmund smiled guiltily, following after her like a puppy. “Can you blame me? Ser Ellington is not exactly unappealing.”

She nodded, still not looking back at him. “He is. But I am not married to him, nor do I sleep in the same bed as him every night.” Edmund turned bright red. “Am I wrong?”

“You are not, but you have to understand. You’re a beautiful woman, I can’t help but worry that someone will steal you away.”

She rolled her eyes, turning around. “Do you really think I would hurt you so?”

“No-”

“What have I done to make you assume so? I love you; I made a vow to you.” She crossed her arms. “Am I just a prize to you that you desperately need to cling to?”

“Of course not.” He grabbed her hands in his. “I’m madly in love with you, and the thought of you leaving me, the simple thought…” He pulled her closer, whispering. “Drives me mad.”

“Edmund.” She glared, pulling out of his hold. “You are exaggerating.”

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her gently back to him. “Do you really think I do not love you?”

“I never said that.”

He laughed. “You act as if we were not a love match. Like we didn’t discover Narnia together. I love you; I think I have since we were young.” He kissed the back of her hand delicately. “I know that I am too overprotective, and I am sorry for that…”

She smirked with satisfaction. “Good.”

“But can you blame me? You are a treasure, surely any other man would act that same way.”

Y/N nodded. “Perhaps. But you are not any other man. You are Edmund Pevensie, and I know you know deep down that I can handle myself. I do not need you to watch over me like a mother hen.” She raised an eyebrow. “I also fought the White Witch, I also helped you form peace treaties, I also-”

Y/N stopped, becoming more irritable by the second when she realized Edmund wasn’t listening. He stared at her so lovingly it made her sick, and she scoffed. “I am going to the library.”

He nodded, following after. “I shall accompany you.”

She shook her head. “I would like to go alone.”

He frowned. “Are you-”

“Edmund, please.” She sighed. “I love you, but I need to be alone with my thoughts.” Without a second glance, she walked out of the garden, leaving Edmund helplessly staring at her.

the time she proved him wrong

They had been gone for too long, Y/N thought as she stared at the woods. They had been gone for hours longer than they said they would. She should have gone with them; who knows where they were, where Edmund was.

She tried to calm herself down and reminded herself that neither Edmund nor his siblings would leave her in Narnia alone, but it was difficult when all of the hunt’s participants were speaking to her at once.

“Where are they?” Lord Eluna’s voice sounded over the rest. She tried not to glare at him; she could tell the man was enjoying the sight of her under pressure.

“I understand everyone’s worries; I have them myself, but we all know that the Kings and Queens would never leave their subjects so suddenly. Have no doubt that they will return. I am certain High King Peter and King Edmund dragged their sisters along a trail of the deer’s tracks.” Light laughter echoed through the crowd, relieving her stress slightly. Her stomach fluttered, and she pressed a hand to it, rubbing it slightly. “Does anyone else have any immediate causes for concern?”

The crowd erupted into chaos once more, and she took a deep breath, clearing her throat. “I will take meetings with all of you individually in the main tent.”

meanwhile...

Edmund sighed, staring at his older brother as he tried to convince himself the deer was nearby. “Peter, we’ve been gone for hours. If we haven’t found the deer by now, who’s to say we’ll find it later?” He practically pleaded. “We should return to camp.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just because you want to get back to your wife-”

“Peter, Edmund’s right.” Susan interrupted. “This deer isn’t important, and Y/N is there alone with the entirety of the court.” She frowned. “If it were me, I would be rather overwhelmed.”

Edmund fell into his thoughts, staring at the ground. Lucy whispered, nudging her brother lightly. “Edmund, don’t-”

Edmund tightened the reigns on Phillip, racing back towards the camp. Peter sighed, riding not far behind him. The dark-haired king didn’t look back; his only thought was that he had left Y/N alone with the egotistical lords of the realm. Phillip slowed, and Edmund jumped off, running towards camp.

Everything was fine, almost too fine. It was quiet, with a slight buzz of chatter but no worried voices. He stalked toward the main tent, whipping it open.

There sat his radiant wife, talking calmly with Lord Dolitmov. The older man saw Edmund and immediately stood, bowing. “Your Grace.” He looked back to Y/N, kissing the back of the queen’s hand gently. “Your Grace.”

Y/N smiled, waving as he walked out of the tent. Edmund tilted his head, smiling. “What happened?”

She laughed. "The better question would be, what happened with you?” She hugged herself, rubbing her stomach once more. Edmund made a mental note to address that later. “You were gone for so long I assumed you had returned home.”

He shook his head, frowning as he realized how stressed she had been. “I’m sorry for the worry we caused you; I fear Peter was too fixated on finding the white steed.”

She nodded. “I wondered.”

He took her hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb. “I’m sorry that I worried you. But I must say, it is rather calm here.”

She smirked. “I told you I can handle myself.”

He laughed. “I believe you. Truly I do.” he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back gently. “I love you.”

“And I you.” She walked into his arms, burying her head in his chest. “I would have died from heartbreak if you had left me.”

“I would never.” He kissed her temple. “You know that.”

She nodded. “I know you would never leave us.”

He nodded back. “Correct. I would never leave-” He paused, tilting his head. “Us?”

Y/N looked up sheepishly. “I-” Her eyes started to water. “I’m pregnant, Edmund.”

“What?” Edmund grinned, staring at his wife in disbelief. “Really?”

She nodded, and Edmund grabbed her waist, spinning her around the room. Y/N cackled, smacking his shoulder. “Put me down; you’re going to hurt the babe.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled. “I can’t help it.”

She laughed, kissing his lips softly. “I love you.”

Edmund leaned down, kissing her soundly. “And I you.”

taglist: @beebeechaos

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #narnia #narnia fanfiction #fanfiction #golden age #literature #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #prince caspian #the dawn treader #the silver chair #the chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie fanfiction

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webslingingslasher · 4 months ago

Note

I need a peter x cherry fic ft dry humping and making out

*cleaning out my drafts. contains nsfw content.*

'peter?'

you watch him slowly push your legs apart, laying down between your thighs like a perfect fit. peter's closer than he's ever been, he's more direct than he's ever been.

a brush of his denim under your skirt has you breathing deep, his strong hands push your thighs wider. 'peter?' you quiet when he shushes you, biting at your bottom lip when he gives teasing kisses across your neck.

'shh... i'm giving you what you want, baby.'

baby. you close your eyes as peter marks your skin, a red patch no doubt produced from his teasing. 'what do i -' you clutch his arms tightly, a shocked, yet excited look takes over your face. peter rocks his hips into yours again, you think you're about to bite through your bottom lip.

'yeah? my pretty baby likes that?' peter's rubbing up against you and it feels heavenly, his praises are about to make your head spin. peter holds your right leg up, a switch in his position and you're clasping a hand over your mouth while you scream into it.

'let me hear you. i want to hear how needy i make my girl.' you drop your hand, eyes rolling into the back of your head as peter grinds into you. 'so good. so, so good.' it's all your mind can come up with.

'you've been such a good girl, you've been patient, haven't you?'

you'd agree to anything if it meant he kept going and talking to you like this. 'yeah.' peter pouts, he finds your pleasure adorable. 'tell me. tell me how needy you've been, i wanna know how long you've been thinking about this.'

it feels like years, god you just want him to keep talking. you're feeling something build in your lower stomach and you're not about to lose it now. 'so so long, peter. i want you all the time.'

'i know you do. you think about it every time i kiss you. every time i wrap my arms around you-' you can't keep your eyes open anymore. peter's voice sounds thick, he's praising you while calling you needy. he's giving you things you didn't know you wanted.

'every time you're in the shower, that's when you want me the most, isn't it?' he's reading you like a book, small whimpers falling from your mouth are amplified when peter pushes in, you can feel all of him.

your head is filled with white noise, it's sudden and it rips you apart. your hands clench your bedsheets, curling the fabric between your fingers while you involuntarily buck your hips into his.

a red hot, pounding heat. peter's name comes out choppy, he's telling you to open your eyes but you can't. it shutters through you, peter rides it out with you, a broken hiss when you can't handle it.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

you nod but your ears are still ringing and your body feels like cement. you can't keep your eyes open, each blink comes with longer and longer gaps.

there's a slow drum in the background, you listen closer, it sounds familiar. it gets louder, it sounds like it's outside your door. as you sit up to ask peter what the noise is, you enter the real world.

you rub your eyes and look around, the only other person in the room is your roommate and she's blissfully asleep. you identify the beat and shut your alarm off, the small movement had you rip your blankets off and stare down at your thighs.

you had a wet dream.

an extremely vivid, full completion, sex dream.

'shit.'

a shower wasn't in your morning plans but it was now, and the entire time you replayed your dream. you felt a little guilty of dreaming about peter like that, you got off on an idea of him. just thinking about him right now makes you feel warm and giggly.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

you can't shake it from your mind no matter how hard you try.

-----

'how's my cherry-bomb doing?'

the second peter's arm hung over your shoulders, your heart started to race. everything about him was screaming at you. his weight, his cologne, his voice.

'good. how are you?' all you can hear are his words from last night. you shake your head slightly, you're trying to tap in but you're dying to straddle his lap and mimic what he did in your sleep.

'i'm good. better, now that i'm with you.' god, he's wearing that amused grin he had when he was grinding himself against you. you think he said something but all you heard was 'you're such a good girl.'

you shake your head, a physical act of batting your ideas away before asking him 'what did you say?'

'are you doing alright, cherry? you're acting weird today.'

'today?'

'more than normal.' you can’t tell him, it’s embarrassing. ‘i’m okay.’ you freeze at a kiss on your cheek, your mind flashes back to last night. your eyes close as you remember his breath washing over your neck. another kiss at the corner of your mouth, your stomach jumps like he’s under your skirt.

a finger tracing shapes on your shoulder feels like it’s branding you. heat washes over you, you can still recall the grinds he was giving you and how real it felt.

you think the real thing would be better. would he be a tease? would he talk to you the same? one thing without question, he’d be just as dominating for your pleasure.

a swirl on your skin has you standing, by consequence peter’s hand falls. ‘what’s wrong with you?’ you brush out the pleats in your skirt, peter’s eyes follow your movements, you block his view with your bag.

‘i’m busy. super busy. like, mega amounts of busy so i should go. sorry, i shouldn’t have joined you. i’ll see you later. maybe.’ you book it before he could try and sweet talk you into staying.

peter watches after you while he throws his hands up.

‘you were here first!’

———

'did my pretty baby miss me?'

peter's between your thighs again and you're holding in every gasp you muster. 'she's so needy, isn't she?' you swallow hard on a sharp thrust, a whimper tumbles from you.

'i told you all you had to do was tell me- look at how well i'm rewarding you, i have you shaking under me.' peter rolls his hips, the bed moves underneath you.

'my needy baby feels so good, doesn't she? my good girl.'

your throat stings at the groan you release, it's instant this time. your hands dig into his bed sheets while peter rocks you through it, you feel empty but whole.

'i love making you feel-'

you gasp while peeling your eyes open. peter, the real peter, is standing above you shaking your shoulder. 'you alright, cherry?' you're not sure if you were saying anything.

'why?'

'your face was all scrunched up, i thought you were having a bad dream.'

he has no idea. 'not a bad dream. definitely not a bad dream.' two wet dreams back to back is crazy.

peter gives you a funny look and sits back down at his desk. 'okay, weirdo. i didn't mean to ruin your nap.'

'don't worry, i finished.' you squeeze your eyes shut, you feel slightly out of breath. you'd been so good at pushing every inch of the dream from your mind that your subconscious tapped in and doubled down with a second one.

you take a few minutes to calm yourself down before making an excuse to grab water just so you could get away from him for a second.

you swore you were better, you pushed every aspect of your dirty dream deep down and was able to stomach being around peter again by excusing yesterday as a fluke and telling him you had homework on your mind.

peter bought it but you don't think he believed it.

'hey, did you see- jeez, cherry. what has you so on edge?' you jumped at his touch on your shoulders. backing away, your lower back hits a kitchen drawer.

'nothing. i'm just thinking about my dream.' this time you're honest but peter keeps going.

'is anyone giving you any problems?' your eyebrows scrunch together, 'no.'

'are you really stressed out or something? did someone tell you something that's bothering you?' you shake your head again, the confusion you're feeling must show on your face.

'you know i care about you, right?' you nod.

'good.' peter looks relieved. 'and if anyone was messing with you, you'd tell me?' he takes a step forward, you inch to the side, you need him at arm's length.

'no one's messing with me.' except you, but you leave that part out. peter's hiding something, he's able to hold it in for twenty seconds before he's bursting.

'you're acting weird. really weird. you were weird yesterday and you're weird today and i need to know what's going on.'

no, it's embarrassing, dirty and humiliating. you'd rather pull off your fingernails than admit what you were thinking. 'i told you my mind was on homework.'

'then where is it?'

you falter. you can't come up with an excuse before he's pushing further. 'because if you're this stressed about homework, where is it? all you did was come over and stay three inches away from me at all times before taking a nap.' the more he talks, the more it makes sense.

peter's head tilts, he looks over your face before taking a few steps back. 'if you don't like our arrangement anymore, that's okay. we can end it here and still be friends.' it's the last thing he wants but you don't seem comfortable around him anymore.

your eyes widen and you set your glass down a little too harshly, that's the last thing you'd want. 'no! no, no, no! just- no! i like you, i really really like you and what we have going on so no, not that. please not that.'

'then tell me what's going on.' peter sounds defeated while you stare at the ground. your silence is screaming and he takes it as withheld information. 'cherry, if i did or said something that made you upset, i'm sorry. just tell me what i did and we can work it out together.'

you're a terrible person for keeping up with your charade. 'i'm on my period.' you rush the words out, it was a classic fail safe that always stopped follow up questions.

'oh.' why does it look like he doesn't believe you? 'are you sure that's all it is?' because he doesn't. you further commit to the lie with a head nod, you swear he stares into your soul but he gives up.

'okay.' you know by his tone it's not, but you're not going to push your luck so you agree with him. 'okay.' you get an instant stomach ache, you can't handle the stress of keeping secrets from him. you promise, no, swear to yourself that tomorrow you'd bury this so far down that he'd never question you again.

or feel like you didn't want him or what you had because it quite honestly couldn't be further from the truth.

---

good news: you didn't have another wet dream last night.

bad news: you're still thinking about wet dreams.

but you're committed to making peace with your thoughts and being a normal human being around peter before he has a total breakdown.

so, you ignore the flashes of imagery when you wear the same skirt from your dream and watch a youtube video to distract your mind while you sit in front of your mirror and touch up your look.

you even make it all the way to his frat house before you break your vow on forgetting. the first dream was in your dorm, the second was in his room. surrounded by his sheets, suffocated in his smell and touch. while you wore this skirt, the one tickling your mid thigh.

shaking your head, you shake off your daydream and go straight for his room while collecting yourself and putting on a smile. you knock twice before letting yourself in and shutting the door behind you, peter's sitting at his desk and in the zone.

peter's computer has at least seven open tabs. one monitor has a word document, the other has a ted talk. there's two open textbooks and several pieces of scrap paper laid out in front of him. you're unsure if he's doing two classes at once or if it's just one hard piece of work.

you get a small acknowledgement before he's back to reading, halfway mumbling the words to commit them to memory. he's absolutely gorgeous and you understand what it means to burst with want.

there was a time when just kissing him made you nervous but you swear a flip switched and all you can think about is him, him, him. but you swore you'd be normal, so you lean over his shoulder to give him a kiss on the cheek and heavily ignore the part of your brain screaming at you to sit on his lap.

it's even worse than you thought, he's wearing the exact same outfit from both dreams. denim pants, black socks and his frat t-shirt. you lose all capability to breathe but peter's too invested in his reading and wiping away the sticky residue you left on his cheek using his shoulder to notice.

'oh, hey, i'm not like, super well versed in periods or anything but i got some stuff i heard girls like. i was gonna get you some... whatever you call them but there's so many kinds and i don't know what you use but i can get you some to keep here, or you can bring some over next time.'

you've never had anyone care about you like this. you've never had anyone go out of their way to try and buy you pads or tampons, you've never had anyone buy you things just because you're on your period.

'i got some peppermint tea but i think ethan has a bunch of different kinds if you want something else. oh, and chocolate. and reeses cups because i read that sometimes girls crave peanut butter but i call dibs on one. i also got this stuff called midol.'

you feel like a monster, he put in all this effort for a lie. you can't do this to him, it's so unfair. you look away from him when you confess. 'i'm not on my period.' if you could see peter's face all you would find is a funny look.

'like, not anymore or...?' you're inspecting the corner of his room when you shake your head. 'i lied. my period is next week.' peter goes quiet for a minute before you hear his desk drawer slide open and plastic crinkling. you're brave enough to look over to watch him stuff a peanut butter cup in his mouth.

'what?' you can barely make out the muffle. 'there's no way i'm letting these sit around for a week.' you didn't want to tell him why you lied but you're a little upset he's not asking why you did. peter passes one over to you, you take it gently.

'you need some sugar. turn that frown upside down.' he goes for his second, you peel the paper back and take a hesitant bite. you can't stomach it, you can't enjoy a treat while you're still simmering in guilt.

'why aren't you asking why i lied?' peter swallows and holds his finger up to pause the conversation while he chugs some water. 'did you lie for a reason?' not for a good one but it was still a reason.

'yes.'

'was it about your personal safety?' you shake your head, 'no.' peter shrugs, he's indifferent. 'well, it's obvious you're bad at lying but if you have a reason that doesn't concern your mental or personal safety, i trust you.'

you frown, 'i'm not bad at lying.' peter snaps his fingers into a gun before breaking into a grin. 'okay, okay, that's a good one. do another, oo, what color is this pen?' you keep a straight face while you say the wrong color, this time he softly claps. 'i take it back, cherry. you're an excellent mediocre liar.'

'you're making fun of me.'

'i'm allowed to. you lied.' you huff at him and eat the rest of your treat before sitting on the edge of his bed and flopping backwards. peter goes back to scribbling on pages, the only sound in the room were his speakers lowly producing a playlist he made.

it's not getting better. the more you try to forget, the more it's on your mind, the more it's on your mind - the more being around peter is unbearable. especially when he's so sweet and kind, when he's forgiving and trusting.

you want him, you want him all over you and under your skirt.

'have you ever had a sex dream?' it comes out before you could even think about it. peter spins in his chair to look at you, you're drumming on your thighs and bouncing between posters on his wall.

everything falls into place at once, the dodgy eye contact, the constant space you've given him. how you got antsy when he touched you, how you lied just to get him to stop asking questions.

'that's why you've been so weird? you had a sex dream?'

panic. he wasn't supposed to name you. you sit up and stare at him wide eyed. 'it wasn't me!' well- that just confirmed it. peter wants to laugh, instead he's kind and easy with you. you'd been stressed for days over nothing- or what he considers to be nothing.

'yes, i've had a sex dream before.' he's not making fun of you, he's being really delicate. you play with your hands while you mumble the real question. 'have you ever had a wet dream?'

oh. that's why you've been so secretive.

peter still keeps his calm demeanor and lets you poke where you feel comfortable. 'i have.' you sit in the comfortable silence, just asking the question had you relaxing.

'i've- my friend has never had one.'

peter clicks the pen in his hand three times while thinking of an answer, you both know who you're talking about but peter will play along. it's one of your favorite things about him.

'they're totally random, she- they shouldn't freak out about it. i had one about my fifth grade teacher like a year ago and that still haunts me. so unless it's something like that, they shouldn't stress it.'

'right. but what if they can't stop thinking about it? and it's really hard to be around the person it was with?'

peter deserves an award for his poker face.

on the inside, he was screaming. he had an idea, but your confirmation made him want to let out a quiet 'let's gooo.'

on the outside, he was none the wiser.

'i think it depends. why is it hard for them to be around this person?'

‘see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

it feels too real, you go quiet again. peter won't let you, you started it and he's not letting you turtle shell. it's a lesson in being vulnerable, if you can't talk to him about a wet dream how is he ever supposed to go further?

'cherry?'

you trace your name over your knee, you do it until you can look at him and choke out the truth.

'because i really want to do it.' you know what you said, so does peter. he hates the awkward air, there's nothing to be shy about. peter pretends to be shocked. 'oh, so not a friend?' for a moment you can't remember why you were so scared to tell him.

'not a friend.'

'would i be narcissistic to assume it was about me?' you nod at his question. 'you wouldn't be wrong.' peter has a thousand questions but he leaves it up to you.

'do you want to tell me about it or did you just need to get it out?'

you deflect. 'have you ever had one about me?' peter gives you a hint of a smile and you already know the answer. 'a few.' you're slightly impressed, you're on the border of a panic attack at two, (mostly) non graphic wet dreams and peter's casually brushing off multiple.

'tell me.'

peter's eyebrows raise, you're unsure of your request now. 'i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.' peter thinks over the offer, he's going to keep the soft, sensual one for himself.

'a couple weeks ago i had one where you were riding me.' you don't know how peter is so honest about it. his is much more vulgar but he's acting like it's an everyday thing.

it's a little ironic, you had a dream where he was semi-riding you.

'what's yours?' this is where peter's interest is at, he wants to know what imagery got you off. yours seems insignificant now, peter's dreaming about the real thing, you got excited off his jeans.

'um, you were wearing that.' you gesture to his all over body. 'i was?'

you nod, 'uh huh, and i was wearing this skirt.' peter eyes the fabric and lets his eyes wash over your thighs. 'you were?'

'yeah.'

'what else?'

you fight past your awkwardness, you told him you'd tell him yours. 'you were... you kept talking to me and saying things that i didn't know i liked but i did. i really, really did.

'and?'

you suck in a deep breath and pull the plunge. 'you were dry humping me. i think.'

peter clicks his pen again, you allow yourself to imagine it as a way for him to restrain himself. 'you think?'

'it was the way you were talking to me. you were kind of mean but in a sexy way. i keep thinking about-' you almost give yourself away, you won't go that far. too late, peter's attention is on you.

'thinking about something i said?' you nod sheepishly, even if peter's acting like it's a normal conversation you still feel bad about thinking of him like that. 'what was it?'

it was a chain reaction. peter said one thing and it spiraled into all of this, you're not sure if you should be greatful or secretitive. you shrug like you didn't already tell him you couldn't stop thinking about it.

it's the reason you're here. you want this.

‘see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

peter takes a deep breath, 'i see.' calm and collected movements, he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. your nerves turn into excitement in a second.

'is this you telling me?'

'yeah.'

peter taps his fingers on his armrests, your heart starts to race. the way he’s looking at you is new, this is new. ‘come here.’ your skirt bunches up when you move off his bed and you don’t bother to fix it. you ignite when you're pulled onto his lap.

'is this how it happened?' you shake your head, it's not what you fantasized but it'll do. peter grips your hips and places a kiss at the bottom of your neck. 'what did i do?'

you speak around puffs of air, peter's wet marks are awfully distracting. especially when he gets under your ear. 'it was in my dorm.'

'mhm.' the vibration shot down your neck. 'i was in bed and you...' you open your mouth in a silent moan, there's going to be a hickey tomorrow morning and you don't care in the slightest. 'got between me and started, started- grinding.'

it's so much better than a dream.

all the built tension drops when peter pulls back, he's not denying you of your fantasy. if you want him crawling up the bed - he's going to do it. peter pats the side of your leg before nodding towards his bed, you know what he's asking and you shimmy backwards before jumping into his sheets.

anticipation builds when he stands, voluntarily and expectant, you spread your thighs for him. 'you're gonna make me feel good, right?' he never thought you'd be this bold, peter swears you just gave him an instant boner. 'it's my job, isn't it?'

peter wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, you hit the center of the bed and feel it shift when he rests on the end. a trail of kisses up your left leg, into your inner thighs, skipping right past where you're craving the most attention before skidding back down your right leg.

it's ticklish, he repeats the pattern and you mindlessly bend your knee up, peter hooks his arm around it while he nibbles at your skin.

'peter,' he's close to you. inches from you. he's getting closer, his kisses slow and feel more like brushes over the area.

'don't worry. one thing at a time.' you relax, he's just being nice. when he reappears, you hum as he stretches your hips wide and slots himself just how you dreamed. 'what did i-'

'do it.' peter raises an eyebrow, 'is that what i-' you pick your head up to stare at his beltline. 'do. it.' peter's wish is your command, he rolls his hips into yours and you let out every ounce of tension and stress in one sigh.

this is what you wanted.

'i've been so good, haven't i been so good for you?' peter can sense a little bit of a praise kink in you, it's fitting. 'you're always good for me. you're my good girl, aren't you?'

a whimper, it's so much better when it's real. 'i'm your good girl.' a harsh grind, you clutch peter's forearm while you throw your head back. 'yeah? that feels good?'

'call me your pretty baby.' peter doesn't know where the direction is coming from but he likes it. 'does my pretty baby feel good?' an audible moan, he's fucking perfect at this.

'i'm needy.' you suck in air, 'tell me i'm needy.'

peter's keeping you pressed to him by his hands wrapped up in your skirt, looping his thumbs under the fabric while the rest keeps a tight hold on your waist.

if this is what you want - he can do this.

'my pretty baby is so needy for me.' you nod and push your hips up, you're rewarded for being greedy. 'so needy.' peter's enjoying your reactions more than he's enjoying the friction. not you, you're more than enjoying the combination and peter wants to know how much.

a slow in the momentum, you soften into a pout at the lack of attention. 'no, no, no. please don't stop.' peter likes this side of you, submissive and desperate. 'tell me how much you want it.'

your head thrashes on his pillow, your hair will pay the price. you paw at his arms and hands, anywhere you can touch. 'no, you're nice, be nice.' you don't like being teased, peter takes a mental note.

you sink your teeth into your bottom lip when he gives you what you want, it's an indescribable feeling and now that you've had it, you can't imagine ever going back. you dig under his shirt, your nails pierce the skin on his hips.

'my pretty baby was desperate for this, wasn't she?' he's so good at it, so, so good. he's so good you can't even talk, peter lifts you and nudges you even closer.

you swear you almost screamed at the new angle, the thick of his denim was giving you every bit of friction you craved. 'but she's been so good.'

'i only ever wanna be good for you.' peter tightens his hold, you can't say things like that to him. you reach for his biceps, peter isn't ashamed to admit he leaned into it to make it easier. he likes you touching every inch of him.

'you're my good girl, even when you're begging.' you nod with him, he's got a great rhythm and you're starting to feel how you did in your dream. 'yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.' you hiss through your teeth at a harsh grind, you swear you're about to explode.

peter watches you fall further into the cusp of total release. sometimes, he can't help himself.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you had to do was tell me.'

the dam broke loose, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly you see a multitude of colors, first black, then white, then hints of red. you didn't know it was possible. for the first time ever someone else was responsible for your orgasm and that made it even better.

'oh my fucking god!' you swear the world came to a complete stop for thirty seconds, your hips stutter as peter keeps going, he's riding the wave with you. he lasts as long as you want, taking the hint when you get loose and can't even hold your arms up anymore.

'better than your dream?'

you didn't do any work but you're breathless like you just ran a mile. you can't respond yet, your brain isn't working. peter pats your knee, 'you can put 'em down now.' your legs drop, they've never been so heavy.

'you didn't finish.' peter smirks, you get a sinking feeling because he totally did and you were so wrapped up in your own world you missed out on it. the first time you did something sexual and you didn't get to see his face or hear his voice.

'no fair! i want a redo.' you lift yourself up, even though you feel like a thousand pounds and push at peter's shoulder to try and get him down on his back so you can get another chance and make sure you don't miss out.

peter lets you lay him down but he stops you from straddling him. 'this is where i tell you about the refractory period between nuts. after i cum? i am a no go for at least twenty minutes. couldn't get it up if i tried.'

you're ultra serious about this. 'so, twenty minutes?' he laughs and holds a grin. 'i promise we'll do this again, there's no need to wear yourself out.' oh, there's no doubt about that. you're going to be asking for this every single day for the rest of your life.

'you're evil for that last comment.' peter's eyebrows pull together, 'what one? there's no need to wear yourself out?'

'no, when you said what you did in my dream.' you also might have pulled out your plea for pet names from the same one but peter doesn't need to know that.

'see how good i can make you feel, all you had to do is tell me?'

your cheeks burn, the verb change from have to had isn't lost on you. you told him what you wanted and he gave it to you, when he said it was under your control he meant it, he just keeps you from swerving off the road or driving too fast.

'yes. that.'

peter's way too amused. 'anything my pretty baby wants, she gets.' you freeze, it feels weird when you're not under him. 'no, stop it.'

'c'mon, be a good girl and play along.' you shake your head and point a finger at him, 'don't you dare.' peter opens his mouth to add one more jab but you beat him to it. 'if you call me needy i'll actually get upset.'

'alright, alright, i'm done.' he raises his hands to show he's not a threat. he's still got a smile on and you can feel your thighs slightly sticking together, your heart rate picks up as you replay what happened minutes ago. it's a strange time to feel shy.

'what? you're looking at me funny.' it was so hot in the moment and you were clouded with lust that it just felt natural. now that you've come down from that high you were almost self-conscious.

'we like, did stuff together. and now we're just hanging out but you like, just gave me a first. like, here we are but also you just literally copied a dream i had and you made me like,' you mimic an explosion. 'and now we're hanging out like it didn't happen but it did and i was already having impure thoughts about you but now it's gonna be even worse.'

peter absorbs your word vomit and only offers six words. 'post nut clarity is hitting, huh?' you release a deep breath, 'are you freaking out too?' he pretends to think about it. 'ah, no. not really.'

'am i broken?'

peter pats his chest and reaches out for you. 'come cuddle.' you find solace in his hold instantly, you don't feel broken. 'you're not broken, cherry. you just did something you've never done before with someone else and you're feeling vulnerable.'

'you're so smart.' he snorts, 'i wouldn't go that far, but thanks.' to show it he kisses your forehead. you swear you're totally melted in his arms, you both sat in a nice silence while he traced random things over your back, his other hand in yours being fiddled with. his watch is the most interesting feature, you keep spinning the dial and pressing buttons.

'i'm surprised you haven't fallen asleep yet.' you hold up his wrist to show him the time.

'why would i? it hasn't been twenty minutes yet.'

#the virgin files #frat!peterxvirgin!reader

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for-ests · 5 months ago

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Blood Bound: Sukuna x Reader

Pairing: Heian era Sukuna x witch concubine reader Warnings: hella plot w/ eventual smut Word count: 6,800+ Summary: Gifted to the King of Curses by your coven to produce the strongest heir, Sukuna gets more than he bargained for when he realizes you come with conditions. But once he finally gets a taste, he can't get enough. I honestly don't know what compelled me to write this. But if others enjoy I was thinking about making an actual fic!! this isn't fully flushed out yet but I hope it makes sense. This will eventually connect to my Gojo fanfic too!

Sukuna had all the concubines he could ask for, but there was one who was a big headache. You. Disrespectful and conniving, you were the only one who stood up to him. And for some reason, he allowed it. But that was because you were different from the rest. You weren't like the other pathetic waifs he was expected to entertain; you were special—a witch, a curse user from one of the most powerful covens in his territory. And you loved to remind him of it, stalking around him and nosing your way into his business but never giving in to his desires. He could have disposed of you long ago, but that would've wasted your talents. And, of course, your beauty.

When you first arrived at the palace, you didn't want to get closer to Sukuna, you didn't even want to talk to him. Especially when you realized he was unaware of the conditions he bound himself to. But with each day that passed, you found yourself seeking him out more, with whatever attention you could get—which was usually his lingering eyes as you paraded around with the other women. Like cats and dogs, you argued with Sukuna just so he would respond to your defiance. You didn't submit to just anyone because they asked. Even though Sukuna was the King of Curses, you were still a powerful witch—and you wouldn't be demoted to just an ordinary concubine.

You weren't just something pretty to look at. Your purpose was to continue your bloodline, to pass that magic down as your ancestors did, with another man of equal or more power. The first night where you revealed the truth to him was a night you didn't want to repeat.

Sitting under a cherry blossom tree, Sukuna let out a growl. You had forced him to attend another garden picnic with all the concubines.

You often did things like this intentionally, smirking at him whenever he would complain and spreading the rumors to everyone before he agreed. Even Uraume was in on it, always preparing the best foods for him at your request to soften the blow.

Why do you have so many concubines if you don't want to spend time with them? You would mock, your underlying intentions amiss in his brain. All you did was play mind games. If you wish for an heir, shouldn't they be happy, too? A happy and healthy concubine will bear the strongest children.

Whether you were referring to yourself or not, Sukuna was open to the idea. You were right, after all. And that's why he put up with it, partially to spend time with you, too. You always ensured you were busy whenever he thought about calling you to his room. And the few times you had, you only played Go with him and won.

What an insufferable woman. He thought, watching you fan yourself from across the garden, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger, only glancing at him when he looked away.

"More wine Master?" One of the concubines approached Sukuna.

"Master, would you like to try what we cooked?" Another concubine animatedly served him a plate.

But you would bask in the sun on one of the finest cushions conquest could provide, away from the rest of the group, only participating when he requested you.

His eyes narrowed on you once you stood to get a cup of wine. "Let Y/N serve me, this was her idea so she must be the one to deal with me," he told the others, shooing them away with the raise of his hand.

Sukuna wasn't in the mood to have any other concubine clinging to him but you.

As you approached, you rolled your eyes. "Don't call him Master," you said to the women as they backed away. "He doesn't deserve it."

Sukuna smirked as you poured him some wine, his fingers grazing yours softly. "You never learn, do you?" he asked in a quiet, mocking tone so the others couldn't hear.

You didn't have much to learn, though. You knew he liked power, and you had a lot more than all of his concubines combined. You were the only woman there who had almost mastered sorcery.

Then, a little more loudly, making everyone stop and pay attention to you, he said, "How would you address me then? Surely, you're not the kind of woman who calls your master darling, are you?" he joked mockingly while licking his lips.

Once you finished pouring his wine, you smirked to yourself, knowing that in the end, you were his favorite concubine. And in his own way, he respected you in return.

"I would call you by your name," you replied, loud enough for the other women to hear, satisfied to hear their giggles, knowing it would rile him up further. Even if you loathed the other concubines, entertainment was welcomed as the months passed. It's not like you could just leave the castle and return to your coven whenever you pleased.

Bending down slightly, you whispered into Sukuna's ear with a lustful drawl. "Such a title must be earned."

As you turned around, Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips as he watched you return to your cushion, another glass of wine waiting for you to devour. You always acted unbothered, but ultimately, he suspected you were. Why else wouldn't you accept the offer of being his concubine? Your relationship with him was in limbo because you craved something more.

He sipped the wine, letting the flavor spread across his tongue. He knew you liked to defy him, and he found it quite amusing. "You're quite the bold one," Sukuna said, his voice low yet teasing. "But I assure you, Y/N, soon enough you will beg to call me Master."

Sukuna was transfixed by your defiant behavior, knowing full well you challenged him because you knew he wouldn't lay a finger on you. He knew your coven protected you with a spell, so he couldn't physically punish you. Despite the frustration, there were still beneficial reasons why he kept you around. It took bravery to even bother with him, and he admired you for it. Perhaps you were the only woman he was genuinely interested in.

Sukuna listened to his concubines gossiping amongst themselves as he sipped his wine, wondering how he would break his little witch in. He had already tried using his power on you, but as expected, the protection spell had kept you safe. Not that he minded; it just made the chase more amusing.

Ever since you'd been offered to him as a bargaining chip to save your coven, a day hadn't passed where he didn't think of you. When he saw you for the first time, an unquenchable flame ignited inside him. How you looked that night, emerging past the elders in a revealing black dress decorated in gold and jewels, a tiara with rubies dipping between your brows, was a sight he couldn't seem to forget. The Onryo. They called you.

At the time, Sukuna didn't want a bride, only a concubine. But each day you tempted him, his resistance faltered. Months came and went without you in his bed, and he grew restless and irritated. You opted to tease him instead, insulting him whenever he disappeared with one of his concubines. He knew you were a prized possession; he knew it was dangerous to overstep the protection spell your coven put on you, ensuring no rules would be broken. You already promised him the strongest heir possible, but he still hadn't agreed to every condition in the pact. He wasn't ready to give up his concubines, and you knew that.

And you didn't budge, only wishing to fulfill your duty when the time was right, for your coven and Sukuna's dynasty.

Over time, Sukuna continued to tire of the other concubines, increasingly ignoring them to the degree that his chambers remained barren for the past few months. It was bothersome, as he didn't like this feeling of… dissatisfaction. None of them excited him the way you did. None of them challenged him like you.

It all came to a head when he caught you flirting with the palace guards. His eyes burned with frustration, and he summoned his fire, stepping forward before Uraume's sudden presence distracted him.

"Permission to speak freely, Sukuna-Sama?" they bowed their head slightly.

"Yes." Sukuna's tone was sharp, eyes still daggering at you, cozying up with the guards and laughing with them as he supposed you did every night when he didn't request you. The only thing he allowed you to leave for was your rituals; sometimes, they lasted all night. It made him wonder if you were fucking his men behind his back.

A long silence passed, with only the faint echo of your laugh heard. It graded against his eardrums, hearing that another man had captured your attention, let alone make you smile.

"I wish to remind you that Y/N is a smart woman. I would not want you to do anything in haste."

"As if I don't know that!" Sukuna snapped, "she belongs to me, after all."

Shaking their head, Uraume sighed. "My Lord—"

"I am aware," Sukuna interrupted. If anyone knew the truth, it was Uraume. You treated them with extra care, feeding them bits and pieces of your predicament in hopes they would reveal them to Sukuna when necessary. You weren't just playing with Uraume, though. You considered them a friend. Probably your only friend in the palace. They knew that deep within their heart, which is why they bothered to defend you. Seeing your face every day made the palace more lively. Did Sukuna even realize all that you sacrificed for him?

"That wench of a Supreme tricked me into a binding vow."

Tricked was a strong word. Nobody could really trick the King of Curses. Uraume knew it was his way of admitting he was weak at that moment. Meeting you for the first time, which even Uraume could admit you looked divine, ravishing, unlike any woman they'd seen before—that spectacle was what led to this entire mess. Sukuna was the one who allowed your behavior to continue. He wasn't tricked. He just wanted the chase and the power. He wanted you from the moment he saw you and was too arrogant to admit it.

There was no way Sukuna could ever love somebody, right? It all finally made sense to Uraume at that moment. Based on your own admission, based on the fact that he hadn't taken one of his concubines to bed in months, growing more frustrated with each day that passed, only craving a presence he couldn't obtain.

"Are you…" Uraume chose their words carefully. Sukuna was clearly jealous, but it was your job to say that word, not them. "...Considering to follow through?"

His crimson eyes narrowed. "It has crossed my mind," he finally admitted. "But I won't be tricked by that she-demon again."

"I speculate that if Y/N wanted to deceive you, she would have done so already."

Sukuna let Uraume’s advice pervade. He imagined every possibility for trickery on your part but came up with nothing. You were waiting for him, not the other way around. You were already bound to him, the contract only in limbo because you witches were just as power-hungry as him and incredibly selective. They would not allow a woman from their coven to bear children with a man who also produced bastards. The magic would cease to work for that purpose alone. And that was a sacrifice you wouldn't make, even for him. Even if he was a king, even if he was a curse, the coven always played the long game. As they've done for centuries and would do again.

"Demand that she visit my chambers when she's done being a harlot," Sukuna spat, turning his back on them and deciding to leave.

"Sukuna-Sama," Uraume warned, glancing back to the palace gates, where you still chummed with the guards. "Are you sure?"

Sukuna waved his hand. "My mind is made."

They stared at their lord as he walked away, acting as if he wasn't bothered by the revelation, acting as if he didn't just spare you and his men from certain death. That was when Uraume recognized Sukuna's true feelings for you.

However twisted they might be.

An hour later, the kitchen door swung open, presenting you in a seductive, revealing dress. Whether Sukuna noticed or not, you always wore your best garments on nights when the moon was absent.

Hunger twisted in your stomach as you realized how late it was and how long you'd gone without a meal. All you wanted was to steal a few snacks without anyone noticing before retreating to your chambers.

But, for once at this hour, Uraume was chopping away at a slab of meat, some already cooking in a stew on the firewood stove. It smelled delicious, and you sighed blissfully. They would be the last person to mind if you stole a few bites, as you often did, complimenting them with a smile on your face before disappearing again.

"Sukuna requests you visit his chambers," Uraume said, their tone leaving no room for debate. They didn't even turn around to greet you. No excitement to see you, no friendliness in their tone. It made you pause.

"Is it a request or is it a demand?" you asked, covering your worry with a displeased smirk, rounding the stone countertop to see precisely what Uraume was preparing. It looked delicious, and your stomach grumbled with comedic timing.

Uraume finally glanced at you, knowing that you were beside them. "I would suggest going to see him now." They nodded to the elaborately prepared tray beside them. You watched as they spooned a bowl full of cooked meat, steam billowing into the air. "He's already waited an hour."

"Before he gets angrier?" you asked, plucking some food into your mouth. Once you swallowed, you grabbed the tray in both your hands. "Does he ever feel another way?"

Only a slight crack in the corner of Uraume's lips signaled they weren't sending you to your death. Their eyes were serious. Even if you were their friend, Sukuna was still their King.

"He was boiling when he saw you fraternizing with the castle guard," Uraume said, refusing to reveal anything else. "Have you no shame, Y/N?"

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to hide your surprise. "What else am I to do to pass the time?"

"You are bound to him, Y/N, don't forget your place. Sukuna-Sama has been generous enough. He can still kill you if he pleased."

"Generous is a bit theatrical," you huffed, parting from Uraume after one last smile. "But thank you," you added, nodding to the food. Whatever conversation you were about to have with Sukuna might be softened once he saw that you were fetching his meal.

The castle halls were eerily empty and quiet. There were never many people around, but it had never felt this dreadful to you before. All you could hear was the sound of your own sandals scuffing against the rug as you approached his chamber.

The sound of your pattering knuckles filled the silence, and you quickly slid the door open and entered before receiving a reply.

Sukuna's back was to you, his fingers grasping the balcony's edge. He didn't turn around when he heard you enter the room, but he tensed slightly. "Did I give you permission to enter my chambers?" he said curtly, his voice laced with annoyance.

"You had requested me," you replied just as harshly. "Where have you been all night?"

"None of your concern," he said, tone cold and final.

There was an agonizing minute of silence that passed. He didn't turn around to look at you, still avoiding having to look you in the eyes. Once he did, he wondered if he could resist the temptation. From afar, he saw what you were wearing. If he had to see it up close… an almost identical dress on the day he first met you.

"Are you going to stand there staring at my back?" he asked irritably, still not bothering to turn around.

"If you want to be alone, so be it," you snapped, turning around and heading for the door. "I'll leave your meal on the table and thank Uraume for you."

He turned around quickly, a scowl on his face. "You defy the simplest of orders and instructions," Sukuna muttered under his breath, his annoyance vanishing once he glimpsed the very body he was trying to resist. That damn dress. It was far too revealing. All that was missing was a crown. What a seductress you were, almost bringing the King of Curses to his knees at the very sight of you.

He was clearly upset. Provoked that even though you purposely annoyed him, hardly followed his orders, and kept yourself and your body off limits to his desires— he always sought you out. "Come here," he ordered savagely, his hungry eyes locking with yours.

You knew when he was angry, as he usually always was. But the look in his eyes was different tonight. Was it sadness? Was it jealousy? Obeying his request, you left the food inside and walked onto the balcony. You were grateful for Uraume's hint, leading you to approach him more cautiously.

The two of you often played board games out there when the weather was nice. Go was your favorite, and Sukuna still had yet to beat you. Perhaps he relented because he couldn't have sex with you all night, and it was the only way you'd spend time with him alone. Go was maybe the one thing you'd mastered besides magic.

A part of you wondered if that's what he wanted, too. It had been about a week since the last time you challenged him. You watched him sit down before asking, "Would you care to play a game to release some stress, my Lord?" You added the honorific with the raise of your brows, suspecting you might actually be walking on a thin, thin line with him already.

"I don't want to play games, witch," he grumbled impatiently, his scowl deepening at your sudden prudence. He much preferred the attitude that kept him on his toes. "Sit down," he incited, hand pointing to the spot next to him on the sofa.

The wind was blowing briskly, making the trees surrounding the palace sway and rustle softly. The atmosphere was tense, almost dangerous, the air seeming to crackle with electricity.

"It's a beautiful night," you said, watching the branches tangle around each other in the breeze. The stars were shining bright in the absence of the moon. As you finally sat beside Sukuna, you turned to look at him. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

"Would it not be easier to use your magic to root through my mind instead?" he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. What a ludicrous answer.

There was a momentary silence. It was tense and heavy. The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the trees.

"What fun is there in that?" you sighed, the tease in your tone fading away with the wind. For once, you didn't come there to defy or disrespect him. For the first time, you came for comfort, to know him better. Yes, you enjoyed your life at the palace. You knew your place, but it wasn't to just be his concubine. What you really wanted was to be his Queen. But Sukuna was cruel, heartless, and malevolent. Rarely, almost never, did fragments of his true self emerge.

"A strong powerful man like you should be able to express what you're feeling."

"I'm in no mood for fun," he said curtly, his expression remaining cold.

Another pause, the tension in the air so dense it felt like he was physically curling his hands around your throat.

Until finally, he heaved a frustrated sigh. "I want you to be honest with me." There was no reason for him to struggle this much with the thoughts swirling in his mind, but being in your presence often did that to him. Sharing his power was something he never wanted to do. He never expected any woman to even stand remotely close to his level of wickedness and hunger for domination. "Did you reject my proposal because of the coven or because of your wishes?"

"What proposal?" you tilted your head, confused. His red eyes burned with emotions you didn't expect him to be capable of.

"My proposal to you as my concubine," he said, tone hardening.

There was a pause; the wind rustled the trees gently and seemed to echo his words. Your reply was absent, which frustrated Sukuna further. He was growing impatient, watching as your lips parted and your eyebrows furrowed. "Why must you refuse to be just a concubine?" he asked.

"I lust for power just as you do, Sukuna, it is what is required of me," you sighed. "I cannot just be a concubine. I will not descend to the level of those lowly, moronic, women you keep around for no other reason than your twisted pleasure. They cannot give you the heir you need. To them, the title of concubine is an honor, but to me, it is an insult," you said with a bitter tone before glancing away and looking back up at the sky. Sukuna only knew pieces of your bloodline, your coven, and what the spell cast on you entailed. "And I'm not fond of sharing," a displeased, tight smile cracked across your face, hoping he wouldn't pry further.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes and reached out to grasp your chin, turning your head so that you were facing him again. His expression was cold, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, almost a hint of tenderness.

"Are you saying you no longer wish me to bed other women?" he asked in a low, menacing tone, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

Once he released your chin, you nodded but kept your gaze glued to his. "The thought of your hands on another woman, your body against anyone's but mine makes me..." you trailed off, not wanting to overstep. You loved teasing him. You loved that you had power over the other concubines. But your defiance came from the desperation of your situation. To be handed off to the King of curses like you were nothing but a prized cattle, forced to watch as he took his other concubines to bed, enraged you. The Supreme had tricked him, leaving it up to you to convince the most evil man in the country that you deserved respect. The most rigorous challenge of all.

Sukuna paused for a moment, considering what you just said. He then leaned close to you, his forehead almost touching yours as his crimson eyes studied your expression intently.

"There's another reason, is there not?" he said in a low voice, his words almost like a whisper. Then Sukuna smirked wickedly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as if it finally made sense to him. "Do you envy them, Y/N?" he teased, his hand reaching your waist, grasping it, and pulling you onto his lap.

You let him encircle his arms around you. It didn't matter if Sukuna was enjoying your torment. This was precisely what you expected. "It's not envy, Sukuna." you rolled your eyes, eyes flickering down to his smirk. His arms slipped around your waist tighter, causing a breathy sigh to leave your lips. The temptation was unbearable. That's why you never sat on his lap until now. Possessiveness glistened in your eyes, nostrils flaring slightly. "It makes me sick to my stomach to see you with those whores."

Sukuna's smirk grew wider as he heard your response, his eyes filled with amusement and desire. "Then prove your worthiness," he dared in a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. "Prove to me that you deserve to be my queen," he continued, his hand going further down, his fingers slipping under your dress, gripping your inner thigh.

Just from that intimate touch underneath your clothes, your body felt like it was on fire. You wanted more so desperately, which was the cruelest curse of all. You should have slapped his hand away, but something within you yearned for him vehemently. His fingers crept closer to your pulsing core, and you couldn't pull away. For months, all you had craved was his attention.

"Sukuna-" you warned, willing to explain it all to him, but was caught off guard when he bit down on the delicate skin of your neck. He sucked the spot roughly, his other hand creeping under your dress and to your thigh.

"Y/N..." he murmured, his mouth still lingering on the spot, the sound of his voice low and filled with passion. Sukuna's fingers moved higher, brushing against your heat, grinning against your skin as he felt your shiver. He could easily seduce you; he was sure of it, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to see you beg for him to take you to bed, and that wouldn't be easy. He wanted you to be willing and eager. He wanted you to give yourself to him.

"Sukuna...I am not..." you began to protest, your words caught in your throat as his hands pried between your thighs, forcing your legs open wider, teasing your entrance with his fingertips.

Fuck. That was what your mind screamed at his touch. You had been so determined to beat him with twisted power plays, only to care for him in a different way than just the empowerment of your coven through an heir. You thought it would take much more convincing for Sukuna to agree to your demands and understand the repercussions. But he was worshipping your body instead, enticing you to join him in hell.

Your yearning for him panged so harshly that it came in a sudden wave from your stomach to your core—etching a gasp from your lips.

"Are you always this exposed underneath such revealing dresses?" he chuckled once he found you weren't wearing undergarments, pressing a finger against your clit. Jolts of electricity shot through your body, and you let out a fervid whimper. Did he know what he was getting into? Was he really considering making you his Queen? It would happen soon enough, though, for the second he impregnated you, the spell would annul every other possible heir if he didn't accept you as his only.

Once his finger started to swirl in circles, you knew it was over. Your body was begging for him, begging for release. The allure of it all made your explanation die in your throat, and all you could choke out was, "If you take me tonight, I want all the other concubines dead."

Sukuna chuckled wickedly at your words, the sound resonating deep in his chest and vibrating against your skin.

"Is that so?" he replied, inserting a digit inside your eager, desperate pussy. "How bold of you to give me orders, Y/N." He grinned, red eyes glinting with lust and satisfaction. "Will you deal the finishing blow?" he murmured teasingly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, before he pushed another finger inside.

"Y-yes," you nodded, stuttering, eyes flickering down to the position he finally had you in across his lap. Your ruffled dress almost pushed up to your waist; legs spread, flush against his growing length as his hands teased your cunt.

Another gasp escaped you as he began to pump his fingers, his other hand gripping your waist and forcing you to stay still. "You want me...all to yourself?" he murmured in your ear.

"Need you to myself," you whimpered, finally giving in to the temptation.

"Need me to yourself..." he mimicked seductively, his words filled with desire. He could sense your restraint waning, your body trembling in his grasp. "You need me." He continued pumping harder, his hot breath fanning across your neck. "To be all yours..." he whispered, his own voice filling with desperation and passion.

But then, Sukuna suddenly paused. He withdrew his hands and leaned back into the sofa. He needed a second to process what was happening. How frustrating it was to be under your spell. It hardly took anything for you to seduce him; he was all over you, getting off on your pleasure and not his. It was strange how willing he was to submit to your desires. Was it some sort of trick?

"What?" you whimpered at his withdrawal, opening your eyes to gaze at him. Without his touch, you felt cold. Shifting around in his lap, you faced him.

"Prove your love for me, Y/N," he demanded, his eyes intense as he stared at you, the weight of his request hanging heavy between the two of you. "Tell me," he added, leaning forward to gently take your lips with his. Your eyes widened, but you kissed him back, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, the need for all of him panging deeper. "How far are you willing to go to show me your devotion?" he pulled away to breathe, hot breath caressing your face.

Love…devotion… Have you not already proved it?

"Anything," you whispered against his lips, grasping his wrists and moving them to the back of your gown. Once he loosened the knot, your dress fell around your shoulders. You tugged the lace down yourself, revealing your breasts to him for the first time. "My power will be yours to wield."

Sukuna's eyes burned as they drank in your body. How perfect you were, the right amount of beauty and insanity. He admired you in silence, eyes studying the perk of your breasts before his expression turned more serious. One more question, and he would take you. Only if you answered right, though.

"I will need you to give your blood and body to me, an offering that permanently binds your life to mine," he said, a chill settling over the air. You had already begged, and now he wanted you to prove your loyalty.

"Are you willing to pay that price?" he asked before his mouth pressed gently against your collarbone, then down to the middle of your breasts. Once he lifted his head, he searched your eyes for any hint of hesitation. Just a pause of uncertainty from him made you smile, revealing that he actually cared, that he was solemn and somewhat apprehensive.

But, you had none, already understanding this action would be forever, for eternity, transcending time and any powers you could comprehend. Powers that had yet to even manifest.

You were willing, you were eager.

"I thought it was given." You stared deeply into his eyes. "I am no stranger to binding vows, my King."

Sukuna nodded, a small smile forming on his face. "Very well then, Y/N," he said, his voice low and firm. "It's settled. From this day forward, you'll be my Queen and I'll be your King. Nobody else will dare to defy your wishes except me," he concluded with finality, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, all four of his hands coming to cup your cheeks. Your heart swelled with pride as he revealed his true form to you.

In acceptance, you kissed him harshly before reaching up to pull out the hairpin he gifted you the first day you arrived at the palace. With your hair cascading down your bare shoulders, you revealed the hidden blade inside and swiped it across your finger. "My life is yours, Sukuna," you promised.

Sukuna watched as a small cut appeared on your finger, blood welling up quickly at the shallow wound. He grasped your hand, bringing your finger to his lips and running his tongue along the edge of the cut. Then he placed your finger in his mouth, sucking on it lightly, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin, tasting the metallic tang of your blood.

When the cut had closed, Sukuna pulled your finger out of his mouth, his crimson eyes fixed on yours. "All mine," he whispered, his voice low and sultry.

Taking the hairpin from you, he swiped over his own thumb, deeper than you had. Your eyes were wide in astonishment as he pushed his bleeding thumb into your mouth, sealing the bond he requested. You sucked, eyelashes fluttering, waiting until the cut closed.

The King of Curses was now yours, completely.

"Now, you can have me any way you'd like," you whispered, eyes darkening with lust and excitement. "And afterward, we can go on a killing spree."

A fervent need flared in his eyes as you spoke, your voice dripping with desire. "You are a dangerous woman, my future Queen," he murmured, his voice gravelly as he stared down at you, a smirk playing on his lips. But it was clear that he was just as aroused as you were, his body tense with need. "I cannot say no to you when you look at me like that."

In the next breath, Sukuna was all over you. His mouth latched onto your breast while the other pinched your nipple. All you could do was hold his face in your hands, moaning as you watched him prepare your body for his length. Desire pooled lower and lower in your abdomen, and all you could do was sway your hips for release, remembering what his fingers felt like inside of you.

"Can't wait any longer," Sukuna grunted, swirling his tongue across your chest and up the side of your neck before taking your lips with his once again. The kiss was deep, and his tongue dominated your mouth, claiming it without protest. Breaking away for air, a strand of saliva connected your lips to his, the heat and desperation of your emotions were overwhelmingly noticeable.

"Why don't you just ride me now," he ripped your dress off in a swift movement, etching a gasp from you. "Since you're so desperate for my cock."

"Y-Yes, Sukuna." Your voice shook from the trepidation and pact you made with him. It was as if you sensed the change, felt your bond to him solidify. Wobbly, you stood up from his lap as he pulled his pants off, kicking them down to his ankles. He was bigger than you imagined, so long and thick that you wondered if you could even take him. But, you were determined, you needed him, craved him, and now you were forever his.

Sukuna watched your eyes widen as his cock sprang free. All he could do was smirk, especially when he could smell your arousal. "You can take it, Y/N," he encouraged. "You have to take it now."

You were engorged, dripping, swollen, all for him—from the thought of consummating your pact to him on the balcony, hopefully where everyone could hear you cry his name. He was unable to take his eyes off you as you sat back down on his lap, positioning his cock at your entrance.

A whimper of elation escaped your lips as you sat upon him, slowly, letting yourself sink down on his throbbing cock, feeling the length stretch your walls until it was impossible to go further. Watching you struggle against him made him grunt with satisfaction. Your pussy felt too good, a prize he'd been pining over for months. The best he ever had and will only have from that night onward.

Taking your time, your entire body erupted with pleasure as you began to bounce on his cock. It was vivifying; every whimper you let out only fueled his desire further. Your pussy was pulsing erratically, so wet and welcoming for him, but you weren't going fast enough. What Sukuna really wanted to do was fuck you senseless, claim each and every inch of your body. After all, you had made him wait long enough.

A low, possessive growl rumbled from his chest as he stood up from the sofa, gathering you in his arms with his cock still sheathed inside you. He brought you inside but left the door open, laying you down on the futon. Sukuna let you adjust to the position, let you squeeze against his cock, humming as your legs wrapped around his waist. "Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, staring down at you with a feral gleam in his crimson eyes.

Nodding obediently, you whimpered, "You, Master." Hardly able to reply before he pulled his cock all the way out and then slammed it back in, burying himself deep inside your pussy, a groan of ecstasy leaving his lips at the way your walls coddled him so tightly, so perfectly, like you were made just for him.

Crying out, you were a stuttering mess as he pounded into you over and over again, to the point where you swore you could see stars. Sukuna was huge, fucking you until your moans were mixing with his, the sound of your pussy squelching, taking him fully until he was balls deep, causing a devilish grin to spread across his face.

He was consuming you, feeling his cock twitch inside of you as he glimpsed your breasts bouncing wildly underneath him. You felt too good, heavenly, the best he'd ever had.

"M-Master!" you cried, climbing higher and higher, your walls constricting, building. "I can't take it—ah—yes!" you choked out, unable to control yourself from the relentless pace, causing you to orgasm all over his unyielding cock.

He smirked, satisfied at how quickly he could make you unravel. "How am I making you feel?" He asked, not slowing his pace or relenting, helping you ride out your high before he was going to throw you into another body-shaking orgasm.

"Euphoric," you sobbed, tears clouding your vision, the sound of his skin slapping against your now-drenched pussy causing blood to pound louder in your ears. You could barely breathe, completely cock drunk and fucked-out.

"Since you have arrived, you wanted this, didn't you?" Sukuna grunted, glimpsing the look of intoxication on your face. "I wanted to fill you up until you cry, you wretched creature."

His sensuality was music to your ears, and all you could do was moan, nodding with parted lips, body rocking back and forth against his relentless pace.

Your beauty enraptured Sukuna. How well and eager you took his length. "M'gonna breed you until you can't speak with that wicked tongue, forcing me to wait all this time to claim you."

"Please S-Kuna, please," you whimpered, grasping onto his arms that caged you underneath him for support. You were unraveling in his grip, and he couldn't be more satisfied. "It's too much!"

"Take it," he groaned an order, ramming into you over and over again. Your back arched against the bed as Sukuna hoisted your legs up higher around his waist, your ass cupped in both of his hands, thrusting right into your already inflamed g-spot.

All you could feel was him; all you could think about was him. Opening your eyes, you saw his eyes narrowed, determination in his expression. He looked so handsome above you, focused on ruining your body for his pleasure. He was finally all yours. And the memory of it caused the pressure in your abdomen to tighten once again.

“Fuck-oh-Sukuna!” Another cry was loudly called into the night, as you came again. It was hard. Violent. Sukuna watched as your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling as you squirted against him. You couldn't stop it; you couldn't stop your moans.

At your quick and vocal release, Sukuna found himself unable to breathe, unable to even mutter a word as he plunged into euphoria, releasing his load into your sanctified cunt just seconds after you finished for the second time.

Panting heavily, your legs dropped from his waist. You gazed up at your forever lover with rapture in your eyes, satisfaction pulling at your lips. When he pulled out, his load started to leak from your core.

He simpered, admiring how beautiful you were like this, a smile on your face, skin glistening with sweat, his cum painting your pussy alabaster.

Some of it started to leak out, but Sukuna would not let it go to waste. He leaned down to your pussy, flicking his tongue out to force it back inside, holding it until you were shaking again.

Once he was satisfied, he lifted his head between your legs, chin resting against your abdomen. The part of you that panged for his attention every night for eternity, that yearned every second to be like this, to see him so submissive between your thighs.

What mattered was his promise, an utterance that had no bounds, not even blood. No amount of sorcery could stop either of you. "I'm gonna breed you like that every night until your belly is swollen with my heir."

That promise you knew he intended to keep, until the bounds of death were unshackled, and you came face to face with infinity.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna

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