#this entire post feels a little embarrassing

[orellazalonia]

Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Sequel | Extra

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

-

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

-

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

-

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”

[tttabii]

— 심재윤 PUPPLY LOVE JAKE SIM X READER

note: slightly inspired by the kdrama twinkling watermelon. deaf!reader x band!jaeyun. word count: 6989

YOU NEVER REALLY ENJOYED THE SILENCE.

It was not like the romanticized kind of peace and quiet that people post to social media about—the kind that makes mornings sacred, the bookstore magical, and so on. Yours was a silence of absence. Of being out of the conversation. Out of the laughter. And perhaps out of safety, too.

You wore your wired earphones all the time, plugged in or not, as if to pretend you were wearing headphones. A barrier. A disguise. If they don't know, maybe they won't treat you differently. Maybe they won't feel sorry for you—or even worse, take advantage.

Like today.

The station buzzed with the evening rush hour, people moving in concert. You dropped your Mofusand keychain without noticing it, your little plush figure falling silently to the ground behind you while you swept away to the exit. You didn't hear the boy calling your name behind you.

Jake Sim bent down to pick up the keychain, only halfway smiling. He always noticed you—your neat little bun, the way your bangs framed your face, somehow, as always, looking calm. But when you didn't turn around, and he kept calling, his smile dropped entirely.

You were already gone.

He got off at the same stop. He always did. His house was near yours, and he'd long memorized the timing of your routine—not in a creepy way, but in that soft, teenage "I-like-you-so-I-notice-everything" kind of way.

But today was different. You weren't just walking ahead of him like usual. You'd vanished.

Then he heard it—laughter, too loud and too cruel—coming from an alley just a little ways off the main road. Jake's steps slowed. Something twisted in his stomach.

And then he saw you.

Your tote bag lay discarded on the pavement. Your damaged earphones dangled from it, useless. One girl held your arms back while a few boys circled, sneering and taunting. One of them reached for your skirt.

You screamed, but no one heard. Or at least, they pretended not to.

Jake did.

He didn't think twice. He was screaming before he even landed on the ground. "Hey! Get away from her!"

The group jumped at his voice, turning to see him shove the guy who was closest to you. He didn't look intimidating, but he had fire in his eyes—rage, protective and desperate.

"You think this is funny?!" he yelled, fists clenched. "She can't hear you, you assholes."

The girl was startled and released her hold on you. You stumbled forward, unconsciously falling into Jake's arms before even registering who he was. "It's okay, I got you," he said softly, wrapping his arms around you. "You're safe now."

You blinked up at him feeling a little disoriented, as tears streamed down your face. He made sure you were looking at his face, looking at the way his mouth moved. You're safe. Over and over, he said it, huge exaggerated mouth movements for you to see.

You nodded your head.

He pulled off his jacket and put it around your shoulders, very gingerly picked up your bag, and then the keychain he never got the chance to give back to you.

He held your hand in his, and walked the rest of the way to the café, not letting go.

Jake didn't lose his grip on you, not once—certainly not when you turned the corner toward the café, and not when you paused at the door, nor when you let your gaze fall in embarrassment, as if what had transpired earlier was somehow your fault.

He saw it all: the way you scrunched your shoulders inward; how your other hand trembled just enough for your fingers to twitch as if they were still recalling someone else's grip. He felt his heart ache.

The café door opened with a gentle ring.

"She's here," Jake said, quietly addressing the owner, an older, kind-faced man who had been washing mugs at the counter, who quickly emerged looking worried. "Something happened."

Jake described what he had seen, in low but steady tones, noting how he saw everything happen at once, but wanting to reassure you that you hadn't done anything wrong. The man's jaw clenched, briefly, and without a moment of thought he encircled you into a fathering hug. You didn't cry (perhaps because you were numb, or maybe you didn't want to collapse toward the ground in public), but you did keep your hand at the back of the owner's apron a touch longer than you might normally.

"She's off the clock today," the owner said with a determined nod.

"No—hold on," Jake interrupted, gently laying your backpack down. "Let her rest. I'll do her job today. I know how she makes the drinks—I've watched her for weeks." He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just until she's feeling okay. She can still get paid, right?"

The owner of the shop blinked, and then slowly broke into a chuckle. "You're her boyfriend?"

Jake's ears turned bright pink. "N-No—! I mean—not yet. I just... I like her. A lot."

The owner smiled and slapped him on the back. "You should be. She could really use someone like you. Her parents... they try. They're overseas, doing everything they can to try to get her hearing or at least set her up for a future. But, it's hard. She has always been alone."

That truth settled hard in Jake's chest like lead.

You were now sitting quietly at one of the tables near the window, an iced tea in front of you. Your fingers were twisted around the straw, and you were biting gently at the end—not even drinking it, just grounding yourself. Jake could not take his eyes off you.

"Can you help me talk to her?" He asked the owner.

The owner nodded, walking over and motioning to you in sign. You looked up slowly.

He wants to talk to you, the owner signed. He wants to ask if you're sure you're okay.

Jake stepped forward, gingerly placing your keychain on the table in front of you. "You dropped this," he said softly, hoping his eyes said what his words might not yet.

Your gaze fell to the little Mofusand plush, and for a moment, your lip trembled. You reached out, brushing your fingers over it before finally looking up at him, your eyes glassy with unspoken emotion.

Jake knelt down a little so he was at your level, then he looked at the owner to assist him. The owner translated again when Jake spoke:

"I'm sorry. I didn't understand what you were going through. But I understand now. And it won't ever happen again. Ever."

You stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. And then you nodded slowly. Just once. A small, trembling movement—but Jake saw it. And that meant everything.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Teach me?" he said. "Sign language."

You blinked. And for the first time all day, the corners of your lips turned up into a tiny smile.

That was the day Jake Sim became your safe place.

The next day, the air was cool but soft, and the sun bathed the quiet streets in gold patch after gold patch. You had your tote bag slung across your shoulder again, earbuds tucked in—not that they worked anymore, but they were still your shield from the world.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder that was gentle. You turned to find Jake there, smiling like he'd been waiting for you. He offered up a small notepad filled with floating letters and words, neatly written: "Can I walk with you to school and the train? My school is nearby too."

You blinked with a warm heart at his kind day one open act of friendship. You nodded, one of those slow nods. He smiled like you had just agreed to jump out of an airplane.  

As the two of you strolled toward the train station, your steps side by side, students passing by whispered. Most of them were from his school, and they gawked quietly, muttering things like:

"Isn't that Jake Sim? The golden retriever from photography club?"

"He is walking her to school!"

"She's...the deaf girl, right?"

"She's really pretty though...I've never seen him with anyone before."

Jake didn't flinch. He didn't even glance their way. He was too focused on walking at your pace, occasionally scribbling things in his notepad to make you laugh or smile. You didn't need to hear it—his energy alone made you feel it. Safe. Seen.

At school, you waved goodbye, not expecting anything more. But Jake lingered, watching you disappear through the school gates, heart fluttering just like it did the first time he saw you—sitting in that café, headphones in, quietly brewing drinks with a focus and grace that pulled him in completely.

That afternoon Jake went back to his school, completed some light club duties, but mostly just carried around his camera for no real reason. Something felt off. Maybe it was you. He realized you hadn't yet shown up to the station.

Curious—and maybe a tiny bit worried—he decided he would check up on you. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before. The front desk lady at your school blinked at him when he said: "I'm her friend. I came to take her home. I think she has after school activities?"

She nodded, "Art club today. Top floor."

So he went up the stairs, camera bouncing against his chest as he went, to peek into the art room. The door creaked gently as he walked in—and there you were. The room was filled with the smells of acrylic paint and pencil shavings, and late sunlight poured in across rows of stools and canvases.

You were at your usual spot, back to the door, anxiously brushing color onto a canvas.

And then he saw it. Jake almost gasped. 

It was him. Your painting—there was no doubt about it—you had painted him. His hair, his smile, even the soft blur of light behind him as if caught in one of his own photos. You were painting him from memory.

Although a voice next to him startled him. "She only draws real people when they make her feel safe," your art teacher said, smiling knowingly. "Or when they have made contact with her heart."

Jake couldn't move for a second, his eyes glued on your concentrated state, brow slightly scrunched as you made soft strokes of light across the painting's cheek bones. You hadn't noticed him yet. But his heart was already full.

Jake's cheeks burned the split second your teacher asked, "Are you her boyfriend?"

He blinked, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar as he clearly had not processed the question. His ears turned a deep pink, then red. He looked every bit the golden retriever boy everyone called him—loyal, soft-hearted, but now flustered beyond belief.

Your teacher beamed with understanding, as if she already seen through him. "You're someone she needs in her life" she said gently, watching the way his eyes never left your body. "A puppy always following her trail. I'm sure she'll accept you as her boyfriend if she decides to give in. It's hard for a deaf person to open up—they often think they're a burden." 

The words echoed in Jake's mind.

Is that why... she always keeps to herself? Is that why she hides so much of her pain?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The reason why your earphones were always in. The reason why you trembled a little whenever they got torn. The reason why you looked away whenever people stared too long. And maybe the reason why he felt the urge to protect you.

Your teacher smiled at him one last time before walking toward you, softly signing that Jake was here to pick you up. You blinked, surprised, instinctively turning around—and immediately tried to cover your painting with a cloth. Jake's heart leaped when your eyes met his, so wide with embarrassment.

The painting was covered, but the color in your cheeks said enough.

Across the room, a couple of girls not in the deaf program whispered just loud enough for Jake to hear as he approached. "She probably blackmailed him or something. No way Jake Sim's into her."

"Yeah, she can't even talk to him. Poor guy's probably just being nice."

Jake stopped in his tracks, turning to them. The smile faded from his face. His usual soft features sharpened, eyes narrowing, jaw tight. "Do you talk about everyone like this, or just girls who are better than you?"

The girls flinched, going quiet immediately.

He didn't say anything more, just turned his back to them and walked towards you, softly touching your arm. You looked up, blinked several times, and still holding the bag with shy fingers.

And then Jake smiled, and all the warmth came back to his smile. He pulled out his notepad and wrote, "You don't need to hide the painting. I'm really honored, you know."

You flushed deeper and looked away, biting your lip before grabbing your bag and following him out. You didn't sign anything, but he didn't mind. Your presence was enough.

The train ride to the coffee shop was quiet but not uncomfortable. Jake stood beside you, and every time the train shifted, his fingers brushed against yours. You seemed far away, a little off, fidgeting with your mad respect—twisting your sleeves, adjusting the strap of your tote, nibbling at your bottom lip.

Jake could tell your head was spinning; probably about the painting and probably about him. So, he wrote on his notepad again, folding the edge of the page and tearing it off; then, when you both were standing, waiting for the train at the platform, he slowly slipped the note into your palm.

You opened it slowly.  

"I like you. I really, really like you. You're not a burden. You're the most peaceful part of my day."

You stared at the words, unmoving.

And when you looked up—he was already smiling at you, waiting patiently.

Jake wasn't in a hurry. He let you lower your walls slowly inch by inch—in the right way, and never pushed and always patient.

The first time you took his pen and wrote:"But I only met you two days ago."

He just smiled and ruffled your hair a bit, and then wrote,"I've been watching you for months. I just never had the guts."

Your cheeks were hot and you just nodded, speechless and your words gotten stuck somewhere in your throat. But Jake could see from your eyes that you were curious, maybe even hopeful.

But you were scared too.  

Jake understood. Maybe you wanted him to court you. Maybe you just needed more time. Maybe both.

At the coffee shop, and on your break, you sat across from him and taught him one word at a time in sign language—your fingers moving slow and patient, your lips formed the words even though sounds did not come out. You wrote each of these on to his note pad, carefully.

He continued to clap along and began to nod his head, with his golden retriever grin.You handed him your personal sign language book—its pages creased and full of your tiny notes. It was your most treasured learning tool, and you were giving it to him. His heart soared.

He kept it close, even brought it to school.

The next day, he was surrounded by his rowdy friend group.

"Why're you reading that?" Heeseung asked, eyes wide.

Jay snatched the book before Jake could answer, flipping through. "Is this sign language?"

Sunghoon raised a brow. "Wait—you're learning for her?"

Jake just nodded. Calm and proud, "Yeah. I'm learning for her."

The teasing came immediately, all of it lighthearted.

"Jake's whipped."

"Our golden retriever's got a muse!"

"Is this why you skipped violin club?"

He only smiled, never denying it. He was smitten.

So when people said rude stuff about you—he would not stand for it. His regular soft energy evaporated in minutes, mass cold stares, tight jaws, eyes sharp. Even when girls tried to flirt with him, he just waved them off and said coolly, "I'm busy studying."   Outside of that, Jake's world exploded with new creative energy.He was in a band with Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, Sunoo, and their junior, Nishimura Riki—a dreamy transfer prodigy guy from Japan with the softest smile and killer dance skills.

Jake played bass, rapped, danced—and was now writing a song.

About you. 

A soft acoustic ballad done with warmth and tenderness. He practiced alone in his room, kind of singing quietly and strumming, he practiced the sign language version in front of him mirror.He had some day to play it for you, in your language.

Meanwhile in your world, you also seemed to be sketching Jake in your notebook more often than not. His profile face, his smile, and the way he tucked his hair behind his ears when he really concentrated. You wrote about him too—his gentleness, his presence.

You would wander the city on your walks, peering into hole-in-the-wall shops, hunting for something that would make you think of him. Something like a keychain. Or a pin that looked like a camera. It could be anything small—but meaningful.

You wanted to give him something. Not because he was your boyfriend—but because he was your safe place. Your one person who made you feel seen.

One day, while you were both taking your break, he started to sign. Not perfectly—but enough to get it. You were stunned.

He signed, "I want to learn more. From you."

You smiled. Softly. Slowly. It was shy. And when he lifted his camera to take a picture of you sipping your iced tea, you did not look away this time. You let him take that picture. He already knew how you despised coffee—it upset your stomach.

You loved tea. It calmed you down.

He knew you loved hotteok and cherries. Especially cherries. The way the red stained your lips made him feel like he was losing his mind—but he behaved himself every time he came over to your house. It was so big and empty—but your room? It was cozy, warm, and you. Hello Kitty plushies, small pop mart figurines, your favorite pieces of art and prints. 

He belonged there, in your quiet world. He just didn't know yet—you were slowly, silently drawing him into it.

────୨ৎ────

Jake was down bad. Whipped. Head over heels. The whole damn fairy-tale-boyfriend-package without the title. He found out about the talent show—basically an annual spring festival for his school, where everyone else can come too including students from other campuses.

Perfect timing.

Time to make a move.

He would ask you to come the day before the concert. Right after exams. Right when you needed a break, and when he was finally ready to show you the song that he had put his entire heart into, in your language.

But in the meantime?Jake was going through it.He brought you iced tea every morning, sliding it across your desk without a word with a shy grin and a wink, and it still felt cold from the little cooler bag he would carry it in.

He literally walked into your school to do this, even when people would stare. Even when whispers would start.His friends, of course, never let him forget it.

"You're joking."

"I cannot believe you are rejecting girls who are literally goddess tier, for a girl that hasn't even kissed you yet."

"Jake. You're gone. So gone."

"She didn't even look at you today and you are still simping."

Jake? Unfazed. Loyal. Whipped. "She's worth it." was all he said. 

There were times during the midterms that you hardly glanced at him, eyes glued to the drowning darkness of your books with highlighters smudged across your fingers, your sketchpad nowhere near you. Jake sat beside you, bravely not taking it personally.

You were stressed out. You needed your space, he got it.

But he couldn't help but wonder— Did you even like him back, or was he just your sweet loyal friend?

He didn't know that you sketched him. That your journal had pages and pages all about him. That you were just too shy—too much of a jumble of feelings and everything you wanted to say but couldn't find the words if you tried.

Sometimes he'd talk to you softly next to you while you worked, knowing you would never hear it, but needed to say it anyway.

"I like you so much, it hurts."

"I want to kiss you but I know you're not ready."

"You make me want to be soft forever."

You never noticed. But it was okay, because it made him feel better. Like saying it out loud, meant it wasn't just sitting there bottled up inside him.

One day, you were outside and saw a cat on the street, and you got all sparkly-eyed, and you crouched down and reached your hand out. 

Jake panicked.

"No—no no no—don't touch it! It's probably dirty, baby—like...not safe!"

You blinked, lips slightly pursed in a pout.

He cracked instantly.

The next day he brought you to a cat café instead. Reserved a table and everything. Bought you a slice of strawberry shortcake too. You left with cat fur on your clothes and the softest smile he'd ever seen.

He was awkward with cats, being a dog lover instead but he wanted to see your cute little smile when you cradle the cat close to your chest as if it was your own child.

But now? During midterms? You barely had time to breathe. Jake didn't blame you. But the distance... it scared him. Had he moved too fast? Were you pulling away?

He had no idea.

You were just trying to get through the week—exams, art deadlines, pressure. What you did know, though, was that Jake still showed up with iced tea. That he still waited outside your school gate after your last class. That he still sat beside you, head tilted, watching you with soft eyes even when you didn't say much.

And that meant everything.

────୨ৎ────

Jake was losing it. Exams were finally over.

The festival was days away. He had been looking forward to asking you to come and see him perform his song—a song about you, for you.

Now? You were fawning all over Woo Do-hwan on the screen. Jake was standing behind the couch, arms crossed but one arm inconveniently draping over your shoulder as if he were laying claim to it (not that he would ever say that).

You, on the other hand, were way too busy staring at the TV, all curled up in an oversized shirt that, in Jake's opinion, practically slid off your shoulder leaving just enough for your bra strap to be visible that was slowly driving him crazy.

You were eating cherries. The juice had once again stained your lips and Jake was sweating his pants off, he knew he was going to lose his mind.Then it got worse.

A scene came on—the scene—where the male lead pulled the girl into his lap and kissed her like the world was ending.(His world was in-fact ending.)  You were biting your lip, staring with your big, dreamy eyes, and Jake? Jake couldn't move. He was going back and forth between the screen and you.

Your shirt falling off. Your lips bright red. Your eyes sparkling. Your soft little sigh. That lip nibble.

With every breath in his chest, Jake leaned just a little, the front of his t-shirt brushed softly over the back of your head. He whispered, "Do you want that too?"

You didn't respond because you clearly couldn't hear him. You were still watching, unaware of how tense he'd gone behind you, his jaw clenched, his breath shaky. He looked like he was thinking—deeply. The kind of thinking that could make or break everything.

You turned your head a little, craning your neck to look at him, lips parted in curiosity. He immediately collected himself and smiled, signing something with his free hand as the other rested on your shoulder. "You really like him that much?"

You grinned, shy but excited, and nodded.

He rolled his eyes and gave you an incredulous look before signing: "He's not real. I am."

You blinked. A little caught off guard.

And then he signed again.

"Come to the festival."

You tilted your head, confused.

He picked up the pen and notepad from the coffee table—thankfully still nearby—and scribbled it down.

Come to my school's festival next weekend. Please? I want to show you something. Something just for you.

You read it. Looked at him. Then nodded slowly, chewing on a cherry while giving him that small, sweet smile that made him feel like his ribs might crack open from the pressure of loving you so much.

He smiled back and signed softly: "Good. It's a date."

Your eyes widened. He winked. Then he went to finish folding your laundry—like the golden retriever boyfriend-in-waiting he was—while trying very hard not to think about you in that oversized shirt... or Woo Do-hwan stealing your attention.

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Jake had left early that morning, and kissed your forehead with the softest kiss, and quickly signed to you with that big goofy grin of his.

"Wear something pretty. I'll be waiting."

He was so excited. The band was excited. All his friends, hyping him up to no end, joking about how happy he looked.

Jake, the cool, charming, calm one who never looked sad, couldn't stop smiling. He had practiced and practiced the song.

He had perfected every single chord. He had memorized every single sign. But more importantly, he had practiced how he was going to express that.

This song was for you. You were the girl he adored. The one who changed his outlook on the world. But you never showed up.

Your outfit was ready. Hair brushed, makeup done with care, your fingers trembling slightly in excitement. You clutched the cherry blossom pin he gave you once—nervous but happy.

Until it came.

A folded note slipped into your bag, probably by one of those girls. Written in harsh, angry ink.

"Isn't it a shame that he's basically using you for pity points? Everybody's going to crack up when they see you sitting there and watching him put on a fake show about being sad over some love song just to get attention. You're deaf, sweetie. He doesn't want you. He only wants the applause."

You looked at it for what felt like hours, then reread it. The lights inside your chest went out. You flickered the last little bit of hope away. You stood alone in your hallway with a promise you dressed up as a dream and felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

Jake walked out onto the stage, guitar in hand, the other boys were setting up beside him. His heart rate was out of control—not from nerves, but from hope. He looked at your seat.

Front row. Reserved with your name written in pink cursive and a little cat sticker.

Empty.

And the spotlight was focused right there. Still empty.

He blinked once. Hard. Maybe you were just late? He cleared his throat and lifted the microphone to his mouth. "I... um," he started, letting out an nervous chuckle. "This song is really personal. I wrote it... for someone really special to me."

The crowd cooed. A few phones went up. 

"She's not here yet, but I really hope she shows up. She's the reason I learned to hear.... even if it's silence."

He stopped. Then added, softly, hands shaking just a bit— "And if you are watching this later... well, I want you to know that I meant every part of this. This is for you."

Then, the music started, and he sang and signed—at once.

You didn't see it.

You were standing out in the rain, your cute outfit wet and clinging to your body, cuddled up in front of that little flower shop you both went to once.

The shop with the baby's breath and the soft pink carnations he helped you pick. You stood blankly looking at the window, tears pouring and blending in nicely with the rain rolling off your cheeks.

From inside, the florist, who could easily recognize your face gave you a concerned look but didn't interrupt you. It was clear you looked heartbroken, lost, and distressing.

Back at the school, Jake finally came off stage, fingers shaking, took his guitar off his well-worn shoulders, and his heart sank deep into his chest.

Then he heard it.

The girls. Laughing behind the bleachers.

"She really believed it, huh? Like he would actually be into her."

"Oh my god, did you see how serious he was? That's so embarrassing-"

"Do you think she's crying right now?"

Jake turned immediately, eyes dark, jaw set. "What did you say?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

They blinked. "It's just a joke-"

"No," he said, stepping forward. "You think humiliating someone is funny?"

The rage in his chest ignited. "You're the reason she's not here?"

They tried to brush it off—but he was already pulling out his phone. Texting his friends. Telling them to help pack up. He was going to find you.

Rain or not.

Jake had been running through about half of the city. The rain had been falling, drenched through his hoodie though he didn't care.

He checked the café, your bus stop, even the small bookstore at the corner whose front window you liked to slow down and look at.

Nothing.

His heart pounded like it was going to snap a rib. Then, he turned around the corner past the florist shop—the place where you both argued over whether it was daisies or carnations that looked better in the kitchen window, and...well, there you were.

There you were. Standing in front of the window with your head down, that pretty outfit emerging from the downpour, make up smeared, mascara swirling down your cheeks, fingers clenching that cherry blossom pin.

You looked like you were sitting there waiting. For something. For someone.

His stomach curled up. You got all dressed up for him.He called your name. Once. Wobbly and breathless. You didn't even flinch. He stepped a bit closer.

Forward, careful, in front of you. You finally looked up, eyes wide open red and furious. The florist inside noticed him immediately, clutching her mug like she was watching the climax of a drama unfold right outside her store window.

Your hands moved fast. Angry. Sharp. Your pout was trembling, but your signs were loud. "Don't talk to me. Don't look at me."

You signed again, more forcefully. "You think it's funny? Did they dare you? Was it some kind of game?" He couldn't keep up with how fast your fingers were going, but he saw the pain. The betrayal.

His heart ached.

Jake shook his head immediately, rain pooling in the bottom of his lashes, and signed, "No. No. That's not what happened." You scoffed and turned away, but he stepped in front of you again, desperate. "Please, just watch this."

He struggled to pull out his phone, his fingers fumbling with the cold, and there it was; his friend had sent him the video link—a recording of the performance, uploaded to the school's blog. It was shaky; it was the whole thing. He tapped play and turned the screen toward you.

Not the sound. Only the subtitles. The image.

It was him. On stage. Nervous. Eyes filled with hope.

You watched with your arms crossed and jaw clenched, unsure.Then, you saw him sign it. Each word."This is for her. The girl I love. She taught me to listen, even when there is silence. She's strong, and funny, and smart, and beautiful."

Your eyes widened. The way he gazed at the empty chair. Your chair. The way he bent his neck to gaze and search for you in the audience. The footage showed him signing the lyrics of his song, each movement full of heart, no hesitation. Not a trace of mockery. He meant every word, and he meant them for you.

Your fingers trembled as you put down the phone.Jake stepped closer, covering your hands with his own.

"I didn't know," he signed slowly. "I swear. I didn't know what they told you." His jaw was clenched in a way that made it seem like he was holding back tears of his own.

"I wrote that song for you," he continued. "Not anyone else. Just you."

You blinked, stunned, your lips parted but no signs were coming out yet. The weight of your misunderstanding and the pain you had been carrying all day cracked just a little under that look.

Then finally your hands moved, more slowly this time. Hesitantly. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Jake gave you a sad, almost helpless smile as he stepped closer, gently tucking your wet hair behind your ear. His hands moved with purpose, signing carefully but with a tremble in his fingers.

"I wanted to see your smile when I signed the song live. That was all I could think about." He paused, brows furrowed as his hands hovered midair. "I'm sorry I didn't explain sooner. I'm sorry I wasn't there when they hurt you."

Your bottom lip quivered again, more tears slipping silently down your cheeks. You didn't move, didn't sign back right away. Just stood there—heart heavy, soaking wet, eyes searching his.

Jake didn't wait for a reply. He reached for you, pulling you gently into a tight, rain-soaked hug, holding you like he'd never let go again. 

Then came the kiss.

Jake looked at you—rain dripping from his lashes, eyes filled with something warm and intense. He cupped your cheeks with both hands, gentle but certain, thumbs brushing over your skin as if anchoring himself.

You barely had time to process before his lips met yours—soft, careful, like a question he was too afraid to speak aloud. Your eyes widened at first, startled, but slowly fluttered shut as you kissed him back.

You tasted like your cherry lip gloss.

Sweet. Familiar. All his.

Behind the glass, the florist gasped audibly, scrambling to put together a bouquet with ribbon and free stems, already deciding she'd gift it to Jake to give to you. Romance deserved flowers—and this was the kind that made her believe in love again.

The next morning, the sun was back out. The sun had dried the streets, but for Jake it did nothing to cool him down.He strolled beside you holding your hand, with his backpack over one shoulder and yours hanging from your arm.

But he couldn't keep his lips off your face: your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Jake was just rambling about how much he loved you, how you were his future wife (he repeated this part over and over, loud enough for anyone walking behind you or to the side of you to hear).

It didn't matter that you didn't hear what he was saying. He wanted the world to know. Specifically, he wanted those who were trying to belittle you to see it.

Jake's friends standing across the street saw you together and immediately got rowdy, cheering out loud things like:

"Jake's plotting plan is working!"

"She's got him whipped!"

"He is so down bad it's embarrassing!"

Jake only beamed, shamelessly proud.

When you got to the gates of the school, and there were a bunch of girls from the other school walking by, Jake caught a glimpse of them.

You don't even know what happened, so fast he turned to you and said goodbye with the most extended goodbye kiss —right on the lips, long and intended. 

Your eyes went wide, and you swatted at him, trying to pry him off with flustered hands.

He giggled and quickly signed, "I'll pick you up after school. Don't miss me too much, darling."

Your ears were burning.

He noticed.

And loved it.

────୨ৎ────

You had graduated, and Jake had finally debuted. Three long months apart, during which he fought his way through the rigorous survival show, I-LAND.

It had been three months of hell for both of you—too many nights of loneliness and longing, missing each other. But through all the trials, he made it!

He was finally here, taking his first steps as a member of the idol group Enhypen, the moment he had been waiting for. But the second he could, he ran right to you; he didn't even greet his fans at first.

The instant he laid eyes on you, he pulled your body into his arms; didn't care that the cameras and the fans were around, he just needed to feel you close to him again.

He buried his face in the hoody, holding you like he had never planned on letting go and whispering repeatedly in shaky signs and soft words how he missed you. He had been away from you for too long, but he was never letting you go again. 

Though Jake adored his fans, he couldn't shake the feeling that none of them could ever compare to you.

No one knew and understood him like you did, no one supported him like you did, no one made him feel so so seen like you did.

He had such gratitude for his fans despite there not being a proper quarterback, but they would never take your place, you were the one who he thought about every day when he was away.

He wanted to show them there was someone who had always stuck by him, someone who saw him for him. He had been through so much, but it was worthwhile because he did it all for you.

You were his grounding point, his thought process, he wanted everyone to know that.

Several months later, Jake asked you to come and see Enhypen for their first big concert. You hesitated, thinking about if you wanted to go or not, especially since you could not hear any music.

Jake didn't care. He remained positive, looking right at you with a bright smile, "I hired a sign language translator. They are going to be on stage, right in front of you."

He would find a way to bring you as close as possible to this concert experience he wanted you to experience.

You were important to him, and he figured no one would understand music better than you, even if you couldn't hear it. He's not asking you to be a fan, he needed you to be the person who always believed in him.  

The night of the concert arrived, and the venue was filled with energy and excitement.

The lights flashed brightly across the stage as Enhypen began their performance. You were in the front row, your seat specially reserved for you, and the translator stood beside you, making sure you understood every single moment.

Despite the loud crowd, your attention was entirely on Jake. You couldn't hear the music, but you could feel it—feel the passion and energy that radiated off him.

Every time he glanced your way, a soft smile would tug at your lips. And then, in the midst of the performance, Jake did something just for you: he pointed directly at you during one of his fanservice moments.

You blushed, feeling the heat in your cheeks as you realized that, even in front of thousands, he was teasing you with a wink. He was having fun, but he was making sure that you knew he was thinking about you.

But it wasn't just the fan service. When Jake lifted up his shirt during the concert to flash his abs—they were a sight, very sculpted work of art, all glistening—you knew it was not for the fans.

It wasn't meant for the camera at all. You knew he was teasing you and wanted you to stop looking at Woo Do-hwan, and instead wanted you to look directly back at him.

It felt like a special moment just between the two of you, but still, you had to look away, embarrassed covering your face but your heart racing. The way Jake would cheekily tease you was what he loved to do, always eager to make you flustered. 

A year passed since our last interaction, and things had changed in a drastic way. Jake was continuing to work hard and be a member of Enhypen, but he was holding a secret deep within for one long year.

Jake had been practically begging his company for an entire year to allow him to tell all of you about me at a live concert.

He couldn't hide me anymore. He wanted everyone to know who I was to him and why he had a translator on stage with him at every single concert.

And finally, his company said yes.

Jake stood on that stage, illuminated by that bright light, with all those fans watching him, and breathed out deeply before he spoke.

He signed for the translator to share with the audience, but you could still feel the weight of his feelings in his signs.  

"Why do you see a translator at every show? I bet you've all wondered that." Jake said with a steady voice full of meaning.

"It's not just because accessibility is important. While that is a very important reason, it's because there is a person very special to me, who is always here supporting me, even when she can't hear the music."

The crowd went quiet because they seemed to understand the depth of his statement. Jake looked directly at you without wavering in his gaze.

"Even when she can't hear the music, she can feel the music. She feels the love, the passion, everything I put into it. She understands me more deeply and better than anyone else." He paused again and his gaze softened looking at you. 

"She is my muse, my reason for writing, my reason for singing, my reason for standing here today." It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. "Her name is Y/n. She's the most important person in my life."  

The fans were in shock, some even crying, while others cheered loudly. The translator was smiling as they relayed Jake's words, and you felt your heart swell.

Jake wasn't just sharing his story with the crowd; he was sharing you—the person who meant everything to him. As the crowd erupted in applause, you stood there, overwhelmed by the love Jake had just poured out for you. You didn't even have words to express it.

[lminis]

Snort, and All

𓆩♡𓆪 pairing: sylus x nb!reader 𓆩♡𓆪synopsis: what you find incredibly embarrassing, he finds it to be the cutest thing on the planet 𓆩♡𓆪warning: cutie patootie sylus 𓆩♡𓆪wc: 525 𓆩♡𓆪: a/n: hey guys... it's been literally a year since i've posted anything, and i swear i'm going to get back to writing again I PROMISE.. but i hope u guys enjoy even if it's really short <33

It wasn’t very often that you were able to hang out with Sylus. There were times you’d go weeks without actually talking to each other, other than the “good morning” texts he would send every morning like clockwork. He was always sent it with a little heart emoji, though he swears it’s autocorrect that added it.

But the times that you did hang out, he made sure that you guys had as much fun as humanly possible. That included spending money to watch you fail to get a plushie from the claw machines, or going to the same cafe to play kitty cards, all because you claim that you can’t play that game anywhere else because of the warm atmosphere there. He didn’t mind paying for it, as all he wanted was to see his partner smile. 

Today was the day that you finally had some time that you could take off. There weren't any major missions that needed attending to, and you didn’t have any work to finish up. So, Sylus decided to take you somewhere on your lovely day off.

He took you out on a picnic, but not before he found a private park he could buy just for you. Not rent. Buy. He bought the entire park, all for you. Of course, he didn’t tell you that part. He didn’t need you worrying about it on your supposedly relaxing day.

The day was fun. He brought lots of your favourite foods, drinks, and even brought a portable vinyl player. Music was a big part of his life, and he enjoyed sharing it with you. The two of you chatted about whatever came to mind as the music played softly in the background. Well, it was more like you talked, and Sylus listened. He loved listening to you talk. If he could, he’d get your voice recorded onto a vinyl record just so he could listen to your voice for hours on repeat. 

And then, he heard it.

You made a joke, and then you snorted. 

You fell quiet, looking at him like you silently prayed that he didn’t hear it. What’s more embarrassing than hearing someone snort mid laugh. It’s on the level of  embarrassment that you could feel this pit in your stomach, and that random urge to swallow a lump in your throat.

But then, he just smirked at you. That same smirk that made you either want to kill him or kiss him. Right now, it was wanting to kill him.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, I-” He cut you off before you could finish your soon-to-be long ramble of how you were sorry and that it was so embarrassing, you wanted to die, yada yada.

“No, it’s okay. I liked it.” What you thought was the bane of your existence, was what Sylus adored about you. That face you made when you ugly cried? Adorable. The way you look with your face smooshed into a pillow when you’re dead asleep? Precious. And now that he finally got to hear you snort when you laugh? 

If he could fall for you any harder, he would. And he did.

[minakooo]

A.N:- since my Jongho headcannon's got a lot of attention I decided to make a Yeosang one while i work on some other posts!

Note everything written here is pure fiction and my own interpretations of yeosang in a relationship

Now Yeosang is innocent but let's be honest here he would pull pranks or tricks on you

Nothing too big but some jokes like "Baby, I have a fever, can you come over? 🥺" Or "Baby! I broke your lipstick!" He would only, and only, do this to get your attention. If he thought he was going too far he would apologise by ordering your favourite food.

When you start acting feral he simply tilts his head and wonders why you act that feral over your own boyfriend. Like you see him every day???

Now this is a classic, but "It's You", when he found out how much the performance would effect you he would purposely try to act more sly in the next concert.

When it came to his members meeting you, he wasn't hesitant, he wanted you to meet his friends. Though he later did get embarrassed when he realised your friendship with the others only came true because of the group's obsession with Yeosang.

Yeosang isn't entirely a cuddle bug but when he lays down and closes his eyes his body acts on its own and in one second he has you by the waist and simply little spoons while you big spoon him.

One time you bit him and on instinct he bit you back, this surprised Yeosang even because he didn't expect himself to bite you or anyone actually. But eventually it's just become a thing to bite each other.

He hates it when you leave, he wants you nearby. It's not just about him being clingy he just worries that something might happen to you and he doesn't want that.

So, for Yeosang, you now turn on your location and update him to ease his worries.

This man sometimes forgets how strong he is and doesn't even realise the grip he has on you until you tell him. Obviously he feels bad and later treats you like a delicate flower whenever he's cuddling you or hugging you.

Even when you tell him you're fine he continues because it's become a habit.

THIS MAN DEFINITELY GIVES GENTLE KISSES.

Like when you wake up, he'll be pressing kisses on your cheeks, forehead, jaw, and lips.

Which makes me think that when you guys were still new at dating he would get shy to kiss you because he didn't want to upset you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you guys liked this! Sorry for any mistakes!

[subwillsolace]

try shit tuesday nsfw reference post

ongoing and (hopefully.) frequently updated! here is a list of my current ideas & hopefuls including any outlines or snippets i have available.

set up will look like:

idea

general outline/summary

snippet

will having a nerd kink

will is trying to study in cabin 13, because its quieter than 7. but it is raining, so nico is hosting a mythomagic (functionally dnd) session with his nerd friends, and will cannot focus For Shit. he is so horny he is literally about to die. nico picks up on it eventually and kicks his friends out so he can fuck will while whispering stats in his ear. lol.

Oh, he is going to fail. He is going to fail for real. He tries, although he knows it's futile, to calm down the raging in his chest, his stomach. He stares at the walls, then looks quickly away when it is covered in photos of them, their friends; he looks to the door, where his jacket is hanging; to the bathroom, where their toothbrushes lean against each other in the cup; to the stupid bedpost, where Nico, bored out of his mind the last time Will banished him to bedrest, carved their initials in a heart. His heart explodes, a little. He can feel the pounding of it in his fingers and toes and squirms to try and quiet the heat in his hips and thighs. It does nothing except remind him of the bruises they get, sometimes, in the same shape of Nico's fingers, smarting in purple satisfaction. "Ohhhh, my gods," he whispers to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. There are still -- people here, people he knows and loves, and they are not looking at him and it makes them all that much easier to forget, because when he looks over again Nico is laughing, cackling, really, reading off a triumphant list of their consequences as they howl in outrage and whip unlucky dice at the wall. "You set us up!" hollers one of them -- Connor Stoll, Will thinks. "It was a trap, the whole time!" "And you fell for it," Nico taunts. "Oh, that was easy. Shoulda kept your head up, huh, hotshot? The clues were there. I was rooting for you." The noise that sounds out the back of Will's throat is so heady and embarrassing that he's grateful, suddenly, for the group of people in the way, being loud, because if anyone apart from himself heard it he's not sure he could live with himself. If Nico heard it...says a small voice in the back of his brain, and Will begs it to shut up. Instead, images flash in the forefront of his mind, edged hazy from the heat of Will's memory: Nico, eyes dark; Nico, too-sharp canines gleaming in the low light; Nico, sweat beading on his smirking top lip; Nico, Nico, Nico.

hermes/will/nico threesome (to punish cecil for his crimes).

cecil pushes things a touch too far and will loses his entire mind. in revenge, he vows to fuck cecil's dad, not only to cause him menial distress by virtue of 'i fucked your dad' but, because, when they were young, they slept together, and will keeps a diary. so he is going to fuck cecil's dad to report back to him stroke for stroke how he compares. cecil considers suicide. not only cecil, actually, because will is stomping around camp trying to find ways to make himself hotter for hermes' next delivery, and it is working, and nico, yearning, is Fucking Struggling, and oh yeah, worse, will has asked him to help 'practice kissing' as he is out of practice. he is not flirting, he's serious. nico is going to kill him, and then also die. luckily for him will starts to clue in when when hermes takes him somewhere nice, and lucky for will hermes is willing to share.

"So maybe this is secretly a good thing," Cecil defends, foolishly. He straightens his back, crossing his arms stubbornly. "See, I -- saved you. From a day of work and misery." He juts out his chin, turning his head primly to the side. "Maybe you should be thanking me." A sharp gasp rips through the gathered crowd, every single person reacting viscerally and bodily; some, bet-winners, in delight, most in total, dumbfounded shock. Lou Ellen, of the first to recover -- perhaps of the most used to it -- stands on a large rock and begins reciting a long and quite touching obituary for the son of Hermes from the top of her head. Will, for a solid couple minutes, does not move. His spine is set in total rigidity, hands frozen in fists at his side. In what Nico first thinks is a trick of the eye, there is, between the skin showing through dried, cracking paint, a flicker. And then, like beams of light bursting through a cracking chunk of magma, he glows. "Gone, but never forgotten," recites Lou Ellen, increasingly seriously, "he will be remembered for his bravery, or perhaps the bubbles in his brain that allowed it, and for the gruesome, brutal way that he is going to be killed, just about right now. Cecil Markowitz, you will be --" Will' shoulders twitch. Cecil squeezes his eyes shut. The distant sounds of crashing waves fade away. And then, Will laughs. He doubles over. He places his stained hands on his still-wet knees and wheezes; in moments, there is a chuckle, and then there are giggles, and then the rest of the crowd laughs, too -- nervous, and relieved; wide-eyed and tense. "Haha," says Cecil, glancing around anxiously, "you forgive me, right, Will, 'cause that sounds like your crazy laugh, a little, and --" All at once Will yanks himself upright. The crowd immediately silences. Nico holds his breath. Will's smile is small, and crazed, His eyes are so dilated that they are bluer than the sun, almost no black to be found -- he stares at Cecil so intensely and so unblinkingly that Nico can actually taste his dread. "I am going to fuck your dad," Will says, grinning. "I'm gonna -- seduce your actual living father."

nico fucking will while on the phone

outlined here

"Nico," he gasps, hand tightening in his hair, "Nico, Niccolò, please, please --" "I got you," Nico murmurs, stomach writing, "I got you, princess -- " he grins when Will shouts, pushing up his rumpled shirt -- "you're so good --" A loud, piercing ringing makes them both freeze. It persists, and then the pocket of Nico's discarded jacket starts buzzing, and he groans. "Leave it," Will hisses. "Just -- come here --" "I can't," Nico says miserably. "It's --" Will knows who it is, because he groans, loudly, and slumps against the pillows. Nico untangles himself guiltily and digs his stupid phone out of his pocket. "Hello, boy." "What," Nico snaps. Which is probably not the way to greet the Lord of the Dead, but. Will huffs, rolling his eyes. Nico tries to link their fingers together but he snatches his hand away, sulking back against the headboard. Sorry, Nico mouths, hands spread. Will kicks his shoulder. Nico catches his foot, turning his leg and pressing a kiss to his ankle. Will visibly softens, then gets huffy about having given in so easily. Nico grins. "You are not paying attention to me." "No, no, I'm --listening." Nico winces, glancing down at the phone. "Uh, insolence, respect, your holy position as my father, etc, etc." "...You are the worst heir I have ever created." "Yeah, well, unfortunately for you you're shit out of options, so --"

god & prince consort solangelo centuries in the future; will c0ckwarming nico in the court

outline and snippet both here

will getting teased with 'goddamn yall fuck so often you're gonna end up pregnant' and uh oh that Does Something For Him

the thing is that nico has a cabin to himself and will is in there all the time and he might take his medical bad in there for show but not a fucking soul believes him. everyone knows what he is going in there for. mostly because people have brains but also because will is. Loud. and once in passing someone teases "damn will with all i hear going on in there i wouldn't be surprised if nico knocked you up." and its a stupid fucking joke and will haha yeahs his way out of it but Oh Gods he cannot stop thinking about it. it is All he thinks about. and one day when nico is off hunting errant souls or whatever will is holed up in his cabin, just escaping everybody else for a bit, and the bed smells like nico and hes wearing nicos shirt even though its too tight and nico has been gone a couple days and he Misses Him. fuck. in a lot of different ways. so he starts to get horny and hes fingering himself and imagining nico behind him talking low in his ear. the nico in his imagination is a little teasing and rough as he usually is and hes got four fingers stretching himself imagining theyre nico's and imaginary nico says, "Look how good you're taking my fingers up your pretty pussy," and its like, out of nowhere, a little, and will is not expecting it from his own subconscious and he Loses it and cums so hard he damn near blacks out for a second and he blinks himself stable and is like well, fuck.

because nico is gay as all fuck.

nico gets back and will is DODGY. distant and jumpy and keeps finding excuses to not be around him and nico is like 🤨 something is Not Right. so he threatens celibacy until will cracks and hes like okay remember that. stupid fucking joke. and nico is like no?? obviously?? so will has to explain and he is more and more embarrassed and gets quieter and quieter until he just trails off looking into his lap tense as all fuck. not sure what he's waiting for but he knows it's not going to be good. a gentle rejection, hopefully.

but nico is so hard it is actually painful.

and hes surprised at himself a little because he wouldnt expect this to get him off so bad but th emore he imagines it the more like fuckin Unwell he is. so they fuck and nico id very careful with his dirty talk and hot damn does will ever clench up and its just hot as fuck truly.

lou ellen/will/cecil threesome

porn no plot. cecil/lou established. watching will play volleyball and like.......damn. they look at each other. they nod. no words need be spoken. they invite will back to lou's cabin to 'hang out' and come onto him and he goes Bright Red but is very happy to be fucked yeah.

s3x pollen fic where if will isnt constantly getting pumped full of sp3rm his heart will literally stop. cue him getting fcked for hours on hours by literally everyone willing.

outline here

will getting injured and forced on bedrest and hes so bored and frustrated and horny that nico just has to f ck him. but regular f cking will jostle his injury so he fists him

outline here

mortal au

will gives nico a kitkat after every time they fuck and nico slowly realizes he's being pavlov'd into being a ridiculously good fuck. mostly a comedy and a porn without plot of will and nico fucking in various ways in their early 20s dorm days.

will getting teased about being a pillow princess and getting so mad about it that he rides nico so hard that nico accidentally forces the day to turn into night and sends the actual northern hemisphere into turmoil

will gets teased about being a pillow princess. implied he wouldn’t have the endurance to do what nico does. and he gets PRESSED. scowly and mad and celibate (nico is regretting his words hard lol) and Scheming. will pops in his cabin one day going hey give me your credit card. and nico does, obviously, but he’s like babe hey i was Joking. it was a bad joke. i’m sorry. you do lots and im sure you could do just as much if not more and i’m sorry okay. please. and will is like oh you’re SURE? that’s how it is. and nico is ready to collapse on the ground or go back in time to kick his own ass bc he hasn’t had to like handle himself with his own hand for YEARS this is torture. will is nowhere to be found all day and he sleeps in the apollo cabin at night it’s awful. (it has been 2 days.).

one day he wakes up to a note telling him to go to manhattan but NOT to shadow travel so he’s confused and walks slowly to half blood hill where there’s a LIMO waiting for him. with a real and very confused mortal driver. he gets taken to this Massive fckn ornate hotel and bell hopped up to the fckn penthouse and his bags are brought in, he’s quietly told his room service is waiting for him in the bedroom, and at this point nico isn’t even horny he’s so goddamn confused. what’s going on. where’s will. is this his fathers doing. is he about to die. huh. but he walks into the room sword lowkey drawn and there’s WILL, in the Sluttiest scrubs he’s maybe ever seen in his life, eyes professionally distant and holding a bottle of oil in his hands telling him to lay down for a massage. and nico is like well okay i am not complaining. i still don’t know entirely what’s going on but i am not complaining. so he gets his massage and it’s hot as fuck obviously bc will is good with his hands and then yeah, it does have a happy ending. will sucks him off and it’s GREAT.

but then will pushes him back against the headboard and uses his own tie (or something i have not yet decided) to tie his hands to the headboard. and will is calling him my prince and your highness and shit and kissing down his chest and nico is WRITHING and then. and then. will rides him so fckn hard. like rides him to orgasm and then KEEPS GOING. that he has a second orgasm so explosive that. the actual day turns into night. like the fckn sun shuts off people gather confused into the streets wondering if it’s somehow a solar eclipse like its MAYHEM. will laughs himself to Tears nico is humiliated his phone is ringing off the hook with his dad going WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO and will is Cackling like he has never been more vindicated in his life. SO MUCH FOR NO ENDURANCE HUH.

but they ignore it and will carries him over to the giant bathtub and gently and carefully washes him like he really is a prince. and nico drags him into the tub and they kiss and nico fucks him slowly, this time, he does nothing and he is so pretty and it is so so good. and he has his face in the hollow of will’s throat and he’s like i’m sorry. you know i love you, right. i don’t need all of this to be happy. to get off. i like doing you. i like it when you sit there and make pretty faces for me. i like seeing you gone on my cock. and will is kind of emotional and breathless and he goes promise and nico slides into him and his breath is hot on wills neck and he promises.

will and cecil's first time

goof ass outline here this will not be a serious fic

will and nico's first time

outline & snippet kind of here

nico using his shadow travel abilities to portal his d1ck so he fucks will's face but will feels it up his ass

yeah not much else to day. that would be the fic.

[pisces-swirlix]

Okay DBD fandom. Bear with me, this is stupid as hell, but I’m laughing uncontrollably on the floor of my room and I have to share.

For context, there was this show I used to watch: Galavant. It only ran for like two seasons back in 2015, but it was awesome. It was like this fantasy/comedy/musical type thing. I was recently reminded of its existence when I randomly heard one of the songs.

It was a song that they did in the show sang by this evil witch. When the main character meets her, you find out she owns this tavern, and it’s full of all these muscly dudes, so you’re like “oh he’s about to get the shit beaten out of him.” Long story short, no. The witch owns a gay bar, and instead of beating him up, they proceed to do a musical number titled “Off with His Shirt.”

I don’t even know if I have to elaborate more on this, but I’m cracking up at Charles and Edwin meeting Desire and it being exactly like this.

[shepscapades]

I hope you’re happy, I hope you’re happy now /ref

[cinnabar-circus]

2023 | 99

[lyriumghosting]

Theneras finally made it to Inner Demons (and the Lucanis romance lock-in immediately afterwards) last night \o/ Neras and Lucanis both have so many hang-ups when it comes to family, it's so fun forcing them to confront their issues >:3c

[yourworldiseternallycomplete]

one thing about me is that i have a lot of ideas for photoshoots that i will never act on

[greyedian]

i honestly have a lot of thoughts about gender in regards to league Viktor bc like... he is kind of the trans headcanon of all time to me ngl

[sir-reinhardt]

*shows up after a month of radio silence* hey. yeah. sorry i'm back. it still hasn't warmed up enough for me to attempt Tris's faceup(+i am scared af) so. i still feel weird posting him. i made him a new shirt so if i ever actually catch a moment when the suns out will try and take pics -_-)

anyway. i was stalking imomo/s weibo and this product photo has me so tilted. I should have ordered a Tiamat head instead of an Apsu. fuck it looks so good. posting it just for like. reference. if things really don't work out with his current head i will get a Tiamat next time.

[gojoest]

curiosity — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, childhood friends to lovers, satoru is painfully aware of his own feelings while reader is not, mention of past girlfriends (and how they all looked like you), handjob (m! receiving), cumming in pants (and in your hand), not proofread, wc: 2k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

synopsis: gojo satoru is your childhood best friend. you’ve been inseparable ever since you were little. spending day and night together, you’d often have sleepovers together — a tradition you both carried on throughout your college years. at least once a week you’d drop by his dorm room and stay the night, or vice versa. but compared to your childhood days, you no longer share one bed. that is, until . . .

part 2

a/n: this is a further (and very lousy) elaboration on this post of mine but hey, HAPPY BDAY TO MY ONE AND ONLY

“i think we should try sleeping together”, you suggest one night.

“wah—“, satoru gasps, a teasing glint in his eyes. “didn’t know you felt that way about me”, he smirks.

“just sleeping”, you quickly clarify. “whatever obscene thing you just thought of — it’s not that”, you add, giving him a roll of your eyes.

“you should pick your words more wisely”, he scoffs. “if you go around telling people you want to sleep with them, they will misunderstand”

“ugh”, you huff, “i obviously didn’t mean it like that, and you know it”

“yeah, i do”, he lets out a soft chuckle. he knew exactly what you meant, but still he disguised his wishful thinking behind a teasing remark. “why though? all of a sudden?”

“dunno”, you shrug. “just feeling bad that you always take the floor”

“if that’s the case we can just swap”

“no — i cherish my comfort. come on, we used to do this all the time”, you pout.

indeed you did. but you were kids back then, things were different.

his heartbeat would race and his face would get all hot and red, the heat would fester through his entire body. but when the lights were off it was easy to hide it, the signs that he liked you. after making sure you were fast asleep, he would hold your hand and childishly smile to himself, he would peck it softly, secretly. one time you woke up in the middle of the night and almost caught him but he, startled, kicked you off the bed. yelling at you, lying, how you pushed your finger in his nostril in your sleep… he was so embarrassed, but also relieved you believed what he said was true. his secret was safe.

but now?

when you stand too close to him his body starts acting up in more mature ways. while he is better at controlling his facial expressions now and hiding his nervous heartbeat behind a nonchalant attitude, he struggles with keeping his urges at bay. he’s no longer the boy that blushes while secretly holding your hand; he is a man who craves you.

even when he’s laid on the futon beside the bed you occupy, the sound of your breathing alone gets him hard. you lie there, sleeping innocently, unaware of how much of a pain in the crotch you are being to him. when you leave in the mornings, he climbs onto the bed that is soaked with your scent and shamelessly jerks off. he stands on his knees and sprays his load on the bedsheets. eyes shut close, he pictures you beneath him.

he sighs in defeat. “fine”

“the right side is mine — it’s only natural, because i am always right”, you snicker and quickly pad over to the bed, plopping your body down on the mattress. “sure”, he chuckles and follows after you, sinking himself right next to you.

it is a bit awkward, you must admit. you are laid on your sides facing each other, in silence.

it’s cramped indeed, your knees are brushing against his and the space in the middle separating your bodies from one another is very scarce. but that was to be expected, the beds in the dorm rooms were designed for one person after all.

“so”, you break the silence. “how’s your girlfriend doing?”

“she’s not my girlfriend, anymore”, he states dryly.

“but it’s been barely two weeks since you started dating”

“well, things didn’t work out i guess”

the girls he dated, all of them looked a bit like you. same height, same hair color and length. similar facial features… he never lasted long with any of them though. all of them, visibly bothered by your presence in his life, would too soon ask him to make a choice — either them or you. neither of them aware that he chose to be with them in the first place only because they reminded him of you, and that it was never the question itself that drove him away from them. it was bound to happen, sooner or later. they could never be you.

you hum. “i see”

as you shift to make yourself more comfortable, you feel the shirt he gave you to wear to bed roll up ever so slightly, revealing the bare of your belly. a bit self-conscious now that he’s next to you, you are immediately urged to cover yourself. you slide a hand under the blanket, rummaging around to get a hold of the hem, but oh...

…the back of your hand brushes against something stiff. the friction incurring a low pant from the man, your best friend, next to you.

“fuck”, satoru hisses. his hand clasps around your wrist, pushing it away, but along with the movement his knuckles graze the flesh of your stomach. “fuck”, he curses again.

“satoru”, you say his name, voice hushed and timid but there is a note of underlying curiosity he is way too familiar with.

this is exactly why he was avoiding the one bed scenario — his boners were too hard to hide at this age and this size of him.

“satoru”, you repeat. “are you hard?”

“i wish you didn’t ask the obvious”, he mumbles, embarrassed. warmth washing over his face uncontrollably, just like in the past. but there was a bigger problem now — down in his pants, and the fact he got caught.

“is it because of me?”

“no”, he clicks his tongue, his grip still tight around your wrist, keeping your hand at bay. “it’s because i didn’t jerk off tonight, you know — it’s a natural thing for us men to randomly pop a boner throughout the day”

…which was true. but it was not the case right now.

“can i play with it a little?”, you ask, sneakily twisting your wrist in an attempt to free your hand.

“oi!”, he yelps. “did you hit you head or what?”

“i am curious”, you blurt out. “just a little?”

“stop”, he warns. “it’s weird”

his resolve is hanging by a thread right now, you’re too cunning to tempt him like this. he knows things will get awfully messy between you if he lets you cross this line. but still, he can’t flat out deny you. deep down he wants you to persist, a little bit more… if you ask him one more time, maybe he’ll crumble. surely, he will.

“it’s not”, you reassure. “i won’t jerk you off, i’ll just touch it”, you explain. “please? just a little?”

well. fuck it.

“this is a bad idea”, he says, but loosens his grip around your wrist. “fine”, he mumbles. “but just a little”

you nod, pulling your hand away only to slide it down his body.

you’re not really sure why you were so happy to hear the news about his break-up, but you always felt more at ease when he belonged just to you. your best friend, and not someone else’s boyfriend. you don’t know why you were doing this right now, or why your heart was racing. maybe because it really was weird? or maybe you were just horny?

finding his cock wasn’t difficult, it sure stood out from the rest of his body.

“you really are hard”, you gasp, running your fingers across the bulge in his shorts, dragging out a throaty groan out of him.

“yeah”, he mumbles. “like i said, stop stating the obvious”

“it’s a bit wet here”, ignoring his words, you thumb the spot where his tip is, making him squirm. his body slightly jerks as you press your palm against it. cupping it inside your hand you squeezing it gently. “it’s warm too”, you keep exploring further. “it has a pulse”

satoru lets out a helpless whine. “you sound so dirty right now, it’s weird”

he’s longed for this type of intimacy with you for years. but in his head, he pictured it differently. it was him who was supposed to do things to you, not the other way around. he was supposed to be the confident one, delving into your layers, making you squirm and fall apart under his touch. not the other way around… but this was good too. too good for him to oppose it. you were his weakness, after all. you always have been. no matter how much he teased and picked on you, in the end he always let you do as you pleased. this was not an exception.

you giggle to yourself. “yeah? you like that new side of me, don’t you?”

“…maybe”

sneaking your hand through the front of his shorts and boxers, you feel the flesh of his cock directly. it was twitching, his tip slick with precum. you put the tip of your index finger on his slit and rub circles around it to smear the pre oozing out of it, getting another soft whimper out of him. the head of his cock all slippery now, urging you to rub it all over the rest of his length.

your fingers wrap around his cock as you start to move your hand up and down, slowly, smearing his own slick onto his own flesh.

he tries to swallow the moan stuck in his throat. “you said you were not going to jerk me off, but what now? you’re playing a bit too much, don’t you think?”

satoru can last long. under normal circumstances, that is. but having you — not just his hand, but you, his first ever love, his only love — touch him like that, he could barely hold back. the urge to bust has been there since the moment you put your hand on his cock.

“why? you gonna cum?”, you slip your hand lower, down to the base of his shaft — where his balls are. you caress them tenderly, incurring yet another soft groan from him, before you go back to stroking him again. with each drag you pick up the pace. the room is filled with the squelching sounds caused by your hand, at this point, confidently fisting his slick covered cock, and his heavy breathing. 

“hey”, he puts his hand on your cheek, softly pinching on it with his fingertips. an attempt to make you snap out of it, but alas — you don’t back away. “don’t regret this”, he whispers, almost beggingly. but his voice comes out too shallow for your ears to pick up on.

“are you close?”, you peek at him, watching his face with rapt fascination, grateful that you left the night lamp on.

never have you ever seen him like this. his cheeks so hot and flushed that his pale skin was lit completely red, up to his ears and his neck. beads of sweat across his forehead with strands of his hair stuck on it. mouth agape — huffing and puffing. his brows knitted, desperately. pleadingly. his mouth telling you to stop, yet his face told a different story. so did the part of him inside your palm. it made you throb, down there, and squeeze your thighs together. your own wetness spurting out from your slit, drenching the inside of your underwear”

“fuck—", he growls. “i am— c-close”, he stutters, struggling to control his breathing and the moans that roll out of his mouth.

you feel his cock twitch in your hand, differently. the pulse on it beating faster and more brashly, like it almost made his skin stretch and push against the flesh of your palm. and then, there was a delay. a few, very short seconds in which his cock stood still before violently exploding, pumping out a thick shot of cum. then some more, and more, and more — until the pouring turned into a light dribble toward the end.

“ugh”, he throatily groans, his body relaxing after oozing all the tension out. although slower now, you keep stroking him, running your fingers across his softening cock.

“oh wow”, you gasp, his cum sticky on your skin, drenching the space between your fingers. “what a mess”, you giggle.

“you’re trouble”, he sighs. “is your curiosity satisfied now?”

you nod.

“if you get curious about other things”, he pauses, scratching the back of his head, “come to me. don’t go to other men”

“i’ll think about it”, you smirk.

after that night, you stayed over for an entire week.

this little play time turned into routine, and you were no longer the only one playing.

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, reader plays volleyball, masturbation, oral (f receiving), obsessive behaviour, boobjob, penetration (p in v), 18+ minors dni.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who decides you're going to be his the very first time he sees you playing volleyball on the beach with your teammates wearing those pitiful scraps of material that can hardly be classified as a bikini.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who makes sure to pick up any and every extra shift he can just so he can figure out exactly what times you come down to the shore to practise.

pervy lifeguard!gojo whose new favourite pastime is just to sit in his lookout post, barely paying attention to the water to keep an eye on anybody who may be in potential danger — no, lately, his gaze always seems to be fixed squarely upon you.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who can't help but push his sunglasses up to rest in his hair so he can get a clearer view of you as you move around the sand, the way your scantily-clad body moves whenever you jump to hit the ball over the net just hypnotizing the poor man.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who has to disregard his duties completely to duck into a nearby beach hut when it becomes too much to just watch you, furiously fisting his leaking cock to the delicious mental image of your ass bouncing as you played.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who emerges from the hut looking like an utter mess, snowy locks dishevelled and swimming trunks hanging low on his hips as he stumbles back over to his lookout post. his strange behavior even grants him a few curious look from nearby beachgoers, but he couldn't care less.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who finds his hands clenching into tight fists by his sides when he observes one of the boys from the opposing volleyball team shaking your hand after a match. it's just a sign of mutual respect between players —  he knows that.

but that doesn't mean it irritates him any less.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who finally gathers the confidence to actually approach you later that afternoon while you're packing up your things, idly scratching the back of his undercut while he tries to think of a normal way to start a conversation.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who doesn't have to speak at all in the end, because you say the first words for him, greeting him with that pretty little smile of yours that he's only been able to see from afar up until now and outstretching a hand for him to shake.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who can't help but let a pleased grin spread across his lips while he returns the gesture, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction rising in his chest that his own touch on your palm has erased that previous guy's.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who falls even harder for you (if that's possible) during the few minutes he talks with you. it's nothing more than a friendly interaction between two regular beachgoers, but to him, it's one of many more to come.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who feels like he could do an embarrassing victory dance on the sand right then and there when you casually mention an upcoming volleyball competition that you'll be playing in. so you want him to be there, huh?

he nonchalantly responds that he might just be able pop by and watch some of it during his break — as if he isn't already planning on completely abandoning his post in favour of spectating the entire match instead.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who is so full of excitement during the week leading up to the tournament that he just can't keep quiet about it for even a single second. his poor bestfriend lifeguard!geto is beginning to feel like he's the one with the giant, pathetic crush on you at this point.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who would most likely be fired if his boss was to see him right now, sprawled across a bench and watching you compete at volleyball instead of looking out for drowning children in the waves.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who is sporting a not-so-subtle tent in his swimming trunks as he sits there, which he tries in vain to hide by crossing his legs over his lap. i mean, can you really blame him? just look at the way those doughy tits of yours jiggle in that downright sinful bikini top!

pervy lifeguard!gojo who has to clench his jaw to stop from snapping various profanities at the nearby beachgoers who have stopped in their tracks just to witness the match — he's not oblivious, he can see them checking you out just as he is.

but it's different when he does it. why? because you're going to be his soon enough. don't they understand that?

pervy lifeguard!gojo who isn't surprised in the slightest when your team easily triumphs over the other. after all, the opposing team doesn't have you on it. and although he knows little to nothing about volleyball, he can easily declare that you must be the best at it.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who would ideally like to run up to you and gush about how well you performed, but due to the very visible... problem in his trunks, ends up darting into the nearest beach hut for the second time this month to relieve himself because of you.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who is halfway through sloppily jerking his hips up into his closed fist when sunlight suddenly starts to flit through the gap in the door — shit, he was so worked up he forgot to even close it.

rookie mistake, satoru.

pervy lifeguard!gojo whose eyes widen to the size of saucers when he realizes it's you who just walked in through the doorway, shutting it gently behind you. he's about to start furiously apologizing for what you stumbled in on when he notices you don't seem nearly as shocked as you probably should be.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who can only watch in stunned silence as you slowly saunter closer to him, your hands hidden behind your back as they easily untie the strings of your bikini top before letting it fall to the floor.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who releases what can only be described as a pornographic moan at the sight of your freed breasts, his neglected cock twitching beneath his hand as he ogles you without shame. if he had any self-awareness left, he might've been embarrassed of the small trickle of drool oozing from his slackened mouth.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who feels his cheeks flush a shade of red brighter than the leaking tip of his bobbing cock when you purr to him... "do you really think i haven't noticed you checking me out for these past few weeks, mr lifeguard?"

pervy lifeguard!gojo who somehow finds himself living out a scenario lewder than the wildest of wet dreams he's had about you, his jittery hips thrusting erratically between your tits as you keep them pressed together for him with your hands.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who reaches what is undoubtably the fastest orgasm of his life, his sunglasses toppling from his head as it falls back in bliss, messy white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat as he releases a series of broken groans and whimpers.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who immediately joins you on your knees once he's come down from his euphoric high, long pink tongue lolling out to lap up every drop of sticky cum he split on your pretty tits, sucking and nipping at every inch of supple skin within reach.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who just can't stop yapping, going on and on about how perfect you are, how you've been on his mind for what feels like forever, how sexy you look when you're hitting around that volleyball.

it seems the only way to actually shut pervy lifeguard!gojo up is to shove his beautiful face between your legs, the only sounds leaving him now being mewls of enjoyment as he mouths at your saccharine taste through your bikini bottoms.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who is already too lost in you to properly remove the material keeping him from your pussy, instead lazily yanking it to the side with a single finger so he can dive nose-deep into your sweet cunt like he's been dreaming about doing for weeks.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who is just so messy with it, practically making out with your dripping hole as he rapidly delves his tongue in and out, moaning so shamelessly you'd think he was the one getting eaten out and not you.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who makes you cum using only his sloppy mouth so many times neither of you even know just how long you've been cooped up in this beach hut where there's a real possibility that someone could walk in at any given moment.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who can't hold himself back from fucking you anymore — he's waited long enough already, after all. so he's effortlessly manhandling you onto your back as he pushes in, eyes locked onto the sight of your tits still glistening with his saliva and cum from earlier.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who buries his face between the valley of your breasts as he ruts into you like a rabid animal, word after word of slurred praise failing from his lips as he looks up you with those wide, lovestruck cerulean eyes.

god, he's so fucking obsessed with you. getting to finally feel you like this was just the last nail in the coffin.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who somehow cums even harder than his previous climax, the overwhelming sensation of the tight, spongy walls of your cunt pulling him back in over and over again just unravelling his hazy mind with ease.

pervy lifeguard!gojo who has to psychically stop himself from letting out a choked whisper of 'i love you' as he spills his milky seed right into your womb where his cockhead is lodged, seemingly having enough awareness left to know that it's much too soon for that.

instead, pervy lifeguard!gojo settles for fixing you with a dopy grin so wide that both rows of his glinting pearly whites are on full display, murmuring a cheeky... "what do you say we make this a routine after every competition, pretty baby?"

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy yoga instructor!geto <- PREVIOUS.

pervy electrician!toji -> NEXT.

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

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sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

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sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

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