you slam your bedroom door shut, breath short and face flushed, the chaotic hum of your family’s get-together buzzing below like a swarm of bees. the bass of your cousin’s questionable party playlist rattles the floor, and someone’s obnoxious laugh echoes up the stairwell.
but inside your room?
pure chaos of a different kind.
“jungwon!” you whisper-yell, freezing at the sight of your boyfriend in the middle of changing out of his red-and-blue spider suit. he’s half-dressed, his toned torso exposed under the dim yellow light, shirt clutched in one hand. his eyes meet yours, and for a second, both of you just stand there—completely still.
“look away!” he gasps, scrambling to tug his white shirt over his head. it catches on his damp hair and sticks halfway.
“this is my room,” you hiss, slapping his arm as you stomp in. “what are you even doing here?”
“ow!” he winces, rubbing his forearm. “you texted me to save you!”
you narrow your eyes. “i also said my whole family is here, jungwon. that includes my aunt with hawk vision and unholy matchmaking skills. if she even smells testosterone in here, i’m doomed.”
“you said—and i quote—‘save me before i crawl out this function window’ with like... seven emojis,” he says dramatically, now fully shirted and looking mildly offended. “i thought it was urgent.”
you flop down on your bed with a groan. “i was exaggerating. you weren’t supposed to literally show up in costume and climb through my window like an action figure!”
jungwon walks over slowly, dropping his mask on your desk chair, his expression softening. “you looked so done in that group selfie. i couldn’t leave you suffering like that.”
you blink up at him, exasperated—but your chest betrays you with a flutter.
before you can speak, jungwon gently kneels beside the bed and leans in. his hand brushes your cheek, and his lips graze yours—slow and sweet, with the taste of faint mint and adrenaline. the kiss lingers, melting some of the irritation from your shoulders.
“you okay?” he asks against your lips.
“i got interrogated about marriage and said I'm looking too tired within the same hour,” you murmur.
jungwon pulls back slightly to look at you. his jaw twitches.
“give me five minutes,” he says darkly. “i’ll web ‘em.”
you laugh, fingers curling into his suit at his waist. “you can’t just web my family.”
“i can, and i will—in the name of love and fashion justice.”
you tug him closer, your grin softening. “you’re ridiculous.”
his hand cups your cheek. “you’re beautiful.”
jungwon chuckles, then kisses you again—this time deeper. his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer, and the way he holds you makes your heart ache a little in the best way.
he pulls back, just a breath apart. “i love you,” he whispers.
you smile. “i love you more.”
his brow furrows. “not possible.”
“oh, it is.”
“no, because I—”
a knock rattles the door.
you both freeze.
“y/n?” a familiar voice calls out. your aunt. “is someone in there? i saw someone through the hallway window.”
jungwon’s face drains of color. your eyes widen.
“hide!” you hiss.
“where?! i’m in my suit!”
you shove him toward the corner and throw your blanket over the desk chair—his gloves, web-shooters, and literal suit boots still in plain view.
“y/n?” she knocks again, this time more firmly. “i heard a male voice!”
jungwon dives behind your bed curtain just as you whip around and grab your phone.
“uh—hi, yes!” you call, frantically opening an audiobook and hitting play. some overly-dramatic shakespeare voice booms out. “i’m just... listening to romeo and juliet! for class!”
jungwon mouths romeo and juliet? from behind the curtain, looking betrayed.
“at ten-thirty?” your aunt asks, suspicious. “during a function?”
“midnight deadline!” you squeak, heart hammering. “college, you know!”
a long silence follows. then, a very judgmental “…alright. just come down soon.”
you don’t breathe until her footsteps fade away.
you whip around, glaring at the shape behind your curtain.
“you almost got me killed,” you whisper-yell.
jungwon slowly peeks out, looking very proud of himself. “technically, i saved you from marriage interrogation. again.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“and you’re adorable when you panic,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
you push him half-heartedly. “they definitely saw someone come in through the window. i’m going to be grilled like a barbecue chicken.”
he takes your hand, grinning. “then let’s go.”
you blink. “what?”
“let’s get out of here. just for tonight.” he picks up his mask again. “i’ve got the suit, i’ve got the girl, and i know a rooftop that sells fried tteokbokki till 2am.”
your heart flutters. “you’re serious?”
jungwon grins, already zipping the suit back up. “baby, i never joke about late-night fried food or escaping awkward family events.”
he holds out his hand.
“you in?”
you hesitate for all of two seconds before slipping your hand into his. “always.”
he pulls you to the window, lifting you with practiced ease. once your feet land on the ledge, you cling to him, your heart racing—not from fear, but from the thrill of being his.
he adjusts his grip, locking one arm securely around you. “hold tight.”
you nod.
and then—you’re flying.
the wind rushes past your face as jungwon swings you through the sky, skyscrapers sparkling below like galaxies turned upside down. the city unfolds beneath you, electric and infinite, and jungwon laughs against your hair as you shriek, clinging to him.
when he finally lands on the rooftop of an old apartment building, you’re breathless—laughing and windblown.
he sets you down, brushing your hair back with one hand. “better?”
you nod, smiling so wide your cheeks ache. “infinitely.”
he leans in, pressing a kiss to your nose. then your lips. then your forehead. “told you i’d save you.”
you tangle your fingers in the fabric of his suit and pull him closer. “next time, bring fries too.”
he laughs, kissing you again under the stars. “next time, i’ll bring the whole cart.”
and just like that, as the city breathes around you and the moonlight wraps you both in silver, you feel like you’ve finally escaped—free from questions, from noise, from everyone else.
just you. just him.
your spider-boy. your favorite escape.
스루 ܃ first off, shit title i know TT second, i wish spiderman was real so i could kiss him 😕
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.
GAME OF LOVE, DEATH, AND DEMONS: HOW TO CAPTURE THE BLACK LOTUS? | P. SH
🎮 PREVIEW : after trashing the ending of the novel 'catching demon' with every vocabulary you got in your dictionary, you found yourself in this world of horror and demons— bearing the visage of the second female lead; the filthy rich, and young villainess who conspires in ruining the leading couple's relationship just because she, too, desires the male lead for herself. talk about a soap drama! now the game is giving you an impossible mission where you have to make the second male lead—the infamous protective siscon, a yandere one at that; the black lotus himself to fall for you or else—you can say goodbye to your head and your old life!
GENRE : transmigration into a novel game, romance, comedy, yandere, thriller, horror, set in a partially accurate historical chinese dynasty.
NOTES : 1. to stay true to the source material/universe, i'll still keep the family name 'Mu' since well, this is set in a CH dynasty even if partially accurate. 2. Sunghoon will be referred to as 'Mu Hun', and his courtesy name will be 'Sunghoon'. This is incredibly important since our protagonist will be the only one who can call him his courtesy name, the symbol of their growing bond.
WARNING : slight profanity, and more to be listed in the future.
SCHEDULE RELEASE : 3 EPISODES will be posted in bulk with my other projects in AUG-SEPT.
▶ DIRECTOR's CUT, a love letter to my all time favourite cdrama and couple miaoqi!! genuinely can't move on from them, and so why not write about this universe one more time but in my writing style? there are stuffs i LOVEE respectively from the drama and the novel; parts that i wished were longer or shorter so i'll be able to do that in this version!! for example, the drama's choice of totally changing ziqi's character in the last ep completely ruined it for me and i will only accept the novel ziqi LOLLL. imma just pretend that the last ep doesn't exist haha but nevertheless it's still my fave, and miaoqi a day makes me freakin happy. sunghoon won the poll, and now that i look at it—him and the ml does have the same vibes so here we go!
🪷
〘SYSTEM〙: Dear player, please do your best to conquer the character [Mu Hun] to avoid the plot where he eliminates your family. Make him fall in love with you, complete the wedding night, and divert the route of eternal torment.
H-huh? C-capture? What's with that. . monotone robotic voice? In a daze, as if you were momentarily drunk—you blinked twice, rubbing your eyelid as your vision clears—sparkles and glimmers greeting your perspective.
Hm? Curtain beads? What's up with this over the top eastern theme room? A bed with a curtain—a canopy? Eh? Such a weird dream—you halted.
The youthful face gazing back at you from inside the glass mirror. She's so pretty—hold on—you inched closer, such a bold and heavy makeup—wait, what the hell are you doing here wearing such an extravagant vermillion dress? This exquisite headdress that glints as you turn your head around, and a weird floral print on your forehead? It somerhow looks familiar for some reason. . Almost like—
The world of Catching Demons.
〘SYSTEM 〙: Welcome, dear player— to the world of Catching Demons.
You pushed yourself up swiftly—the chair creaked.
“W-wait!”
You exclaimed, this chest of yours deepens as you struggle to take it in. You've only ever known about this whole goddamn transmigration thing from novels, heck, you were even obsessed with this trope that you'd lost ten days of sleep, but! This can't be real! You laughed, no, you let out an exaggerated laugh—splayed fingers over your face with overblown eyes as you proceeded to roam around the place—in frantic steps.
〘SYSTEM〙: Dear player, the beginner tutorial will begin soon. Please refrain from stepping out of the boundary as it will trigger an immediate reset.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! You’ve never cursed this bad, if your mother ever heard you like this—she’d slap you back to reality and for god’s sake you’re actually truly, truly, praying for her divine hands right now!
“I am not built for this!”
You ran off, praying with utmost desperation that your useless knowledge of the Backrooms theory of clipping back to reality works wonders—you leaped over the flight of stairs, with the wall as your goal, accompanied by the crackles and roar of thunder.
“Argh!”
Electricity surged through your veins and you dropped to your knees. You swore you heard the ending theme of the game playing in the background for a decent duration, followed by a bunch of glitches surrounding your body—and you find yourself back to the same spot. Back on the chair, in front of the damn mirror.
No, no, no!
Pages. Illustrations. Faces of characters smirking and smiling. A group photo. The novel game of Catching Demons. The horrible ending where all of them kills each other. You let out a long, long gasp as reality creeps slowly—dawning on your face.
No, this face, this is not your face, it's the face of that filthy rich villainess! If anything, why can't you be in the female lead's body instead? Why in this body, why her?!
What do you mean capture him? Make him fall in love with you? No fucking way—there’s no way you could ever make him—the young noble who enunciate the word ‘sister’ with dripping affection—to fall for you!
A siscon, and a yandere one at that, and don’t even get me started with his temper! Nothing could put him down except a word from his beloved sister. One look, he’d cut your soul into eternal doom—say goodbye to any changes of reincarnation.
This moron of a system—you clenched your fist in a death grip. Making him fall in love with you was already completely impossible, and now even in this villainess’ body—he would never look your way, nor change his perception of you.
And he can go to hell!
Sure, sure, sure! Such a devoted and loyal young man is alluring and tempting in the online world. You’d even at some point beg for one, questioning the deities above when you’d find a real true love that's only truly obsessed with you. But that was before, because now that you're truly in deep into this terrible situation, who the heck would seriously get into a relationship with an unhinged, psychotic man like that?!
You've gotta be insane!
“Miss [Name],” Distasteful eyes pierces your soul as his thumb wipes—no, it grazes the corner of your lower lip—you tremble before his facade of a gentleman. “You look like you ate a child.”
Deep red smeared the tip of his thumb. It's the damn lipstick. What's up with him? You can't believe you find him attractive at some point.
〘SYSTEM〙: Favorability change detected. [Mu Hun]’s favorability towards you decreased by 50%, it is now -250%.
What the fuck?! You're now starting to think that he perceives you not as a human, but as a tool he could toss away. This won't do. You cannot live the life of the real villainess, where Mu Hun puts her in a love spell—acting on his revenge on her, ultimately destroying her agency, and her life.
When Mu Hun found his end by the hands of his sister, the real villainess—after much torment—joined him by hanging herself on a silk noose.
And that's where exactly you find yourself groaning for days at the ending, because what's the difference between this and a scam? Yes, that's how you worded your review for the book online. It sucks, it terribly sucks, the younger brother is hella obsessed with his older sister. The female lead has no sense of unity, the male lead has no guts. Everyone fucking betrays everyone—and why is it so goddamn angsty? The second female lead, the villainess herself, was better than all of them. The book would be far better called as the World of the Villainess, and so, it was a complete waste of time that blah, blah, blah!
It was a novel with a scam of an ending, who would've known that trashing it would cause you to be transmigrated to this world?! Seriously, why not an otome with those five hot guys from Love and Deepspacer on their knees for you? Why not Ikemen Sengoku? Office romance? Vampire romance?
Why demons?! And a Chinese horror one at that?!
You trembled as you remembered bits of the horrifying scenes from this novel. You're too much of a coward to play a horror game all by yourself, so you could only go for the only safe medium—a novel, yet how freaking funny was it now that you find yourself in one. What's the difference of this and a game?!
It's a thousand times, no, a millionth times worser!
“Thank you, Miss [Name] for coming all this way to deliver my medicine.” Mu Hun's older sister, Yeji—with the teardrop birthmark below her right eye was too much for you to take. Her beauty beyond the illustration exceeds your expectations, but you can't say the same for the heavy dark eyes guarding against you.
What the hell is he doing here? As far as you remember, the original plot where the villainess delivered the female lead’s medicine only consists of them two, and no one else, not even the male lead himself. Because the real villainess had planned meticulously to add a decent dosage of poison to the female lead’s medicine, therefore she can't have anyone present at that crucial moment.
So why. .? You suppressed the need to bite your lip and curse the heavens.
“That's very nice of you, Miss [Name]. Of course, we can't let your efforts go to waste.” Mu Hun inches closer, his long fingers grabbing the ceramic bowl—taking a sip for himself much to your surprise. You swore you could see the words etched all over his dark watery eyes;
I don't trust you.
But jokes on him, and jokes on the system—you actually switched the female lead’s medicine into a different, healthier tonic. To capture his heart, you definitely can't harm the object of his affection, that's just stupidly digging your grave. Plus, you can't bring yourself to do it, after all.
His eyes widened with surprise upon gulping it down his throat—you slightly grin as he kneeled down—handing it to his sister. Your heart pumps with sweet success! With this trick, you’d definitely pass this mission with flying marks!
Your smile cracks—mirroring the ceramic bowl on the floor. Wait this can't be right—you could feel your soul withering away as Yeji's weak body curled in, coughing relentlessly.
“What did you put in my sister’s medicine?!”
The tip of his sharp blade now on your neckline before you even could ask yourself what's happening. Yes, this is how he really is; hands filled with scars and calluses—soaked in both humans and demons’ blood. He doesn't care about anyone except for his precious older sister.
You cursed at the system in this very moment; that eyes of his—swirling like soft watercolor, yet tainted with wrath, lusting with downright vengeance. You're doomed. Forget about making this black lotus to fall in love with you, because you won't even get a drop of mercy from him.
“Whoever dares to hurt my sister—deserves to die!”
Synopsis : Yn and Sunghoon, who were known as inseparable got distanced when the later got into a relationship. Ditched plans, missed calls, unseen texts were everything yn got from him.
But Sunghoon didn't seem to care but when he caught his partner cheating on him, he realised... What he lost. But isn't it too late? Yn already moved on from him.
Will he gain the same trust and love from her back? Or are they done for good?
Synopsis : Yn and Sunghoon, who were known as inseparable got distanced when the later got into a relationship. Ditched plans, missed calls, unseen texts were everything yn got from him.
But Sunghoon didn't seem to care but when he caught his partner cheating on him, he realised... What he lost. But isn't it too late? Yn already moved on from him.
Will he gain the same trust and love from her back? Or are they done for good?
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
dededos
jbbartram-illu
pixelskylines
annaxmalina
