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daengtokki · 14 hours ago

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part ten // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 12.1k

RATING: mature/mdni—contains: fluff, hospital/nicu settings, choking (mentioned), meds (mentioned), manipulation, hallucinations, things staring ominously from a distance switching povs

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: 700 followers is crazyyyy, thank you so much for hanging out with me! My giveaway will be up within the next few days as a proper thank you to all of my readers, rebloggers, and those who leave me lovely comments and messages!

[ ML— DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

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Seungmin is terrified at the idea of picking them up and holding them, and his soft touches are still making him nervous regardless of them becoming more receptive to it. They know he’s here, and they know you’re here, and you think being held, together, is exactly what they want and need, but he looks at them and sees the same paper butterflies he just folded.

“When the nurse comes back, maybe she can show us how to pick them up without upsetting them.”

He beams and nods, “I do want to hold them. You should be holding them…are you able to feed them?”

The call button plays a cute melody when you push it. “Oh, no…I wish I could, but—“ you look down at yourself and cup your breasts in your hands. They have grown, and they are sore, but you haven’t noticed anything significant happening. You might need some help.

“That’s okay. That’s why we have special formula for them until you can. And if you can’t…oh, please don’t cry.” You watch him move through bleary eyes, and he carefully lifts himself onto the bed. “You’ve worked so hard today, and you’re tired.”

“What if it never comes, and I can’t feed them?”

Before he can continue his attempts at comforting you, the nurse returns. “Is everything alright?”

“She’s upset that she can’t feed them”

“Don’t worry yourself too much. They’ll be tube fed for a while before we try a bottle, or breastfeeding. But we have nurses to help with that, and I’ll have one visit sometime today to put your mind at ease.”

The top being taken off the incubator makes Seungmin nervous all over again; seeing them exposed, breathing and feeling the same air as him. But he needs to hold them, so he watches the nurse pick Haesung up with soft, open palms. She bends and brings him closer, rubs his back with two fingers, and hands him to you.

“Just like that—good. Skin touching skin, just what he needs.”

She does the same with Haneul, but this time, it’s Seungmin’s turn. He places one hand carefully on his back; the other cups his tiny diapered butt and holds him close. He’s perfectly still, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest, and Haneul moving along with it. His eyes open, just barely, and close again—when you look down, Haesung is doing the same, and from here you see the dark of his eyes each time they flutter open.

“They’re much cuter than they were on the ultrasound.” Seungmin laughs and gives moving a try. He sits back in his chair, and his fingers glide across the nape of Haneul’s neck. “His eyes are lighter than I expected.”

“Yeah, Haesung’s look kind of hazel, but they’ll probably get darker over the next few months.”

The sound of Seungmin’s phone startles you. It’s Heecheol, you assume, but he’s not paying it any mind. Every bit of his attention is on Haneul, and you don’t expect that to change until he’s safe in the incubator again. It’s another few minutes before the nurse returns, and when she does, Seungmin reluctantly gives him up so he can join his brother on your chest.

“Was that him?”

“Who?”

“Your phone”

He leans forward and taps his screen, “yes, it’s him. Uhm, he said he’s going to head back to the apartment, but he would love to see a photo of the babies.”

You drape your arm over their backs, and they gradually shift closer. It’s fascinating to watch them gravitate toward each other like two little magnets. “Yeah, we should probably take some photos while we have them here with us.”

Seungmin starts getting them from every angle he can, but it doesn’t take long before he’s distracted enough to stop and talk to them again. He moves to your other side and talks to Haesung, who seems to have fallen into a good sleep. “Okay, one more.”

Several hours later, Seungmin makes it home, and it’s only because you finally convinced him he needed to shower and eat. And you need to make me breakfast for tomorrow morning…please. He will, and maybe lunch, too. He’s almost completely forgotten about his antics before the labor started, and how much of a blur disposing and cleaning up became. It isn’t until he walks past the vacant apartment that he remembers leaving the body in there; well-wrapped, but still…it’s just sitting there, a few feet from the door. No smell, thank god, he thinks. At least not to him. Heecheol is still on the other side of this apartments wall, unless he left unannounced, and he might notice something Seungmin doesn’t.

He’s sitting in the living room—television on and playing one of the crime dramas you like so much. There’s one crib together next to him, and the other is halfway there. Seungmin wonders what else he did while he was here all alone.

“Hey dad, welcome back”

The smell of grilled beef, and something a little spicy hits his nose. “Cheoli, you didn’t have to do all this by yourself.” But his stomach grumbles at the thought of dinner, and he knows after he eats, he’s going to crash again.

“It wasn’t much. Besides, I helped myself to a few beers and the snack stash in the cupboard.”

“And made dinner”

“Your boys look good for twenty-five weeks. I think they’ll be okay, and you’ll have them home in no time.”

Seungmin watches him curiously as he heads for the finished crib. “You think?”

“Five…six weeks, maybe. But it could be as long as her original due date.”

“June 1st…I wasn’t even thinking about what day it was. Their birthday is June 1st.”

“Gemini,” Heecheol laughs. “You have Gemini snakes.” He’s uneasy as he sits here looking up at Seungmin, but not enough to leave, and not enough to keep himself from being happy for his friend. “Did you take any other photos?”

His phone is out before Heecheol even finishes the question, and suddenly, Seungmin is one of those annoying parents who can’t wait to show off their kids. “I did.” He pulls the last one up, and hands his phone over as he makes himself comfortable on the floor.

“They already look like you. Which one is this?”

“That’s Haesung…the youngest”

“Ocean, or sun?”

“Sun”

Heecheol nods. “And the oldest?”

“Haneul”

“Just like you. And I’m sensing a pattern with this family. Sky, moon, sun, sky again.”

He isn’t sure how that happened, but it worked out perfectly, and everything about it feels right. “What was your name when you lived in the states?”

“Hale”

“Hail? Like ice, like a hailstorm?”

“Yeah, just spelled differently. I wanted to keep the H sound, but I didn’t like most of the names suggested to me.”

“I like it. You kinda fit.”

He fits? Heecheol isn’t entirely sure how he fits, but if Seungmin says he does, then he must. The more he thinks about it, the less strange it seems. He is still here, after all. Why? What the hell has gotten into him?

***

One more gentle push, and the crib is just where it needs to be. The bed is still in the way, of course, but it’ll have to be in the way until he finally leaves. When the hell is he going to leave? If I leave now, I might never come back, he thinks. Any little excuse will easily keep him away, as it should, but first Heecheol has to disconnect himself from something he’s needed for so long. But it’s not a need for friendship keeping him here. No. It’s something else.

“They look great, thank you.” Seungmin peeks in and smiles in a way reserved only for you and him. It’s still hesitant, but enough to half-close his big brown eyes, and enough to make Heecheol’s stomach do a somersault.

“No big deal. I like putting things together, so if there’s anything else…”

“Let’s eat first.”

The question gets closer and closer to the tip of his tongue as he watches Seungmin eat, and he’s eating well. He’s enjoying himself, and it’s the calmest he’s seen him since he was a few beers in at the baseball game Friday night. But it’s been nagging at him since you mentioned it. “I don’t wanna pry too much, even though seeing your meds might be as personal as things get…”

“You can pry.” Seungmin means it, even if his heart does race a little at the thought of a personal question, especially after what happened last night.

“Tokki mentioned something to me before we went to the hospital, and I was curious about it.”

Seungmin just nods—relieved it’s not about last night.

“Something about you wandering into the woods back home…if you’d ever done that when we were kids. And something about an incident with your stepfather.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, maybe it’s too much.” He waves it away and tries to think of a new subject, but nothing comes to him. The mood of the room has already shifted, and everything is now the pine forest. It’s all he can see in the back of his eyes—the silhouette of the trees against a cloudy night sky; the silence; the heavyness and the feeling of something clinging to your back as you weaved through the trees. “We don’t have to…”

“She told you I went into the woods that night?”

It seems like he might get more information than he intended. “Not…no, not exactly. She asked if you’d done it when you were a kid. And she asked if I’d ever seen anything strange in there.” He lied right to your face and told you no. “Why did she ask, and why do I suddenly remember what we saw? I pushed it so far down, and now I can’t get it out of my head.”

“We didn’t see anything, Cheoli. Just a shadow. Just heard some sounds.”

“And smells. The feeling of something crawling under my skin.”

Seungmin closes his eyes and sees the scratches his nine year old self clawed up his arms. The itch that his nails couldn’t fix; the garden shears couldn’t fix it, either, but he never knows for sure until he tries. Only one thing stops it. “I’m sorry that you remember.”

“So you went back in there, alone?”

“I don’t have an answer for you, just like I don’t have one for her. But yes. I went in, and she had to come find me, and I don’t remember what I did when I was in there.”

Heecheol nods firmly, hoping it signals a change in the conversation. Bringing it up did not make him feel any better.

“My stepdad drove me a mile in that winter. He dropped me off and left me there, and I cried and screamed for hours until she found me.”

The cruelness of his stepfather had no limits. Heecheol knew that before he learned about this—he didn’t think it could get worse than being pushed down the stairs, or locked in the shed all night. “I’m sorry, Mo. I wish I would have been there for you.” Killing his mother still takes the prize, though.

“I needed medicated before that happened. I needed it even more after. But…it’s still there.”

Heecheol knows he’s getting much more than he intended. He’s getting answers for the question he asked, and the one still sitting in his head, too. The professional part of him knows schizophrenia more frequently manifests in self-harm than it does murder, but it does happen. He finds himself staring at the thin scar on Seungmin’s forearm as more pieces fit together. “Did something happen when he left you there?”

Seungmin remembers it in pieces, and it comes to him like most of his dreams; disjointed and confusing. The memory returned to him slowly, over several nights in Daegu. Not even you know the details of this particular nightmare. “It was late afternoon when we went in, so most of my time there was at dusk…and dusk may as well have been night in those woods. But when night came, well—”

“What did you see?”

“It saw me more than I saw it, but I did see what it wanted me to see. It peeked from behind the trees, and it whispered…I think. I could hear something in my head…noises, vibrations…”

scratch scratch

“No…” Seungmin mutters. “Not now.”

“What?”

scratch scratch

The prickle of goosebumps moves down his arms; his stomach lurches. “Did you hear that?” He asks Heecheol, already knowing the answer. “The scratching?”

He waits a moment and listens before shaking his head. “I didn’t hear any scratching.”

Not now, he thinks, and his head falls into his hands. A few deep breaths might help, so he peeks through his fingers and focuses on the movements of his feet. One deep breath, and Heecheol’s hand moves gently over his back. It does the opposite of what Seungmin thinks it will—it calms him, just like yours does. The warmth is a welcome change to the cold sweat washing over him. “It’s not there…” he whispers.

“No, probably not.”

scratch scratch

“Fuck…last night didn’t matter.”

Heecheol chooses to ignore that comment for the moment. “Where is it coming from? The front door?”

Seungmin nods, and Heecheol’s hand is gone. The lock clicks, the door opens slowly, and there’s silence as he imagines him standing there looking out at the empty hallway. He returns, and his hand lands on Seungmin’s back again. “Look at me.”

Just like he listens to you, he listens to his friend. A soft voice with a hint of demand, as if he has no choice. Heecheol might have made him if he hadn’t immediately lifted his head, but the look is just as soothing as his touch.

“Let’s talk about something else, yeah? We have better memories to dwell on, I’m sure. How’d you do in school?”

“School? Oh, that feels like so long ago. I did well until high school, but I managed to graduate thanks to my aunts. Almost went to junior college, but I was too…uhm, I guess it wasn’t a good time.”

Heecheol nods in understanding. He doesn’t need Seungmin to explain that his illness held him back, if that’s what it was. Maybe college didn’t feel necessary after the inheritance he received from his father. Looking around the apartment gives him all of the information he needs to know in regard to that—Seungmin and you want for nothing. “I don’t want this to sound insensitive, because it’s just curiosity…”

“Yes?” Seungmin doesn’t care what it is, as long as it keeps him distracted from the noises in his head.

“The two of you aren’t married, even though I recall the nurse addressing you as her husband. And she doesn’t work, I take it?“

“We’re not, and no…she quit her job when she thought she was leaving for good.”

He wants to ask more about that—considering what he witnessed, the dynamic of their relationship is far more interesting than it was two months ago. “She’s here illegally.”

It’s been the least of his worries lately, which may have been a stupid mistake. The wrong person finding out could have upheaved everything just as badly as Seungmin messing up a kill. Now his mind wanders to the body down the hall—all the two of you ever do is play with fire. He can’t be so reckless. He can’t risk anything happening to you or the babies. “Yeah, I guess we should work on that. Marriage would be a good start.”

“The sooner the better. Put a ring on your to-do list.”

“What is it, Min?”

His gaze is fixed on the incubator in front of him; on the two of them cuddled together, sleeping soundly. Seungmin is still feeling a little bit of disconnect between him, father, and them, his sons. It doesn’t feel real yet, and he knows that’s partially because the three of you are still stuck in this hospital.

“Hey…are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” He is. He really is.

Heecheol visited briefly before heading back home, and Seungmin does still feel a little guilty for not taking him to the station. Heecheol assured him it was fine, and him spending time with you was much more important. You made it a point not to stare at him as if at any moment you would have to defend Seungmin, and you did pretty well.

“I’ll finish cleaning everything up when I get home, now that I’ll have time by myself.”

You squint your eyes at him, as if it’ll clear up any possible misunderstandings between you. “Okay.” Since coming into the room, he’s been distant.

“I have something for you.” Seungmin’s hand fidgets in his pocket, but he doesn’t let you see what he has yet. “I’ve never asked you what kind of jewelry you like, but since you don’t wear much, and the things you do wear are very simple…I went with that.”

“Jewelry?”

He nods, and red starts to creep up his neck. “But if you don’t like it, we can pick something else.”

“No, no I want whatever you picked.”

Finally, he pulls his hand out and reveals a small wooden box, but he doesn’t know what to do as you stare excitedly at it. Should he hand it to you? Open it and ask how he assumes you’d expect a proposal to happen? Yes, he should probably make this that type of moment for you. “Okay.” He slides the lid open, and he doesn’t think he can get more nervous until he sees the ring again. Maybe it was a bad choice. He really should have asked what you liked. “I…” he stops when he feels himself starting to stutter.

“Yeah?” You take his hands in yours and hold them steady.

“I…was thinking we should get married. Pretending seems silly now that the babies are here, and I want you to feel safe and secure with me in every way. I should have asked you months ago.”

“We should, you’re right.”

“Yeah?”

You pull the ring out of the box and examine it carefully. “I was waiting.” The color is a soft blue, and on each side is what you assume are tiny moonstones.

“I’m not sure what kind of gems you like, but I figured their birthstones would be a safe choice.”

“Birthstones? Oh, is that what they are?” You look again, watching the middle gem change to purple under the harsh light of the room.

“Moonstone. And I forget the name of bigger one, but it’s pretty…right?”

Every angle gives you a new color; blue, purple, and even a hint of green. The June birthstone is one thing, and it was a safe choice—it was also a good choice, but it changing between yours and his favorite color is another; it feels like it was made just for you. Seungmin takes the ring back and slides it until it’s snug against his mother’s silver wedding band. “It’s perfect. You are very good at this.”

“At what?”

“All the little things you do for me. And the things you say.”

His fingers tap nervously on the bed. “I mean everything, all of it. Everything I say and do.”

“I know, Minnie. You’re a natural.”

He smiles, but not before trying to hold it back. “As soon as you’re able to come home, we’ll make it official.”

Three days in this bed has been more than enough, and you’ve been waiting not so patiently to be discharged. Going home without the boys will be difficult, though. “They said today, probably.”

“Heecheol said they could be here the rest of the time you should have been pregnant. Is that true…they’ll be here for months?”

Before you can answer, the nurse knocks softly and lets herself in. In her hands is a clipboard full of the discharge papers you’ve been waiting all morning to sign.

“How long will they have to stay here?” Seungmin asks, and his concern seems to be coming from the fact that you’re going home. You assume he felt content knowing you were always close by, even if he missed you, but that won’t be the case soon.

She smiles sweetly at him, obviously honing in on his anxiety. This is the same nurse that made you feel better about being here, and about how well the twins were being cared for. “It’s always hard to say for certain. They came very early, but they’re both healthy, so our main concern for them is weight gain.”

“We can visit them every day, Minnie”

“You can.” The nurse looks in at them sleeping comfortably. In each of their mouths is a pacifier, and both of them seem to already mastered their sucking reflex. “It’s very important you see them as often as possible. They could be home as early as six or seven weeks from now if we can hit our goal weight…two kilograms at the very least would be ideal.”

“See? Your boys are healthy and strong, and we’ll have them home with us soon.”

The apartment feels different, even though it’s only been a few days. It’s not just the sight of a nearly finished nursery (the twin bed is gone, in the apartment next door, you assume), and it’s not the cots pushed neatly against the bedroom wall. The difference is coming from inside of you, and from the missing pieces that you couldn’t bring home. You never imagined missing the comfort and discomfort of them being safe inside of your stomach, but you do. And now it’s just…you. Your hand moves from your chest, still sore for the exertion, down the still noticeable bump. Everything is sore. Between the labor, and the uncomfortable bed, you can’t remember the last time your body held onto so much pain.

“Do you feel okay?” Seungmin sneaks up to place a kiss on your shoulder, and his hand lands next to yours.

He knows you’re not, and he only asks to lead into the next question. “I’m good.” You’re not exactly hiding it very well, and Seungmin saw every moment of pain as you pushed. “Just sore.”

“I can help you shower. Or if you just want to get into bed, I put clean sheets on. There’s a heating pad in there, and the air conditioner if you get too warm.” You turn and face him, and he smiles. “Or…early dinner. I prepped stuff for galbijjim.”

“Can I have all three?”

***

“So, he left without asking any questions?”

“Questions? Oh, Heecheol. No, he didn’t bring anything up except what you asked him.”

“Me? What did I…” What did you ask him? Everything from before all the pain is a blur. “I can’t remember.”

“You asked him if I wandered into the woods when we were kids. And the answer is no.”

Theres nothing stern or harsh about his voice, but you feel it in your gut regardless. Tears start welling in your eyes, but you manage to keep them at bay. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been worried. I wasn’t trying to go behind your back for answers.”

“Oh I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not angry, love, I promise.”

“I thought he might remember something you couldn’t, that’s all.”

Seungmin pulls you to your feet, but you’re suddenly feeling self conscious about dropping your robe. “I know. He hasn’t seen the things that I have, fortunately.” His hands tuck beneath the tie, and you grab them before he pulls it loose—the response is a confused look, a lick of his lips, and an arm around your waist. “No?”

“I do, I’m just not used to this body. And it’s been a while since we’ve had sex, or touched…or anything.” A few weeks, but it feels so much longer.

“Not because I didn’t want to.” Both of his arms slide around you and rub the sore muscles. “I’ve been afraid of doing something to hurt you, or them.”

“What happened that night, Seungmin? Why did you kill? Was it just a kill?”

The questions take a moment to sink in—not just remembering what exactly happened that night, but what you’re asking him, too. It was just a kill, he thinks…that he can remember. So much of it disappeared the moment you called him. “Yes, I think so; I used my knife, slit his throat, made a fucking mess. Luckily not so much that I couldn’t keep Heecheol in the dark if he looked for me in the bedroom.”

“His throat. It was a man?”

His hold on you tightens. “Yeah, I remember that much. It didn’t help anything, though. I can already feel it coming back.” The feeling, the itch—it starts moving in on him even more as he stands here with you. He held it back with the help of you and the babies, but now he can’t deny what the quiet is bringing. Maybe he can hold it off a little bit longer. “He was expecting sex, but nothing happened this time.”

“You’ve been so stressed, that has to be part of it. But we can relax a little now. They’re okay, and they’re safe.”

“And so are you. I can sit out here while you go in, if you want. But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Your hormones are going crazy. One moment, you feel ecstatic at the thought of seeing and holding them again, and the next you come crashing down because everything feels out of your control. You’ve gone through your entire adult life in the same body—one that Seungmin seemed to enjoy—and now you feel like somebody else. What hasn’t changed is the way he looks at you.

“I got you some new shampoo and body wash to try. It’s supposed to be good for after, so…”

“You did?” The overwhelming urge to cry returns, but the tears are different this time. You let them come and it scares him for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Why are you crying, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” you wipe at your cheeks and blink away the tears. “I’m just…uhm, everything feels so intense. Sorry, I’m alright. And I’m hungry, I guess."

“Oh, I think I understand. Are you feeling down?”

The tie is pulled loose, and the robe slides down your shoulders. “I was, but I'm okay.”

Seungmin’s eyes follow as it falls, but he catches himself and lowers his gaze as you walk by. You don’t look much different to him, but still, he finds you more attractive now than he ever has. It’s not how you’ve filled out, and it’s not the roundness of your face, or the blush across your cheeks…it’s just another version of what you were before—the one who loves him and his children. He told you months ago he would kill anyone who touched you, and that hasn’t changed, Seungmin feels that more intensely now than he ever has. He knows you feel it, too.

Eighteen days of care in the hospital is showing on the twins. Holding them is different already, and they feel less and less like butterflies with each visit. Seungmin sets his fingertips on Haesung’s back, and the rise and fall of his breathing calms the thoughts that continue to break through. The noises are quieter when he holds them.

“Have they put on weight this week?” You ask the nurse. “Are they doing okay?”

“According to their chart, Baby Haesung has gained a total of 500 grams since June 1st. Haneul has gained 492 grams. Another good week.”

“So they’re doing well?”

“Very well.”

Every morning, the two of you spend three, sometimes four hours here, holding them and talking to them. Every evening, you return for at least an hour for more skin to skin, and sometimes a song. Leaving is difficult. The two of you are here the most of any of our parents. Please remember to take care of yourselves and get plenty of rest. The nurse was looking at you when she said that yesterday. You have been sleeping well, though, and you were finally able to produce your own milk for the first time last week. Maybe that will bring them home even sooner.

Seungmin does the math on the walk home. “They might be there another two or three weeks before they reach two kilograms.”

“Maybe. But I’ll make sure I’m eating well and pumping enough for both of them every day.”

“Sounds exhausting…I’m sure it is.”

“According to my nurse, I should be eating an extra thousand calories a day to keep up.”

He stops and looks around, and then back at you. “A thousand? We should grab something extra for lunch then.”

There’s a little bit of guilt in him as he jogs down the steps and away from his mother, but not enough to stop him. And he’s not a complete liar, because he is going to work today…just not for another few hours. The trip to Seoul is a few weeks behind him, and it’s only plagued his mind more with each passing day. Now he’s finally doing what he thinks might help him sleep more soundly at night. Even the act of texting Seungmin seems forced, and he hates that, because Heecheol knows that deep down inside he feels the same about Seungmin as he did right before everything happened…and two months ago, when he laid eyes on him again after so many years. His friend grew into something he didn’t expect. From awkward and small; terrible eyesight; quiet and timid until he was on the pitcher’s mound, to what he is now. Seungmin is something else entirely—quiet, but charming and handsome. He carries himself well, whether he’s aware of it or not. The biggest difference, though, is that he’s now capable of the same violence that lived inside of his step father.

Still, as conflicted as he is about what he witnessed (it’s still sitting in a weird place in his head, like it hasn’t truly settled in yet...as if he dreamed the whole thing), part of him wonders what could have been, had the two of them found each other before you crossed his path. Even if Seungmin had no romantic feelings for Heecheol, it still could have been just the two of them…and god, how how badly he wants that. It’s painful to think about.

The bus takes him past the hospital and continues north for another few miles before the scenery starts to become familiar. Not a good familiar. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel once he got this close, but now it’s here—a cold, heavy rock sitting in the pit of his stomach. But visions of his childhood come through much clearer now. Warm summer nights in the greenhouse, looking at the stars; staying up too late and laughing too loudly, risking the wrath of his step father; testing their courage by seeing who could stand at the edge of the woods the longest, backs to the trees. Seungmin somehow won every time.

The bus driver eyes him curiously as he exits, and the loneliness sinks in as he drives off. It’s already unnaturally quiet, and he hasn’t even reached the edge of the forest yet. Now he has to walk two miles through it, and he’s beginning to have second thoughts.

The backyard looks the same. The greenhouse, the hanok…everything is exactly as he remembers it. It was summer when he left all those years ago, so even the wildflowers are nearly identical; the chipped paint, overgrown grass, and rotting wood is the only giveaway that so much time has passed. Heecheol half expects them—Seungmin and him—to come ripping around a corner laughing. But it’s quiet. More quiet than he remembers it ever being.

The first place he heads for is the greenhouse.

Inside, everything is in full bloom, and it’s more crowded with flowers than he’s ever seen it. He doesn’t know the names of them like Seungmin and his umma did, but he recalls seeing the purple ones (dried up and withering away) in Seungmin’s bedroom.

He walks up the messy path past the shed, and when he gets to the front door of the house, he’s not surprised to find it locked. As abandoned as it seems to be on the outside, the inside must be relatively well-kept if the two of you were staying here. Breaking in crosses his mind, and why not? Would one little broken pane of glass seem suspicious? It doesn’t take much to convince himself. Heecheol finds a rock, then changes his mind and looks around for something with a little more weight. A dragon statue catches his eye, and he remembers Seungmin finding and spending all of his allowance on it for his umma. He had to, he said, because they were both dragons, so technically it was for both of them. Heecheol picks it up, and the corner is sent into the bottom right panel of the window. It takes two tries, but he succeeds, and finding the latch and opening it is too easy. Climbing through the small window is a little more difficult at six feet tall, but he manages it gracefully.

He was right. The inside looks dated, but lived in. The first aid kit sits on the kitchen table, and blood seeping from that self-inflicted (he has to assume) wound runs through his head. Heecheol isn’t sure why he’s here, or what he’s looking for, but he wanders through each room anyway. Maybe he’s hoping he’ll learn more about his friend just by being in this space and breathing this air again. He needs to know what turned him into a killer.

***

Both of you slept in this morning, and after your two bowls of bibimbap are finished, (Seungmin tried to push a third on you) it’s finally time to see the six week old twins. The last two weeks were better than the others, so you’re hoping to hear at least one of them has finally reached the two kilogram mark.

You watch carefully as the nurse fills a bottle with your breastmilk, and she hands it to Seungmin. “Haneul has one more test to pass. Dad will feed Haesung, since the two of you have been successful…” She waits as Seungmin reaches in for him, and by now, he scoops him up easily and confidently before taking the bottle. “And we’ll see how well big brother latches onto mom.”

They took to pacifiers and bottles quickly, but actually feeding from you has been a challenge, and you can’t figure out why. You cradle Haneul and sit, and when he opens his eyes, his recognition of you feels stronger than it ever has. Daengmo made the trip with you this time—a desperate attempt, but the dog feels a little otherworldly sometimes.

“Go ahead and try…just like you have been.” The nurse tells you. She hasn’t lost any faith in your ability to do this with him, but you she must sense your nerves.

“Okay, sweetheart...” you adjust yourself and bring him closer. “Just like we talked about, right?” This time you relax, because every other time, your overthinking didn’t help at all. Seungmin watches quietly, and the sounds of Haesung feeding relax you even more. “Oh, I think he did it.” His fists clench, and as soon as his fingers find Daengmo’s soft ear, they open and close around it.

“Yeah, he did.” Seungmin whispers. “You two ready to go home?” He looks down at Haesung happily eating, and he stares right back up with wide open eyes. Seungmin gently pulls back on the bottle until it’s free. “I’m sorry buddy, you need to catch your breath.” He swallows and sighs, and when it seems like he takes in enough air, he starts to fuss.

***

The sun is low in the sky when he gets to Seungmin’s bedroom. He didn’t expect to stay so long, but it was easy getting lost in the things that were left behind. In here, it’s easy to see how abruptly things stopped that night. It doesn’t seem like Seungmin has taken much, or even moved things since he left for his grandmothers house. Heecheol needs to keep things as neat as possible, or he’ll know someone was going through his room.

But he quickly realizes that nothing in here will give him any answers. Everything about this space is him before all of the bad things happened. Enough time has been wasted, and he needs to walk through the woods again to get out of here—he has no intention of doing that after sunset. Heecheol cleans up the mess of glass and pulls the curtain tight, and he looks back at the house one more time as he heads down the pathway. He ignored it the first time, but as he walks past the shed, he stops. What could be in there except for the memories of stories he was told about the long, cold nights locked inside? It makes him nauseous just thinking about the mental anguish Seungmin endured in there. Just him, the cold silence, and the smell of—

“What is that?” He says to himself and looks around. It’s just him here, he knows that, so why is he suddenly catching the familiar scent of a fresh cigarette? The smell turns his stomach even more, but it must be in his head. “Is someone here?” His heart pounds as he waits for an answer from nobody. Silence. Just the wind, and the slow creak of the shed door. “Fuck, I need to get out of here.” He tries. Heecheol’s next step lands wrong, and he barely catches himself as he falls forward into the patchy grass. His wrists give out, and he ends up flat on the ground—uninjured, at least. But he can’t even laugh at his clumsiness. Heecheol jumps up and looks around again, still expecting to see someone. Or something. The smell seems to have disappeared, so he shakes it off—he shakes everything off and starts his walk toward the pine trees.

With any luck, he’ll make it out before dusk hits and darkness takes over, but he’ll have to walk fast.

“There’s nothing in there. We were stupid kids just making stuff up and seeing things that weren’t there, and Seungmin is fucking schizophrenic…of course he saw things.” Telling himself that does nothing to quell his nerves, and he feels a pang of guilt for what he says about his friend. Seungmin was tortured and ridiculed for seven years, and the same hands that did it took his mother. Of course something inside of him needs to take that power back, that control, and kill. Maybe he did find some answers.

The woods seem to take every last sound as he enters, and Heecheol moves quickly down the middle of the narrow dirt road. Two twisty miles. He could cut right through and make it a little more than a mile, but he wouldn’t risk it, not with night so close. The trees are disorienting and everything in here looks the same, so another misstep could be disastrous. Just walk, don’t listen, don’t look around.

***

Seungmin can’t take his eyes off of them as they cling together at his bedside. You told him they had to sleep in their own cots, but keeping them together was fine as long as one of you were awake to watch them. And that’s what he does—he watches, and he still can’t believe how natural it is for them to hold each other the way they do. They are the same now; almost the same size, same dark eyes, same head full of hair just like he had as a baby. The nose, the ears…his ears. Truly identical.

“Hey…” Seungmin looks behind him where you’re starting to doze off on your side of the bed.

“Yeah?”

“What if I mix them up?” He’s serious. You’ve never seen him look so serious. “Is that possible?”

“Do you know who is who right now?”

He stands and looks down at them. “Uhm…yes. This is Haneul,” Seungmin adjusts the mitten on his left hand, “and this is Haesung.”

“Mhm. How can you tell?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I just know?” He looks to you for more reassurance, and you crawl across the bed to give it to him.

Your first few weeks home after giving birth were difficult, and Seungmin knew to give you all the space you needed, for as long as necessary. Eventually, you felt yourself returning to the way you were before you found out you were pregnant, and before you thought he was growing less attracted to you. You couldn’t have been more wrong about that, but the two of you are still working on getting back to the way things were.

A shiver runs through him when you squeeze his shoulders. “And if it helps, Haneul has a little mole…” you place a kiss on top of Seungmin’s left ear, “right there. Haesung doesn’t.”

“It does.” He turns and gives you a look—a look that says please kiss me, touch me. Anything. All he’s gotten in weeks is a sleepy handjob. He’s been so patient.

“Lay down with me.” You pull him until he follows you under the blanket. “You’re gonna kiss me until my alarm goes off. We have eight minutes.”

***

The sun is setting a lot faster than it should be. Either that, or he’s walking slower than he realizes. It’s not like this isn’t familiar. As monotonous as the walk through these trees tends to be, he remembers landmarks, and most of those landmarks are still here. But still, he’s losing light, and the end of the road is nowhere in sight. Heecheol checks the time—6:55. The tops of the trees swallow up the sun, and whatever signal he had back at the house. Some sound returns, though...a rustle of dry leaves, as if an animal is scittering through them; a very distant bird song.

Almost there, he says, almost…can’t be more than a kilometer left, right? He should have checked his steps before he started. Maybe he should have just stayed home, or went in to work early for the night. And suddenly, as if the forest can feel his nerves starting to boil over, just like the smell of cigarette smoke hit him by the shed, another familiar scent starts to fill his nose. He wants the smoke back. He would trade this for any other smell. It has to be in his head, though—it has to be his fear going into overdrive and making him think he’s smelling the rotting corpse of a deer. Maybe that’s what it is. There aren’t many, but he’s seen deer running from these woods and through the yard plenty of times. It only makes sense that one would wind up dead not far from the road at some point.

Cheoli?

He cups his ears and closes his eyes. How stupid of him to come here, alone. Alone! Walking through this horrible fucking forest by himself so late in the day. And for what? He found nothing useful here.

Heecheol. Is that better?

Why does it sound so sweet and light and feminine?

“Stop, please. I just want to leave.”

Maybe you’re still accustomed to Hale

The voice sounds like you. It sounds shaken and full of curiosity, just like you did when you asked about this place. It even has your accent down. Why is he hearing your voice in his head?

I’m not in your head

“Yes you are.” Heecheol walks faster and starts humming loudly to himself. If someone were to stumble across him, they would assume he was out of his mind. He feels out of his mind.

okay, I am…but I’m also right here

The forest floor hurts much more when he hits it, and this time, there’s no catching himself. He tastes blood on his lips, and a moment later, the unbearable throb of his wrist hits. If it wasn’t a twig he landed on, it was definitely his bone snapping. Where? He blinks the dirt from his eyes and looks around, but there’s nothing. And then there is something…the sound of footsteps. Heecheol scrambles to his feet, injured arm tucked against his chest, and stumbles as he tries to find some balance. He fails and lands hard on his side, and everything in front of him goes fuzzy and dull, like an old vhs recording. It doesn’t go away when he shakes his head.

stop moving so much

The voice changes. It’s stuck somewhere between yours, and the raspy smokers voice of Seungmin’s step father. It’s a horrible sound and it makes his wince.

that’s better, let me look at you

it slowly loses the sweetness of yours, and now it’s somewhere between his and something inhuman. “Where are you?”

you remind me of him

“Who?” He needs to stop talking to it.

but you’re weaker than him

Seungmin? Is the voice talking about Seungmin? He doesn’t ask. Heecheol keeps his mouth shut, but his mind is racing. If the static in his vision would go away, he could get up and run, but it’s getting worse. The only thing he can think to do is reach for his phone, and when he finds it, he pulls up anything he can. He can’t see, and only one hand is functioning properly, but whatever he does works. A ring. So he has a signal now. Two, three rings…four.

“Hello? Cheoli?”

“Seungmin, can you hear me?”

“Yeah…the connections bad, but…are you okay?”

“N-no. I don’t know.”

“No? It’s getting worse, I’m losing you.”

The call drops. He’s alone again.

***

Seungmin’s furrowed brow would be cute if he didn’t look so serious. It’s not just confusion on his face, it’s worry. A lot of it. You heard his phone ring, but everything else was lost in your post-nap fog. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer right away, so you turn and check the cot on your side. Haneul is still sound asleep after his first time eating at home. Next you crawl over Seungmin, still quiet and staring at his phone, and check on Haesung. He’s just coming out of his nap, and a soft cry is starting. Before he can get too far, you reach in and run your thumb across is slowly fattening cheek.

“Uhm…not sure.” Seungmin tries calling one more time, and when it doesn’t connect, he starts typing. “It was Heecheol, but he sounded weird. The call dropped and I can’t get him now.”

“Do you have his mother’s number?”

He shakes his head and drops the phone in defeat, but he’ll worry until he hears back. “Hopefully the text gets through.”

“What did he say?”

“I asked if he was okay…he said I don’t know.”

“It’s hard not to worry, but I’m sure you’ll hear back soon.”

Seungmin needs and appreciates your positivity, but everything about the short phone call, even the static as it struggled to connect, felt strange. He checks the message he sent, but it’s just an error message now. Not delivered. “Yeah. I’ll try to keep my mind off of it.” Haesung is starting to cry a little louder now, so Seungmin pockets his phone. “Are you hungry again, buddy? Maybe you need changed.” He looks to you, because he’s only had the chance to do that a few times during hospital visits.

Every new experience with them is exciting for him, no matter what it is, even a diaper change. He insists you just watch while he works on Haesung, who’s still softly crying from whatever is bothering him. And as sweet as Seungmin finds the sound, at least for now, he hates not knowing exactly what’s wrong.

Before he can unsnap his onesie, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Heecheol?”

The static is loud enough to hear from a few feet away, and you don’t hear a voice behind it.

“Cheoli, I don’t know if you can hear me…I can’t hear you.” Seungmin’s voice is strained, as if he’s holding back the urge to scream into the phone. “I can’t hear you.” He stays on the line for a few more seconds before giving up and ending the call.

What can you say to him to put his mind at ease? This isn’t how you want his first day at home with the twins to be—plagued by worry and helplessness. You know he would benefit from a Xanax if you can convince him to take one. “Let’s get them changed and I’ll make you some tea. And maybe you should take something.”

“Take something?” Haesung squirms and kicks when Seungmin sets his palm on his stomach. “Oh, right…maybe. Tea would be good.” He looks at you every few seconds as he works, but you don’t know if it’s nerves about the job he’s doing, or if he’s trying to read something else on your face.

“I want you to enjoy your first day here with them, and I know that’s gonna be hard now, but they want all of you.”

Seungmin looks at Haneul, comfortable in your arms, and then back to his hands as they finish fastening the new diaper. The sound Haesung makes as he kisses his forehead finally gets a smile out of him.

The worst headache he’s ever had in his life is pulses behind his eyes, and the tiny line of sunlight coming in is excruciating. He can’t move. He doesn’t want to move, but he needs water and pain killers. Heecheol knows only one thing, and that’s that he is currently lying in his own bed. He doesn’t even know what day it is, or how he got here, because the last thing he does remember is falling in the woods and…his wrist. The pain in his head is masking the pain of his fractured, swollen wrist until he moves it. “Fuck. Umma!”

A few seconds later, the soft sound of her slippered feet hit the hardwood floor. “I’m coming Cheoli. You must have had a rough night, there’s fresh coffee out here for you.”

“Umma, please bring me some water and Tylenol. And ibuprofen. Please, I’m sorry.” Asking his sick mother to fetch him things is his new low. Past Heecheol would roll his eyes at him. She doesn’t mind, though. She’s back a minute later with a bottle and a handful of pills.

“That bad? Oh, Cheoli, your wrist!”

He looks at it again and realizes just how bad it looks. It’s nearly twice the size of his right one. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine, umma, I just need to get this headache under control and I’ll get to the hospital.”

“Weren’t you just there a few hours ago?”

“What time did I get home?”

She sits on the edge of the bed and thinks. “Oh, it must have been around 6 am, when I took my medicine.”

“I got home at 6am?” He throws four pills in his mouth and downs the entire bottle as she nods at him.

So he can’t remember anything between 7 pm yesterday and waking up at noon. That’s a lot of missing time. His phone doesn’t give him much, but he does see several calls between him and Seungmin. One he made that lasted about eight seconds, and then two from Seungmin that he definitely doesn’t remember getting. There’s also an unread text message that delivered around the same time he got himself home.

Hey, my calls aren’t getting through. What’s going on, are you okay? This might not get through, either. Please call me when you can.

The signal isn’t strong in the outer parts of Uljin, so the bad connection isn’t surprising. He just can’t remember a single fucking thing after that fall…and now the eight second phone call. Heecheol decides he’ll call Seungmin, but not until after some x-rays and a splint.

***

“It’s just a sprain, surprisingly.” The doctor squints at the x-ray, but she doesn’t have to explain it further for him. He’s seen plenty of broken wrists on this light box. “I was sure with that swelling it was going to be much worse, but that’s because you let it go for so long.”

“Yeah, I had a weird night.”

“I’ll stabilize it for you, but you know we can’t do much else. Keep up with the Tylenol, and expect light duty for a while. Or just use some of your time off for a change.”

Time off. Right, he does have some saved up, but using it while he’s injured seems silly. He keeps telling himself he can use that time for an actual vacation, but he never plans anything, and he rarely leaves home. But another trip to Seoul is always a possibility. No…I can’t do that again. What if I see more of something I don’t wanna see? Maybe he should see more, because Heecheol still feels like he dreamed the whole thing.

The phone rings a few times, and eventually, he gets the generic voicemail message. He doesn’t leave one.

Hey, I’m sorry if I made you worry. Hope you’re well. How are the twins?

Seungmin calls as soon as the text delivers.

Cheoli! You’re alright? What the hell was going on last night?

He hears him, but it’s through that same static. A little bit more of last night returns to him.

Cheoli, say something

Sorry, hey. His head starts to throb again. “I’m good, everything is okay. I had a little too much to drink last night, and it’s finally starting to wear off.” There is a small chance he’ll actually believe that.

“I was wondering if you were ever gonna get in touch again, considering what happened last time”

Oh god, he knows. No, you idiot. The babies. “How are they?”

We brought them home yesterday! They both reached their goal weight and passed all the tests.” His voice quiets. “It’s scary, though. They’re still so small and fragile.

They’ll grow fast, and I’m sure they’ll seem fragile to you for a long time. But I don’t wanna keep you. Go be with them, and maybe we can just forget about the weird drunk call.

Already forgotten

The static in his head dissipates along with the call.

***

The buzz of his phone wakes him immediately, probably because he’s quickly become accustomed to jumping at the smallest sound, but he ignores it until he looks in on both of them. Haneul is on his side of the bed tonight, sound asleep—you’re finally in a deep sleep, too, so he’s careful about leaning over and looking into the cot on your side.

Seungmin is the only one awake, and his text message is, not surprisingly, from Heecheol. He must be at work, and bored, to be texting at 5:30 in the morning.

I’ll be in Seoul tomorrow! Maybe tonight. I won’t impose on you, I can get a hotel. Just wanted to let you know.

He doesn’t say why he’ll be here, but it doesn’t matter. Seungmin doesn’t mind his friend visiting, especially since he clearly didn’t witness anything too damning last time. He doesn’t act like he did, at least. Good enough for him; maybe not good enough for you.

“Why are you up, Minnie?” You mumble into your pillow.

Seungmin smiles and brushes the hair away from your face. “Just checking on them.”

It’s almost time for your alarm to go off anyway, so you sit up and start the process of waking yourself up.

“Did you get enough sleep? I can bottle feed both of them if you’re too tired.” He gives you his best puppy eyes, because he genuinely means it. Tired or not, Seungmin always tries to get you back into bed, and he has yet to say no to a feeding or a diaper change.

“I could never do this without you.” His eyes drop to your chest when you lay back again, and they stay there as you adjust and feel yourself to gauge the tenderness. He moves your way, shifting over until he’s snug against your side, and he very carefully wraps his arm around you. “I’m starting to think you were made for this whole parenting thing.”

That feeling of inadequacy keeps fading for you as the days pass with them, but it’s nonexistent in Seungmin’s mind. There never seemed to be any doubt in him about your ability to be a mother, and if he ever doubted himself, he hid it well.

He squeezes tighter and smiles, but his eyes don’t leave your breasts. “You think so?”

“Mhm. And I always took you for a thighs and ass guy, but maybe that’s because these weren’t there.”

A warm hand moves beneath the blanket, down your hip, and then slowly back up to your side. “No, I like your…everything. I always have.” But his need to touch the soft skin spilling out of your sports bra overtakes him, and he kisses and bites until you start to laugh. “Everything.”

“No favorite parts?”

“Favorite, hmmm…” He leans back a little and looks you over, and now you’re feeling shy under his intense gaze. “Yes.”

Seungmin’s smile makes your stomach flip, and you’re struck with a strange sadness—a looming feeling that he’s going to be ripped away from you, and you don’t know why, or where it’s coming from. Pregnancy hormones are still running wild through you, and nothing makes much sense right now. Just him, and them, and it’s all so much. You’ve never felt overwhelmed with love for so many things at once.

“This.” The pad of his thumb runs across your temple and tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “Because…it helps keep mine together. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do I? I don’t…I don’t know either.”

The silence is interrupted by Haesung crying out. It’s the loudest you’ve heard from either of them, and it sends a wave of panic through you. He swings his fists through the air and toward his face until you carefully lift him and hold him against your chest. “He’s warm.” You carefully remove the mittens from his hands. “How does Haneul feel?”

Seungmin reaches in and touches his forehead, his chest, and his legs. “Seems okay.” His eyes pop open and his fingers go right to his mouth. “Just hungry, I think.”

You stand with him and head toward the kitchen, hoping the motion will calm Haesung and quiet his cries. It may just be hunger, but it doesn’t sound like a hungry cry. You don’t get far. “Seungmin!” It slips out. Shouting is the last thing you want to do, but you can’t help it. The noise brings out another cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“There…right there, don’t you see it?” It’s been so long, you almost forgot about them. “It’s sitting there, by the stool.”

He looks, but there’s no reaction or jump or surprised gasp. “I don’t see anything. Let me get the light.”

“The dog. It’s the white dog. It’s staring right at me.”

Clearly he sees nothing, because you watch as he walks right by the two blue eyes to switch on the kitchen light. It’s there, tall and still, head down and eyes pointed at you, and then at Seungmin as he makes his way back to you.

“Close your eyes.” He blocks your view and sets a hand on Haesung, who’s tiny back is still heaving from his steady crying. “It’ll be gone when we look again.”

Maybe, if you count backwards from ten. Nine…eight…seven…your eyes pop open when Haesung starts to calm down. His face finally relaxes, and when he looks at you, the feeling of dread seems to pass. “Did you feel it , sweetheart? Is it gone?” You peek around Seungmin’s shoulder and look. It is gone.

The rest of the morning, Seungmin seems to look around hesitantly when one of the boys cry, and his eyes linger in every dark corner as he walks around the apartment. After mentioning it and pulling out the black wallet from the cafe several times, you manage to convince him you’ll be fine by yourself for an hour or two. Still, he’s reluctant to leave after the dog sighting.

“I was hopeful for a while that it was just…nothing. Stress. And then I wondered if they were pregnancy dreams.” Even though you were both having them. The shared delusions don’t really faze you much anymore. “Now they feel like bad omens.”

“Omens of what?”

“I dunno. But if you’re feeling itchy, go, I want you to. But please be careful.”

Seungmin goes, but he regrets it as soon as he hits the sidewalk and starts his trip south. The only thing on his mind is the three of you, all alone for the first time since coming home a few weeks ago. And even though they’re almost always quiet and happy (he was starting to wonder why babies are so stressful for some parents, but he’s guessing you and him have been lucky so far), and even with two of them, easy enough for one of you to handle solo for a few hours.

Still, he feels guilty. He tries to shake it off and focus on the task at hand—casing the creep that harassed you last month. Seungmin hasn’t forgotten, and he’s no less angry than he was the moment he witnessed him mouthing off and grabbing you. He still sees your distressed face, so close to tears—breaking his nose wasn’t enough, he’s looking forward to this one.

But he’s just gathering information today. Seungmin doesn’t want this guy anywhere near the apartment, even if he isn’t getting out alive.

He finds a bench across the street from the address on his business card—a life insurance salesman. Seungmin still finds it funny all these weeks later, but 5 pm comes and goes, and he starts getting antsy. A late worker, of course. Or maybe he just has a family he doesn’t want to go home to. Seungmin is hoping for no family to make his job much simpler. He decides to pull out his phone to give you an update, but there’s already a text waiting for him…

I think they miss you

Oh, are they upset? I can head back, just say the word

no no we’re fine sweetie…just wanted you to know how much we looove you

A warm blush creeps up his neck and face as he types. He knows you don’t want him distracted, just to be extra cautious.

더 사랑해

He catches him in his peripheral vision, taking his time, digging in his bag as he heads for the crosswalk. Seungmin follows. The man seems distracted, so keeping up is no problem, and the streets are just busy enough to keep him hidden. The walk isn’t going to be far, though. The address on his license is only a few blocks away, but Seungmin starts to feel uneasy halfway into the tail, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s just him. Just worry. Stress. Less sleep. Thinking of your last words to him before leaving gives him the extra push he needs.

Go, you’ll feel better when it’s done. And I’ll feel better when I get to hear all the details.

You haven’t been shy about asking for details lately. Seungmin has told you stories about almost all of his kills now, most of them in the last two weeks. Yesterday you asked, very sweetly, for him to wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze just a little. He resisted for a while, but giving in was inevitable. You felt far too fragile beneath his touch, and he didn’t ask if you got flashbacks the way he did as his thumbs caressed your throat. Flashbacks, and all of his blood rushing to his cock as you pulled and scratched to get him closer. Seungmin was relieved that you initiated. He was afraid to admit how badly he needed you if you weren’t ready yet, but you needed him just as much.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. No more distractions. The man takes a left, and he’s gone, but not for long—the building he disappears into is the one.

“Seungmin!”

Not him. Some other Seungmin. There must be at least one other Seungmin on this street right now. Focus.

“Mo!”

There’s only one Seungmo. Despite his racing heart—racing from the chase, and now racing double because Heecheol is in the city already, in this district, on this street. How is that possible? The sound of his friend’s soft voice is good to hear, though, he’ll admit. Maybe today wasn’t the day. Seungmin turns to look, but it takes a moment to find Heecheol’s face in the crowd. “Cheoli?” But even after the crowd dissipates, there’s no sign of him. Heecheol isn’t here, and he’s not on the other side of the street, either. “Heecheol?” The buzz in his pocket brings him back, barely, but the text message does the rest of the work.

This is where I’m staying. Just got here, earlier than I was expecting. Hope to see you!

The newest message is a room number.

Heecheol is miles away, so why did he hear his voice so clearly?

“Hi”

“Hi, you okay?”

“Mm, yeah, but I think today might be a bust. I’m gonna head home.”

It’s not a complete lie—he would never lie to you, but before Seungmin starts home, he decides to take a short detour. A quick subway ride to Heecheol’s hotel, and he’ll pick up dinner on the way back. It works out, because he very obviously chose somewhere as close as possible to the apartment. He wonders if he should let him know he’s on the way, or if the surprise visit would be nice. He did say hope to see you, and he sent his room number, as well. Sounds like an invitation.

A pang of guilt hits him on the way up the elevator. His mind remains on you, of course, and how you’re doing at home all by yourself. But he knows you’re fine, because you’d call or text if you needed him immediately. Seungmin won’t be long here, and he’ll pick up all of your favorites on the way home.

He knocks, and he listens to the soft sounds on the other side of the door. Footsteps, maybe a look through the peephole, the click of the locks. The door swings open, and he sees him. Just sees him. It’s his friend, he knows, but the static filling up his head makes his knees buckle and his eyes water. Seungmin doesn’t think he’s ever fainted in his life, but this must be what it feels like.

“Mo…hey, you good?”

Hands grip his shoulders and shake him a little, and he comes to. It’s no longer pitch black, but his vision is fuzzy, and the static turns to a low hum that slowly quiets as Heecheol comes into view.

“Seungmin, say something.”

“H-hey, Cheoli.” He stumbles in with the help of Heecheol steadying him, and suddenly, he’s fine. Like nothing happened. Uhm, yeah I’m good. Sorry.”

“If you say so. You look good.” He closes the door, and sweeps his arm across Seungmin’s shoulders as he faces him again. “You must have been doing something important.”

“Important?”

Heecheol lifts Seungmin’s hand and examines the rings on his fingers. Seungmin lets him—he’s still trying to get his brain to catch up. “Yeah. Are these really Loewe?”

“Yeah, sorry…I don’t wear them much.”

“Sorry?”

He spins them nervously, “they’re flashy, I don’t like being flashy,” and finally looks at his friend. His hair is messy and damp from the shower, and he looks comfortable in his sweatpants and t-shirt. “I should have told you I was coming.” There’s a black splint on one wrist. “What ha—“

“No, you didn’t have to. Surprise is nicer.”

The hum returns. It feels like his brain is bouncing off the sides of his skull. If only Heecheol would reach out and squeeze it like a vice—that might make it better. “Cheoli.” He breaths. The faint feeling is coming back, and he isn’t sure he can stop it. Seungmin reaches for him, and his forearm is grasped tight by Heecheol’s good hand.

“Seungmin.” He replies matter-of-factly, face blank, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Come here.”

“Okay…” he takes a step closer, and Heecheol pulls him until they’re almost nose to nose. But he doesn’t step back. He does nothing but examine his face; his sharp eyes, his parted lips. “O-okay.”

It’s not really a shock when their lips press together. No, not at all, because you’ve already told him this—that his best friend is in love with him. You told him it’s okay, it isn’t strange or uncomfortable for you. It’s understandable, you said, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Seungmin laughed when you said that. There’s a laugh rising his chest right now, but he keeps it down as Heecheol pulls away to get a better grip on his mouth.

Seungmin wonders if you knew this would happen, and if this is okay. The guilt he felt about not being home with you doubles…triples as he opens his mouth to let Heecheol’s tongue in. It stopped though, the humming, that horrible feeling in his brain. All that’s left is a shiver running up his thighs, and the undeniable throbbing between them.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it.

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sunshineangel0 · 24 hours ago

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a theory of love

pairing- Professor!Kim Seungmin x Fashion Assistant!Reader summary- A fashion assistant and a literal genius find themselves on a date in an upscale restaurant, navigating their differences with humor and warmth. As insecurities creep in, they realize that intelligence comes in many forms—and maybe, just maybe, love doesn’t need a formula to work. genre- Fluff, Romance, Light Humor word count- 1.1k warnings- Mild language, mention of alcohol, light self-doubt/insecurity a/n- ahh i finally did it!!! the arvin and haley from modern family inspired seungmin x reader fic!! hope you like it! 😊💖

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place that whispered elegance in hushed candlelight and overpriced wine. A soft murmur of conversation hummed around you, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. The air smelled of aged oak and truffle oil, a distinct reminder that this was not your usual kind of place. It wasn’t exactly your scene—though, in fairness, you weren’t sure what your scene was anymore. Lately, your life had felt like a chaotic series of events stitched together with double-knotted (😉) hope and caffeine-fueled survival.

Your date, on the other hand, looked like he belonged here.

Kim Seungmin. A literal genius.

Not just the “oh, he’s really smart” kind of genius, but the “has-won-awards-and-actually-discovered-elements” kind of genius. The kind who spoke in equations and theories and had NASA plaques somewhere in his office. The kind who was universally impressive in every way.

And then there was you.

A fashion assistant who had once used a shoelace to hold up a broken bag strap because you "didn’t have time for physics." A college dropout who navigated the world through instinct, aesthetic, and sheer determination rather than formulas and theorems. You weren’t unintelligent—you knew that much. But there was a difference between knowing how to style an outfit that could make a magazine cover and understanding the atomic structure of the universe. And unfortunately, you were firmly in the former category.

You watched Seungmin as he spoke, his voice smooth and measured, as if he were carefully picking the most precise words. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows in that effortlessly cool way, and his fingers tapped lightly against the table as he explained something—something about molecular structures or spectroscopic methods. The words filtered through your brain like static, half-comprehended and quickly dissolving into the ether of your mental fatigue.

“So, while that theory had been debated for years, our research team was finally able to prove it using a new form of spectroscopy. It was—”

“Totally! Wow,” you cut in, nodding rapidly. “That is so… spectroscopic.”

Seungmin blinked at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Spectroscopy,” he corrected gently.

“Right, totally what I said,” you mumbled, taking a sip of your drink, the wine burning a little as it slid down your throat.

He tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement. “You don’t have to pretend to understand, you know.”

You set your glass down, eyes narrowing. “I’m not pretending.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted. “But in my defense, you just said, like, eight words that I didn’t even know existed.”

Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll simplify it. Basically, we proved something that people thought was impossible. It changes how we understand certain atomic structures.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay, but like… does that mean I get a flying car soon?”

He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that sent an unexpected thrill through you. “Not quite, but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

You grinned, relieved to have made him laugh. Because the thing about dating a genius—something you hadn’t fully considered before tonight—was that it came with an invisible weight. Not on his end. On yours.

You liked Seungmin. A lot. He was kind and thoughtful, and despite his intimidating intelligence, he never made you feel small. But sometimes, you felt like a different species entirely, like he was speaking in a language you’d never be fluent in.

“Hey, for the record,” he said, voice softer now, “I like that you don’t think like I do. It’s refreshing.”

You scoffed. “Refreshing? I feel like a kindergartener trying to read Shakespeare.”

Seungmin rested his chin on his hand, considering you. “You do things I could never do,” he said. “You see the world in a way I don’t. That’s impressive.”

You bit your lip, warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well… I guess I do put together some pretty great outfits.”

“That you do.” His gaze flickered over your outfit appreciatively. “In fact, I’m still trying to understand how you matched those patterns and made it work.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “It’s called talent, Professor.”

He chuckled, then took another sip of his drink before setting it down. “So, tell me about work. What’s the latest in the fashion world?”

You brightened at the topic shift. “Oh! So, my boss, right? She’s launching this new campaign, and—”

Before you could finish, your phone buzzed. You glanced down and sighed. Your boss.

“Crap,” you muttered. “I have to take this.”

Seungmin gestured for you to go ahead. “Of course.”

You answered, pressing the phone to your ear as you leaned slightly away. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” your boss demanded. “I need you to approve these fabric samples, like, yesterday.”

“I’m… uh, kind of in the middle of something?” you whispered.

“Is this about that date?” she scoffed. “Listen, unless he’s a billionaire who’s funding our next line, I need you to focus.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can this wait, like, an hour?”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if we end up with the wrong shade of beige, it’s on you.”

You hung up and turned back to Seungmin, giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“All good.” He smirked. “Sounds like high-stakes beige selection.”

“You have no idea.”

There was a beat of silence, then he leaned forward slightly. “You’re really passionate about what you do, huh?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it’s fashion, not, like, world-changing science or anything, but I love it.”

Seungmin studied you for a moment before replying. “You don’t have to change the world for your work to matter.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart skip.

You exhaled, leaning your elbows on the table. “You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re a genius, you’re kind, and you say things like that? It’s unfair.”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, I have my flaws.”

“Name one.”

He pretended to think. “I sometimes get so lost in research that I forget to eat.”

“Okay, that’s just a humblebrag.”

“Fine.” He sighed dramatically. “I’m terrible at assembling IKEA furniture.”

You gasped. “Oh my god. A weakness.”

“Yes.” He nodded solemnly. “It’s my greatest struggle.”

You laughed, and Seungmin smiled at you—really smiled, the kind that made your stomach flip.

For all your differences, for all the ways you felt like you didn’t belong in his world, here he was, looking at you like you were just as fascinating as he was.

Maybe you didn’t need to understand spectroscopy. Maybe he didn’t need to know the intricacies of fabric selection. Maybe—just maybe—there was a theory of love that worked beyond equations and logic.

And maybe, you thought as Seungmin reached across the table to take your hand, you had just proven it.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

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thepoeticpurplepotato · 2 days ago

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Hyunjins has me wheezing 🤣 I love how excited each of them get lol

"I Want A Baby" (Hyung Line)

summary: your boyfriend's reaction when you randomly text them wanting a baby

pairing: skz hyung line x reader

genre: fluff, humor

a/n: this was requested ♡

Maknae Line

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan

Lee Know

Seo Changbin

Hwang Hyunjin

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 11 hours ago

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SKZ DRABBLE-Seo Changbin

When you're in a constant, never ending battle inside your own head, who better to call upon than the God of War himself? or A retelling of Ares and Aphrodite where you're the good girl beaten down by a toxic relationship, he's the morally grey 'bad' guy with a motorcycle, and maybe, just maybe, each other is exactly what you both needed.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Skz Greek Gods AU, Ares, Aphrodite, femreader, y/n, seo changbin, changbin, bin, skz changbin, changbin x you, changbin x reader, seo changbin x you, seo changbin x reader, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, skz smut, skz fluff, skz angst, skz fic, skz drabble, fem reader, afab reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Warnings: Abusive Past Relationships, Domestic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Abusive Ex, Injuries, Insecurities, Self Image Issues, Self Doubt

A/N: For all of you who, like me, are absolute sluts for "Who did this to you?" and a powerful man on his knees before an even more powerful woman. This one's for you.

This one was a long labor of love, you guys. Hope you enjoy. <3

P.S. This is Changbin's motorcylce if you even care.

Soundtrack: 🛡️ State of My Head by Shinedown 🌹 Daydreams by We Three 🛡️ Bleed by Connor Kauffman 🌹 Cravin' by Stileto 🛡️ Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? By Taylor Swift

Title: The Rose and the Sword

You feel like you can't breathe.

You might vomit.

Fuck.

Why was he here? How did he know where you were? You'd thought, of all places, a mortal party would be safe, that he'd never debase himself enough to come here, you'd finally be outside of his clutches.

But he was here, and now, you were panicking.

Terrified.

Stomach in your throat, heart pounding in your ears.

Your barely healed over split lip seems to throb at the thought of him, as if it knows its bestower is near, hunting, stalking you.

Pushing past a few mortal party goers, their faces obscured by their masquerade masks, you ignore their yelps of outrage, stumbling around the nearest corner and down the darkened hallway beyond.

Exit, exit, where the fuck was the exit?

You can practically feel his hot breath on your neck, though you know it's just your imagination, and the thought makes your entire body go numb with fear.

You can't let him put his hands on you again. Not now, not ever.

With that thought, you take a sharp left around a second corner, into another hallway packed with bodies, the sound of the pounding music almost drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, the sound of your panting breaths breaking harsh through your lips.

He's going to catch you, he's going to find you, and when he does-

No.

Before you can wonder what the hell you're doing, you flatten yourself against the wall and slide between someone's faceless body and the cool stone against your back, breathing frantic.

Glancing up, you note offhandedly that the person you've chosen to use as cover is tall, tall enough that they loom over you. When they turn, staring down at you, face obscured by the twisted angles of their lion's mask, mouth agape in a ferocious roar, you can't quite make out the color of their eyes, hidden in shadow.

"Please." You manage to get out around the lump in your throat, staring up into the dark recesses of the mask. "My ex-I just need to-"

You can't get the words out, your throat closes in fear as you hear his familiar voice at the end of the hall, angrily pushing through party goers.

The man towering over you stares down at you, not uttering a word, face expressionless, and you wonder, for the briefest of breathless moments, if he's going to move away, leaving you out in the open.

He has no obligation to help a strange woman begging for help at a party, after all.

But then, as your demise grows closer and closer still, the man leans forward suddenly, caging you back against the wall with his huge, beefy forearms, his muscular, broad body blocking you completely from view.

Your breath catches in your throat, you don't dare breathe, as his forehead meets yours and his shadow covers you completely.

You hold your breath, squeezing your eyes shut and not moving a muscle, as the angry voice of your pursuer sounds just to your left, pausing for a moment, before his harshly muttered sentiments recede down the hall, disappearing into the sounds of the revelers.

Without a word, the large man who just became your savior pulls back, straightening, and your breath tumbles out of you in one fell swoop, your fingers shaking at your side.

The music seems to come back into focus, and you're not sure when it had faded.

"Thank you." You stumble out, but he's already turning to leave, and you adjust your mask on your own face, swallowing hard.

Your resist the urge to call out to him as he disappears into the crowd.

He was a stranger after all.

A stranger first, your hero second.

With one last look, you search for the strange man, but he seems to have gone. You duck your head, and hurry from the party, leaving it all behind.

You're sure you'll never cross paths again.

Somewhere in the distance, the fates laughed.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Changbin's glove hits the bag again, harder this time.

Thwack.

Felix glances around from the other side, his brow arched, a mixture of admiration and concern twisting his pretty features.

Changbin ignores him, and sends another solid punch forward, grunting at the impact.

Thwack.

"You wanna talk about it?" Felix asks, finally stepping around the bag that Changbin is abusing, as he starts to unwind the wraps from his own hands, sweat glistening on the golden skin of his bare chest.

Changbin shakes his head and throws another series of hits, one after the other.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm sure I'll never see her again. But-fuck-"

He feels anger bubble into his throat at the thought of you-obviously terrified, begging a stranger for help like your life was in danger.

And judging by the split in your lip and the bruising he had seen around your eye, even with your mask and the dim lighting, he didn't doubt that maybe it really was.

He growls in frustration and hits the training bag with another series of violent throws, ignoring the growing ache in his knuckles.

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

"Okay." Felix steps between him and the bag as he takes a step back to adjust his footing, giving him a hard, pointed look that has him reluctantly lowering his gloves. "It seems like there's a lot to process here, but the punching bag is not at fault, so let's take a break-"

Changbin sighs and reaches down to strip off the first glove, tossing it to the side a little more aggressively than necessary.

Leave it to Felix to want to talk things through. Some therapeutic shit or something.

Changbin preferred to deal with his problems the old fashioned way, he always had.

Sweat them out, and if that wasn't an option, then fuck them out.

There was a reason the huge ass house he owned had been designed with a private state of the art gym, and a king bed in every room.

He crouches down on the mat, ripping his other glove off before he begins to unwind his wraps jerkily, ignoring the bleeding splits marking his knuckles.

Felix sits down across from him, watching him, and Changbin finally glances up, sending his best friend a glower. "What?"

The sun god merely shrugs and glances down at his own hands, before he tosses his wrap into his bag and reaches for a swig of his water.

"I dunno, kind of seems like you need to talk about some things."

"I don't." Changbin snaps back, clenching his jaw. His muscles ache, his entire body tense with irritation.

Felix doesn't give up. "I think you do, if the current state of your knuckles is any indication." He inclines his head toward Changbin's thrashed knuckles with a little smirk.

"Felix, I said-" His voice turns dangerous, his words slow, as if he's really trying to hit them home. "-I don't need to talk about it."

Felix, to his credit, doesn't look cowed in the slightest by the God of Wrath's obvious fury.

Changbin stands back up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What I need, is to spar. So come on. Get up."

Felix sighs, but pushes himself to his own feet and silently begins to rewrap his hands as Changbin heads to the regulation size boxing ring in the very center of the gym.

He slides between the ropes, his own hands already stinging from before, and throws a few punches into the air experimentally.

Jab.

He doesn't need to talk about it.

Jab.

He's never let a woman stay in his head longer than a day.

Jab.

Tomorrow, he won't even remember your face.

Jab.

The fates are cruel, but surely not that cruel, right?

Felix appears before him, hands up and ready, and Changbin hits him immediately with a frantic flurry of throws.

He needs to get this tension, and you, out of his system, and fast.

The steady feel of his gloves glancing off of Felix's well timed defenses helps him steady his resolve.

He breathes evenly-in, out, in out.

And throws another round of punches.

Thwack.

He's already forgotten the twisted look of horror on your face. The ring of bruising around your eye. The desperate pull of your full lips as you begged him to protect you.

'Please.'

Thwack.

🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️

Thwack.

Your glove bounces off of Changbin's and he grins at you as he parries, readjusting on the balls of his feet as he dodges you easily.

"C'mon, princess, focus."

You grit your teeth and try to forget the sweat dripping down your spine, the feel of your hair plastered to your sticky, overheated skin.

You take in his position, and throw another punch, this one aimed for his side.

Your glove lands solidly, and Changbin grunts with the force of the impact, steadying you as your body collides with his on the follow up, your momentum driving you forward into him before you can right yourself.

You grin up at him, a brow arched as you both breathe heavily.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, fuck, princess-" He swears, wincing slightly, but grinning down at you proudly. "-just like that."

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

You don't know why you're here tonight.

Or maybe you do-because you're sure he won't be here tonight.

You can feel the eyes on you-the whispers and the glances at the bruising that still has yet to disappear beneath your eye-but you doggedly ignore them, taking a long sip of your ambrosia.

There is a commotion by the doors that lead into the grand ballroom, and offhandedly, your gaze draws to the men who enter-one with hair as yellow as the sun and a dainty beauty that puts even the women here to shame and the other large and muscular, wearing a breastplate-an odd choice for a party-and wickedly, dangerously handsome.

You're drawn to the latter of the two for some strange reason, and Artemis, standing beside you, must notice.

You feel her elbow you, and when you glance to her curiously she shakes her head at you with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, no girl, don't even go there." She warns you in a low voice, and Athena follows her gaze, nodding in agreement immediately. The huntress points toward the men with a tip of her glass. "You just got out of a shitty relationship, protecting your peace and all that, the God of War is hardly the person you want to look to right now."

Ares.

That's why he looked familiar.

There's a weird nagging in the back of your brain, that you're drawn to him for more than just the reason that you've heard about him, but you push it down, giving the huntresses a tight smile as you take another sip of your drink.

"Yeah, of course." You agree with a slight nod, but still, you find your gaze drawn back to the man in the chest plate.

You use the excuse of needing some fresh air to duck out the party a few hours later, heading for the glass doors that lead to the back balcony, and the ensuing acres of dark garden beyond.

The night is chilly, and the balcony and garden are lit up by hundreds of floating fairy lights, making the cobblestones and fountains almost seem surrealistic beneath the twinkle of the small lights.

Sighing, you lean against the railing, the sounds from the party drifting through the open doors behind you.

Tentatively, without really thinking about it, your fingers go up to your eye, cautiously feeling around the socket and wincing slightly when it's still tender to the touch.

You'd done your best to hide the bruising for the party, but it was still obvious-your skin mottled with varying hues of purple into blue into green.

There is the sound of a boot fall behind you, and you whirl, straightening up, because you're never quite out of fight or flight mode, even when you're supposed to be relaxed.

You have him to thank for that.

In front of you, bulky frame silhouetted against the open French doors, hands clenched at his sides, scowl on his handsome face, stands Ares.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The twinkling fairy lights reflect off the fine engraved metal that makes up his chest plate as he advances toward you, and you take a step back, lower back hitting the cold marble of the railing.

Panic claws its way up your throat, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage.

Maybe he'd seen you staring earlier? Maybe he thought you were being rude?

Frantic thoughts flit through your head as he takes another step and then stops, just a few feet away from you, his solid, heavy boots coming to a stop on the cobblestones beneath your feet.

"I-" You start to say, even though you have no idea where you're going to go with this or what your next words will be.

He narrows his eyes, gaze flicking across your face, and when he finally speaks his words are a growl. "Who did that to you?"

You stare at him dumbly. "What?"

He raises his chin toward your face, grinding his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the way a muscle ticks beneath his skin.

"Your face."

You feel like you've been doused in cold water, your lips parting uselessly, your fingers going up unthinkingly to the bruising you know surrounds your eye.

He takes another step toward you, and you sidestep, back now hitting the brick that makes up the wall of the house.

One of his large hands goes down hard next to your head, making you jump slightly, fingers clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening.

He's got you caged in, glaring down at you with fury in his dark eyes.

"Who the fuck did that to you?"

The dangerously cold tone to his words has a shiver running down your spine as you swallow.

You suddenly have the very clear intuition, like a heavy pit in your stomach, that if you were to give him a name, someone would no doubt end up dead tonight.

You swallow again, meeting his gaze, breath coming in little harsh exhales now.

And then it hits you.

Why you know him.

Your eyes widen.

"Lion mask."

He'd been the one who had fucking saved you at the party.

Brief confusion replaces the anger in his eyes, before his jaw tightens once more, that muscle ticking beneath his skin again in a way that has you wanting to trace a finger over it.

He huffs, and pushes himself off the wall, stepping back, putting space between you again.

You feel like you can breathe once more.

Simultaneously, at the same time, you feel like you've just lost all the air in your lungs.

Without another word or backward glance, he turns on his heel and stalks back through the doors into the party.

You slump against the wall, reaching out to the railing for support, your hands shaking slightly.

Dear Gods, you really hope that's the last time you have a run in with the God of War.

However, Fate is a fucking fickle thing, isn't it?

A fickle thing indeed.

🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️

You're coming out of your favorite coffee shop on Olympus-small and quaint, and filled with the freshest flowers, courtesy of Persephone-when you stop dead in your tracks, eyes going wide.

You must be delirious. You reach up and feel your own forehead, just for good measure, but you're not feverish, not even warm.

The god of war and wrath is standing in front of you.

Tall, imposing, impossibly broad arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down, he's dressed in dark jeans, a t-shirt, and leather jacket today, and he's leaning against-a motorcycle.

Because of fucking course he is.

You glance behind you, to make sure he's not pinning someone else beneath his sinfully dark gaze, but nope, the sidewalk is empty.

Well shit.

Against your better judgement, you take a step in his direction, fingers tightening subconsciously around your iced latte.

You swallow, fighting to keep your gaze on his and not look down at your feet, and manage a small, questioning, "Hi again?"

His features don't change, not even when he holds out a helmet in your direction.

You stare at the thing like it's a hydra with seven heads.

"What do-" You start to ask, and he juts his chin over his shoulder to the large bike he currently leans against.

"Get on."

It's a command, low, rough, but not dangerous, you don't think, and your stupid body, already used to following commands and not asking questions, lest you receive a punishment, is already trailing toward him.

"You trust too easily." He remarks in a low timber that has you glancing away, biting your lip, your cheeks reddening.

"I don't-" trust easily, you start to protest, but stop yourself, biting your tongue.

He's right. It's your greatest flaw.

You glance down at the offered helmet once more, and clearing your throat, you carefully set down your coffee, before you stand in front of him, head bowed, avoiding his gaze, your hands going to clench behind the small of your back.

You hear him sigh, and then the sound of a boot on the pavement as he takes a step toward you.

His finger goes beneath your chin, and you startle slightly at the contact, even as he raises your gaze to his own, his dark eyes suddenly swirling.

"Don't do that." He warns in a low, gravelly voice, and you part your lips to ask what he means, but he's already tugging the helmet down over your head expertly.

"But-" You hesitate, not quite studying him, as you flick your eyes over his features and then away again, trying not to shiver at the feel of his fingers brushing your throat as he buckles the straps beneath your chin. "-you're a god."

His eyes flash up to yours. "And you're a goddess." He counters right back, heat making his eyes impossibly dark as he meets your gaze. "But I'm starting to see that someone was incredibly keen on forcing you to forget that."

You stare at him in shock, eyes wide, lips parted, but he doesn't say anything else, flipping the visor down over your face with a flick of his fingers before he turns and swings a leg over the bike. He turns the key and roars the engine to life, and the low rumble that you can feel through the pavement makes a shiver run up your spine.

You're not entirely sure if it's fear or something else.

He glances to you, arching a brow, and you take that as a sign that you should move your ass.

Forgetting your latte on the sidewalk, not sure how you'd hold it anyway, you cautiously swing your leg over the seat behind him.

The bike purrs between your legs like a feral jungle animal, much like the mask its owner had worn at the party that fateful night.

Without warning, he reaches back with one large hand and gathers your wrists in the warmth of his palm, tugging your arms to go around his waist, even as you let out a little yelp of surprise and fall into the broadness of his back.

"Hold on tight." He admonishes you, glancing back at you for a brief moment before he revs the bike and you take off away from the curb in a peal of tires on pavement.

You shriek and cling to him so tightly you would worry if he were any one else that you were strangling the air from his lungs, burying your face into the leather that stretches across his back, eyes scrunched shut.

You're on a motorcycle, plastered to the God of Wrath, going hells knows where.

Fucking hells, what have you done?

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Changbin has been steel hard ever since you willingly, without question, slid onto his bike behind him.

He adjusts himself subtly with one hand as he directs the motorcycle onto the straight way that leads back to his mansion, shifting slightly, but that makes it worse, because he's suddenly reminded of your heat at his back, your arms wrapped around his waist so tightly he can't think.

Fucking hells, he really needs to get a grip.

Trusting so blindly could get you into trouble-judging by the bruising he'd seen on your face a few times now, he has no doubt it already has-but at the same time, something primal within him purrs with satisfaction that you seem to put your faith in him so easily.

Pulling into the large garage, he kills the engine and the silence is deafening, his boots hitting the cement, putting the kickstand down as he slides off the bike with practiced ease.

He glances to you, and he can't read your expression beneath the visor of the helmet he'd fastened beneath your chin earlier.

Gods, your skin beneath his fingers-

He pushes the thought from his mind and ignores the aching erection pulsing beneath the stiff denim of his jeans, taking a step toward you and offering a hand when you still haven't moved.

You hesitate, and then put your hand into his and let him tug you off the back of the bike, albeit a little shakily, but you're on your feet.

He steps forward, pushing up the visor that obscures your face, and resists the urge to run his gaze over every inch of your expression, instead, focusing on his fingers as they move to unbuckle the straps beneath your chin.

"What are we doing here?" You ask, and your voice is small, unsure, and it makes Changbin's anger flare back to life in the pit of his stomach, like someone had told you at one point that you weren't allowed to ask questions and now you're scared to voice them.

The thought makes him see fucking red.

He tugs the helmet off and you swallow, but you don't run from him as he slides past you to put the helmet on the bike, the place where your arms brush sending sparks of electricity down his skin.

He glances to you, and taking a step back to put space between the two of you again, he crosses his arms over his chest, holding your gaze seriously.

The way you curl into yourself, like you're trying to make yourself smaller under his gaze, less of a target, just solidifies something in his very being that this is where you need to be.

Fates be damned, he's not gonna let whoever hurt you lay so much as a finger on you ever again.

His voice is rough with barely restrained anger-not with you, no, never with you, but you flinch anyway-when he speaks again.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight."

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"You know, technically we don't even need to go to these things."

You glance up from where you stand in front of your vanity, finishing up a few touches on your hair and lipstick, at Changbin's voice as he emerges from the huge walk in closet, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit.

You bite back a grin, returning to looping your necklace around your throat and clasping it at the nape of your neck as you answer back thoughtfully, "Yes, but where's the fun in that?"

You hear him huff in response, swearing slightly, probably battling with his cufflinks still, and then the sound of his heavy footfalls behind you.

You glance up as he moves to stand at your back, towering over you, his broadness dwarfing you, as he puts his hands on your hips, and leans over to press a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your skin for a moment.

"You find these things fun?" He remarks back like he doesn't quite believe you, meeting your gaze in the reflection of the mirror, his fingers digging into the silken fabric of the gown you wear. "I think they're a huge waste of time and an excuse for Zeus to be vain and show off in front of his brothers. He just likes to remind them he holds the crown and they don't. It's a giant fucking pissing contest."

You laugh at that, setting down the lipstick you had just finished applying, and reach up, cupping his jaw with your fingers as you arch a brow at him in the mirror with the hint of a smirk.

"Yes, but also, it's an excuse for me to show you off, pet, and I like the jealous glares I get. It feeds my ego."

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he's biting back a grin of his own as he leans down and presses his lips to your pulse point once more.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it. I'm arm candy."

You turn and lean up on tiptoes to connect your lips with his for the briefest moment, careful of your lipstick, running your fingers along the strong line of his jaw before you pull back. "That may be part of the truth, my love-" You tell him softly, lips curving slightly, as you reach up and brush away some rogue lipstick left behind at the corner of his mouth, your eyes flicking up to his. "-we do make an incredibly striking couple, but for a million other reasons, far more important, just know, there is no one I would rather have at my side than you."

********************

Changbin downs the small glass of ambrosia in his hand in one go, and once again, for the thousandth time that night, finds himself cursing these stupid fucking parties.

There's not enough booze, he hates wearing a fucking suit, and everyone is far too uptight, not to mention-

He finds his gaze drawn to you once more, across the space of the open garden, the twinkling fairy lights magicked to dance above the partygoers heads lighting up the shine of your hair as you tip your head back and laugh at something Artemis must have said.

The open back of the dress you wear reveals flawless skin criss-crossed with tinkling delicate silver chains, all the way down to your hips, leaving little to the imagination, and the front is just as plunging, a deep V between the perfect hills of your breasts.

Changbin groans inwardly, as he reaches for another glass of ambrosia off a passing satyr's tray and downs it unceremoniously.

Fuck, he'd really just like to have you all to himself right now, completely at his mercy.

Instead, he's here, and you're there, faking conversation and smiles for the sake of the fucking party.

If you can even call it a party, it's more of a massive fucking cock block at this point.

He scoffs silently and adjusts himself subtly in the pants of his suit.

Luckily, before he can get too fucking hard watching you, his attention is drawn elsewhere.

"Brother." Kratos steps up beside him, champagne flute held between delicate long fingers, his pale, almost white hair slicked back from his forehead, his translucent blue eyes scanning to Changbin in a sort of disdain look before he glances back over the party.

Changbin's never liked the guy, and they're only half brothers at best, but he forces his greeting out somewhat semi cordially anyway with a nod and a grunted, "Kratos" in return.

The god of strength takes a long sip of his drink, and then his eyes skate back over to Changbin in a way that makes his skin crawl.

"You know I don't need to tell you that you shouldn't have let my dear sister in law out of the house looking like that, especially not with her-" His lips pull into a sneer slightly, and Changbin feels himself instantly bristling in response. "-powers and proclivities."

Changbin's gaze follows Kratos' back to you, tilting your head toward Athena as you listen to something she's saying low in your ear, and his eyes are drawn to the bare line of your shoulder, the shadows darkening the notches between your spine, the curling lines of the tattoo that just peaks out from the plunging back of your dress.

His knuckles go white around the glass he's holding, his jaw popping as he grits his teeth.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business-" He finally manages to get out, faking a meter of calm as he glances away from you and back to the man at his side, who is watching him now with a knowing smirk and a cocked brow. Changbin has to force himself not to smash the glass in between his too tight fingers. "-but my wife can wear whatever the fuck she damn well pleases."

Kratos scoffs at that, annoyance flashing across his too pretty features as he rolls his eyes. "Oh please. And I suppose now is the part where you tell me, rather clichély at that, that that's because 'you know how to fight'?"

"No." Changbin shakes his head, and he gives the other man a sudden sharp toothed, dangerous, predatory smile, one that has Kratos obviously swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he takes a wavering step back.

"Because she does."

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It's the third time you've trained with Changbin.

And you're not making any progress.

Your hits are still clumsy and way too soft, not precise at all, and your defensive maneuvers are even worse.

You can tell he's pulling his punches to keep from actually hurting you, but no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to avoid his hits, ending each session with bruises and scrapes, and an entirely too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach-failure.

You're a failure, and he's getting frustrated with you, just like everyone always does when you can't live up to their expectations.

So you're not surprised when he snaps today, blowing out a harsh breath, tugging off his gloves and tossing them on the floor of the ring at his feet, his chest heaving-whether from exertion or anger, you're not sure, but you'd guess the latter-especially judging from the darkening of his gaze as it narrows in on you.

"You have fists, do you not?" He asks in open irritation, eyes flashing, and your mouth falls open slightly, not really sure what he's expecting your response to be.

"Yes?" You reply back in a hesitant tone, and he takes a step toward you, and you instinctively shrink back from him.

His voice drops into a dangerous growl as he advances toward you. "Then fucking use them."

It's an instinct, you know that, to curl in on yourself, make yourself a smaller target, maybe avoid a bit of the fury, the punishment, coming your way.

Your arms curl around your ribcage and you won't meet his angry gaze.

Felix-the sun god-who you've met several times now, who always seems to be in the gym, working out at the same time as the two of you, who seems to be one of the God of Wrath's few friends, gets to his feet outside the ring, watching the interaction warily.

"Changbin." He warns in a low tone.

Changbin pays him no heed, attention focused purely on you.

"You're not even trying-" He chastises you, voice quivering slightly with held back fury, as he takes another step toward you, narrowing the gap. You feel as if you can't breathe. "-and I fucking hate that." His glare darkens, and his hands, wrapped around the knuckles, form angry, shaking fists at his side. His voice raises. "Hit me. Hurt me. Just fucking try something, for gods sakes!"

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry as he closes the last distance between you, your back hitting the ropes, and you duck your head, closing your eyes and digging your nails into the palms of your hands, hidden beneath the thick boxing gloves, readying yourself for the sting of a slap you already know is coming, you've already prepared for.

Suddenly, Felix is between the two of you, his tall body blocking your own, his hands going to shove at Changbin's chest, pushing him back a step.

"Changbin, mate-" He admonishes again, this time in a dangerously serious, louder tone. "-lower your fucking voice, okay? Can't you see she's terrified?"

Changbin stares at him for a long moment, his hands still balled into fists, and then he blinks, and blinks again, before his gaze moves past his friend to where you cower back against the ropes, arms wrapped around yourself as if to hold it together.

Suddenly, he takes a step back, and then another.

"Fuck." He swears, reaching up to rake an agitated hand through his thick dark hair, before he turns and ducks beneath the ropes of the ring.

"Fuck." He says again, louder this time, as he shoves over one of the punching bags, sending it clattering to the floor, on his way to the door. "Fuck!"

Felix turns to you, your eyes wide, your chest still heaving in panicked breaths.

He gives you the hint of a regretful smile, his large golden eyes soft beneath the fringe of his almost blindingly blonde hair.

Like the sun, you think vaguely.

"He's not angry with you, you know." He murmurs gently, as the door slams behind the disappearing god of wrath, making you both wince.

You swallow hard, and give a slight nod, slowly unwrapping your arms from around your ribs. "I know."

Do you?

You don't know how, but beneath the instinctual panic, for the first time in your life, you somehow do.

*********

"Sloppy." Changbin tells you in a bored sort of voice, as he once again, easily, blocks your jab with an almost nonchalant parry, and you grit your teeth as you have to take a step back to regain your balance, reaching up to swipe at the sweat gathering on your forehead with a forearm.

"You don't have to be such a dick, you know." You manage to get out between catching your breath, getting back into position even as he crooks his hand at you and readies up himself.

"I'm not being a dick-" He scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as you head for him again and once more, he dodges you easily, and you make a sound of frustration. "-I'm being hard on you because if you fight like this when it really matters, your opponent isn't going to be as forgiving as I am."

You heave in a breath, and then another, aware that across the ring, he seems to have hardly broken a sweat.

It's fucking infuriating, and you can feel the anger making your blood hot the longer this goes on.

"Oh, yeah? Well, if you're not being a dick, then don't fucking act like one." You counter back boldly, and Changbin arches a brow, studying you curiously for a moment.

It's the first time you've ever talked back to him-or anyone-for that matter.

And it feels good.

You take another go at him, and this time, when your glove doesn't make contact, and Changbin utters another, 'half-assed', you let the anger rising in your gut fuel you, and immediately round on him for another hit, not giving him time to reset in between.

He still manages to parry, of course, but you can tell you catch him off guard by the way a slight smirk graces his lips.

"You're fucking infuriating, you know that?" You seethe, even as you send a flurry of quicker blows in his direction, trying to catch him on the wrong foot and land something, anything.

"Yeah, and you're still fucking weak, princess, so how about we don't waste precious breath on things we both already know?" He counters right back, and hot anger flushes your already exertion reddened cheeks.

"Is this what you fucking want?" You spit back, as you manage to make him take a step toward the ropes, and you see slight surprise in his eyes at the power behind the next blow he knocks away. "To make me fucking mad?"

"I want-" He grunts out, narrowly dodging another swing from your glove, and you feel weirdly smug at the way he's breathing harder now. "-you to hold your fucking own. Whatever you need to do that is just a means to an end."

You swing at him with a cry, and you're shocked when your glove connects solidly with his ribs.

You freeze, and both of you stand there for a moment, breathing hard, staring down the miniscule distance between each other.

"There she is." Changbin murmurs in between breaths, and you hate how warm the begrudging respect in his dark eyes makes your already flushed skin. "That's what I've been looking for. Anger."

"You're a fucking asshole, trying to get a rise out of me like that." You pant back, eyes flashing dangerously, as you drop your glove from his ribs and he straightens. "You're just trying to piss me off."

His lips curve into a smirk. "I'm not trying to do anything." He counters back. "You had it in you all along. I was just trying to get you to see that you don't need fucking anyone, except you. You did that, nobody else."

His words reverberate around your skull and sink into your bones.

"Still an asshole move." You mutter back begrudgingly, and he grins.

"Yeah, well, I never claimed not to be an asshole, princess. It's part of my charm."

Suddenly, without thinking, you rear back and hit him square in the face.

He stumbles back, and immediately, your entire body goes numb as carefully, slowly, he reaches up and swipes at the blood now trickling from his nose, staring at it on his fingers, before he glances back to you.

His eyes darken, and you shrink, immediately caving in as you know punishment is coming. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

He stares at you, eyes darkening even further, and you bite down so hard on your tongue you taste the familiar tang of copper.

"Atta-fucking-girl." He growls, taking a step toward you, closing the distance, and your jaw drops, your mind going blank.

His large hand goes to the back of your head instantly, fingers tangling into your hair, and he tugs you to him, crashing his mouth into yours.

You can taste the blood on his tongue-whether it be your own or his you're not sure-but immediately, he's delving into you wildly, passionately, and you find yourself responding in kind, your body taking what it needs from him almost with the same frenzy.

He takes you with him as he ducks beneath the ropes, his mouth never leaving yours, guiding you blindly down from the ring, and neither of you stops to surface for breath until the backs of your knees are hitting a chair, and Changbin's pulling away so he can focus on tugging down the leggings you wear.

"Changbin-" You breathe, and he gives a slight shake of his head, pulling off your pants and dropping them to the floor before he takes a few steps back, shutting the door that leads from the private gym.

You stare at him, wide eyed, suddenly conscious to the fact that you're bare from the waist down, sitting in front of him.

And gods, you really need his mouth back on yours.

"Changbin-" It comes off as more of a whine this time, and you find yourself reaching out, fingers searching for his beltloops to tug him back to you.

Instantly, he pushes away your hands, his back hitting the door with a thud as he shakes his head again.

"Uh, uh, princess." He pins you down with eyes the color of flaming coal. "I'm not gonna lay a fucking finger on you until you've made yourself come."

Your mouth drops open at that, and heat floods your cheeks.

Changbin grins in a predatory fashion, his eyes skimming over you, tracing down to the way your thighs rub together subtly for friction, your knuckles white from gripping the edges of the chair.

"I want you to see you've got all the fucking power here. You're capable of making yourself feel incredible fucking pleasure, and you don't need anyone else to do it."

You stare at him, letting his words sink in, and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, or doubt, you slowly let your hand slide down between the juncture of your thighs, touching the wetness there.

You start upward as your fingers find your clit, your mouth dropping open on a stuttered gasp, and Changbin groans in response, letting his head fall back against the door, his eyes never leaving you, tracking what you're doing through a hooded gaze.

"That's it, princess, fuck, just like that." You let yourself slide a finger inside as you watch him reach down a hand and palm the obvious erection growing through his pants.

It's invigorating, thrilling even, to know you're holding your own pleasure in your hand, and causing such an intense reaction in him just by watching simultaneously.

It's heady, and you can feel your pleasure pooling in your core in tight coils as you continue to massage and please yourself with your fingers, keeping your eyes on his.

When you gasp and send yourself over the edge, milking yourself through orgasm with slick fingers, whimpers leaving your lips, vision going hazy with stars for a few long moments, a throaty groan leaves Changbin's lips, as if torn from deep inside.

It makes you plummet even harder and faster than before, and you find yourself panting through one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had.

When you can see again, and the stars have faded, you pull your slick fingers out, and glance to Changbin, and your breath hitches at the sight of him sinking down to his hands and knees, crawling toward you, eyes dark and predatory.

"Don't-" You start to protest, but he reaches you and putting a palm on your knees, knocks your thighs apart, spreading you wide open to him.

"Let me see." He commands in a rasping purr, and you watch as he leans forward and kisses his way up your inner thigh slowly, sending a shudder up your spine.

He glances up at you. "I intend to spend every day on my knees for you, princess, worshipping every inch of you the way you deserve."

"Gods-" He continues, trailing his lips up your inner thigh, licking at the slick that still coats your skin. His fingers dig into your skin. "-you're so fucking p-"

You feel yourself hollow out. Time seems to stop.

Here it comes.

What every fucking person you've ever been with, given exactly what they wanted, ends up saying at the end, after you have nothing left.

'So fucking-'

-pretty.'

-perfect.'

It's always the same superficial compliments, observations, and it leaves you feeling more empty than before.

"-powerful." He finishes, stroking a finger down your inner thigh, moving his gaze across you slowly, respectfully, as if in awe.

You stare at him, mind taking a moment to comprehend, jaw slightly slack.

'You're so fucking powerful.'

Not pretty, not perfect, powerful.

His words send pools of warmth down into your lower stomach and core and you thread your fingers through the thick locks of his dark hair as he holds your gaze.

You swallow, and when you speak, your voice comes out on a soft shaky breath.

"So make good on your earlier promise then, and worship me."

He grins, ducking his head to suck a long open mouthed kiss just above your heat that has you shivering.

"Gladly."

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You walk past the loud, drunken mortals, arm slipped through Changbin's, and just catch the tale end of one of their comments as they pass.

"-dressed like that, she's practically begging to be choking on my cock-

Immediately, you stiffen, and Changbin releases you, turning slowly to face the stumbling men, his eyes gleaming predatorily.

"What the fuck did you just say about her?" He growls out.

The man who had spoken foolishly turns to squint at Changbin, his gaze unfocused, his expression souring.

They don't recognize you in your mortal glamours, because if they did, the man would surely be backtracking heavily by now.

Instead, he simply sneers and repeats, "Said your broad over there is practically asking to be choking on my c-"

Before he can get the sentence out again, Changbin is at his throat, hand around his neck, lifting him up into the air as his back hits the wall of the nearby bar, his breath leaving his lungs in an audible whoosh.

"I know what you fucking said, scum, I wasn't asking you so you could repeat it, I was asking you to give you a chance to change it." Changbin growls out dangerously, eyes flashing and face a mask of fury that has the man blanching.

The man claws wildly at Changbin's fingers wrapped around his throat, his eyes bulging, his face turning red. He wildly flicks his gaze to you. "C'mon, lady, put your fucking dog on a leash-"

You step up beside them then, own eyes darkening in a warning.

"Changbin." You say in an eerily calm, cool voice. "Put him down."

Changbin does as you ask, releasing the man, who drops to the ground at his feet like a drunken sack of potatoes, a stream of unintelligible curses spewing from his mouth.

Stepping forward, you don't give the man a chance to catch his breath before you're hooking his jaw with your palm, and sliding three of your fingers into his mouth.

He gags, struggling against your hold, as you pin down his tongue, shoving your fingers just far enough into the back of his throat that you can feel the fleshy bit there, stuttering his breath, saliva pooling and dribbling down his lips as he tries to expel your fingers from his mouth.

You crouch down then, going eye to eye with him, expression and voice level.

"And here you were before, thinking I would be the one gagging." You observe casually, watching the way he struggles.

"Now, I don't give a fuck what you say about me-" You muse almost boredly, cocking your head slightly as you shove your fingers farther down his throat and he gags around them. "-though I'd be careful, because he's liable to take your head off." I motion over my shoulder with a tilt of my head to the watching Changbin looming behind me.

Another push, another retch around the intrusion of your fingers finding their way down his throat.

You lean your head toward his, lowering your voice. "However, if you ever fucking talk about him like that again, I will rip out your tongue, and then your balls, are we clear?"

The man nods frantically, eyes watering and face red, lips stretched around your fingers.

You pull them from his mouth and stand, and he goes over on all fours, retching and coughing and spewing spittle onto the ground as he tries to regain his breath.

You wipe your fingers on the skirt of your dress, eying him with nothing short of disdain as you stare down at him on the ground at your feet.

"You look good on your hands and knees at my feet like that. Maybe you should consider the whole dog title you were throwing around so carelessly earlier." You muse, before you turn from him and tilt your head toward Changbin and the direction you were headed earlier.

Changbin buries the toe of his boot into the man's abdomen, sending him keeling over in another gasping fit, before he turns and follows you, offering you his arm once more.

Leaning his head against yours, he grins down at you. "Gods, princess. You're so fucking powerful."

You tilt your head and smile up at him, and he leans down to press his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

It's become the way he compliments you over all these years-all 'I love you' and 'I admire you' and 'I'm so lucky to have you' rolled up into one-and it means more to you than anything anyone's ever called you in all your eons of being the goddess of love.

Not pretty. Not perfect. Not precious.

Powerful.

And it's thanks to him, because he reminded you what it was like to be loved and cherished and respected, but he's right, it's always been there, all thanks to you.

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heybrownieboy · 3 days ago

Text

➥ Pairing: Fine Arts Major! Hyunjin x Stem Major! Fem! Reader

» Synopsis: What happens when the university’s resident It Boy asks you to be the muse for his latest art assignment?

› Genres: Written Series. Non-Idol AU. University AU. Romance. Fluff. Suggestive. Slight Angst. Friends-To-Lovers.

› Warnings: Minors Do Not Interact. Very Suggestive. Sex Jokes. Talks About Insecurities. Mentions Of Bullying. Very Much A Popular X Nerd Fic. (Potential Smut).

— Status: Coming Soon…

— Start Date: March 2025

❤︎ Author’s Note: Hyunjin’s birthday fic! I know I didn’t release a Jeongin birthday fic but, I will definitely be working on something for him soon. This is kinda? based on DPR LIVE’s songs from his Is Anybody Out There? Album. Hyunjin has always given DPR LIVE vibes to me so, I thought it was fitting. I’m still debating whether or not I want to write a smut scene for this or just keep it suggestive… We will see once I fully finish planning.

Part I: Kiss Me

Part II: Oh Girl

Part III: Neon

©️heybrownieboy 2025

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baby-yongbok · 5 months ago

Text

Poly SKZ!Fake Texts - "Your nails are too long"

✧ Pairing: Ot8!Skz x Afab!Reader - explicit content [ MDNI ] ✧ CW: Themes of marking, Jeongin being a menace and Seungmin being a snitch

✧ a/n: I have writers block & burnout so another fake text post for you all! I write these the most. I'm usually just casually creating them soooo until I can actually finish a fic please enjoy these!❣️

✧ Masterlist ✧

MDNI & Support made by @strangergraphics

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@compersian @kibs-and-bits @lixiluvs @armystay89 @lghtdarling

@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

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havenhyunjin · 2 months ago

Text

do you have a girlfriend? - stray kids

— texts where you ask them to translate “do you have a girlfriend?” to korean as a joke. it goes well.

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

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delulugorl · 3 days ago

Text

😍🥹

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying.

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes.

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right.

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh.

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling.

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips.

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh.

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently.

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it.

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes.

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with.

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook.

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation.

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man?

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected.

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process.

That isn’t new.

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard.

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You.

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from.

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts.

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too.

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved.

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah.

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering.

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive.

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever.

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps.

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date.

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No.

Enough.

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right.

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily.

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz.

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his.

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted.

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t.

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind.

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression.

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack.

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now?

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior.

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds.

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd.

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable.

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes.

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?”

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite.

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh.

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.”

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!”

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes.

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes.

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest.

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them.

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining.

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time.

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful.

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness.

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face.

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes.

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager.

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior.

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks.

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you.

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion.

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar.

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt.

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life.

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated.

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting.

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected.

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder.

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response.

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler.

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week.

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.

Is he that hero?

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man.

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics.

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness.

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering.

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath.

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath.

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that.

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.