#and there was a stray cat hovering for a snack

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of kidnapper/kept pet series:

You’re trying again with Johnny.

Or, more accurately, Simon is going to bring Johnny over so that you can (hopefully) adjust to him. Desensitize, at least. Warm up, best case scenario. Simon knows better than to get his hopes up.

He tries to set up for success though. Tells you that he’s bringing Johnny over this time. You make an annoyed noise, scrunch up your face. But he can see a little bit of intrigue in your eyes. You really could use a little more socializing.

He preps Johnny this time too. Reminds him that your shy (standoffish) and cautious (feral). Not to make any sudden movements towards you, or try to grab at you. If you come near enough to touch (unlikely) it’s in his hand’s best interest to let you make first contact.

“Be patient, she’ll come ‘round,” he reminds as he lets Johnny in.

And you, in pure spiteful fashion, are no where to be found. Simon sets Johnny up with a beer and goes searching, finds you curled up on the sun porch angrily crocheting.

“Time to come inside, feral.”

“But he’s here.”

“He’s not so bad, I like him.”

“Exactly.”

You fuss and grumble, but ultimately there’s very little you can do when he scoops you up. He brings you inside, your crocheting things in one hand, you secure with the other. Johnny watches your little parade with arched eyebrows. But he doesn’t say anything.

You get deposited on the couch, a scritch to the back of the head that makes you scowl even as you lean in a bit. Johnny has taken up residence in an armchair a healthy distance from you. When you eye him distrustfully, he chuckles and pulls his shirt collar aside.

“No tags this time, stray.”

You scoff and turn back to your crafting. Simon takes the other end of the couch, knows you’re a bit keyed up today. There, but not imposing on your treasured personal space. You settle in, more or less, though your eyes keep flicking to Johnny while he and Simon talk.

He’s much different from Simon; it’s why he wants you two to at least tolerate each other. You need the enrichment. He louder, brasher, more energetic. Eventually, you slink off to the kitchen for a snack.

“Grab us another beer, eh?” He calls.

You stalk out with a scowl. “I’m not a dog, get it yourself.”

Simon huffs with amusement as you curl up on the couch again, nibbling on your snack. Johnny points at you, empty beer in hand.

“You’re ill-mannered.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know ‘please’.” You hop off the couch and retreat to your room.

Simon shakes his head, though his eyes crease with amusement. “Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out. Again.”

“You spoil her,” Johnny complains.

Simon sighs. He still doesn’t get it.

“She’s not a pet, yeah? I’m just keeping her.”

“What the difference?” Johnny groans, standing to get another beer.

“A cat is a pet. A panther is not.”

“Och, and she’s a panther, is that it?” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want her domesticated, Johnny. I want her taken care of just the way she is. If you’d stop pissing her off, you’d see why.”

Johnny grumbles, but lets it go. Lets the thought sit. Considers all the things in this specially made house just for you. The tv, the overcrowded bookshelves. The plants for you to attend to and the craft supplies lying about. The room that is yours alone, off limits to johnny, even simon rarely enters.

When you emerge again, it’s because there’s food. You’re hungry and demand a plate from simon, hovering at his elbow while he makes it up for you.

Johnny makes more of an effort, keeping all the things Simon told him in mind. He knows your unlikely to speak to him unless antagonized, so he talks at you - a lot like how Simon did when you first started out.

Luckily for him, Simon’s paved most of the way for him here. At first you pretend to ignore him, but eventually you can’t help it, he is a very engaging story teller after all. So you end up watching him openly, eyes darting from his face to his waving hands to his shaking shoulders.

You’re so focused that he and Simon even manage to coordinate Johnny giving you dessert, him getting close enough to touch as you take the slice of cheesecake from his hand. He’s careful not to touch, doesn’t want to break this spell.

But the real victory of the evening comes when he’s actually stopped paying direct attention to you. He’s still got some cheesecake left, more focused on talking than eating, as usual. And unnoticed, you slip from your chair, circle him and…

“Oi, did you just-? Get back here!”

In a move of pure strategic genius, you tuck up behind Simon. First out of caution and a little genuine fear for his reaction, then when you see him floundering, out of safe smugness.

“Ah, yeah, should have warned you about that. She likes to ‘share’.”

Several times now, you’ve eaten directly off his plate, off his spoon, from his fingers, even. You especially like doing it when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Feral brat,” Simon chuckles, “I would have gotten you more.”

“Tastes better when it’s Johnny’s,” you reply.

[cybergracie]

*•.¸♡ 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕖 ♡¸.•*

part two

part one is here!

pairing: college au, stoner!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

warnings: use of marijuana, mentions of drinking

word count: 3.7k

a/n: ahhhhh! this is a continuation of this post. this idea has been rattling around in my brain for weeks and this morning with hyunjin's ab flash, the inspiration took hold and here is the result. barely proofread, and this is my first time writing after literally a decade! any feedback would be appreciated. should i turn this into a full fic?

playlist: headhigh by doja cat, lose my breath by stray kids, what are you doing new year's eve by nancy wilson, parachute by john k

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I met Hyunjin when I started working at the campus bookstore in the fall semester of my sophomore year. My first day was a whirlwind of introductions, awkward small talk, and learning the ropes of a job I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted but desperately needed. While the girl who was training me, Chloe, was showing me around, pointing out everything from the textbook aisles to the snack rack near the register, I spotted him upstairs, rearranging art supplies. He moved with a kind of relaxed focus, his long fingers carefully setting pastel boxes into neat rows, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

When Chloe and I made it to the second floor, he stopped what he was doing, brushing his hands on his jeans before turning to us. His lips quirked up in a crooked smile, and he gave a polite bow that felt so at odds with his casual vibe. “Hi, I’m Hyunjin,” he said simply, his voice soft but confident.

I offered a small wave, feeling caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. “Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

That crooked smile deepened, and he nodded before turning back to his task, but I caught him glancing back once or twice as Chloe continued the tour.

During my first shift, he lingered. Not in a way that felt intrusive—just enough that I noticed him. While Chloe walked me through counting the till and another coworker, Jisung, cracked jokes in the background, Hyunjin hovered near a rotating stand of postcards, absently spinning it as if the tiny landscapes and cityscapes held all the secrets of the universe.

“So, new blood,” Jisung said, leaning casually against the counter once Chloe finished her demonstration. The store had just opened for the day, and the morning rush hadn’t hit yet. “What are you in for?”

I cocked an eyebrow, unsure if he was addressing me or the air in general. “Excuse me?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. “He means, what’s your major?”

“Oh!” I said, laughing as the tension eased. “I’m studying environmental science. With a minor in art history.”

At that, Hyunjin’s hand froze mid-spin on the postcard rack. His eyes flicked to me, his plush lips pressing into a subtle smile as if he’d just found the punchline to a joke only he understood.

“Doomed to a low-income career, I fear,” Jisung said with a mock sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed father.

Chloe slapped his arm again, harder this time. “Jisung!”

I laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, well I tried to major in business administration but failed my first 3 classes. I have to study something I actually give a fuck about.”

Hyunjin stepped closer then, his movements measured but deliberate, and placed his palms flat on the counter between us. His gaze met mine, and there was something so disarming about the way he looked at me, like he wasn’t just listening but understanding. “I get that,” he said, nodding. “Something you’re passionate about.”

His voice was steady, a low timbre that made my heart stutter for reasons I couldn’t explain. “I’m in art history, too,” he added, his lips curling into a smile again.

I smiled back, a little unsure but undeniably intrigued. Chloe and Jisung exchanged a glance, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was the tiny mole under Hyunjin’s eye.

Two weeks later, I was crammed into the back of an Uber with the three of them, plus Minho, Jisung’s roommate. Minho had claimed the front seat, leaving Chloe, Jisung, Hyunjin, and me to squeeze together in the back. Chloe ended up on Jisung’s lap, groaning dramatically about how we should’ve walked. Jisung, of course, responded by waggling his eyebrows at her, earning an exasperated shove.

The car was a chaotic blend of giggles, snorts, and half-finished stories. Chloe and I had spent the last hour pregaming while getting ready, and the buzz from cheap vodka shots made everything feel light and a little blurry around the edges. I sat in the middle, squished between Hyunjin and Jisung, and despite the noise and movement, I was hyperaware of him.

At one point, Hyunjin leaned over, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he gestured toward Chloe, Jisung, and Minho. “They’re my favorite throuple,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, my shoulders shaking as I glanced between the three of them, then back at him. “You’re terrible,” I whispered, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

He shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You laughed.”

I couldn’t deny it. And as the car turned a corner, jolting us slightly closer, I swore I felt the heat radiating from him where our sides pressed together. I told myself it was the alcohol, the cramped space, but deep down, I knew better.

That night, in the dim glow of the bar’s neon lights, Hyunjin stuck close to me. Whether it was helping me navigate the crowd to get drinks or standing just a little too close during conversations, he was there, steady and warm. By the end of the night, I realized I didn’t mind one bit.

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By the middle of November, I had become a part of the group. The night was cool, the kind of autumn evening where you could see your breath if you exhaled just right. Chloe had insisted we all hang out at her off-campus apartment for the first “official” gathering of the semester. Jisung had commandeered the Bluetooth speaker, cycling through his usual chaotic playlist, while Minho lounged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn he claimed was only for him.

Chloe was flitting around, handing out drinks and snacks, her energy uncontainable as she teased Jisung about his music choices. “This is not party vibes, Ji,” she said, her voice dripping with mock disgust.

“It’s indie cool,” Jisung countered, holding his ground.

“It’s just noise,” Minho muttered, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

I laughed from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Hyunjin. The dim lighting from the string lights gave the room a cozy glow, but my attention kept drifting to him. His knee bumped mine occasionally, a casual touch that sent little sparks down my spine every time.

Hyunjin’s roommate, Chan, arrived late, bursting through the door with a lopsided grin and a smell that betrayed his pregame activities. “I brought snacks,” he announced, holding up a box of gas station donuts like it was a treasure chest.

“Finally, someone with priorities,” Minho said, grabbing a donut before Chan even made it to the kitchen.

As the evening settled into its rhythm, Chan pulled a sleek, black grinder from his bag, along with a few pre-rolled joints. He held one up like an offering. “Who’s in?”

Chloe shook her head immediately. “Not tonight. I have a shift in the morning.”

“Same,” Jisung said, though the grin on his face suggested he’d stay up late anyway.

“I’m good,” Minho said, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

That left Hyunjin, me, and Chan. Hyunjin glanced at me, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You down?”

I hesitated for a second, the familiar nervous buzz of trying something new hitting me. “I mean… yeah, why not?”

Chan chuckled as he held up the joint. “First time?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, glancing at Hyunjin, who was already reaching for a lighter.

“Don’t worry,” Chan said, leaning back into the couch and expertly lighting the joint. “You’re in good hands.”

Hyunjin shifted closer to me as Chan took the first hit, blowing out a smooth cloud of smoke before passing it to Hyunjin. He took it with practiced ease, the flickering flame of the lighter casting soft shadows across his face as he inhaled. The moment he exhaled, he handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine for just a second.

“You’ll cough,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “But it’s part of the fun.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.” His grin was infuriatingly charming.

I took the joint, holding it awkwardly between my fingers. I mimicked what I’d seen them do—bringing it to my lips, inhaling slowly. The burn hit immediately, and I couldn’t hold back the cough that tore through me.

“See?” Hyunjin said, laughing softly as he patted my back.

“Shut up,” I rasped, my eyes watering as I handed it back to Chan.

Chan gave me an approving nod. “You survived. That’s step one.”

The joint made its rounds again, and by the time it came back to me, the room felt softer, like the edges had been smudged with charcoal. I took another cautious hit, coughing less this time, and leaned back against the couch. Hyunjin sat beside me now, his arm draped over the back of the cushions, his head tilted as he watched me.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, his voice warm and low.

“Good,” I said, the word coming out slower than I intended. “Really good.”

“You’re smiling a lot,” he pointed out, his own grin matching mine.

“Am I?” I asked, touching my cheeks self-consciously.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on me. “It’s cute.”

Chan broke the moment by passing the joint back to Hyunjin. “You two are adorable,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Couple vibes for sure.”

I felt my face heat, but Hyunjin just laughed, a low, easy sound that made my chest feel light. “You’re too high to be making assumptions, Chan.”

“Am I?” Chan quipped, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Or am I just observant?”

Chloe and Jisung, who had been watching a ridiculous TikTok video on the other side of the room, suddenly burst into laughter. “What did we miss?” Jisung asked, looking between us.

“Nothing,” Hyunjin said quickly, shooting a glare at Chan.

The night dissolved into more laughter and teasing, the haze of smoke curling through the air as the playlist shifted to something softer, more melodic. At some point, Hyunjin leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against mine.

“Next time, we’ll smoke alone,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I turned to him, my thoughts hazy but warm, and nodded. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, his presence felt like a steady hum beside me, grounding me even as the world tilted and blurred in the best way possible.

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Getting high with Hyunjin quickly became the highlight of my weeks. Despite his promise that we’d smoke alone next time, Chan’s presence was a given—he was Hyunjin’s roommate and dealer, after all. But I didn’t mind. Chan had a calming presence, an older-brother vibe with just enough chaos to make him fun, and Jisung often tagged along, too. What started as casual hangouts became a routine, one I looked forward to as much as my favorite art history lectures.

It felt like a dream to be part of such a warm, welcoming group after the isolation of my freshman year. Back then, my days had been a blur of late-night cramming sessions and anxiety-filled mornings. Failing my first three business administration classes during my first semester had shaken me to my core, leaving me questioning everything about myself. By the time spring rolled around, I was barely scraping by, clutching onto passing grades as though they were my lifeline.

But that semester had also been the turning point. Art history—a class I had added on a whim to fill my schedule—lit a spark in me I didn’t know I had. I spent hours pouring over slides of Renaissance paintings and Impressionist masterpieces, getting lost in brushstrokes and color theory. Biology had been another unexpected success. When I saw my final grades—a surprising A in both classes—I knew something had to change.

By summer, I’d decided to leave business behind, switching my major to environmental science and tacking on a minor in art history. For the first time in a year, my schedule felt like a reflection of who I wanted to be, not who I thought I had to be. It was my mom who suggested I find a job on campus. “You’ll meet people,” she said, “and maybe it’ll make school feel a little less lonely.”

She was right. I could never have imagined, sitting in my room and filling out that online application for the campus bookstore, that months later I’d be celebrating the new year in a haze of smoke and laughter. A joint between my lips, red solo cups clinking against each other, Hyunjin’s arm draped casually over my shoulder as we drunkenly sang “Auld Lang Syne.”

That night, Chan had brought his date, Amanda, a bubbly pre-med student with an infectious laugh. They spent most of the evening sitting on the couch, passing a joint back and forth in between playful kisses. I couldn’t help but glance at them a few times—there was something intimate and mesmerizing about the way Chan leaned close to Amanda, blowing smoke into her mouth before sealing it with a kiss.

Hyunjin noticed. Of course he noticed. He always seemed to pick up on the small things, like the way my gaze lingered a little too long or the blush that crept up my neck when he caught me staring.

As the countdown to midnight began, Hyunjin quietly took the joint from my lips, his movements smooth and deliberate. The lighter flickered in his hand, casting his face in a warm, golden glow as he lit it and took a deep inhale. He gestured for me to follow him, leading me to a quieter corner of the room. My back pressed gently against the wall as he stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint citrus of his cologne beneath the haze of weed smoke.

“Did you want to try that?” he asked softly, nodding toward Chan and Amanda, who were sharing another smoky kiss on the couch.

I blinked up at him, my mouth suddenly dry. His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a gentleness to it that made me feel safe, even as my heart thudded violently in my chest. I swallowed hard, the alcohol buzzing in my veins giving me the courage to nod. “Yeah,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“10, 9, 8…”

The countdown swelled around us, but all I could hear was my pulse hammering in my ears. Hyunjin’s cheeks were flushed pink, whether from the warmth of the room or what he was about to do, I couldn’t tell. He held my gaze as he brought the joint to his lips, the end burning a bright orange as he inhaled deeply.

“7, 6, 5, 4…”

He moved the joint away, holding it loosely in one hand as he leaned closer, his other hand bracing against the wall beside my head. The air between us felt electric, every nerve in my body alive with anticipation. “Just inhale,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady, his dark eyes flickering to my parted lips.

“3, 2, 1…”

He exhaled slowly, a steady stream of smoke escaping his mouth. My instincts took over, and I leaned in, inhaling the smoke as it drifted between us. My eyes stayed locked on his, on the mole beneath his eye, the world around us fading into a blur of warmth and color. The smoke filled my lungs, and before I could think too hard about what was happening, his lips brushed against mine, soft and tentative.

“Happy New Year!”

The room erupted in cheers, but I barely registered the noise. His kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, his hand sliding from the wall to rest lightly on my hip. My head spun, a mix of weed, alcohol, and the sheer sensation of him.

Then reality hit—my lungs were still full of smoke. I pulled back suddenly, turning my head as a coughing fit overtook me. For a split second, he froze, his face a mix of confusion and concern, until I started laughing between coughs.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

“Yeah,” I managed, wiping a tear from my cheek as the coughing subsided. “I’m fine. Sorry, I just—”

He cut me off with a laugh of his own, his hand brushing against mine. “First time for everything,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at me.

We stood there for a moment, grinning at each other like fools, before the noise of the room pulled us back. He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the center of the room where our friends were exchanging hugs and shouting well-wishes for the new year.

As Jisung threw an arm around both of us, pulling us into a chaotic group hug, I glanced at Hyunjin, his cheeks still pink, his smile brighter than any firework. And in that moment, I knew—this was exactly where I was meant to be.

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The next weekend, I found myself back at Chan’s place, indulging in one last hurrah before classes started again. The cozy apartment was alive with music and laughter, the air thick with the familiar haze of weed. Chan had proudly brought out the bong that Hyunjin had gifted him for Christmas—a sleek, emerald-green piece that caught the light beautifully—and after my very first hit, I ended up in the kitchen with the pretty boy from the art section.

Our hands were intertwined, his larger one enveloping mine, resting on my lap as I perched on the counter. There was something so easy, so natural about the way he stood close, his free hand tapping absently against the counter’s edge, his soft gaze fixed on mine.

“Stay here for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting. “Just you and me.”

He had to know by now there was no place I’d rather be, right?

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the muffled music and chatter from the living room.

I turned his hand in mine, placing his warm palm against my thigh, just above my knee, and reached for his cheek with my other hand. He straightened up at the touch, his expression shifting as he stepped between my dangling legs, bringing us closer. His cheeks flushed a soft pink under the dim kitchen light, and I felt the warmth of his skin bloom under my fingertips.

He smiled—gentle as always—but his eyes turned deeper, darker, brimming with something unspoken. The weight of his gaze made my arms feel weak, and my hand dropped from his cheek to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, I let it trail down his arm until his other hand instinctively found the curve of my hip.

“I think about you all the time,” he said suddenly, the words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for too long. He nibbled on the inside of his lip, watching me closely. “Did you know that?”

My heart stuttered in my chest, my cheeks burning hotter than ever. Words felt useless, so instead, I scooted closer to the edge of the counter, pressing my heels against the cabinets below to close the distance between us. My eyes darted between his hazy, half-lidded gaze and his soft, parted lips.

“I dream about you every night,” I admitted, my voice trembling but sure. My hands twitched as they slid up and down his forearms, only to fall away and find their place on his waist, gripping the sides of his soft, long-sleeve shirt like it was the only thing grounding me.

Hyunjin shuddered, his breath hitching. He slid his hand from my knee up my thigh, gripping my other hip as he pulled me even closer. His lips found mine for the second time, the kiss cautious but firmer now, more certain. The faint taste of weed and the cool temperature from the water bottle lingered on his mouth, and I melted into him, clutching his shirt tighter. A tiny whimper escaped me before I could stop it, and I felt him respond immediately—his fingers dug deeper into my hips, his body leaning closer until I could feel the thud of his heart against mine.

But just as the kiss deepened, he pulled back, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on my hips. His face was flushed, his lips glistening, and his words tumbled out in a rush.

“Do you wanna go out with me?” he blurted, his voice quick and nervous, like he’d forgotten he’d been holding onto the thought all night. “I mean—like, I meant to ask you earlier. I just…” He laughed nervously, his thumbs hooking into the belt loops of my jeans, fidgeting as he rambled on. “I thought maybe we could go to the art museum. They’re doing this post-impressionism exhibit, and I know you said you were taking the class on Van Gogh, so I thought maybe it’d be cool, you know? If you wanted to—”

I cut him off with another kiss, laughing softly against his lips.

“Hyunnie,” I giggled, pulling back just enough to meet his wide, startled eyes. “Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

His expression softened immediately, his beautiful pink lips curling into the kind of smile that made my stomach flip. For a moment, he just looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his hands steadying themselves on my hips.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning forward to rest my forehead against his. “I’d love to.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Cool,” he whispered, and then, with a surge of confidence, he kissed me again—this time with no hesitation.

In the other room, Chan’s voice rang out, laughing over some joke Jisung had cracked. But in the kitchen, it was just us, Hyunjin’s arms wrapping securely around me as I held onto him like I’d finally found something—or someone—worth holding onto.

[https-lvesick]

⌕ LYING WEBS, a mark smau

[05] ningning's issue

half written chapter. [1.8k]

content warning. angst and flashbacks

Yizhuo sat in silence, her fingers hovering over her phone screen, her eyes fixed on one name—Jisung. His contact sat there, untouched, blocked just a day ago.

She knew you were right. She was the problem. But… wasn’t he wrong too? Why did she have to be the one to fix things? Why did she have to be the bigger person when he was just as childish?

Well, he actually tried to talk to you, and you blocked him… her conscience reminded her, sharp and unrelenting. She sucked in a breath, shoved the thought away, and sank onto the couch. Alone.

As always.

Her parents were away. Again. Off to another work trip, leaving her with nothing but silence and the endless cycle of her own thoughts.

She turned the TV on. A distraction. Anything to stop her mind from spiraling. But her phone remained quiet—no messages from you, no texts from Elena.

And then—

"The city remains peaceful today, thanks to our very own Spider-Man, who apprehended a group of delinquents, rescued stray cats, and even assisted an elderly woman across the street. However, there have been no sightings of his partner, Silk. Our other beloved hero has yet to make an appearance."

Yizhuo sat up.

You weren’t with him?

You never missed a watch. Never.

Was this about her? Were you that upset? So mad that you couldn’t even bring yourself to protect the city, just so you wouldn’t have to ask for her help?

She sighed. The weight of it all sat heavy on her chest.

"His partner? 'Our other beloved hero'?" you scoffed, arms crossed tightly over your chest, rage bubbling under your skin. "Is that how they see me? Just Spider-Man’s sidekick?!"

“They must’ve misspoken,” Haechan said, trying to soothe you as he handed you the snacks you’d asked for, dabbing cooling gel onto your ankle. “They don’t really see you like that. They see you as you. As Silk.”

You hissed as he massaged your ankle roughly.

“Sorry…” he murmured, wincing.

Your sprained ankle was a pathetic story. You, a spider, capable of climbing walls and swinging through skyscrapers, had injured yourself changing a lightbulb. You hadn’t wanted to call anyone for help, but eventually, you caved—unfortunately, to Lee Donghyuck, the absolute worst.

At first, he was worried. And then, after you told him how you got hurt, he laughed in your face for a full minute while you glared at him, unimpressed.

Now, he studied you with a knowing look. “You look really bothered. Is it the news? Nings and Jisung? Or am I just terrible at this?”

“A little bit of all three,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “But I hate thinking people only see me as his partner. Like I wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t there with him. Or worse—if he gets hurt, it’ll somehow be my fault because I wasn’t there.”

You buried your face in your hands, overthinking a simple, stupid news report.

“Hey, hey,” Haechan crawled closer, gently pulling your hands away. His lips pressed to your palms, warm and grounding. “You’re more than enough. Spider-Man can’t do half of what you can. Do you really think you’d have as many fan clubs as you do if people didn’t see you as a hero? Do you think they’d chase you down for pictures, beg for autographs, or fake risky situations just to be saved by you if you weren’t loved?”

His voice softened, eyes locked onto yours—deep, endless, filled with stars. “And for the record? I follow all of them. The big ones, the small ones. Even the ones that just popped up yesterday.”

A smile finally tugged at your lips. “You’re Silk’s biggest fan, huh?”

“I’m your biggest fan.” he puffed his chest out proudly. “And no Jun or Yizhuo can take that title from me.”

Laughing, you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you, Chan… I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

He held you tighter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, my dear Sweets… I’m the lucky one.”

Yizhuo sat frozen, fingers curled so tightly around her phone that her knuckles turned white.

Not because of Jisung. He and his new girlfriend could fuck off for all she cared.

But because of you. And because of the friends she had been shutting out, the ones who had stood by her when she couldn’t even stand herself.

Her finger hovered over the screen, inches away from unblocking him.

But she hesitated. Was it worth it? After everything she heard? After everything he had done?

She thought back to the moment she still had hope.

The day she wrote the letter.

It wasn’t something she would normally do, but Ningning wasn’t brave enough to say the words out loud. Not yet. So she wrote it all down—every bottled-up emotion, every lingering thought, every little thing she had been too scared to confess.

Then, heart pounding in her chest, she had slipped the light pink envelope into Jisung’s locker.

And she waited.

For hours, she stole glances at him in class, at lunch, in the hallways—hoping for something. A smile. A glance in her direction. Anything.

Then she found him.

In an empty classroom, talking to Chenle, spinning his phone between his fingers like none of it mattered.

“You won’t believe what I found in my locker earlier,” Jisung started, bothered.

Chenle barely looked up. “Yeah, I’m not interested.”

Jisung let out an unamused sigh but continued anyway. “A love letter. From Ningning.”

At that, Chenle finally turned to him. “From Ningning?” his brows furrowed. He had never heard her talk about Jisung that way. But… maybe that was the point. Maybe she had kept it a secret for a reason. “So? Did you read it? Did you like it?”

Yizhuo held her breath. A flicker of hope, fragile and desperate, bloomed in her chest.

Jisung scoffed. “Yeah, I read it. Then I tore it up and threw it in the trash.”

A sharp gasp caught in her throat.

Chenle froze, disbelief flashing across his face. “You did what?”

“She won’t know anyway.” Jisung shrugged, his tone laced with discomfort. “I don’t like her, Chenle. She’s just…” He paused, searching for the right words before chuckling uncomfortably. “How do I say this nicely? She’s unattractive. Boring. A little girl—”

“She’s your age, Jisung.” Chenle’s voice turned sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “And she’s way more mature than you’ll ever be. If this gets back to her… if Mark or Haechan, or worse, Y/N hears about this? You’re screwed.”

But Ningning was already gone, sprinting through the hallways, tears burning hot trails down her cheeks.

She barely registered anything until she slammed into someone—Haechan.

“Whoa—Ning? What happened?” his voice was gentle, concerned.

But she couldn’t answer. She could only clutch onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

And Haechan, without a word, wrapped his arms around her and let her break.

That was the moment something inside her shattered.

That was the moment she told herself she would change.

She had convinced herself to move on—to prove him wrong, to make him regret ever underestimating her. And maybe accept her.

She changed her habits, her style. She learned hacking just because it was his passion, just to have something—anything—in common.

But none of it mattered. Because when she finally gathered the courage to stand before him, to say the words out loud instead of hiding behind a letter—

Jisung had barely even blinked.

“So…? What’s so important that you couldn’t even wait for the classes to end?” he chuckled, adjusting his backpack.

For a second, she almost forgot his past words. The way he had ripped her apart without even knowing she was listening.

“It’s just…” she hesitated. But his curious expression made her push forward. She had come this far. “Promise me you’ll let me say everything first. Then you can talk.”

Jisung shrugged. “Alright.”

She exhaled, fingers tightening around the hem of her skirt. “I’ve done this before. Through a letter. But you didn’t seem to like that very much. So here I am, saying it to your face.” she took a shaky breath. “Jisung, I like you. I’ve liked you for months. And no one knows, because I wanted to be sure. I wanted to know if I was just going crazy, if this was temporary. But it’s not.”

She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the look in his eyes.

She didn’t notice his regret in agreeing to this conversation.

“A few months ago… when I left that letter, I overheard you and Chenle talking about it.” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “You said I wasn’t attractive because I looked like a little girl. So I changed my style. You said I wasn’t interesting, so I learned some of your interests. You like spending time with Y/N so I thought that now that we have some things in common, maybe you could also like spending some with me and...” she forced herself to meet his gaze, even as her voice cracked. “Do you… do you like me now?”

Silence.

Jisung hesitated.

For a split second, she thought maybe—just maybe—he would say something different.

But then he spoke.

“No, Yizhuo.” his voice was final. Cold. “I don’t like you now. And I never will.”

The breath left her lungs.

“I thought you had gotten over it already.” he ran a hand down his face, frustration creeping into his tone. “I didn’t even notice your style change. I still don’t find you attractive.”

She felt something inside her crack.

“You’re like a little sister to me,” he continued mercilessly. “I get that we’re the same age, but the way the guys treat you… it made me feel the same. But you got it wrong.” a humourless chuckle escaped him. “I like spending time with Y/N because she’s the older sister I never had. We share more than just interests. That’s why.”

Then, he took a step back, the distance between them growing impossibly wide.

“And I think you should stay away from me now.”

Her chest tightened.

“I don’t want you, Yizhuo.”

He turned away.

“I just want you to leave me alone.”

And then, just like that—he was gone.

Leaving her standing there, heart in ruins for the second time.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking into her shirt. How could she let someone have this much control over her happiness? How could she let a boy who never even cared wreck her like this?

Something inside her shifted.

She wiped her tears, pulled out her phone.

And as she stared at Jisung’s chat, her hands trembled—not with sadness, but with anger.

This time, she wasn’t going to beg.

This time, she wasn’t going to let him reduce her to nothing.

This time, she didn’t give a fuck about his feelings.

Not that he had ever cared about hers.

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★ the energy went down so i brought myself into finishing the chapter hehehe

🏷 @jungaji @spacejip @lyvhie @sinisxtea @jirsungs @polarisjisung @chenlezip @ayukas @leleszn @mystverse @prologue-ae @hibernatinghamster @kj-kts @lovesuhng @haechanahceah67 @jeonghansshitester @hyusun @ncthoe69 @dawntyun @snowyseungs @bunnysoonie @haechansssun @n0hyuck @cheolcam @dreamwithlost @spiderm444rk @nosungluv @chenlesfavorite @nanaxwi @cosmic-marauder @yewshi @morkiee @jensdior @soggyfrogfarts @f6llsun @kittydollzz @nahyuckers @222brainrot @nctrawberries @haechology @banana-mlk @iluv7tn @peterm4rker @ant-onie

[overmorrowpine]

you made peace with the wasps? Do you have any tips for doing the same thing, I think they're some sort of paper wasp from my research, but do you have any tips, I really don't want to pay to get them removed

yes!!

okay so, the main thing to understand, is that venom tends to be expensive to make and they don't wanna sting you. even if you rile em up pretty bad, chances are they'll try to get you to Leave without stinging at first

second! wasps can smell/sense the pheromones released when a wasp is crushed, and it makes them upset and more likely to sting. so try not to crush them if possible

now, idk where your nest is, but we've had some only a couple feet from a gate that gets slammed open and shut for two years now, and the larvae have grown up used to that and the adult wasps don't really care. as long as you don't actively poke at their nest, chances are they'll be okay with Activity happening nearby

wasp threat posture is where they raise their wings and uh,, butt end. i forget what that's called. it looks kinda like \!/ (their wings are usually flatter than that, at rest pose is about half as raised as that), so if you see a wasp doin that, she's telling you to back off

adult wasps drink nectar (and sugar water), so if you wanna leave a snack out for them, that's a good place to start. paper wasps, in my experience, don't take our food, so even if you leave out meat for their babies to eat it's likely that they'll ignore it to hunt bugs for the babies while yellowjackets go :0 and grab all the meat you leave

generally, if a wasp shows up and kinda,, hovers a few inches away and zigzags back and forth, what she's doing is foraging. she hasn't clocked that you're a living thing yet and if you sway back and forth or step back she'll go "oh! that's a creature!" and back off

if she shows up and zooms at you or bonks into you and then backs off to do it again, she's telling you to back up bc you're too close to the nest

wasps can recognize individual people, so you can befriend a hive with not too much effort in the same way you'd befriend a stray cat

good luck! hope this helps!