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Yours Truly Masterlist

Yours Truly part 1 (Smut)

Yours Truly part 2

Yours Truly part 3

Yours Truly part 4

Yours Truly part 5 (smut)

Yours Truly part 6

Yours Truly part 7

Yours Truly part 8 (smut)

Yours Truly part 9

Yours Truly part 10

Yours Truly part 11

Yours Truly part 12

Yours Truly part 13

Yours Truly part 14

Yours Truly part 15

Yours Truly part 16

Yours Truly part 17

Yours Truly part 18

Yours Truly part 19

Yours Truly part 20

Yours Truly part 21

Yours Truly part 22

Yours Truly part 23

Yours Truly part 24

Yours Truly part 25

Yours Truly part 26

Yours Truly part 27

Yours Truly part 28

Yours Truly part 29

Yours Truly part 30

Yours Truly part 31

Yours Truly part 32

Taglist: @queenmea604 @lolareadsimagines @tinyworld14-blog @liv302 @jinniespuppy @stephy-nicole13 @freyaniobe @chansbabygirlsstuff @jkookiejiminlvr @hyuneyeon @sirenthalia @nagadiluc @tenshimara @leeknowleeknow @boi-bi-ahaha @shltsnglggles @tinystarsthing @armystay89 @baby-fairy-yas @haileybugulug @freckleboilix @im-sinking-in-mud @thatoneperson1911 @lmaouwu @greysweaters-blog @katrodriguez99 @3rachasninja @amararosesblog @1alesakura @m4gg13-g @vampcharxter @noellllslut @berryberrytan @junebug032 @vrslvts1 @jeongchaos @emyferra08 @stvrfir3 @feybin @mauvemelon @worcesheshestershiresauce @realrintaro @katsukis1wife @foliea @krishastumblernow @pretty-blkgirl @mrsseochangbin @nobody3210

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𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader's childhood cat suddenly gets diagnosed with cancer, and she has to make a big decision about what to do. this fanfic includes heavy topics like: pet euthanasia, extreme loss/grief, depression, the problems with pet healthcare, and more. there will be some humor/fluff placed throughout, and also smut somewhere along the way. :))

word count: 10+k (??)

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: i literally just thought up this idea over this past week, and i've been sitting on it and SITTING ON IT and i was like, damn it- i just need to write something!! 😭 so here we are lol... preview and all~ 💀 i have no idea how long this one will be, but i'm expecting it to be over 10.k words so... that's fun!!! 😍 i plan on trying to write this entire thing tmrw, but we will see if i can actually focus enough to sit down for 5 hrs and do such a thing. 🥸 and before anyone gets on my case about the heavy topics in this, i'd just like to put it on the record that i've gone through a similar experience to this with having to put my acutely sick childhood dog down almost 2 years ago. it's an incredibly difficult decision to make, and i wouldn't wish it upon anyone. but, i've always wanted to write an au with minho as a vet, and i feel like he'd be amazing at handling this type of thing. hope all of that makes sense... let me know what ya'll think of this! 💕

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

You knew the moment that he sat down, that something was wrong. 

 Because usually, when his eyes caught yours as he walked through the examining room’s door, his entire face would light up with one of those brilliant smiles that women gushed over. Usually, he’d be the first one to crack a stupid joke - whether it was something lame about the weather outside, or about the crazy animal that he just had an encounter with before seeing you. 

 But this time? 

 No, this time it was very different. 

 His proud shoulders were slumped low, cheekbones dark with shadows, and plump, red lips pressed together in a firm line. 

 He clenched and unclenched his jaw once, 

 twice, 

 three times. 

 Then, and only then, did his eyes meet yours. 

 And they said all you needed to know. 

 Just by the way that his dark, chestnut-brown pupils danced with a myriad of emotions; apprehension, fear, compassion, but most of all… sadness. 

 “What is it?” 

 The words flowed from your lips before you even knew what you were asking, and almost immediately, you were sitting up a little straighter in your chair. Spine going rigid, fists growing tight at your sides. 

 Something swam, cool and deep, inside of you.

 Chilling you to the bone, with tense unease.  

 In the depths of your mind, you felt the pinprick of ominous heartache prodding at the fleshy part of your soul. 

 The part that was weak and emotional and so very tender all of the time. 

 “I’m so sorry.” 

 Was the first thing Dr. Lee said. 

 You already felt the tears flowing, unbidden and unchecked, warming your suddenly freezing cheeks, at the sound of ‘sorry’ leaving his mouth. Because he had never said such a thing to you before. And you never, ever, wanted to hear it come from him again. 

 “What’s wrong?” You prodded again, limbs growing a little shaky in your anxiety. Breath hitching in your chest agonizingly, you could physically feel your heart pushing against your ribs. 

 Aching, 

 Burning, 

 Already seeping with hurt, even though you didn’t quite know what was wrong just yet. 

 Dr. Lee ran a rough hand up and down his face, sighing into his palm, shaking his head once. Then, his fingers were running through his black locks, pulling at the roots just a tiny bit. 

 Almost like, this crushed him just as much as it was about to pain you. 

 “It’s about Nyx.” 

 Swallowing over the huge lump forming in your throat proved very difficult at that moment, but somehow - by some miracle - you did it. 

 Your tongue felt heavy inside of your mouth- like it was made of hard metal. 

 For a few beats, you couldn’t manage to form the right words, but when you did, you already felt the stability seeping out of you. Like you were a hot air balloon that had been poked with a sharp needle, with the hot air and sanity flooding from you in a single breath. 

 “I’m sorry, Y/N, I-”

 “Just fucking say it, Dr. Lee!” You suddenly exclaimed, voice straining from your quiet sobs. The fat tears rolled down either of your cheeks, leaving angry wet trails in their wake. 

 He was silent after that, gaze running up and down the length of you slowly. Like you were one of his animals that he assessed daily - like he was testing out your strength and resolve. 

 Then, his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, and they melted into two puddles of grief. 

 “It seems as though Nyx is suffering from an acute form of bone cancer.” 

 And just like, your heart completely stopped. 

 Each breath you took felt garbled and all wrong. 

 Your shaky legs and arms wobbled all around you.  

 The floor crumbled underneath your feet, 

 Breaking, cracking, shattering irrevocably. 

 And in that moment, you wished for nothing more but for it to open up completely, and swallow you whole. 

 Please, 

 Oh, fuck, please- 

 Just swallow me already. 

 Because anything, 

Anything, 

 Would be better than this newfound hell. 

To be continued...

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©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

Animals Without Direction Masterlist

Cover Art by @seochngbin 🤍❤️🖤

Ao3 Link - Latest Update (September 17th) - Chapter Forty

⚔️ Updates every Thursday ⚔️

(On a brief “hiatus”— updates infrequent due to life) Character Descriptions World Map ot8 x reader Stray Kids Fantasy!AU 18+ MDNI

WARNINGS: THIS STORY CONTAINS HEAVY THEMES OF VIOLENCE, GENOCIDE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, HATE CRIMES, AND OTHER SENSITIVE TOPICS.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Swordfighting, Magic, Eventual Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Romance, Adventure, Fighting, High Fantast, Slow Burn, Extremely Slow Burn, Plot Heavy

Summary:

“No.” Your voice was stern, your eyes didn’t even look up from the plate in front of you. A healthy helping of roasted potatoes being pushed around by the metal fork in your hand.

“I am offering you a hefty sum of gold,” the man’s voice pleaded with you.

“I am well aware of the amount you offer, but you must think me mad to go anywhere near Miroh.”

“Thrice the amount, then.”

You paused.

Swallowing your mouthful of food, you placed your fork back on the table; tonguing your cheek and shifting on your seat.

Individually, you cracked each knuckle on both hands, your mind reeling.

“Explain the job to me once more.”

Chapter One - Thrice The Amount Chapter Two - Stained Glass Window Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows Chapter Four - Sword Sparks Chapter Five - Careful, Merchant Chapter Six - Aye, My Lord Chapter Seven - Decree Chapter Eight - Twenty Laps Chapter Nine - Clear Your Plate Chapter Ten - By First Light Chapter Eleven - Permitted to Die Chapter Twelve - Rest Chapter Thirteen - Jump Chapter Fourteen - Quite Certain Chapter Fifteen - Serendipitously Chapter Sixteen - Make it in Three Chapter Seventeen - Hang in There Chapter Eighteen - Sunshine in the Night Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons Chapter Twenty - While Dancing Chapter Twenty One - Mend Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course Chapter Twenty Three - Tea With Sugar Chapter Twenty Four - Dagger Chapter Twenty Five - The Gracious Host Chapter Twenty Six - The Dove Waltz Chapter Twenty Seven - Imported Cigars Chapter Twenty Eight - Use Chapter Twenty-Nine - Between Two Walls Chapter Thirty - Missed You Chapter Thirty-One - Bonfire Chapter Thirty-Two - Music of the World Chapter Thirty-Three - Stay Here Chapter Thirty-Four - Ward Chapter Thirty-Five - Sunset Chapter Thirty-Six - Drums Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Horn of Miroh Chapter Thirty-Eight - Four Hundred and Thirteen Chapter Thirty-Nine - By The Six Chapter Forty - Mortal's Touch

Protect and Serve.

pairing: cop!minho x fem!reader

content: when you learn the reason behind your recent unexplained paranoia, you don’t know what to do. thankfully, Officer Lee Minho is there to protect and serve you, in every possible way.

inspiration: skz code ep. 53, bc fuck

word count: 13k (yep, it would seem i have a problem)

warnings: MDNI 18+, cop!au, angst, cursing, being stalked by stranger, alluding to/mention of drugging and sexual assault (nothing happens to reader), someone gets punched, guest skz appearances by a couple familiar faces, casual alcohol use, SMUT, lil bit of cop/officer roleplay, marking, groping, cunnilingus, fingering, mention of traffic light system, handcuffs, p in v, protected sex (say whattt? it does exist), orgasm control, some fluff, happy ending

author’s note: seeing skz in these police uniforms altered my state of being. i had to stop everything and write this. and it was so much fun! but side note, let’s pretend all my cop/law enforcement terminology and procedure is correct (it’s not), bc we out here to be delulu, not factual-ulu✨ just shhh don’t think about it, focus on pretty cop minho, ‘kay babes?

let me know your thoughts!🫶

enjoy!

————————————————————————

Something was wrong.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but you’d been feeling some kind of sixth sense alerting you to something being amiss for the past week or so, every time you walked home from work.

You lived less than a mile from your job, so you made the decision long ago to forgo gas prices and city traffic and just walk back and forth every day. You got some casual exercise, saved money on transportation, and got to enjoy the city you so loved to be able to live and work in.

However, that enjoyment has been disturbed due to the feeling of something being wrong. Every time you started to head home from work, it was almost like the hair on the back of your neck would stand up. You would look around for the cause of the unconscious alarm, but couldn’t see anything worthy of such a feeling, so you would just shake your head, letting out a sigh of frustration. You’re just crazy, Y/N, chill out…

And that all appeared true, until tonight.

You began your walk home after another long day, the last bit of sunlight fading from the sky and casting the city streets in a dusky hue. Not paying attention to much, you tiredly sigh as you hike your bag back onto your shoulder after it started to slide, as if it was mocking how tired you were.

Then, there it was. That feeling. You went from feeling hazy to suddenly alert, head on a swivel looking for any danger. You look around, ready to feel like an idiot as always at nothing being there.

But as you look over your shoulder, you see something. Not something, but someone.

Trailing maybe 40 feet back, a figure in a gray hoodie and baseball cap shadowing his face caught your eye. Immediately, your stomach dropped to your feet.

Oh c’mon Y/N, stop being paranoid, it’s just some guy minding his business…you’re being dramatic, you mentally scolded yourself, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

You keep walking, expecting the man to eventually change directions or stop into one of the shops or restaurants you passed.

But he didn’t. Every time you’d look back over your shoulder, he was still there, remaining the same distance away, following you. You decide to switch sides of the street, jaywalking, nearly getting taken out by a cyclist crossing your path as a result. This would certainly prove whether or not this was all just a coincidence.

Oh, yeah, that it did. As you turned to look behind you, you saw him begin crossing the street.

This man was definitely following you. This man probably has been following you, this whole time! What other reason could there be for the way you’ve felt over the past week?

You pick up your pace, walking as fast as you could without full-blown running through the bustling sidewalks. Where to go? Where? You can’t go home, not with him right on your tail like this (even though, he probably already knows where you live at this point, if your suspicions of how long this has been going on are true). And if you stop into someplace along the way, who’s to say he won’t just wait you out?

As you start to truly panic, you see your solution. Not far down the way was the local police precinct, the one you pass every day on your route to and from work. Relief washes over you at the sight, and you start to full-on jog as you approach the brick building.

You look over your shoulder again, and you still see the man, but he had slowed his pace, lingering back further than before. That’s right, bastard, try following me in here.

You turn back and run up the steps, finally entering the safest place you could have chosen.

You look around, eyes still a bit frantic, trying to catch your breath from the exertion and adrenaline running through your veins. You see a closed-in front desk area over to the left, acrylic glass hanging from above it, and quickly make your way over.

However, no one was behind the desk as you approached.

“Uh, hello?” you ask out, probably a bit too quiet. No one came forward. Confused, you make your way around the desk area, leading into a wide office-type room, filled with a few rows of large metal desks. A few cops in blue and black uniforms were seated at them, heads down and hunched over while giving attention to the papers or computers in front of their faces.

Near the center of the room, leaning against the corner of one of the desks and scribbling something onto a clipboard in his hand, a cop notices your entrance.

Looking up from filling out the report he was working on, he takes in your clearly frazzled state. Your eyes were wide, lips parted slightly from your strained breathing, a slight tremble in your stance. He immediately sets his clipboard down onto his desk and stands to his feet, taking a couple steps in your direction.

”Everything okay, miss?” he asks, concerned eyes looking over your face.

You take a moment to find the words, and in doing so you scan over the cop now standing a couple feet in front of you. He was handsome. Pretty even, with deep brown boba-like eyes, strands of black hair finely obscuring them. His nose perfectly sloped down his face to a point, like it had been carved in stone, with a tiny freckle accenting one nostril. And he had the cutest lips, the top ever so marginally larger than the bottom, white bunny-like front teeth peeking out from behind them. Wow, this guy should be a model, not a cop…

“Miss?” he questions, growing more concerned at the lack of your response.

“Oh, um, yes,” you start, but shake your head as your brain catches up to your words, “Uh, no, no. I’m being followed, there was a guy behind me, and I—I didn’t know where else to go, I just ran in here. I—I think he’s been following me for a while. Like a week. I—I don’t know though, it’s—I’ve just had this weird feeling, and then I saw him tonight, and he wouldn’t stop following even when I crossed the street, and I knew I couldn’t go home, but I think he might already know where I live, and I—um—I don’t, I don’t know what to do,” you finish, a little out of breath from your rambling.

“It’s okay, take a deep breath for me,” the handsome cop instructs, seeing how worked up you were over this incident, “We’ll get this figured out. Would you like to sit down?” he asks, motioning to the chair behind him next to his desk.

You nod, taking in a deep breath like he told you. He gives you a small comforting grin, and turns to lead you over to the desk. He waits for you to sit, then sits himself in his chair, diagonal from you. He opens one of the deep file drawers in his desk, and gets out a piece of paper, a form of some sort.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?” he softly asks, clicking a pen in his left hand.

You nod with an awkward smile, and he nods in acknowledgment.

“We’ll start with something easy. What’s your name?” he proceeds, looking down at the paper.

“It’s Y/N, Y/N L/N,” you reply, watching him start to scratch down the information.

“Y/N…,” he begins, looking up from his writing, “I’m Officer Lee Minho.”

He extends his right hand towards you for a handshake, and you take it, cringing at the fact that your hands are most definitely gross and clammy. He doesn’t react to it though, giving you a firm yet gentle squeeze as he shakes your hand once, then letting go, his pleasant grin not leaving his expression.

He asks you more basic information, filling out the boxes for your address, phone number, place of work, and so on. Then, he asks for more details regarding the man you told him about—how long this has been going on, what he looked like, and any other revealing information you could give him.

And you felt like an idiot. You didn’t have much for him other than what you had rambled before, only adding on that he was in a gray hoodie and baseball cap. You half expected Officer Lee to roll his eyes at you, assuming this was just some case of feminine paranoia.

He didn’t, though. He swiftly wrote down everything you told him, patiently waiting while you would pause to think or steady your breath, never once interrupting you or judging your poor recollection.

Finished with his questions, he clicks his pen again, and looks up at you while loosely folding his hands in front of himself on top of the desk, giving you his full attention.

“Okay, Y/N, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to keep this report, and I’ll notify other cops in the area to keep an eye out for any similar activity happening around here. I’m also going to give you this,” he pauses, reaching on his desk for something. He then extends out to you a small piece of paper between his fingers, and you take it. It was a business card, with his name, precinct, badge number, and cellphone number.

“Take this, and put the information in your phone. If you see this guy again, you call me. Immediately. And if for some reason I don’t answer, you call the precinct and you tell them Officer Lee Minho says that you are in need of immediate assistance and for someone to come to you right away. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip as you look down into your lap, fiddling with the card in your hand. You hated the idea of having to go back out into the world knowing that man was still out there. But, there really wasn’t another choice.

Seeing the fear still affecting you, Officer Lee stands up and moves in front of you, crouching down at eye level with you, and places a firm hand on your knee.

“Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Don’t let that low-life get into your head. He’s not going to get away with whatever he’s trying. Not if I have anything to do with it. And, not to brag, but I’m pretty damn good at my job,” he laughs lightly, getting you to finally look up at him. His face was so genuine, so encouraging, that you couldn’t help but feel a little bit better.

“Why don’t I give you a quick ride in a patrol car back to your house? You don’t need to be walking alone with it being dark out now,” he offers, kindness laced in every word.

“Oh, um…are you sure? I…I don’t want to keep you from doing your job,” you hesitate. He already spent enough time helping you with this, and you didn’t want to inconvenience him anymore.

He laughs, and you look at him in confusion, not understanding what was funny.

“Y/N, this is my job. My job is to help keep citizens safe. You are one of them. Giving you a ride home applies. Plus,” he pauses, standing up and looking over both of his shoulders before continuing, then looks back down to you as he theatrically whispers behind the back of his hand, “you’ll be helping me escape from more paperwork duties—I’m losing my mind in here.”

You can’t help but giggle, and he smiles at your laugh.

“Well, who am I to not assist one of the city’s finest?” you joke, standing to your feet right in front of him.

“’One of?’ Oh, Miss L/N, I am the finest,” he jokes back, playfully winking at you, causing you to giggle again.

Then, he stands to your side and places a light hand on the middle of your back, saying, “Let’s head out, before the papers start growing legs to chase me down.”

• • •

The next day, you try your best to go on like everything was normal, and that you totally did not have a stalker. Nope. Everything was justttt fine.

Ha. Yeah. No. Wasn’t working.

The anxiety made you jumpy the entire work day, multiple coworkers asking if you were okay or feeling well. You lied through your teeth, of course, and said you were fine.

You tried to let Officer Lee’s comforting words console you, as he ensured you again before you left his patrol car last night that everything was going to be okay, and to call if you needed him. Once you were safely inside of your apartment building, you had turned back to look at him through the large glass doors, and he smiled at you, sending you a wave goodbye before putting the car in drive and heading back to the precinct.

You wondered if he would consider being a bodyguard as a side gig? Because how could he make sure everything would be okay if he wasn’t always around? You couldn’t afford to be completely optimistic regarding your situation, with danger literally looming around the corner if you weren’t careful.

For once, you were dreading the end of your work day. But then the time to leave came, and you had to start heading home.

Prepared for the worst, you were already on high alert. You were constantly checking your surroundings as you immediately started to take long, swift strides in an effort to get home just a little bit faster.

And on one of your glances behind your shoulder, you catch sight of him, hoodie and cap, before the subconscious sensation of being watched has the chance to alert you. At that moment, you felt like you were going to hurl, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

You were officially being stalked. No more doubt. This is really happening.

Before you can even think it through, you take off. You randomly turn corners, switching directions, and run as fast as your feet would carry you. You can’t even bring yourself to turn around, something telling you if you did, he’d catch up.

Due to your random movements and panic-fuzzy brain, you eventually get lost. Worried your lack of direction was starting to slow you down too much, you make a split-second decision to duck into a narrow alley between two brick buildings.

You press your back against the cold brick of one of the buildings, trying to find your breath, lungs screaming for air. Your knees felt shaky, and your leg muscles burned from the exertion you just put them through.

You need help. Right now. You had no idea if the man had been able to follow you or not. For all you knew, he’d be walking right into this alley any second.

You shakingly reach into your pocket and fish out your phone, trembling so badly that you mistyped your passcode twice. You tap and scroll until your find the name you’re looking for: Officer Lee Minho. He was the help you needed.

You click the contact, and shakingly hold the phone up to your ear. The line rings once, twice, then connects.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Officer Lee’s voice sounds in your ear, immediately concerned.

“H-he was there, when I—I left work, I saw him-m, so I ran b-but now I don’t know where I am-m, or where h-he is, and I just—I need help,” you choke out, barely above a whisper, tears you didn’t know were forming now threatening to pour out.

“I’m going to come to you, okay? Can you tell me anything about where you are right now?” he asks, keeping his voice smooth and steady.

“Um, I’m in a-an alley, but I-I don’t know where…” you answer under your breath, a tremble evident in your voice. You try to retrace your path in your head to recall anything, but the fear didn’t allow you to remember anything useful. You frantically look around the alley for anything identifying, but the only things you could see were a couple of overfilled dumpsters. However, there was a faded sign stuck to the dumpster closest to you, which read “For Resident Use Only”, and the name of an apartment complex underneath.

You trip over your words as your read it off to Officer Lee, wondering if he even understood what you said. But then he replies, “I know exactly where that is. I’m on my way, Y/N. Stay right where you are. Take some deep breaths for me. I will be there shortly, just hold on.”

You nod, but then feel dumb when you realize he can’t see you.

“Okay, please hurry,” you whisper out, desperation heavy in every syllable.

“I am, I—”

The phone disconnects. You look down, and the screen is black. Your phone died. Well, shit.

Then you remembered, you had forgotten to charge it last night, the mistake catching up to you at the worst possible moment. You look upwards, tilting your head back until it lightly hits the brick behind you, and you pull your lips into your mouth, trying to stifle the sobs crawling up your throat. You try to focus on taking deep breaths like Officer Lee told you, but it wasn’t doing much to calm you.

Minutes drag on like hours, every second bracing yourself for your stalker to appear. Your stomach churned, fear-laced nausea adding to the anxious pit in your gut.

Suddenly, you hear heavy footsteps—running footsteps, getting louder as they got closer to you. The louder they became, the more your anxiety spiked, heart ready to leap and run off out of your chest before your own feet, which were now paralyzed in fear.

A man in a hoodie turns into the alley, and you open your mouth to scream. But he’s faster than your reaction, and quickly covers your mouth with his hand. Your wide eyes stare into his, and you are met with the prettiest set of brown boba eyes.

“It’s me, it’s Minho, don’t scream,” he says, a slight pant in his voice.

Relief washes over you, and you feel like you could collapse. The tears that had been gathering for a while now finally spill over, dropping onto the back of his hand. A single sob wracks through your shoulders, and as soon as he lowers his hand from your face, you throw yourself into his arms.

You know this is wildly inappropriate. You are sobbing into his chest with your arms wrapped around him, fingers clinging to the fabric of his hoodie, as if he isn’t a police officer. Yet, you did not have it in you to care. You were safe, and the remaining control you had over your emotions that had been weighing heavy on you all day had finally run out.

Instead of politely trying to push you off of him, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you to him tighter, one hand gently stroking the back of your hair. He didn’t say anything, holding you to himself until your sobs turned into sniffles, rubbing your back as you took deep breaths to collect yourself.

You finally lift your head, and he lets go of you as your slowly pull away, but still keeps his hands on your upper arms.

Starting to feel a little ashamed for your outburst, you can’t bring yourself to look at his face, mumbling a “Sorry” on a sniffle as you wipe at your face with the back of your sleeve.

He bends down and moves himself into your field a vision, speaking when you finally meet eyes again, “You have nothing to be sorry for. Thank you for calling me. I was worried when the call disconnected, I thought…I’m just thankful I wasn’t far. I was out for a jog when you called, and when you said the name of this place, I knew where you were. I pass by here on some of my patrols.”

It was then that you fully take in his appearance. He was in a black, unzipped hoodie with a white t-shirt underneath, gray sweatpants, and running shoes. He was off duty. He could have ignored your call, or transferred you over to the precinct for someone else to deal with. But he took your call, and came to your aid, even though he wasn’t on duty.

“Thank you for coming, Officer. I am sorry, though. I just feel like a crazy person, running from some random guy into alleys. And he’s still out there somewhere. I—I’m—I just feel scared out of my mind. What am I supposed to do? I can’t live every day like this,” you vent. You would genuinely lose your mind if this is what you’re going to have to go through for the foreseeable future until the man is caught.

“First of all, call me Minho. Second, you’re not crazy. You’d be crazy if you weren’t scared. Your feelings are valid, Y/N. We’re going to get this guy, I promise. In the meantime, let’s head to the precinct. I need you to fill out a couple papers,” he says, lightly grabbing one of your arms as he starts to lead you out of the alley.

You let him guide you, letting his reassuring words sink in (and not missing the fact he wants you to call him by his first name).

“I have to fill out another report?” you ask as he lets go of your arm and places his hand on the back of your far shoulder, walking with you in the direction of the precinct.

“No. Well, I will have to do that so we have tonight on record, but that’s not what I meant. I’m going to have you fill out some forms so I can submit a request for a protection detail. I’ll talk to the chief, but he shouldn’t have a problem with me taking on the detail. Your route is already on one of my normal beats, and I’m not letting you walk alone like this anymore, not until that guy is caught,” he answers, concern and determination evident in his tone.

“That would be a relief, actually. You’d really be willing to do that?” you genuinely question, looking up at the side of his perfect face.

“Of course. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to keep you safe,” he responds, and looks down at you with the softest smile. Your stomach turns again, but in a good way, the anxiety being replaced with butterflies.

• • •

Every day for the next week and a half, every morning and every evening, Offic—Minho walked with you on your way to work and your way home.

You were both relieved and frustrated. You were relieved that as a result of Minho’s presence, your stalker hadn’t made another appearance; however, that also made you frustrated—how were you supposed to catch him if he wasn’t going to show himself anymore? Minho couldn’t just walk with you forever (though, you wouldn’t actually mind it).

When you explained that to Minho, he chose his words carefully to reassure you, but also trying not to scare you at the same time. Basically, he told you that it would only be a matter of time before the guy showed up again, as stalkers can only go so long without their object of obsession, and when he’d show up again, Minho would be there to put an end to it.

So until then, Minho would remain accompanying you on your daily commute.

Even though the reason for his presence wasn’t your favorite, you enjoyed the time with Minho for more than his protection. He was kind, and funny, always asking you questions and cracking jokes whenever he could to get you to smile. You got to know one another better, to the point you felt like you were becoming friends. You liked him. But, if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t just like him. You liked him. How could you not? A handsome, kind, funny man with a good job and the cutest smile was giving you attention you hadn’t received in a long time. You knew he was only doing so to be nice, doing the job he needed to do in order to keep you safe. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny, annoying part of your heart from hoping that maybe, just maybe, he felt a similar way about you.

Another day, and Minho stood waiting for you outside of the doors to your apartment building, like he always did when he would walk you to work in the mornings.

But this morning, something was different. You were late. He checked his watch, once, twice, and when another 10 minutes passed by, Minho started to seriously worry. You were never running this late in the mornings, especially without telling him. If you even thought you were going to be a few minutes behind, you always made sure to send him a text to let him know.

He dug out his phone from his slacks, and dialed your number. It rang, and rang, and rang, eventually going to voicemail. A bad feeling was settling in Minho’s gut, and he couldn’t stand waiting around like this for another minute.

He typed in the code you had given him in case he ever needed it, and entered your apartment building. He started up the stairs, taking two at a time to get to your 3rd floor apartment as fast as he could. Upon reaching your apartment, number 143, he proceeded to give 3 quick, heavy knocks on your door. When you didn’t answer, he did it again, knocking harder.

You still didn’t answer.

Panic surged through Minho, fearing that he missed something, that something had happened to you. There were no signs of a break in, but that may not mean anything. He took hold of your door knob and turned it, seeing if it was open.

It was locked. He felt slightly relieved at that, but not enough to stop his worry.

“Y/N! If you don’t answer this door, I’m coming in!” he shouted, knocking one more time.

No answer.

He was going to have to break down your door. Minho takes a steadying breath, and backs up a few steps. He prepares to run at the door, and just as he takes a running stride towards it, it opens.

He stops himself from crashing right into you by grabbing onto the door frame, almost losing his balance in the process.

There you are, unharmed, standing in the doorway, with wide eyes and a disoriented expression.

“I overslept! I guess the power went out last night, my alarm clock was flashing when I finally woke up. Your knocking scared the shit out of me! I was about to grab a rolling pin before I heard it was you at the door,” you rush to explain.

Minho blinks at you. He takes a moment to look you over, and the evidence seems to support your story, as you were still in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with your hair sticking up in all directions out of a messy bun still trying to cling to your head.

“…a rolling pin?” he finally says, trying to hold in a snicker.

You roll your eyes, letting out a huff as you teasingly say, “Look, not everyone has an arsenal at their disposal, Mr. Officer. I have to get creative. If you don’t believe a rolling pin would be effective, I’d be more than happy to test it out on you.”

Minho laughs, cute bunny teeth making an appearance, and holds his hands up in faux surrender. You couldn’t stop a giggle from bubbling out of you.

You’re about to invite him inside to wait while you scramble to get ready, but as you open your mouth to do so, Minho turns his head, something catching his attention.

His face suddenly turns serious, lowering his hands to his belt slowly. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peer your head out of the doorway to see what he was looking at.

You gasp. It wasn’t a what, but a who.

A man in a gray hoodie and baseball cap was standing at the end of the hallway.

Everything stops for second, so silent that you could hear a pin drop from another floor. Then, chaos.

The man turns and rushes back down the stairs, and Minho takes off after him, shouting “Go inside!” over his shoulder at you. You momentarily freeze, but do as he says, going back inside and deadbolting the door. You lean against the door, breathing heavily. Maybe you should go grab that rolling pin, just in case.

Minho is flying down the stairs, skipping most of them as he pulls his body down the landings by the railings, the man in the lead doing the same, but significantly less confident in his movements.

This was the man. The man who has been threatening your safety for weeks now. When Minho saw his figure out of the corner of his eye in the hallway, he knew. And when you gasped at the sight, that was all the confirmation Minho needed.

Minho would be damned if he lets this guy get away.

The man reaches the bottom of the stairs, and pushes through the front doors, Minho right on his tail, hot in pursuit.

Racing down the sidewalk, Minho starts shouting “MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!” to any passersby getting in the way, having to shove some people to get through. The gap between him and the man was widening, and he couldn’t let that happen.

He wills his legs to move faster, pushes his muscles harder, and the gap starts to close.

The man started to repeatedly look over his shoulders in a panic, seeing Minho closing the distance. Then, upon one of those looks back, ended up tripping over a raised cracked piece of concrete in the sidewalk, causing him to fall to the ground. He rolls, somehow getting himself back on his feet in seconds, but it was too late.

Minho grabs the back of his hoodie, and yanks him back, causing him to stumble. He turns in his hold, and almost falls back to the ground when he’s faced with Minho’s fierce, bone-chilling stare. But with nothing to lose, he tries to swing a fist at Minho. He misses, of course, and Minho lets go of his hoodie and pushes him back just enough for him to land a perfect left hook across the man’s jaw, knocking him to the ground again.

Minho wrestles the man onto his stomach, and pins his hands to his back.

“Someone help! I didn’t even do anything!” the man whines underneath him, kicking and wiggling in Minho’s grasp, until Minho digs his knee into the man’s lower back, resulting in the man groaning in pain.

“Oh, really? You are under arrest for the attempted assault of a police officer” Minho starts, retrieving his handcuffs from his belt and cuffing the man’s wrists together, “How about we see what you have on you while we’re at it, hm?”

Minho searches the man’s pockets, and his stomach twists at what he finds—a lockpick set, pieces of rope, a packet of Rohypnol, and a hunting knife.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Minho spits out in disgust. It had been a while since Minho felt such rage, making heat travel up his neck. If he wasn’t a cop, he would’ve beaten this man’s face into the pavement.

Minho uses the radio on his shoulder, calling in back-up to help collect the evidence he just confiscated from the man’s pockets and a patrol car to bring him in for arrest. Thankfully, a car out on patrol was nearby, and only takes a couple minutes to pull up in front of them.

Minho forces the man up onto his feet and roughly pushes him towards the vehicle as he announces, venom lacing his words, “You are under arrest for stalking with the intent to harm, and the attempted assault of a police officer. You have the right to remain silent, if you don’t have an attorney…”

Later the same day, you’re sitting in the chair next to Minho’s desk, fiddling with your thumbs as you wait for him.

Minho had called you to come down to the precinct, informing you that he had caught and arrested the man. The source of your anxiety and nightmares that had been overwhelming you for weeks, weeks that felt like months, had finally been caught. You nearly cried at his words, letting out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since this all started.

When you saw Minho as you walked into the precinct, you couldn’t help put run up and hug him, hitting him so hard his stance faltered back a bit. All he could do was let out an airy chuckle, gladly wrapping his arms around you. However, once you realized you were getting a few too many inquisitive stares from the other cops standing nearby, you quickly let go of him. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

A lot was revealed to you as Minho explained everything that had happened, and who exactly the man was that had been stalking you. He showed you pictures and documentation, and your mouth dropped at the information.

The man was a guy you recognized from an old job, one you had left over a year ago. You spoke to him briefly, maybe a handful of times, simply out of courtesy as your paths didn’t cross much. Clearly, he misinterpreted your brief kindness as something else. In his confession, not bothering to fight the accusations, he admitted he had finally found you about a month ago, eventually deciding to follow you on your regular commutes, wanting to “get to know” you. Minho’s accompanying you upset him, and he needed to be able to speak with you “directly”. So, he somehow managed to illegally access a code to your apartment complex, and in frequenting the mail room to find your name, he ultimately found your apartment number.

He had planned to be waiting for you inside your apartment when you got home that day, expecting you to stick to your normal routine. But when you didn’t leave at the time you normally did, that’s when Minho saw him making his way to your apartment, and his plans were ruined. Minho wouldn’t tell you the details of his “plans” that he shared, but when you heard what they had confiscated from him, you had a pretty good idea of what they were, and it took all you had not to become physically sick in your seat.

It also had been revealed that he had a warrant out for his arrest in another state, for something similar involving another woman, who had not been so lucky to have ruined his plans. Sexual assault charges, aggravated assault, and a litany of other crimes made him a very wanted man, and Minho told you he would eventually be transferred out of state to stand trial for those crimes, with his behavior here only backing up the cases for the prosecution. No matter what, the sick man wouldn’t be getting out of any of this, and would be sent far away from you, allowing you to find your peace in your city once again.

Minho finally makes his way back to his desk where you’re waiting after having finished filling out the last of the paperwork he needed from you, and informs you that you are free to leave whenever you’re ready.

You nod and stand to your feet, awkwardly hesitating for a moment. You didn’t want to leave, because if you left, what reason would you have to come back? You were relieved to finally be able to leave this chapter of your life behind you, but you didn’t want to leave Minho behind as well.

He notices your hesitation, and quietly laughs to himself as he sets down some papers, looking back to you with that smile of his that made you feel like mush inside.

“So…I guess this means you don’t need an escort any more, huh?” he says, the tiniest hint of disappointment in his voice.

You laugh and look down at your feet as you answer, “No, I guess not, but…” you pause, looking up at him, forcing yourself to look into his beautiful eyes, “I wouldn’t mind being escorted to dinner…maybe this weekend, if you’re not too busy chasing down other criminals.”

It’s Minho’s turn to look down at his feet, a light blush rising to his ears. He meets your eyes again, a little sparkle in his eyes as he responds, “Well, it’d certainly be a dangerous thing to let you go hungry. We can’t have that. How about 7 o’clock on Friday? We’ll go to that restaurant you were telling me about the other day.”

You smile like an idiot as you nod, not being able to mask your excitement. He giggles, and then walks with you towards the doors of the precinct, a gentle hand resting on the small of your back.

• • •

Minho swears paperwork will be the death of him. He loves his job, truly, but he wasn’t mentally prepared for all the fucking paperwork duties that came along with it when he chose his career.

It was Friday, the day of his date with you, and he already had to text you earlier to ask to meet at the restaurant instead of him meeting you at your apartment, everything he needed to get done before the end of his shift making him run later than he was expecting. You, being the understanding person you were, didn’t have a problem with it, and for that, Minho was extremely grateful.

But currently, he was drowning in paperwork, rushing to complete it all so he could leave. And with being so focused on his task, time got away from him, until one of his fellow officers taps his shoulder.

“Minho hyung, don’t you have a date tonight?” Officer Hwang Hyunjin asks, tucking long strands of his black hair behind his ear as he leans over Minho’s desk.

Minho turns to look up at him, confused. “Uh, yes? Why?”

Officer Hwang rolls his eyes, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the large analog clock on the wall behind them, “Because, if I remember correctly, you said you needed to leave here by 6:15, and it’s currently almost 7:40.”

Minho almost falls out of his chair as he realizes the time. He scrambles for his phone on his desk, and as he taps the screen, nothing happens. He then realizes that even though he had his phone hooked on the charger at his desk, the cord got unplugged, resulting in his phone running out of battery. Resulting in him having no way to contact you. Resulting in him fucking up the first date he’s been on in ages, with the woman he liked more than he probably should’ve, after only a short time of knowing her.

“Shit!” Minho curses, slamming his palms onto his desk as he rises to his feet, making Officer Hwang jump a little.

Just then, the chief walks by, noticing Minho’s distress.

“What’s got you all worked up, Lee?” Chief Lee Felix asks, walking up to Minho’s desk. Minho runs a hand through his hair, opening his mouth to answer, but Officer Hwang beats him to it.

“Minho just stood up the only date he’s had in, what, years? How hard is it to pay attention to the time, pabo? She was cute, too. It’s a damn shame,” Hyunjin rambles, and flinches back when Minho lifts his hand to smack him, but is stopped by the chief raising his hands.

“Yah! Hold on. You really had a date tonight? What time?” Chief Lee asks, looking at Minho with an amused smile.

”At 7…” Minho mumbles, collapsing back into his chair and hiding his face in his hands. How could he do this, to you of all people?

“The fuck you still doing here then?! Get out of here! She might still be there if you go now,” the chief says, clapping his hand hard against Minho’s shoulder.

“I—wh—I won’t get there fast enough! It’ll take me 20 minutes to walk there, 15 if I run,” Minho replies, caught off guard by the chief’s reaction.

“Well, you definitely didn’t hear me tell you to take a patrol car for personal use. And you certainly didn’t hear me tell you to use lights and sirens while you’re at it. Absolutely not,” Chief Lee replies, cheekily winking at Minho.

It takes a second for Minho to process what he just heard. But then he jumps back on his feet, grabs his phone and a set of keys for one of the patrol cars, and maneuvers around his desk, intentionally shoulder-checking Hyunjin in the process. He breathes out a “Thank you” as he passes the chief, who lightly smacks Minho’s ass in return, and both Chief Lee and Officer Hwang holler and clap as Minho takes off running full speed to the doors of the precinct.

You begin walking out of the restaurant, a cool breeze making you shiver, pulling your jacket around yourself tighter.

You never expected Minho would be the kind of guy to stand you up. You really thought he was someone more decent than that. You would’ve bet your life on it.

Yet here you were, wearing your favorite pair of jeans, heels, and top that hugged your curves in all the right places, about to head home after waiting on him for nearly an hour, with no phone call and no reply to any of your messages. You felt so foolish, and you couldn’t believe you really thought he actually liked you back. Discouraged and on the verge of tears, you start taking a few steps to walk home.

Then, you heard sirens approaching. You didn’t think much of it, sirens being a relatively common sound to hear in the city. But as the sirens got louder, and now lights came into view, you turned to look in the direction they were coming from.

A cop car was speeding down the street, heading right for where you were standing. You watched as the car pulled over into an empty parking space right in front of you, cutting the lights and sirens once in park. Out from the driver’s side door comes a frantic looking Minho, who almost trips over his feet as he rushes onto the sidewalk, stopping in his tracks as he makes eye contact with you. You see his face drop, and he takes a few long strides over to you, stopping a couple feet away, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find his words.

“Oh, Y/N, oh, I am so sorry! I know, you have every right to be pissed off at me right now, and if you want to leave, I’ll understand, but hear me out. I swear, I didn’t do this on purpose. I got caught up in finishing up paperwork that needed to get done before the end of my shift—you know me and paperwork, right? —and time just got away from me. Hyunj—Officer Hwang had to tell me I was late, and both him and the chief were giving me shit about being such a moron, and honestly, I have to agree. I mean, my phone even died, though the damn thing was plugged in! I didn—"

“Minho, enough,” you interrupt him, holding up a hand to pause his rushed explanation for his lateness.

He stops, and his expression turns even sadder, reminding you of a wounded, wide-eyed kitten. Your heart felt like it was going to break at that sight alone.

“I’ll be honest, I was hurt there for a minute. I like you, like, really like you, Minho. So, thinking you stood me up like that, with no warning…” you trail off as you look down at the sidewalk, betraying tears pricking at your eyes. Fuck, why were you so emotional around him?!

Minho steps closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, giving you a light squeeze, and leans down to try to look in your eyes, just like he always liked to do when you wouldn’t look at him. But you continued to avoid him, not wanting him to see the tears in your own. He then took one of his hands, and gently tipped your chin up to look him in the eye. Seeing how upset you were over his mistake, he bit his bottom lip into a slight frown, using the thumb of the hand on your face to lightly caress your jaw.

“Y/N, I really like you, too. I’ve been looking forward to this since the moment we made the plans. I’d never dream of standing someone as lovely as you up. Will you forgive me? Let me make it up to you tonight, okay? I’m all yours for the rest of the evening,” Minho softly confesses, eyes pleading with you to say ‘yes’.

You gently grab onto his hand on your face, and give him a reassuring squeeze as you nod your head. Minho smiles, beaming at your answer. He drops his hand from your face and takes hold of the hand you had on his, lacing his fingers with yours as he walks you inside of the restaurant.

Dinner with Minho quickly became one of the best decisions you’d ever made. It was so much fun, talking about whatever would come to mind, laughing, teasing, and cracking jokes, while sharing a bottle of soju as you ate some of the best Korean barbecue in the city.

Minho insisted on grilling everything, always giving you the first piece whenever the cuts were finished cooking. It was such a simple gesture, but one that made your heart pick up its pace nevertheless.

“You know, I don’t mind taking a turn grilling. I don’t expect to be served the whole night,” you giggle as you watch Minho place more cuts of flank onto the grill top.

“But that’s part of my job description, to protect and serve,” Minho replies, pretending to be serious.

“I don’t think this is the kind of serving they meant when you took that oath,” you say as you playfully roll your eyes, taking another swig of soju.

“Maybe, maybe not, but just in case, let me fulfill my duties, ma’am,” he responds, doing his best to keep a straight face, yet failing miserably.

“Whatever you say, Officer Lee,” you tease, and you both crack up, laughing a little too loudly.

When you both had finished up, Minho paid the bill, even though you argued you should at least pay half since you were the one who technically asked him out, but he just smiled as he handed his card to the waiter, making you shake your head at him.

He then walked you out of the restaurant, hand resting on your lower back. He ushered you over to the patrol car, opening the door for you, and placing his hand on the top of the doorway to make sure you didn’t bump your head. You blushed at the chivalry, smiling to yourself as you watched him walk around to his door.

He drove you to your apartment, the ride there being filled with silence. Not an awkward or tense silence, but a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the presence of the other, stealing blushing glances, and giggling when you would catch the other doing so.

Once Minho pulled over next to your complex and put the car in park, you were the one who decided to break the silence.

“Thank you for everything tonight, Minho. I had a great time. But… I have a favor to ask,” you speak up, heart hammering in your chest as you work up the nerve to say what you were wanting to say.

He looks over at you, a beautifully soft expression on his face, and replies in all genuineness, “Anything.”

You smile at him, then bite your lip as you shyly look into your lap.

“Would you be up for escorting me inside tonight? Maybe, to my bedroom? There’s been some dust bunnies eyeing me funny, and I think they might be plotting against me…” you manage to breath out, laughing lightly at your own joke in an effort to soften the blow of rejection you feared to be very likely. You weren’t one to ask someone inside on the first date, but Minho was different, and maybe it was the soju lingering in your system, but you felt like you might as well lay it all on the line tonight.

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to sputter out an apology, but when you look up at him, his face is mere inches from yours. He looks over your face slowly, as if he were memorizing every feature, and his piercing gaze stops at your lips.

“It’d be my pleasure, miss,” he breathes over your lips, and the next thing you know, he’s crashing his lips against yours. He kisses you sweetly, bringing his hand to the back of your neck to cradle your head in his strong hand. The kiss quickly turns urgent, however, with your open mouths moving against one another, one of your hands raking down his firm chest as he licks into your mouth. You eventually have to pull away from each other, unfortunately needing to catch your breath.

Before you can even say anything, Minho is getting out of the car, swiftly walking around even with a slight bulge in his slacks, and opens your door, extending a hand for you to take. You oblige, and he helps you out of the car with an eager glint in his eyes, mirroring your own.

As soon as you lock your apartment door behind you, you are all over each other in seconds. Lips devouring one another, hands in each other’s hair, pulling and pushing until Minho ultimately pins you against the wall. His hand is now on the side of your neck, his lips occupying the other side, while his other hand grips at the bare skin of your waist, exposed from your shirt bunching up slightly, fingertips lightly digging into the soft flesh.

His lips trail up to just below your ear, sucking and nibbling at the skin just enough to leave a mark. He gives the spot a quick peck before moving up to whisper right in your ear, “I think I’m going to have to conduct a search, miss. Need to make sure you aren’t hiding anything that poses a risk.”

You let out an airy giggle at his cheesy line, playing up a sultry response of your own, “Of course, Officer, whatever you need to do.”

You feel Minho smile against your ear, and he proceeds to conduct his “search”. His hands, soft yet rough at the same time, run up the sides of your body, gripping and kneading as he went. He brings his hands up to frame your chest, fingertips pressing into the sides of your breasts as his thumbs gently brush over where your nipples were hardening under your clothes. His exploring hands then trailed down your sides, making their way behind you, enjoying every moment of sliding his hands down the curve of your ass. He firmly groped you, taking hold of each cheek in his hand and pulling up and apart, spreading you open in your jeans, making you moan out at the feeling.

“Hmm, something seems suspicious here. Gonna have to take a closer look,” Minho breathes out against your ear again, and you softly whine in response, pushing your hips against his, allowing you to momentarily feel how truly hard he had gotten in his pants. He pushed your hips back though, pinning you back to the wall with a light thud.

“Please cooperate, or you’ll have to be detained,” he instructs, trying to put on a serious mask, but failing to completely hide his amusement at his own words.

“That’s supposed to be a bad thing?” you teasingly reply, a bit out of breath.

He gives you an evil little smirk, one hand still pinning your hips to the wall, the other now boldly cupping the crotch of your jeans. You let out a quick gasp as he firmly runs his palm up and down over your core. You feel yourself getting wetter at the sensation, wondering if he can feel it through your jeans. He removes his palm, and replaces it with his thumb, now trailing up and down the ridged seam of your jeans, giving extra focus to the spot where your clit was already buzzing from the attention. He then trails his fingers up, up, up, until he can unbutton your jeans, grabbing onto the zipper and slowly unzips them, his snail pace driving you crazy.

You watch with wide eyes as he sinks to his knees in front of you. He brings both hands to the waist of your jeans, and slowly peels them down your legs, watching your reaction the whole time. He removes your heels along with your jeans, giving you more stability, as what he planned on doing to you would not help you in that department.

He gently positions your legs further apart, allowing him room to nestle right between them, breath ghosting over your clothed cunt. He looks up at you through his long lashes, searching for any signs to stop, but all you did was thread a hand into his soft hair, pushing him slightly closer to where you needed him most, making him wickedly grin from beneath you.

He closes the gap and attaches his mouth to your drenched pussy, licking his tongue right over your clothed hole, moaning at the taste. His nose nudges your clit, and you can’t help put push his head into you a little more, lightly grinding yourself into him. It felt so good, but nowhere near enough.

He runs his tongue up until he reaches the nub hiding in your panties, and starts to flick his tongue over the spot. You let out an airy moan, and Minho removes himself from you, turning your moan into a pathetic whine. He clicks his tongue at you, shaking his head at you, while bringing his hands back up, fingers hooking into your panties to drag them down your legs, tossing them with your jeans.

He positions himself again, this time hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. He takes time to kiss all over your inner thigh, trailing further in until he places a kiss on the trimmed mound of your pussy, right above the lips. He watches your face twist in pleasure as he sinks his tongue between your folds, lapping up everything you were dripping for him.

Your head leans back against the wall, moans escaping from your lips as he ate you out, savoring the dessert he hadn’t gotten at dinner. He traded off from fucking you with his tongue, to sucking your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the bundle of nerves that were practically singing from his focused attention. He moaned into you when you threaded your hands in his hair again, tugging at the roots to have something to hold onto.

Your legs started to shake, and Minho could tell it wouldn’t take much more to push you over the edge. However, he wasn’t done playing with you yet. He removed his mouth from you, going back to kissing your inner thigh again, this time sucking light marks into them while kneading the outside with his warm hand. Before you can whine in frustration, you feel the fingers of his other hand start exploring your pussy, letting them slide through the wetness that both of you had caused.

He slides one finger inside of you, making you clench around him immediately. He chuckles into your thigh as he works his finger in deeper, curling up, truly in search for something now.

He adds another finger, picking up his pace slightly when he hears how you moan from the feeling. He adjusts the angle of his fingers just a bit, and finds exactly what he was looking for. You let out a gasping cry, Minho rubbing against a soft spot within you that has your eyes rolling back into your head. He puts his mouth back on your clit, sucking hard as his fingers move even faster, and before you even realize it’s happening, you’re cumming all over his hand and face, shaking violently around his head, crying out in pure pleasure. He holds you tight, not letting your body slip in his grasp as he works you through the intense sensation.

You sincerely hope your neighbors didn’t hear, as they might just decide to call the cops at the disturbance, but then you hazily laugh to yourself at the thought. If they did decide to do that, you already had a cop here to take care of it.

Once your shaking slowed, Minho set your leg back down, getting onto his feet as well. He then roughly pulls you to himself in a deliciously messy open-mouth kiss, making sure you got a good taste of yourself all over his lips and tongue. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it up, a smile trying to break out across his face.

You never would have expected Minho, Officer Lee Minho, upstanding man of your city’s finest, behaving so utterly debauched. You didn’t like it.

You loved it.

 “I still need you to escort me to my bedroom, Officer,” you mumble against his lips, peering up at him through your lashes, giving him the best doe-eyed stare you could manage.

He puffs out a humored breath against your lips, smirking down at you.

“Show me the way, miss. I’ll keep you safe,” he mumbles back to you, taking a step back so you could lead him where you want him. Your smile leans more towards giddy than sexy as you pull him towards your bedroom.

When reaching your room, Minho uses the hand you were holding to pull you back into his chest, placing a hand on your cheek, the kiss you share being far more tender than the one from before. He slowly starts to back you up to your bed, and right before you fall back onto it, you remember something.

“Wait!” you gasp out, and Minho immediately freezes in place. He looks at you with such sincere concern, wondering what line he had just crossed.

“Just one second, before we get too much further,” you say with a sweet smile, and turn on your heel, jogging into your ensuite bathroom, closing the door.

Minho awkwardly stands there as he hears you clanging around in there, cabinets and drawers slamming shut, the sounds of things being shuffled around, eventually hearing you say “Aha!”, which made him chuckle.

A brief moment later, you open the door, strutting back out completely naked. Minho’s lips part at the sight, taking in your beautiful body. Fuck, he wanted to drop to his knees again, but then you say, ”Heads up!”, and toss something in his direction.

He catches it with ease, and looks down at what you threw. A golden foil packet. A condom.

“Had a hard time finding one of these, eh?” Minho laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at you, alluding to your apparent lack of need for them.

“Hey, I only invite the city’s finest in here, and would you believe, they’re hard to come by?” you tease, settling yourself in the middle of your bed.

Minho laughs, nodding his head at you, “Understandable.”

Minho then decides he’s had enough of being the only one fully clothed, in his uniform at that, not having the time to change before he raced to the restaurant.

He walks over to your dresser, and starts to undo his tactical belt, being responsible and taking apart all of the pieces he needed to for safety, specifically his gun. You sit up in bed, watching his movements with fascination. You see him set another item down, and you can’t help but blurt out,

“Could you maybe keep the ‘cuffs?”

He turns to look at you, raising his eyebrows as he lets out a pretty laugh. You bite your lip, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Now, Miss Y/N, I have to ask—are you only sleeping with me to live out some kinky cop fantasy?” Minho teases, but genuinely wanting your answer. He wouldn’t necessarily mind if that was the case, but he wanted it to be so much more.

“I don’t have a ‘kinky cop fantasy’, I have a kinky Lee Minho fantasy, and he just happens to be a cop. Is that an issue for you?” you honestly reply, sending him a quick wink.

A big smile spreads across his face, and he turns back to the dresser to hide it.

“Not at all,” he answers, going back to removing his belt and untucking his shirt from his slacks. He takes his time unbuttoning his blue uniform shirt, folding it neatly onto the dresser. He then takes off his white undershirt, flexing the muscles in his shoulders as he lifts it over his head. He knew your eyes were on him, and he wanted to show off a teeny bit.

He unbuttons his pants, and slides them, along with his underwear, down his legs. He picks them up to fold them as well.

You were drooling at the sight, almost from your mouth, but definitely from your pussy. He looked even more sexy than you could have imagined, and you only were staring at his toned back and perfectly round ass so far.

He turns around to face you, handcuffs in one hand, and the condom between his fingers in the other.

Oh fuck.

If you thought his back was perfect, it had nothing on his front. Gorgeously toned pecs, beautiful abs with the perfect amount of soft belly cushioning them, and a sexy little happy trail under his belly button leading down to his mouth-watering cock, fully hard and hanging heavy between his thick thighs.

You might actually be drooling from your mouth now.

“As a responsible citizen, I’m sure you’re aware of what the different colors for traffic lights mean?” Minho questions, strutting up to the end of the bed.

“Ooo and you’re calling me the kinky one, Officer Lee…yes, I know my traffic lights, and mine is green,” you tease as you slowly spread your legs out in front of him, giving him an unobstructed view of your glistening cunt.

He unthinkingly licks his lips as he stares you down, tossing the condom and cuffs onto the bed. He takes both hands and grabs your ankles, quickly pulling you down the bed until you’re flat on your back. You let out a little yelp that turns into a giggle, and he giggles too, climbing above you as he settles between your legs, leaning down to press short but searing kisses against your lips. You feel his hard length resting on your thigh—red, hot, and deliciously leaky.

You lift your arms to wrap around his neck, but he removes them from around him and pushes them above your head, touching your headboard. He pulls back from you to reach to the side, and then dangles his handcuffs in front of your face with one finger.

“You really want me to use these?” he asks, pretty eyes scanning your face, making sure it was something you were still comfortable with.

You sheepishly grin as you say, “Yes,” and Minho grins back. He reaches over your head and places the cuffs around your wrists, looping the chain through the iron rungs of your headboard. He checks to make sure the cuffs are secure, giving them a gentle tug, while also making sure they weren’t too tight around your wrists.

He sits back, admiring your form underneath him. So beautiful, so sexy, and completely at his mercy for the rest of the night.

He was going to take good care of you.

He spreads your legs further apart, mesmerized by the way your pussy lips spread apart for him. He feels his mouth salivating just looking at you.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he says under his breath, and you let out a heavy sigh at his words, cheeks starting to redden at his unyielding gaze.

He reaches over for the condom on the bed, and tears at the packet with his teeth, spitting a piece of foil to the side. He removes the condom from the packet, and slowly rolls it onto his painfully hard cock, letting out a breath along with it.

You can’t take your eyes off of his fat cock. You want it in you, need it in you so badly. You wish you could just let him take you raw, feeling every vein and ridge along your gummy walls. You’d have to look into doing something about that for the next time…please, let there be a next time.

He shuffles forward until his gorgeously heavy cock is able to rest right on top of your spread-out cunt, and holds the base steady as he glides it through your slick folds, spreading the wetness all over both of you. You’re so wet that it makes the hair at his base dampen from the touch. He takes his time, just feeling you, his head tilting back at the sensation, both of you letting out a whispered gasp when his tip catches on your clit.

“More, more please,” you moan, bucking your hips up to try to feel more of him, even though the only way to feel anything more would be for him to be inside of you. The chain of the handcuffs clink against the headboard as you move, keeping you in place.

He lets out a raspy chuckle, still content with his gentle rocking movements.

“Are you giving me orders?” he questions, looking down at you with a menacing quirked eyebrow.

“No, I—” your response is cut off by the feeling of him tapping his cockhead against your clit, making you mewl at the embarrassingly loud smacking sounds.

“Please, please fuck me, Officer. Need your cock to fill me up so bad. Cock is so big, so pretty. Let my pussy make it feel good. I know you’ll like it, Officer Lee,” you manage to babble out, practically begging him for his cock. You had no shame in it, either. You’d do anything for him to have you.

“Think so? Is this pussy gonna make me cum?” Minho replies, a minor taunt in his voice.

He bites his lip as he watches you rapidly nod your head, legs squirming next to him.

“Okay, jagiya. I’ll fuck this sweet pussy, give it to you good since you’re offering it to me so kindly. But on one condition—you don’t cum until I give you permission. Officer’s orders,” he says, somehow cooing and threatening you at the same time, leaning down until his lips barely hover over yours.

“Understand?” he breathes over your lips, eyes caressing your face.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment. You swear you feel your cunt get even wetter at his words. You lick your lips, eyes looking over his face as his were to you, matching the tension he created.

“Yes, Officer. I understand.”

His lips are on yours immediately, managing to kiss you even filthier than before. He takes what he wants, licking into your mouth, savoring the taste of your tongue, and puts action to the phrase “swapping spit”.

He pulls back with a groan, just before you reach your limit from lack of oxygen. Your chest was rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. He’s got you like this and he hasn’t even fucked you yet? Shit. He was going to ruin you.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, he starts lining his tip at your entrance, ever so slightly pushing in. He pushes a little more, just barely, and keeps that slow progression as he sinks into you, forcing you to feel it all.

You try to steel your expressions as he does so, but your eyes were already wanting to cross from the massive stretch as his fat cock filled you. You bite your lip so hard you might just break the skin.

“That feel good, jagiya? You’re taking my cock so well. So tight,” Minho asks, trying to keep a straight face himself, but not being able to hide his quiet grunt as he feels you clench at his compliment.

You nod with a little hum, but it’s not enough for Minho. He places his big, veiny hand against your lower pelvis, pressing down just enough, adding pressure that he could feel from inside you, and gently grinds into you.

You can’t help the groan that leaves your lips, the pressure of him inside and outside feeling indescribably good. This man was in your fucking guts, and it made your brain go fuzzy.

“That ‘a girl, let it out for me,” he encourages, sighing with admiration at how your body was reacting to him. Your noises were so pretty, and he wanted you to give him more.

He continues to grind into you, so deliciously yet frustratingly slow. Even with the condom, you felt every detail of him inside you. Gliding in, and almost all the way out, again and again, rolling his hips as he stroked the deepest parts of you, leaning over you with one hand pushing into the mattress, the other gripping the meat of your thigh and holding your leg around him. You felt like your body was humming, buzzing as your nerves sent every little sensation to your brain. You felt it tingling up your spine, down your legs, and even in your toes. You knew as soon as he decided to pick up the pace, you’d cum way too fast. He was winding you up tighter, and tighter, drawing out pretty gasps and moans from you that flowed more with every stroke. He stopped trying to hinder his own sounds, letting his airy moans and uhh’s mix with yours, your bodies harmonizing with one another.

After what feels like ages, already delirious from his slow but thorough fucking, he gradually began to pick up the pace. His slow grinds turned into steady rutting, then turned into rhythmic pounding, with his thick thighs slapping against the backs of yours.

“Nnngh ‘m gonna cum!” you whine out a warning, your orgasm racing up on you after being wound up for so long.

“You’re going to disobey an officer’s orders Y/N? Aren’t you better than that?” Minho jabs, voice rougher than normal, panting breaths layering his words.

“ ‘m trying! I c-can’t hold it!” you cry out, feeling helpless in the best way possible.

“What’s your color?” he growls, leaning in next to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Green! So fucking green, don’t stop Minho,” you beg, tears of pleasure starting to run down your face and onto your pillows.

“Then you’re going to hold it like a good girl. Don’t you dare cum,” Minho commands through his teeth, but shows some mercy and slows his pace, spacing out his thrusts, letting you find control of yourself again.

But he’s feeling just as fucked out as you are, and he’s not much better off than you in holding off his own orgasm.

He hooks his arms under your knees, folding you in half as he leans his body over, chest brushing up against yours, and his arms extend further above you to grab onto the rungs of your headboard, hands next to yours. You’re pinned under him and his cock, pushing your limits of flexibility, but fuck does it feel good.

His pace builds right back up to where he had you teetering on the edge, but more intense now, just fucking drilling into your swollen pussy, making the headboard move and slam back into the wall with every one of his thrusts. You didn’t care that he might break it, and you didn’t care that your neighbors could hear, all you cared about was cumming all over his cock and taking him over the edge with you.

“Min! I—I can-’t, please! Please let me cum!” you squeal out, feeling the tension in your core reaching its peak. Your pussy was clenching around him, walls fluttering, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold off any longer.

One of his hands lets go of the headboard and grabs onto your chin instead, lightly squeezing your jaw.

“You fucking cum for me, right now,” Minho growls in your face, and watches your eyes roll back into your head at his command, white-hot pleasure shattering you apart, causing your back to arch harshly into him, convulsing against his body with no control over your movements.

Your pussy squeezes around his cock like a vice, and with how mind-blowingly pretty you looked unravelling beneath him, he moans loudly as he unloads his hot release into the condom, his own body shaking from the intensity.

He stays buried in you, weakly grinding into you as you both pant like animals as you come down from your highs. Once you both find the ability to breathe somewhat normally again, Minho gently pulls out, making you whimper at the loss of fullness.

He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the keys to the handcuffs, and proceeds to finally free your wrists from the headboard. When he unlinks them, he notices faint red lines around your wrists, and you see his face fall.

“I really tried to make sure these didn’t hurt you,” he sincerely whispers as he flops onto his side next to you, a pout pulling at his bottom lip.

“But it didn’t hurt. You don’t understand how fucking good all of that felt,” you say as you prop your head up onto your hand, a genuine smile breaking out across your face as you turn look at him.

He chuckles, mirroring you by propping his head into his hand too, “I do, though. You’re amazing.”

“I know. I told you you’d like this pussy,” you reply with a cocky smirk.

“No—well, yes—but no,” he giggles, but then his face turns more serious, his eyes looking down at the mattress. His free hand takes hold of yours between the two of you, and gently plays with your fingers as he continues, “it’s more than that, Y/N. I wouldn’t have done all that with just anyone. I really, really like you. Ever since I saw you in the precinct, even as shaken up as you were, I thought you were beautiful. And then I got to spend time around you, got to know you, and you turned out to be beautiful on the inside, too. I like being with you. I like who I am when I’m with you. I don’t want us to end here tonight. I want to be so much more to you than this. Would…would you let me? Would you…want to be my girlfriend?”

You’re shocked into momentary silence. Minho’s heart drops in his chest at your lack of response, and forces himself to meet your eyes to face rejection.

But all he sees is you with a big, stupid grin on your face.

“I’d love that, Minho. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend,” you giddily answer, fingers lightly squeezing his, your feet subtly kicking at sheets in excitement.

Minho grins back at you just as stupidly, bunny teeth on full display. He frees his hand from yours and reaches to the back of your neck, pulling you into him, making the hand under your head fall to the mattress to brace yourself. He meets you in the middle to smash his lips into yours, passionate and sweet, a small smile forming into the kiss.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, lost in the moment, when suddenly, a tiny dip in the bed and a movement behind his shoulder makes him jump.

You laugh at his reaction, seeing the cause of the problem—a cute, fluffy problem.

”You have a cat?” he gasps in awe as he watches the cat climb over him to get to you.

“Um, yeah,” you laugh, reaching out to pet her, and Minho gently does the same, scratching behind her ear, a light purr rumbling out from your kitty at the attention, “This is my babygirl, Mochi. I didn’t know she was hiding in here. She’s probably traumatized after all we just did,” you laugh again, feeling a little guilty for possibly scarring your cat for life. You know she never had heard you make noises quite like that before. Poor baby.

Something fuzzy and warm bubbles up in Minho’s chest as he watches you continue petting your cat, who is now making her way behind you.

“Actually, scratch the girlfriend thing—can you marry me?” Minho asks, another stupid grin on his face.

Your head snaps back to him, and he giggles at your initial shocked expression. You then narrow your eyes at him, a mischievous smirk pulling at your lips.

“Now, Officer Lee, isn’t that a dangerous question to ask me? What if I say ‘yes’?” you answer, flirtingly leaning in closer to his face.

“I wouldn’t have become a cop if I didn’t like a little bit of danger,” he answers back, closing in on you, eyes watching your lips.

“Hmm…,” you hum, ”I might need to be ‘cuffed a few more times before I trade them in for a ring.”

“That can be arranged,” Minho breathes out over your lips, then firmly presses his lips into yours, gently rolling himself on top of you.

Mochi doesn’t make the same mistake twice, and scurries out of your bedroom.

————————————————————————

if you enjoyed this story, check out my masterlist here <3

tags: @jehhskz

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

About Me

Hi I’m Aris!🐶 (she/her) 23 years old♍ US (EST)🌎

I will mostly post about Enhypen, Stray Kids, TXT, ATEEZ, BTS, Seventeen, &TEAM, and a few other groups.

Fanfiction Recommendation Masterlist

My Top 10 Favorite Stories

My Favorite Authors  

My Favorite A/B/O Fanfiction

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 1) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 2) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 3) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 4) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 5) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 6) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 7) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 8) 

A/B/O Fanfiction (Part 9) 

My Favorite Soulmate Fanfiction

Soulmate Fanfiction (Part 1) 

Soulmate Fanfiction (Part 2) 

Soulmate Fanfiction (Part 3)

My Favorite Free Use Fanfiction

Free Use Fanfiction (Part 1) 

My Favorite Multiple Partners Fanfiction

MPF (Part 1) - Stray Kids (Part 1) 

MPF (Part 2) - Ateez (Part 1) 

MPF (Part 3) - BTS (Part 1) 

MPF (Part 4) - BTS (Part 2) 

MPF (Part 5) - Ateez (Part 2) 

MPF (Part 6) - Stray Kids (Part 2) 

MPF (Part 7) - Ateez (Part 3) 

the smell of roses

the smell of roses — short series masterlist   status: complete [ general masterlist ] 

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love of triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy.

• content: gangs and all that ensues. mentions of all sorts of illegality; black markets, dirty money, money laundering, sex work, drugs and weapons dealing. corruption and blackmail. a lot of drinking (often excessive) and swearing. drug consumption (weed only). slight pyromania in a secondary character. mc is a brat. anger management problems. mental health issues (people are not quite sane). polygamy/polyamory. explicit, but not graphic, smut. dom minho. dom changbin. mc can’t make up her mind about being sub or dom. (more specific cw will be provided on each part)

It’s them. The Vices. The Vices Motorcycle Club. They have people everywhere. Everything in this town belongs to them. The mayor. The police, too. Every bar, every business, every warehouse. It’s all theirs. Except for your father’s shop. They have left him alone because they thought it was a matter of time before he would cave. Your father still hasn’t, and you are proud of him. It’s not like a flower shop would be any use to a biker gang, anyway. But one day, your father gives you a sad smile. It’s time. You don’t want to. You’re angry. You hate them. When they enter the shop to shake your father’s hand and take his money, you stand in the corner with pure hatred in your eyes. Their president notices. His right hand, too. A dangerous game begins. You’re ready to play.

• taglist: @softandfluffy​ ; @ughbehavior​ ; @changbinluvr​ ; @valreadsfics​ ; @ppiri-bahng​ ; @mchslut​ ; @lady—boner​ ; @defenseofourdreams6277​ ; you?

• author’s note: Hiiii everyone! ♡ I’ve been writing this completely for fun, unsure if I was ever going to share, but then I thought, why not? Our boys are on motorcycles and sporting leather 24/7, I can’t keep this to myself. There will be three parts only but each will be quite long. If you guys like it I might indulge in more but I’m not sure yet. I hope you’ll like it! ♡

prologue: angels and devils part one: snakeskin part two: in flames part three: blood in the cut

Thank you for being here and reading what I write! I love you all ❤️

cybernetic system

pairing: winter soldier!seo changbin x afab!reader

warnings: basically post catws recovery bucky but make it changbin, memory loss, trauma, ptsd, breaking and entering, vomiting, descriptions of past torture (electroshock therapy, brainwashing, human experimentation), mentions of suicide and death, murder, identity issues/crises, self doubt, crying, established relationship, slow burn, kissing, masturbation (m & f), nonconsensual voyeurism for like .2 seconds, nipple play, metal arm kink, scar kissing, unprotected sex

w/c: 16k

a/n: happy birthday changbin!!! i’m proud to have written birthday fics for the birthday boy 2 years in a row now! this one is inspired of course by his first verse in runners, i took one listen and knew what i had to do lol. this doesn’t follow the exact plot of captain america, it’s my own little twist, so i hope that’s okay! everyone, but most especially my fellow seolars and bucky lovers, i hope you enjoy!! 🖤

he doesn’t recognize the man on the wall. 

the man in the pictures. changbin seo, The Captain had told him on the carrier before it went down. 

changbin, you’ve known me your whole life. 

your name is changbin seo. 

i’m not gonna fight you, you’re my friend. 

then finish it. ‘cause i’m with you ‘til the end of the line. 

The Asset does not have friends, and he most certainly does not smile. 

the man in the pictures is unrecognizable. a wide grin is spread across changbin seo’s face, eyes squinted and cheeks bunched in what can only be described as joy. something that only humans feel. his arms, both made of flesh and blood, are thrown around someone who is smiling just as wide. the smile is not directed outwards toward the camera, it’s directed at him. a foreign notion. The Arm whirs. 

a look to the right shows another picture on the wall. a black tuxedo, a white dress. two figures huddled over a table with something large in the middle. cake, he recalls after a moment, but he can’t be too sure. it’s foggy. changbin seo holds a utensil in his hand and is bringing it to the other person’s lips, a smile once more appearing on his face. there’s a look in his eyes that The Asset cannot name. 

his boots are silent on the floor when he turns to leave. through the window again, the way he came. 

he scopes the perimeter outside one last time and makes for the abandoned safe house. 

that’s where The Falcon finds him two days later, sitting on his cot with a stolen Captain America pamphlet from the smithsonian. 

his gun is on the table, but he makes no move for it. he keeps a knife strapped to his thigh and another in his boot anyway. The Falcon wears his civilian clothing, he doesn’t have his wings like he did on the bridge because The Asset ripped them apart. he doesn’t have his red-eye goggles or machinery either, but The Asset knows he’s carrying. a handgun, in his back pocket by the way he tucks in his shirt when he rounds the door. 

“you’re loud. you’re a shit spy,” The Asset gripes, and he turns the page of the pamphlet. there would be a bullet hole in the middle of the man’s forehead if only The Asset deemed necessary, but he doesn’t know what is and isn’t anymore. 

programming required. 

a thin box drops in front of him, and The Falcon lowers himself to the ground to sit. “and you’re a shit host. where’s the hospitality? your esteemed guest is sitting on the cold, hard floor while you’re all comfortable on your… raggedy cot.” his sentence trails off, but he kicks the box towards him regardless. 

The Asset glares. at The Falcon, then at the box, then back up again. 

“it’s just a pie, man, jesus. with those little pepperoni cups?” 

a kitchen table, two places set. crumpled, greasy napkins strewn along the turquoise mats. bare feet tangled underneath the table and hands tangled on top. 

‘do you want the last piece, changbin? here, i’ll-”

the thought is gone as soon as it starts, and The Falcon blinks owlishly at him. he rolls his eyes and reaches forward to open the box, and the smell wafts over him like a fog, greasy, cheesy, and warm. 

his stomach hollows, contorts and writhes with the ache of hunger. it claws at his insides like a beast, and it growls angrily when he watches The Falcon grab a slice of his own and shove it into his mouth. 

it has been twenty-eight days since his last maintenance check. twenty-eight days since the last time he was reprogrammed, brain fried to high heavens and body injected with so many fluids before he was frozen inside The Tank to wait for his next orders that The Asset hardly had use for eating. when they did feed him, it was always something tasteless and slushy. eating for pleasure makes no sense in his scrambled mind. only humans and animals did that, and The Asset is neither of those things. but the injections have now run their course, and his body is weak. it will collapse in on itself without sustenance. 

is this a test? it is a cruel one if it is. he doesn’t remember much, but he doesn’t think The Falcon is cruel, even after they fought rough and hard and ugly on the highway and the helicarrier. his eyes are kind. trepidatious, rightfully so, but kind. he has not been looked at with kindness in a very long time. 

“it’s not rigged with explosives or anything, dude, just eat,” The Falcon says around an unattractive mouthful of pizza. 

The Asset reaches his flesh hand down to take a piece. it’s warm, dough greasy and cheese heavy enough that when he lifts the pizza to his mouth, the end of it droops. 

he’s on his second slice before he finishes chewing the first. 

“slow down a little, alright? i imagine you haven’t eaten in a while. if you eat too fast it’ll make you sick.” 

sick…

The Falcon doesn’t need to know he has already been sick. the twenty-eight days since his last reprogramming have allowed for recent memories to worm their way slowly back into his brain. like a dam that’s cracking down the middle. not many yet, but enough. enough to make him double over and empty the meager contents of his stomach onto the concrete flooring of the safe house. enough to make him wake up thrashing from night terrors. enough to make him fear closing his eyes at all lest he see the carnage he alone is responsible for. 

fear. a new development. The Asset is not familiar with fear. 

he wonders if Captain America is. 

if changbin seo was. 

“what do you want, Falcon? how did you find me?” is what he says instead. the crust is too chewy, and he puts it back in the box. 

“oh, business names, got it. um- well, first of all. i’m jisung. you tried to kill me and now i’m buying you pizza, what a turn around. chris has already told me your name is changbin.”

chris. christopher chahn bahng. Captain America. 

“don’t call me that. that’s not- i’m not- him.” 

all of the exhibits he’s been to have shown changbin seo to be an honorable man, Captain America’s right hand before martyring himself in combat five years prior. a loyal, faithful soldier, an even better friend. a fallen brother. an adored husband. such high regard should remain untainted by the blood and death and destruction on The Asset’s hands. changbin seo’s name should never be associated with that of The Winter Soldier. 

The Arm recalibrates as he flexes his fingers. all ten, half flesh and half titanium. 

“alright, robocop, don’t shoot the messenger. jeez, tough fucking crowd. anyway, you can thank redwing for that! recon and tracking. we’ve had your face in our system since you tried to feed me to the birds. cool, huh? wanna pet him? you can, just don’t rip him apart like you tried to do to me.” 

The Falcon, jisung, smirks toothily while he chews on the crust of his pizza. 

it’s then that redwing makes itself known, a drone that was previously camouflaged against the corner of the ceiling. 

if jisung and his drone were able to find him this easily, who else could? The Captain no doubt, maybe even The Widow if he feels inclined. he’s not ready to face either yet, but the thought that something bigger could find him sends a shiver up his spine and dread coursing through his vessel. 

fear. 

there it is again. 

he doesn’t want to go back to The Chair, where he’s strapped down and shocked so thoroughly until he remembers nothing but his orders, nothing but his objective as a Weapon. he can still taste the rubber bit in his mouth, where his teeth gnashed so hard his gums bled. The Tank, where he’s frozen in cryogenic stasis until he’s needed for a mission. he can still feel the phantom chills before his body and mind are trapped in nothingness. The Handler, who oversees it all. he can still hear his voice, hear his Words. 

he doesn’t want to go back, not to Hydra. he’ll put a bullet in his own head before that happens. 

“no one knows i’m here,” jisung pacifies. he wipes his hands together and then smooths them on his jeans. “chris thought you might be in the wind by now. thought maybe you’d make your way back east and tie up some… loose ends now that the head of the snake’s been cut off. but he’ll figure it out, man. especially when it comes to you, for some reason. we’re leaving to look for you tomorrow, and he’ll keep looking when we don’t find you. he’s hell bent on it.” 

he doesn’t understand why he’s worth the trouble. the benefit is not worth the cost, he’s sure. there is no benefit. not at this point. changbin seo is dead and gone, and The Asset is irredeemable. 

“i can see the cogs turning up there. just- you’re his best friend. or you were, at least. look, i don’t know why i’m even saying this, but… i had a partner a while ago, my wingman. he was killed during a mission while we were testing a new flight prototype, and i couldn’t do a damn thing. i just- all i could do was fucking watch while he went down. if he came back like you have, i don’t- man, i don’t even know what i’d do. i think i’d do everything i could to bring him home too.” 

he does go back east, but only when news outlets and tabloid magazines show that Captain America has returned to the states. 

there is no objective now. The Asset has no direction, no authority to follow. he is used to being given concrete instructions by The Handler at the behest of Hydra, and he hasn’t seen his Handler in a month. 

he failed the last mission given to him. The Asset did not eliminate Captain America, instead, he pulled him out of the potomac when he should have left him to drown. he is rogue. defective and faulty, he is no one’s asset but his own. 

if there is no mission to follow, he will create his own, and he will not fail this time. 

he finds The Handler standing above a whore in a seedy motel in kiev. his pants are around his ankles when The Asset slits his throat and listens to him choke. the woman looks momentarily stunned from her spot on the floor before she starts screaming. a freshly wiped Winter Soldier would have killed her with no hesitation. she is collateral, a hindrance, a means to an end, but he doesn’t even look at her before stalking out of the room without looking back. 

blood stains the carpet. another body added to his long, long list. this one though, his own choice. 

he doesn’t know whose screams are louder, the ones he leaves behind in the motel room or changbin seo’s in his head. 

soft fingers trace the scar on his chin, a body turned towards him in bed. smiling cheeks, minty breath, a nuzzle to his nose. he’s content. 

“my arm is numb,” he laughs. someone uses it as a pillow, but he doesn’t really mind. he doesn’t mind at all. 

“but i’m comfy!” the person says. “changbin. bin, i love you. i’m so happy you’re home with me.” something rustles at the end of the bed. a dog, playfully corn cobbing the comforter and pawing at the shape of entwined feet. 

his other hand moves to cup a smiling cheek, he just wants to touch. flesh fingers prod at the person’s lips, plush and smooth with residual chapstick. he can taste it on his tongue. he closes his eyes to take everything in, and when he opens them again, metal fingers are wrapped tightly around an unsuspecting throat. 

“changbin…?” 

his name is strained. his name is strained because his fingers are pressing hard against the person’s windpipe and interrupting the flow of oxygen. a kink in the hose. the plates in his Arm clack as he tightens his grip. 

he wakes up thrashing in his cot, a scream ricocheting off the walls of the safe house.

there’s a blanket on the couch that wasn’t there the last time. he remembers that. it hasn’t been too long since he’s been here, and as time continued to pass, the weight of his memories have broken the dam. The Soldier’s came first, then changbin’s, although there is still plenty that’s spotty. 

his flesh hand takes the corner of the blanket and rubs it between his fingers. it’s soft, something someone might pull over their legs while watching television or curling up with a book. 

he walks slowly around the living area and takes it in. the pictures on the wall, the decor, the placement of furniture. 

he lived here once. 

his feet padded across these floors, he danced in the kitchen, he brushed his teeth at the sink in the bathroom. 

he lived here once. 

he lived here with his partner. 

he’s married, or at least he was. 

can he still be married if he lost the hand his wedding band was on? can he still be married if his partner believes him to be dead? 

maybe he can be, but does he deserve it after everything he’s done? 

a picture frame on the small table beside the couch catches his attention. The Asset picks it up to inspect it further and has to catch himself on the arm of the couch before he falls to the floor, overwhelmed with the force of the memory that comes flooding back into his head. 

“it’s beautiful.” a wet voice, a trembling smile. 

your voice. your smile. 

changbin’s fingers reach up to wipe steadily falling tears off of sticky cheeks. his own smile is watery, and his chin quivers. the ring is beautiful, but it looks even more so on your precious finger. 

the small diamond on the right is from your grandmother’s wedding ring. what a surprise it was when she pulled him aside after his third christmas dinner with your family and gifted it to him for this purpose only. a soft, wrinkled hand cupped his own calloused one and hugged him tight, paired with a fierce whisper of ‘you take care of my baby’ spoken into his pinkening ear. 

the diamond on the left is his mother’s. her wedding ring had three: one for changbin, one for his sister, and one saved just for her. it sits on your finger now because you’re part of his family. his mother will tell you she knew you were his one before he did, but he knew you were it for him from the moment he laid eyes on you. call him a sap. 

the diamond in the middle he picked out himself. 

he knew he made the right choice, but he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you can’t stop looking at it. his smile widens as you hold your hand in front of yourself and stare, wiggling your fingers lightly to watch the way the candlelight hits the diamonds on your engagement ring.  

when you look up at him, his lungs nearly give out. you’re too beautiful that he can’t catch his breath. he almost drops to one knee all over again. 

“can we take a picture?!” you blubber, and he laughs. you’re precious to him. changbin wipes your tears again and goes back over the tracks with his lips, kissing down your face so that he can bring another smile to your lips. 

your hands are shaking when you pull out your phone. he’s not surprised when you hand it to him, and he’s not ashamed to say his hands are shaking just as bad. your hand comes up to cup his cheek; he feels the coolness of the band against his splotchy skin, and he nearly tears up again. the pictures will be blurry, there’s almost no doubt about it. 

changbin drops his hand when you turn to him, phone camera focused on nothing but the carpeted floor of your living room. 

“i love you,” you say, and it’s the best, most gratifying thing he’s ever had the blessing of hearing. “i’ll love you forever. you’re my person, i want to love you for the rest of my life.” 

when he comes to, the sun has nearly risen. The Asset blinks himself out of his reverie just in time to hear the distant creak of a bed, a gentle, tired voice. he places the picture frame haphazardly on the table again and is out the window before he has time to process anything. 

the window shuts with a click. out just the way he came.

as always, The Asset scopes the perimeter before he leaves for his safe house. 

his face itches. he’s antsy, and his flesh hand comes to swipe anxiously at his cheek. 

when he looks at his fingers, they’re wet. 

the face looking back at him in the mirror is nearly as unrecognizable as the one in the pictures on the wall of his old house. his eyes are sunken; his hair is greasy. 

there’s a few bathroom amenities in the corner of the abandoned safe house. a rusty sink, a smudged mirror, a toilet, a spigot in the wall, a drain in the floor. he needs a haircut almost as badly as he needs a shower, but he takes care of his hair first, scrounging through the desk in the opposite corner and finding an old pair of scissors that will do the trick. black clumps of hair fall into the dingy sink as he hacks away at the chin-length strands. it’s uneven when he’s done, a little choppy, but better than it was. it’s nothing a cap can’t cover up. 

turning to face the spigot in the wall is more daunting than taking scissors to his hair. he remembers being shoved into shower cubicles and sprayed with cold water like a dog. he remembers the high pressure water hose too, and a chill courses through his body right where he stands when he thinks of the aftermath. bruises, rashes, welts. the tender, mangled scarring that lines his titanium Arm torn open and bleeding. he can’t put it off any longer; he throws off his clothes and steps under the spigot, turning the knob and jolting as the cold water hits his skin. it makes him hiss, he cries out. his shoulders curl in on themselves, but he straightens back up to wet his hair. 

it’s all he’s felt for years, the cold, but he still can’t seem to get used to it. 

there’s an old bar of soap in the corner that he uses to wash his body and his hair. the water is so cold against his skin that his teeth chatter, but he’s gentler with himself than The Handler ever was. he washes himself efficiently enough and quickly turns the knob to turn the water off. there’s no grime underneath his nails anymore; the hair on his legs is no longer matted with dirt. his vessel is scrubbed clean. 

it’s warm enough outside and in the safe house that his shivering dies down as he moves around, but he still can’t help but wish he could wrap himself in the soft blanket from your couch. 

his hair curls as it air dries, and he hides it underneath a baseball cap after he dresses himself. they’re stolen clothes, jeans and a baggy hoodie to cover his titanium Arm, but they fit him well enough. 

a hesitant look in the mirror has him grimacing. it hits him then that he looks more like the man in the pictures now than he has in years, since he fell from the train and was made into a killer, a monster. he looks like changbin. like The Captain's best friend and your loving husband, but he doesn’t feel like him. he doesn’t think he ever will again. 

if he looks like changbin, is that who he is? is he changbin? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t think he can be. he doesn’t think he deserves to be. 

his head is full of memories that aren’t — are? — his own. some of them feel too good to be true, the memories that don’t belong to The Soldier feel like a dream he hardly wants to wake up from. he doesn’t know what’s real or what’s fake. if the nostalgia-filled memories in his head are just the product of his battered, broken mind trying to heal itself after all he’s done. 

his head is starting to hurt, and he presses his fingers against his throbbing temples as if it will quell the pain. 

he needs a sandwich. 

there’s a bell on the door handle that jingles when he walks into the diner. he’s been here enough times now that the noise doesn’t startle him anymore, and he shyly lifts his flesh hand up to wave at the middle-aged woman behind the cash register. 

he doesn’t stop to wait at the counter like the other patrons, not since the first time he came in, so he makes his way to his favorite booth in the corner and slides into the seat. 

The Asset bides his time by taking a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and placing it neatly in front of him. the fork comes next, he pulls it from the cutlery bag and sits it atop of the napkin. 

it doesn’t take much longer before ma brings over his club sandwich with a side of chilled pasta salad and an ice cold glass of water to drink. ma, the owner of the diner. she has curly salt-and-pepper hair and a silver tooth that matches the color of his titanium Arm. 

“you got a haircut,” she notes. she pulls a straw out of the apron around her waist and places it beside his drink. “i like it! less scruffy.” 

“dennis is scruffy.” 

“i know. couldn’t be assed with shaving all week, ‘s what he said. he tried to kiss me this morning ‘n’ it felt like gettin’ kissed by a damn critter.” she turns to look at the middle-aged man behind the counter with a grimace and he meets her eyes with a wink. she turns back and rolls her eyes, but she’s not angry, she’s not annoyed. The Asset can tell by her body language and the growing smile on her face that she is fond. “he’ll bring you your pie when you’re done. you better tell’im ma wants all that hair gone unless he wants to sleep on the porch tonight with the raccoons.” 

“yes ma’am, i’ll be sure to relay the message.” 

the smile that spreads across his face is slow. he hasn’t smiled in a long time; it feels foreign, but ma smiles back anyway. she takes the rag from the pocket of her apron and thwacks him on the shoulder lightly as she walks away. The Asset tenses but relaxes right away. her intention was not to hurt him, he isn’t being punished because there is nothing to be punished for. 

from the moment he stumbled into the diner weeks ago nearly delirious with hunger, ma has been kind to him. 

“pick out whatever you like on the menu. it’s on the house tonight,” she had said that first night. he didn’t know what to do; there was a stolen wallet sitting fresh in his pocket that he could use to pay for his meal, but she shook her head resolutely when he tried to pull it out. “i know a vet when i see one, ‘n’ you look a little worse for wear right now. how about you go sit down in one of the empty booths, can you do that? wave me over when you pick out something that tickles your fancy.” 

dennis’ club sandwich has been his go-to since that night, and he’s nearly through the first half of the club when the bell on the door jingles. 

he knows who it is without looking up. 

The Captain’s hesitant steps trail towards the counter, but The Asset can tell he’s being watched. he only looks up when he hears a slight commotion at the counter. dennis fumbles with the cups he’s stacking beside the register, and ma nudges him out of the way. 

“go sit down, honey. let’s not burn the place down now that Captain America’s here,” she jokes, and The Captain laughs. “can i get you anything special?” 

“maybe- maybe one of those famous milkshakes of yours? i’m just… here to see a friend.” 

he feels eyes on him again, and his eyebrows furrow as he takes a big bite of his sandwich. The Arm whirs underneath the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“you know lewis? well alrighty then! go sit, i’ll bring your milkshake right over when it’s ready.” 

The Captain drums his fingers against the counter for a moment and nods, turning on his heels to make his way slowly towards his booth. it’s almost as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish animal - he walks slowly, both of his hands are in plain sight. he stands almost shyly at the opposite side of the booth, and it’s not until The Soldier cocks his head towards the seat that he sits down across from him. 

he clears his throat once, twice. “lewis, huh? you- you remember that?” 

“i remember,” he gruffs, jamming his fork into his medium side of pasta salad. “i wanted an english name too. wanted to be called luck, but you said lewis fit me better. guess that makes sense now.” 

“there was another one too, yeah? you hated it! i- i remember that.  you wouldn’t even entertain it!” 

“fucking bartholomew,” The Asset huffs, head shaking. “i can’t even spell that.” 

“i really don’t think i can either,” The Captain laughs. he’s smiling wide, dimples popping on his cheeks, but his hands are restless. he folds his hands together on top of the table, props his chin on them, rubs anxiously at his earlobes. 

they’re silent for a moment, and Captain America watches as he takes a bite of his club. his eyes linger on his titanium fingers that peek out of the sleeve of his hoodie, but they snap away quickly, just in time for ma to bring over his vanilla milkshake with whipped cream on top. she looks between the two of them before she places a straw beside The Captain’s milkshake. she’s gone as soon as she came, whistling a tune as she heads back over to the register to count change until another customer comes in.  

The Asset sighs. 

“i’m not him, you know. not anymore.” 

“you are,” The Captain says, and he leans forward earnestly, elbows knocking on the wood before he jams a stubborn finger into the top of the checkered table to make his point. “he’s you. he’s- he’s in there. you wouldn’t have pulled me out of the river if he wasn’t.” 

the first sign of his malfunction, pulling The Captain out of the potomac. The Asset knew something had gone wrong with his programming as soon as he dragged Captain America’s limp body to the muddy riverbank. that wasn’t all, either, he remembers. he stood above the man to make sure his chest was rising and falling before he limped into the weeds. he should have reported back to Hydra, he should have been wiped clean and re-programmed to try again until he completed his mission, but he didn’t. 

“i don’t know why i did that.” he shakes his head. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know. he does know. 

but is it real? 

he’s supposed to be meeting his sister at the bus stop, but a commotion from the playground behind the school catches his attention before he can make it very far. changbin clutches the strap of his bookbag and peeks around the corner of the brick wall to see big-headed bully jared wright push another boy roughly into the pole of the swingset. he falls to the ground with an oof, but he gets up quickly and holds his fists in front of his face. 

“i can do this all day,” changbin hears the boy say, and jared knocks him square in the jaw. 

changbin’s never been in a fight before. his eyes widen when the other boy goes for a hit and misses completely only to be met with the knuckles of jared’s mean fist again. his momma has always told him that violence isn’t the answer, run the other way and find an adult as fast as you can. 

his sister told him never to start a fight, but to finish it instead. 

changbin’s metal lunchbox collides with the back of jared wright’s big head with a clang, and he shouts and spins around angrily. jared clutches the back of his head and teeters on his feet. 

“hey, asshole! pick on someone your own size!” changbin yells. he’s sweating, nervous, and strands of his long hair stick to his chin. he swings his lunchbox again; it collides with the side of jared’s head this time. the hit shunts him to the side, and changbin lifts his foot and kicks him on the behind. jared’s feet scramble in the sand as he tries to get away. he turns back toward them with an angry glare but keeps going, jogging wobbly away from the playground. 

the boy sits dazed in front of the swingset, so changbin reaches his hand out. he takes it with no hesitation, standing shakily on his feet with changbin’s help. his lip is bleeding, his cheek is already forming a nasty bruise, but he wipes his hands together to clean the sand from his scraped palms before extending his hand for changbin to shake. 

“thanks for that. i- i mean, i coulda taken him, but that was really nice of you. i’m chris! what’s your name?” 

“my name is changbin seo, i’m seven.” 

“seo, huh? hey, your sister’s in my class!” 

“please don’t tell her i said a bad word. she’ll hit me with her headphone cord and tell my mom.” 

“it can be our secret! i owe you big time anyway.” 

The Captain’s eyes are patient when he finally rouses from the memory. there’s no expectation in his gaze, in chris’ gaze, just an open kindness that The Asset still isn’t used to experiencing. 

“i think- i mean, i think you do know. you always helped me out when i needed it the most, you know? that’s the type of person changbin is. that’s who you are.” 

yes, the voice in his head says fiercely. that’s who we are. 

“i’ve done things,” he whispers. his throat is tight. his chest is tight. he’s done so many things. evil, wretched things. he killed without question and without hesitation, families decimated by his hands at the command of Hydra. men, women, children. he was their Weapon. The Fist of Hydra. he can never begin to atone for all that he’s done, for even an ounce of the pain he’s caused. 

“i have too,” chris replies. his gaze drops to the table before it snaps back up. “i’ve done things i can never forgive myself for, and i have to live with that. but changbin… bin, that wasn’t you. they- they made you do those things. none of it was your fault.” 

he nods. it’s slow, but he is hesitantly willing to admit that he doesn’t think he chose any of this. he fell from the freight car and woke up in an underground Hydra facility. The Asset was born there, but changbin seo would have never chosen to give his life to Hydra. “but i still did it.” 

chris is slow to speak. he’s silent for a long while; the only sounds around them are dennis sweeping the floor and the low murmurs of the baseball game on the television above the counter. 

“you don’t have to do that anymore,” he says slowly. “you don’t ever have to do that again. you went back east, yeah? The Winter Soldier got his answers, right? when- when you found him?” 

The Handler. 

“i wasn’t looking for answers,” he says. no explanation could ever justify what he had been put through for so many years. no explanation or reason why could heal him, could fill the void in his chest or patch the fissures of his mind. “that was vengeance.” 

chris gives an understanding nod, like his answer makes all the sense in the world. chris always understood him, maybe that never changed. 

“are you satisfied?” 

is he? a feeling like that, is it possible? he isn’t sure, he hasn’t felt in years. 

“i can have a team ready tonight,” chris barrels on. “you just say the word. we can help you find them, take them all out if that’s what you think you need. if it’ll help.” 

he has no urge to go back east again, and he’s not stupid enough to think Hydra bases aren’t scattered around the states. if Hydra was able to infiltrate s.h.i.e.l.d, they could be anywhere. he has no urge to face them. not right now, at least. maybe one day, if he’s more stable and can think more rationally, if his mind can tell the difference between killing because that’s what he’s made for and killing the dregs of Hydra because it will make the world safer. 

“there’s nothing for me there. not now.” 

chris nods again. it’s life-changing, he would have been hit for giving an answer The Handler didn’t like, strapped to The Chair and fried to hell and back if he faltered or showed a hint of agency. he was never given the option to make choices for himself. now, chris sits across from him and asks him what he wants. 

“that side of you found what it needed, and i’m really, really glad. that’s a step forward, yeah? maybe you can find answers for changbin now. and y’know, i’m not the same chris you knew before… people change. it’s okay if you’re not the same changbin. no one will expect that from you, alright? not after- not after all you’ve been through. all you’ve overcome.” 

he cannot be changbin seo from five years ago. he can never be him again, even with his stolen memories steadily falling back into their rightful places. he doesn’t want to be The Asset, but he doesn’t know who he is if he is not The Asset, The Weapon, The Soldier. 

changbin was a good man. a loyal, selfless friend, a loving husband, a son, a brother. if he has the choice, if he can choose to be anyone he would want to be that man again, but— 

“i don’t know where to start.” 

chris does that for him. 

the morning after their meeting at the diner, chris rings your doorbell. he’s nervous, just as jittery and restless as he was when he sat across from him in the booth for the first time in over five years. he knows that chris is nervous, because he’s staked out on the roof of your neighbor’s house keeping watch. that, chris does not know. 

chris leaves his sight when the front door opens for him, and he waits with bated breath until he sees the man through the window in the living room. his window. 

his breath all but leaves his lungs when you turn from the door. his memories don’t do you justice, the beautiful curves and angles of your body, the smile on your face when you pull his friend into your arms for a hug. if only he could hear your voice. 

the serum heightened every aspect of his being. his musculature, his stature, his sight, his hearing, but he’s too far away to hear the goings on inside the house. he doesn’t know if he could bear it anyway; he is aware of the news you’re about to receive. he doesn’t know if he could handle the sound of your reaction because even the thought of it is sending his heart plummeting into his stomach. 

even though he is anxious, he doesn’t fidget. he may not want to be The Asset anymore, but he will never be able to unlearn what he was programmed for. there were times when he would spend days on a solitary mission, sitting completely motionless and unwavering with a trained eye peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. this is what he’s good at. he can wait. 

it all falls from the cracks when you lift yourself shakily from the couch and stumble over your own feet as you try to take a step. chris is up immediately, catching your elbow in his strong grip to keep you from falling. 

he’s off the roof and pressed against the side of your house in a second, heartbeat thundering in his chest. he can hear you now, hear your trembling inhales and your frantic, choked voice when you speak over the thunderous sounds of kitchen cabinets slamming open and shut. 

“he’ll- he’ll be hungry when he- when he comes home. i n-need- he loves pasta. chris, i don’t have any! i don’t- i don’t have any pasta! i c-can’t- chris!” 

his head turns away from the window when he hears you fall to the floor. chris follows you again, he hears that too, hears his best friend drop to his knees in your kitchen to hold you while you weep for the husband you thought you had lost for good. for him. 

every part of him aches. it overcomes him so completely that he has to grit his teeth before he shouts. he aches to hold you in his arms, to rock you gently back and forth until the wails that claw themselves raggedly from your throat calm into exhausted whimpers, but he can’t. 

he isn’t ready. 

he doesn’t know if he’s capable of that, doesn’t know if the titanium Arm that recalibrates and whirs and clanks on the left side of his body is capable of anything other than harm. can his voice still soothe you? would he even have the words to try? 

will you still love him when you find out what he’s done? when you learn that your husband has been made into a monster, a killer. will you look at him in disgust? will you fear him like everyone else has?

you should. he deserves that, but he doesn’t think he can bear it. his battered heart would stop beating in his chest. 

he moves to crouch underneath your window when your cries finally quiet down. chris leads you back to the couch and your feet follow clumsily. they drag against the carpet; he can hear the way you slump pitifully onto the sofa. 

you cry again when chris tells you what he knows. he doesn’t tell you everything, just like he promised at the diner. you know that he’s alive, you know he was kidnapped and experimented on and brainwashed, but chris keeps the more difficult details to himself. they’re not for you to know. not now, not so soon, maybe not ever. you might not come back from it. he barely even thinks he can. 

“is- is he safe?” you sob. “chris, is he safe? those people that hurt him… will they come back for him?” 

with the Hydra-infiltrated s.h.i.e.l.d in shambles, Hydra’s high ranking officers will be scrambling. he is not their top priority; they have other Winter Soldiers they can weaponize. he is safe as long as he lays low and stays off the radar. 

“if they do, they’re gonna have to go through me,” chris says. they’ve tried before, and they failed. “i promise you he’s safe. we’ve been… keeping an eye on him. if anything changes, we’ll know. we’ll be ready.” 

you’re silent for a while, contemplating probably. your breath still hitches with softening cries, you still snivel every few seconds, but he perks up when he hears your voice again. 

“i don’t- i don’t know if i’ll believe that until i see him for myself,” you whisper. “i know you’re telling me the truth, i know you are, but- but. y-you know? i need- i need to see his face. i- i need to touch him, i need to feel him. chris, it hurts. my heart- my heart hurts. oh, changbin. changbin.” 

he can’t believe you still want to see him, that you still want him to come home. 

chris is long gone by the time he lifts himself from the ground underneath your window, the sun has set and the crickets are chirping from the bushes. he presses his ear once more to the side of your house; dog paws are scrambling on the tile floor of the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens and closes. 

he backs away slowly and surveys the perimeter before making the trek to his safe house. 

the bedroom door is halfway open the next time he lets himself in through the window. he stops in his tracks, staring unblinking into the darkness of your room. he can see the shape of your bed, your head on the pillow, and he can tell by the sound of your breath that you’re thankfully sound asleep. it’s deep, you’ve been asleep for a while. 

did you leave it open for him?

as always, his boots are silent on the carpet as he walks his way around the living room. his flesh fingers reach out to touch the soft blanket that still sits on the corner of your couch, pinching the soft fabric between two fingers and rubbing. he glances at pictures, thumbs the corner of your wedding picture and blinks his eyes hard to stop the sting. 

he’s surprised to see the light above the stove has been left on in the kitchen. you don’t usually leave it on - at least not in the handful of times he has let himself inside. it’s always turned off, and your bedroom door is always closed shut. he should turn it off for you, he thinks, what if you left it on by accident? but maybe you didn’t. he shouldn’t change something you might have done on purpose; he doesn’t want to upset you or give you a reason to be angry. 

he’s conflicted. his sudden and unexpected acquisition of agency makes him more and more uncertain every day. there are so many things he doesn’t know, so many things that he could do wrong because there is no one there to give him concrete instructions anymore. 

it’s the first time his feet have taken him anywhere other than the living room. he steps carefully into the kitchen and is immediately stopped in his tracks again, uncertainty stripping away almost as soon as it came. 

there’s a pot on the stove, and beside it, a plastic, pink bowl with a matching fork. a quilted dishcloth is placed over the open pot. he lifts the corner of the cloth and is met with a garlicky smell that he immediately remembers. his mouth waters, and he swallows thickly. 

you made his favorite pasta. 

it’s garnished on top with what looks to be parsley and red pepper flakes. he doesn’t use the bowl; it would make too much noise, but he gingerly picks up the fork with his flesh hand and twirls it slowly when he leans over the pot. his eyes close when he brings the fork to his mouth and chews slowly, the flavor bursting on his tongue. it’s oily, it’s garlicky, it’s fresh with hints of lemon juice, just like he remembered. 

“eating from the pot like a caveman, i see. you don’t want a bowl?” 

you stand on your tiptoes behind him as he stands over the pot of aglio e olio on the burner to eat his dinner straight from the source. your arms wrap around his waist, and he squirms when your hands sneak underneath his t-shirt to pet at the warm skin of his belly. 

“i don’t need a bowl! it’s too good. i couldn’t wait…” 

changbin turns in your grasp and offers you a bite, bringing the fork to your lips and cupping his hand underneath in case some of the noodles slip from the utensil. your cheeks bulge when you chew, and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. changbin coos and pets his thumb against the soft skin of your chewing cheek. 

he takes another bite, and another, and another, until half of the pasta in the pot is gone. you made it for him, at least he thinks you did, but he shouldn’t be greedy and eat it all when he doesn’t know if you’ve had any. he places the dishcloth back on top of the pot and walks to the sink, gingerly laying the fork down in it now that he’s done. he leaves the unused bowl by the pot and makes the decision to turn off the stove light as well. when he turns around to head back into the living room, he’s stopped in his tracks for the third time that night. 

a small dog sits in the doorway of the kitchen. 

his heart plummets to his stomach. what does he do now? there are so many synapses firing in his brain, and the uncertainty is back with a vengeance. does he kill the dog? will he have to? he doesn’t want to, but he can’t face you yet, not tonight. he can’t risk the barking waking you up. 

he’s not ready. 

but he doesn’t have to worry for long, because all your dog does is waddle up to him with a wagging, tucked tail to lay on his boots. she wiggles and squirms and flips onto her back, tail thumping quickly against the tile floor of the kitchen. it’s louder than he likes, even louder when she starts frantically whimpering for his attention until he crouches down to hesitantly pet her small head with his flesh hand. 

she’s alone in her kennel at the shelter. 

she had a bath today; her silky fur smells like apples, and her nails are trimmed neatly. the laminated paper beside the fenced in kennel she occupies says that her name is sadie, and she’s a cavalier king charles spaniel just like chris’ dog berry. changbin’s senses are overwhelmed by the cacophony of barking dogs in the other kennels in the shelter, but she sits quietly, looking up at the two of you with sparkling eyes that he knows are making you melt.  

she’s a recent mother, the attendant says as he stops before her kennel, all of her pups have been adopted. she was a good mama to them, fed them well and played well with them too until one-by-one they were taken away - a gift for a child, a surprise birthday present for a grandfather. 

changbin knows she’s the one when you start to tear up, when you clutch his shoulder and pull him into you until he’s bumping against your chest. he’s never had a pet before, not even when he was little. he’s allergic to animal fur, and taking medicine or getting shots just seemed like too much effort for something he wasn’t even positive he wanted. 

he doesn’t think that now. not anymore, when he sees the sweet, tender look on your face as you watch sadie, alone and newly childless in her kennel. he knows he’d do whatever he had to do in order to take her home and make you happy. 

“is she trained?” he asks, and the attendant nods. she’s a good dog, knows how to use the bathroom outside and is good with children and other dogs. she can even do some tricks. 

you pull changbin closer towards the cage, and her fluffy tail swishes against the hard, concrete floor. she meets you at the grated door, snuffles and licks at your outstretched palm and wiggles when you stick your finger through the wiring to stroke her soft head. 

she licks at changbin’s hand too, and he snatches it away with a surprised laugh. he reaches out again and lets her smell the tips of his fingers. you tear up once more when she rests her chin in his palm. changbin kisses the side of your head and thinks that this is the perfect start to your little family. 

he asks for the papers immediately and sneezes the entire drive home. 

five years have been kinder to her than they have to him. sadie’s eyebrows and nose are sprinkled powdered sugar-white with age, and even the soft tufts of fur on her ears are scattered with white. she remembers him, just like he remembers her, and her tail keeps swishing when he cups her little face in his hand. 

“hi puppy,” he whispers. he sits down silently on the tile floor of your kitchen and lets her climb up his thighs. she licks frantically at his neck and his face and sticks her cold nose into his ear. “hi sadie.” 

her fur is so soft underneath his fingers. you keep her clean, you keep her happy and well fed and loved. she whiffs confusedly at his Arm, and he immediately goes stock still while she smells up and down the titanium limb. sadie cocks her head when the plates on his Arm shift; her ears perk and twitch cutely. if he moves, he could hurt her. he never wants to hurt her. 

he sits unmoving and silent on your kitchen floor. only his fingers move, flesh fingers, scratching lightly at her ears and rubbing at the side of her soft, round belly. sadie dozes in his lap, her little front paws curled snugly under her chest. one of her hind legs slips slowly down his thigh, but she’s comfortable, and he won’t move her until he has to. 

she’s so small. she’s so small, and she sleeps peacefully in his lap like she doesn’t care that he isn’t responsible for carnage as long as he scratches her ears. like the blood on his hands doesn’t stain her precious fur. 

he eases his petting, softens the movement of his fingers. he has to be careful; he has to make sure he doesn’t hurt her. 

he sits for so long on the kitchen floor that the lower half of his body goes numb, but it isn’t until the night turns slowly into dawn that he stands up with sadie in his arms. he needs to leave. he has to leave before you wake up, so he pads slowly to the living room and sets sadie on the carpet. she turns and runs straight back into your bedroom where she came. his heart pangs for a moment because she left him so quickly, but when he looks towards your bedroom it pangs for another reason. 

sadie sits on the edge of the bed and wags her tail. 

“come to bed, baby, sadie and i are waiting for you.” 

you’re asleep on the far side of the bed, body turned away from the open door. he always slept closest to it, and now, sadie sits in his spot and waits for him to join. her tail picks up speed when he steps closer, but he takes hold of the doorknob and closes it lightly instead. he presses his forehead to the closed door and breathes shakily. 

it takes him longer to leave this time. he doesn’t want to, he realizes when he closes the window, but he scopes the perimeter as always and leaves regardless. the walk back to his safe house hurts like it never has before. 

he doesn’t want to leave. 

he wants to come home. 

it doesn’t hit him until he’s laying on his cot and willing his eyes shut that he never sneezed once. the serum is certainly the reason for that. five years ago, holding sadie for that long would have had his nose running and eyes burning if he hadn’t taken his medicine. 

the serum changed everything. it kept him alive after he fell from the freight car, it made him nearly invincible in battle and on missions, it fixed his fucking allergies. 

everything is different, and things will never be how they once were. 

he curls onto his side and lets himself cry.

he stills when his boots step silently onto the carpet of your living room. you didn’t rouse with the muted click of the window opening, and you still remain fast asleep on the couch even when he stands mere feet from you. 

he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. his heart feels like it’s three sizes too big in his chest, swelling like a balloon that’s fit to burst with ever growing pressure. it’s the closest he’s been to you in half a decade, and it almost sends him to his knees. 

you’re waiting for him. it’s something he just knows. he’s not sure how, but he knows it deep in his bones. 

he’s killed people like this, unsuspecting and sound asleep in their beds. he watched the blood seep into their pillows, watched their bodies grow cold before fleeing the scene and leaving no trace.  

now, all he does is watch you rest. he watches your chest rise and fall, watches your eyes move underneath your closed eyelids. are you dreaming? do you dream of him like he dreams of you? your hands are curled under your chin, and he aches to touch you so badly that he almost reaches out and does it. he touches the blanket instead, the soft one on the corner of your couch. it’s unfolded and in his hands before he can register that he even picked it up, and he gently drapes it across your sleeping body. 

sadie wags her tail all the while, impatiently waiting her turn for his attention. she’s circling his feet and pawing at his legs until he bends down to cup her head and rub her ears. 

he can’t risk waking you up, so he doesn’t pace his way around the living room like he normally does. he sits across from you instead, in the small recliner beside the television, and sadie paws at him again to let him know she wants to sit in his lap.

he sits. he pets sadie, he sits, and he waits. 

he wants to come home, but is he ready? is he too dangerous to be around you? does he deserve it? he doesn’t know the right answer to any of the questions bouncing around in his mind, he hardly ever does anymore. what he does know, though, is that it feels right to be here, like something has clicked into place. it feels like this is where he’s supposed to be. here with you, here with sadie. 

The Soldier can’t want; he has never been allowed, but he wants this, and he shouldn’t. it’s so selfish, and he can’t be selfish with you. not when the force of his memories have broken the weakened dam of his mind, not when the currents of it will rise and rush and devastate anyone in his path. the people in his newfound life are collateral because of the damage that’s been done to him. he can’t let it take you like it has him. you’ve suffered enough; he won’t let himself be the reason you suffer more. he’s not ready, it isn’t time— 

he places sadie on the floor and makes for the window. he has to go, he can’t let you see him like this. this battered, this bruised, this broken. the window snicks open - an easy escape, but he pauses still, looking out into the night as he wills himself to leave the warmth of the home he once shared with you. 

his back is to you when he hears your breathing stutter. your heart rate accelerates, pounding hard in your chest when you see his figure in front of your open window. he can hear you sit up, hears your fingers tighten their hold on the blanket he draped over you earlier. 

“c-changbin?” 

it’s forced from your throat, something small and meek, like it takes everything in you to use your voice. even so, it’s a birdsong. it rejuvenates his withered soul, a soothing aloe to his very being. 

his head droops. he sags against the windowsill, and your arms are around him just before his knees hit the ground. he’s slumped against the wall, groaning deep in his throat before he curls in on himself. your fingers wrap themselves in the baggy fabric of his worn hoodie, they pet his choppy hair, caress his sunken face. he can feel the chill of the ring on your finger, the ring he gave you. his body isn’t used to being touched this gently. he flinches on reflex, but his flesh hand grips the fabric of your sleep pants fiercely when you try to separate yourself from him. he hasn’t felt tender intimacy and kindness in so long that your touch is life-altering. is this what he has been missing? is this what they took from him? 

“you made me pasta,” is all he says, before his body wracks with horrible sobs. 

you clutch him to your chest, your heart is a hummingbird wing. 

“you came home to me,” you whimper into his hair. you hold him like you can’t believe he’s in your arms, and sadie wriggles herself into your embrace to lick frantically at his wet cheeks. he holds her tiny body to his chest while you hold him to yours. 

“i’m sorry,” he chokes. “i’m so sorry. don’t- don’t make me go. please don’t send me away.” 

he’s nearly inconsolable, everything feels like it’s crashing down on him at once. his words are garbled with sobs, but you understand him anyway, bearing the heavy weight of the left side of his body in your lap as you begin to rock him from side to side. the steady press of your body warms the titanium of his Arm through his hoodie. 

“oh baby, never. never, oh, changbin.” you touch his face again. his cheeks are sticky wet, and he reluctantly lets you tilt his chin up so that you can look at him. he’s ashamed; he can’t open his eyes, but you thumb the weeping edges of them and they open on their own. you’re already crying, but your face crumples when you look into his eyes for the first time. he hates himself for it - he doesn’t deserve the tears you cry for him, but he’ll hold onto them like a liferaft. you cry because you still care about him, and that’s the only thing that keeps him from drowning. 

he sleeps on the floor in the guest bedroom, and you make pasta almost every night for dinner. 

when you knock on his half-open door, he’s shirtless and scrounging through the dresser in the corner for clothes. 

“o-oh, were you going to take a shower?”

he wasn’t, but if you’re asking, does that mean you want him to? he must smell bad, so he shouldn’t say no. 

“yes,” he lies, and he looks towards the bathroom door with slight trepidation. you don’t notice the look in his eyes because your eyes are locked on his Arm. his ears flush red, shame curling hot in his gut and spreading like an infection. it was already bad enough that he lost his arm during his fall from the freight car, then Hydra went and implanted the titanium appendage to his shoulder. frankenstein’s monster. the skin around his bionic Arm is mangled with ugly scarring, jagged and bulbous and tender pink. he doesn’t want you to see it, a permanent spotlight to the atrocities he’s committed and the guilt he lives with. “it’s an eyesore, huh?” 

“no,” you immediately say. your heartbeat doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. “just another part of you.” 

“you’re crazy,” he laughs humorlessly, and he doesn’t realize what he said until it’s out of his mouth. he stiffens, body expecting some sort of punishment after making such a snide comment, but all you do is laugh in return. 

“and you still married me anyway!” 

you quiet down when you step closer to him, your body suddenly so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of you on his bare chest. your eyes trace the scarring of his Arm, and the shame spreads further when he sees the sadness pool in them. he knows that you won’t hurt him, your hands have only ever brought him comfort, but he flinches anyway when your hand lifts slightly to touch the titanium. he rears the Arm away from you, suddenly petrified.

“no! no, p-please no- you can’t. it could-” 

hurt you. it goes unsaid because he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. it could hurt you, it could kill you. The Arm is part of what made him one of the best Weapons that Hydra ever had. he can’t let you touch it. he can’t let it rot your innocent fingers. 

he hates himself even more when you shut yourself in his bathroom. he can hear you crying, pained whimpers and harsh breathing, and he hates himself. he should stop being selfish, he should have never stayed when all he does is make you suffer. 

but the urge to comfort you is stronger than the urge to leave, the ache wraps itself around his bones like barbed wire and keeps him rooted where he stands until he’s knocking softly on the bathroom door. he can hear you sniffle harshly to try and compose yourself before twisting the knob, but you start to sob all over again when you see the mutilated scarring on his shoulder. 

“stop,” he begs. “please don’t. i don’t- i don’t like it.” you let him touch your face. it’s warm, sticky wet, and your eyes close when his thumb tracks a tear down your cheeks. “please don’t cry. i- i don’t want to make you cry.” 

“‘m sorry, i’m sorry. n-no, no changbin, you didn’t make me cry. i- i should’ve asked first, b-but, but i just- i- it must have hurt so bad,” you sob, voice high pitched and watery. 

he thinks about it often now, how much anguish you must feel. how many conflicting thoughts must go through your head just like they do his. the undoing of his being has not only affected him. you thought he was dead, missing in action and presumed deceased by the army. you held a memorial service for him, you go to grief counseling monthly. and now, your dead-but-not-dead husband stands before you, with a surgically implanted bionic arm and half a decade worth of brainwashing and trauma to work through, a fate that many might consider worse than death. when you thought he was dead, maybe you could have at least reassured yourself with the thought that he died quickly, that he died without even knowing. now, you know without a doubt that he has suffered. you know he still suffers. 

he reaches for your hand. it’s the first thing he can think to do. flesh on flesh, he feels the warmth of your precious fingers and trails his hand gently up your arm until it can wrap around your shoulders. you let yourself be pulled into his chest, and he only jolts a little when you wrap both of your arms around his bare waist. he doesn’t know how long you stand in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and breathing in each other’s presence. neither of you let go when your cries settle down, two bodies making up for lost time. 

he traces your shoulder blade through your shirt when you pull back from him, and he shivers as you place a kiss in the middle of his chest. he holds his Arm at an angle so it doesn’t brush against you when you lean against the sink. 

“i’ll get out of your hair so you can shower now,” you say. your voice is raspy from crying hard, and suddenly he’s anxious again. 

he hates showers. they’re too cold, but he doesn’t want to offend you by wasting your hospitality. he watches you reach into the cabinet under the sink to retrieve a towel for him - another luxury he isn’t used to, and he touches the corner with his flesh fingers when you set it on the counter. it’s so soft, maybe it will help combat the cold water. 

the shower’s sliding door moves easily when he nudges it to the side, and he steels himself before turning on the water. he drops his sweatpants without hesitation and uses his peripherals to gauge your reaction in the mirror. he’s been bulking up again - you keep him well fed, and chris and jisung like to drag him out of the house every other morning for runs. the satisfaction that seeps through his body freezes to a halt when he steps inside the shower. 

you’re opening the door to leave the bathroom when he chokes, when the cold water hits his chest and shivers wrack his vessel. he curls in on himself as always but turns around and throws his head back to get it over with, to wet his hair and let the water cascade over his face. he shouts when the water hits his back, a debilitating chill zinging straight down his spine. 

“changbin? what’s wrong?!” 

you don’t even take your clothes off before you’re rushing over to slide the shower door open and step inside to help. it’s freezing, he knows, the water hasn’t touched your skin, but the cold air inside the shower stall is harrowing. 

“fuck, bin, it’s freezing!” you screech, and he backs into the corner, folding in on himself and making himself smaller. you’re mad. you’re mad at him, you must be. he couldn’t handle the cold and now he has to pay the price. the shower tile is just as cold as the water, and his teeth chatter loudly in his mouth. “baby, do you not want hot water?” 

you reach out and quickly turn the valve of the shower, not bothering to wait for his answer when he shivers so violently. 

“i- i can have hot?” he asks, and he watches as your hand dips under the rain of the shower head. your hand is blissfully warm when you touch his arm. he lets you pull him from the corner, looking at you with wild eyes. he squirms when the water touches his skin again, but the breath leaves his lungs when he feels it. the warmth.  

“baby, it’s warm. it’s warm now, is that better?” you ask, and your face is wet again. from the water, yes, but from the tears that immediately started falling from your eyes again as well. your t-shirt is plastered tight to your body, shorts and socks soaking wet, but none of that matters when you hold him in your arms under the warm shower. you hold him for so long that you feel his shivers die down. he leans his head back slowly so the warm water cascades over his face, his hair. 

“you used to wash my hair,” he mumbles instead, and you headbutt his chest with a nod, still crying. 

“yes,” you reply. “i would- i would really love to do it again, if you’d like me to.” 

you’re giving him an option. it’s hard to let himself accept comfort or ask for the things he wants. sometimes he still feels like he’s talking out of turn, like the next time he tries to speak he’ll be strapped to The Chair again and shocked until he doesn’t remember how to use his mouth. but you look at him with patience, and with kindness, just like chris does. maybe this once, he can allow himself to want. 

“yes. i would like that.” 

once he makes the life-altering discovery that not all physical contact requires pain, he seeks it out. his body searches for it constantly, even unconsciously. when you make dinner, when you sit next to him on the couch to watch a movie, when you join him in the bathroom to brush your teeth together. 

that’s only part of the reason he kisses you in the kitchen. 

the other part of the reason is that he wants, and he can’t stop. he wants with an ache so fierce it wakes him up almost as frequently as the nightmares do. he’s not used to wanting, to craving, but now that he’s gotten a taste, it consumes him from the inside out. 

you’re sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for the water to boil so you can throw your pasta noodles in when he trudges between your legs. you wrap around him immediately, legs and arms clinging to him while he basks in the comfort of your presence. his flesh arm slinks behind your back and underneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. you’re eye to eye, and he kisses you when you tilt your chin forward to nuzzle your nose against his round one. you make a devastating noise, a new memory he’ll treasure until his last breath. 

your first kiss since he came back. 

it’s gentle, a slow press of lips. he remembers this. 

countless kisses, a constant from a faraway life. in this exact position and others. kisses on the couch, kisses before bed, kisses when you leave for work, kisses while sadie scrambles her way in between the two of you in search of her own. 

he remembers them all, but this one feels like coming home. 

you pull away with a wet smack and lean back just enough to look into his eyes. 

“changbin?” you ask. 

“mm?” 

that’s a recent development too. he answers to his name. not The Asset, not The Soldier, but changbin. his name is changbin seo. he’s not the same man he was five years ago, but maybe that’s okay. maybe he doesn’t have to be. 

“are you sure?” 

is he? he’s not sure of much. he still has days where he worries that all of his good memories were just created by his mind in order to try and protect himself from the constant pain he feels from his past actions, but he knows this. he knows you, and he knows this is what he wants. 

“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.” 

his lips are plump and spit-slick when they kiss you again; they trail from your neck to your jaw, and your mouth drops open when he scrapes his teeth lightly against the skin there. not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, but enough to make goosebumps raise in anticipation. the noises you make are so beautiful, and changbin wants to taste them on his tongue. so he does, trailing his way from your jaw to the siren song of your lips. when you moan into his mouth, it feels like he’s born again, like this is what life is all about.

changbin’s metal fingers scrape noisily against the counter in his haste to grab onto something. his flesh hand is wrapped safely around your back, pulling you closer to him while you kiss. he feels you arch against him, feels your perfect breasts press against his chest as the arch deepens. his fingers trace the dip in your back and you shiver. 

as your kiss deepens, you ease closer and closer towards the edge of the counter to get closer to him. there’s hardly any space between you, and your fingers worm their way into changbin’s hair as his tongue explores your mouth. it’s not until you nearly slip off the edge of the counter that his metal hand moves from gripping the corner of it - the chill of the titanium makes you gasp as it holds you steady underneath your thigh, and changbin pulls away from your lips frantically. 

“it’s okay. it’s okay, i promise,” you whisper fiercely, pressing needy kisses to his cheek. 

you’re not scared of it. you never have been. your eyes have never looked at his Arm with unease even though he would never blame you if they did. you’ve reached for it, laid your hand down between the two of you with your palm facing up just to give him the option. let him know he can touch you, flesh fingers or metal. 

his Arm recalibrates under your added weight, and the sound of it makes you bite your lip. he sets you on the counter again like it’s nothing. he leans forward to kiss you again, but a sudden bark from sadie has you both jolting apart, lips swollen tender and slick.  

“oh, fuck, the water!” you cry, and changbin backs up enough to let you slip to the floor so you can quickly move the pot from the burner, right before it overflows with boiling water. 

changbin isn’t asleep, but he’s comfortable enough on his pallet on the floor that he very well could be soon, until a noise from your room has him immediately on alert. he sits up quickly, stealthily walking his way to the door and opening it quietly. he surveys the living room, the kitchen, then makes his way slowly to your bedroom. 

the door is cracked. your lights are off, but the fairy lights above your bed are on so he can see you clearly. 

it takes him a moment to realize what it is that you’re doing, that you aren’t in any danger at all. your sleep shirt is rucked up above your breasts, and your underwear dangles from a delicate ankle. even without his enhanced hearing, he would be able to hear the buzzing noise that whatever you have between your legs makes, something small and pink that settles right over your clit. he swallows hard, eyes trailing down your writhing body until they’ve seared every inch of it into his memory. your face is what mesmerizes him the most, the way your eyebrows scrunch, the way your lips fall open.

“changbin!” you whimper, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth. your eyebrows furrow deeper in the middle and your body twists. he watches your thighs shake, sees the way they squeeze shut before you pry them open again so that you can keep going.

he aches again, heat curling in his stomach when he thinks about how badly he wants to fit himself between your legs like he used to. it takes everything in him to step away from your door and go back to his room. he doesn’t want to; he wants to stay. he wants to watch, but not without your permission. when he makes it back to his room, he shuts his door lightly and heads straight for the bathroom. the lights on the mirror are so bright that they make him squint when he looks at himself. he’s sweating, his ears are pink, and his pupils are blown wide. 

the water is scalding hot when he steps into the shower. that’s how he likes it now, a touch too hot to remind him that not everything has to be so cold. 

his titanium Arm presses against the tile of the shower wall, and he hangs his head. he spends a few moments watching the water cascade from his hair to the floor, but his gaze soon settles on his cock, hard and throbbing between his legs. he takes his cock and balls in one hand and squeezes, shakes them a little bit just to get a good feel of them after so long. he can hardly wrap his mind around the fact that his body used to bring you pleasure, that it felt pleasure. that his vessel could be used for anything other than bringing death and destruction. 

when he begins to stroke himself in earnest, he sees flashes from the past of the two of you entwined. your hands clawing at his back, your legs over his broad shoulders, his hands gripping your asscheeks to spread them apart for his gaze. he’s taken you in so many ways, so many places, but his mind keeps going back to what he saw mere moments before. 

your tits jiggled so sweetly when you arched your back to rut your hips into the toy, your nipples pebbled as you brought yourself pleasure and whimpered his name. god, the way you sound. he wants to make you moan like that again, kiss the sound from your lips while his cock kisses you inside. you felt perfect when he held you on top of the counter, your body fit against his just right. he felt your skin, felt your curves under his flesh and the weight of your gorgeous thigh on top of titanium. 

his recent memories of you get to him the most, and changbin sags against the cool shower wall when he cums in thick rivulets. 

he’s laying on his pallet again when you knock on his door.

“hey, i heard the shower running a few minutes ago. everything okay?” you ask, and he immediately feels guilty. you ask him if you can come in, so he scoots over and lets you settle down beside him. shame flares in his gut again; you should be laying on a soft bed instead of on the floor, but the bed is just too soft for him. the thought dissipates before he can stew on it for too long when you throw your leg over his waist. 

“i saw you,” he says. he needs to tell you the truth, that’s the least you deserve. “in your room earlier, with your…” changbin waves his Arm in the air like that will explain what he means. “i’m sorry. i thought something was wrong, so i went to see if you were alright, but i… i’m sorry, i won’t make another mistake.” 

your hand comes up to pet his face. his cheek is hot to the touch, and he presses his forehead against yours when you pull him into you. 

“it’s okay to make mistakes,” you whisper. “people make mistakes all the time, it’s kind of our thing.” 

it always takes him back when you say things like that. like they’re a fact, like it’s normal, like no one will bat an eye if he says the wrong thing or makes the wrong move. it still makes him angry when he thinks about it - what Hydra took from him, how they broke him to his core, and the anger he feels isn’t only for himself. he feels it for you, for chris. it’s his burden to bear, but he’s not the only one that’s crushed underneath it. 

a press of lips to his own has him blinking, and he hears your voice call to him. a lighthouse in the fog. 

“come back,” you say, kissing his lips, his cheeks, the scar on his chin. “come back to me, changbin. where are you?” 

he’s here with you - he never wants to be anywhere else. he kisses you about it, turns onto his side and pulls you into his thick chest, nudging your noses together before pressing his lips to yours. changbin keeps his lips close when you pull away to speak. he can’t seem to make himself stop, kissing languidly at your throat and your collar bones and making his way slowly to your jaw. 

“did it- ah, ch-changbin, what you saw, did it upset you?” 

“no,” he gasps. something fierce and untamed rises in his throat, and he gulps it down. “no, i- you were beautiful.” 

changbin lifts onto the elbow of his titanium Arm and cups the nape of your neck with the other. you’re so beautiful, so special to him that it twists his insides, ensnares his beating heart. your eyes shimmer in the lamplight while you watch him watch you, and he can’t bear not kissing you for another second. he dips down again, hesitant to press his weight onto you, but you don’t let him hesitate for long. you tug him down, wrapping your arms and a leg around him and humming in contentment when you feel his weight, the heat of his body. 

you kiss like that for a long while, until your lips are sore and your hips rock against each other fitfully. 

your fingers nudge at his chest, and he pulls away immediately. he’s surprised when he feels your hands scramble down to your waist to — oh god — lift the hem of your t-shirt until the fabric is rucked above your bare breasts again, just like it was in your bedroom earlier. he stares, he can’t help it. your nipples pebble under his gaze, and your eyebrows furrow when you look up at him pleadingly.  

his hand caresses your side, thumb circling your soft skin while he blinks dazedly at the mounds on your chest. 

“can i touch?” he breathes, and you meet him halfway. your back arches as his hand trails to your chest. you’re so soft, so fucking soft, your skin so warm and supple that he never wants to spend another day not touching you like this. he cups you underneath your breast to feel the way it gives underneath his fingertips, and you whimper when he shakily thumbs your peaked nipple. 

“the other one too? please, changbin. bin, please,” you whine, and The Arm recalibrates like it knows it’s what you want. “you won’t hurt me. i trust you, you’d never hurt me.” 

he could. he dreams of it; it’s his worst nightmare. he’s hurt so many people, and he’d never recover if he hurt you. 

but looking down at you, your expression so open, so raw, so hopeful, he finds himself wanting to give you what you ask so sweetly for. how could he ever deny you when you look at him like that? he wants to deserve your trust, he wants to live up to it. you trust him, and maybe that can be enough for now.

changbin readjusts the stance of his elbow so the titanium Arm has more room to move, and he slowly lifts his metal fingers to the other side of your chest. you both gasp when it makes contact, and his fingers flinch away on reflex. you cup his hand, bringing the metal back to your chest and squeezing his fingers in encouragement. it’s not something he can feel - not really. he feels the pressure of your hand, but it can’t feel your touch like his flesh hand can. 

“oh my god,” you keen, and your chin tilts down so you can watch. he kneads your chest softly with both hands, pushing them towards your chin and back down. he hasn’t touched you like this in years, but you arch against his hands beautifully, like you’re happy to have him relearn your body. 

the breath leaves your lungs in a stutter when he pinches at both of your nipples. it’s such a juxtaposing sensation, one hand blood-warm, one hand cool. the nipple he teases with his titanium fingers is so hard, perked up and sensitive to the touch because of the coldness of his fingers. he circles the areola lightly and it has you writhing underneath him, but your thighs slam shut around him when he sucks it into his mouth. 

“ohmygod, fuck!” you cry. changbin hums against your chest while his tongue whips quickly at your nipple. he moves to the other one, kissing wetly across your chest before he circles it with his tongue. his head bobs, he opens his mouth wide so that he can fit as much of your breast inside as he can. changbin kisses and nips and licks back up your neck and into your mouth - tongues clashing wildly in a kiss that leaves spit seeping down your chins. 

he wants to go back to kissing his way down your beautiful body again, but you take matters into your own hands by kissing down his neck. changbin bares his throat for you, tossing his head to the side to give you more room to kiss. 

he has to stop himself from freezing completely when your fingers come up to trace the plates on his Arm. they whir, clank into place at the foreign touch, and you follow the shifting with the tips of your pretty fingers. 

“be- be careful, okay? just be careful, i-” he’s at a loss for words, and he watches you with wild eyes when you lean up to kiss the scarring on his shoulder. 

your lips press tender, open mouthed kisses where his skin meets metal, the jagged, pink, grotesque scarring that circles his shoulder and underneath his Arm. changbin slams his eyes shut. he can’t watch. he can’t feel it either, the loss of his flesh arm and the addition of the surgical implant left him with so much nerve damage that he’s surprised he can feel the left side of his body at all, but he can hear it. he hears your lips smack softly against the ugliest part of himself, and he hopes that you won’t be disgusted by him when you pull away. 

fingers cup his face, and when he opens his eyes, he’s looking right into yours. he meets you in the middle for a kiss, heart hammering in his chest when you mumble against them. 

“fuck me,” you whisper. right against changbin’s lips. “do you want to? please, i- i want to feel you again.” 

the ache flares again, rises in his chest until it’s threatening to spill from his throat. he wants. 

“a-are you sure?” 

he has to know. are you sure you want this? are you sure you want this with him? are you sure you want him? 

“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.” you smile against his lips, repeating his words from earlier, and he sags against you in relief. 

taking each other’s clothes off is a dangerous affair. you’re pressed so close together that it makes it difficult, you almost knock him in the head with your knee and he almost elbows you in the stomach. changbin hasn’t laughed in so long, in years, but he finds himself laughing with you when your clothes finally find themselves tossed all over his room. 

he’s felt it occasionally lately, but it really hits him now that he’s healing, or at least that’s what his therapist says. he owns himself again; changbin is no one’s Asset. he can laugh, he can feel joy, and he presses the feeling into your lips for the thousandth time tonight. 

changbin breathes heavily against your open lips when your precious hand wraps itself around his cock. he’s so hard that he leaks in your grasp. it tilts his world on its axis, the way you grip and stroke him, so much better than the feeling of his own hand in the shower earlier tonight. he props himself on his metal elbow again and reaches the other hand between you, and he bites his lips when he feels your thighs spread for him. 

you’re hot to the touch, silky wet, and changbin’s mouth waters like a dog. he lets himself explore, lets himself feel his way around your beautiful cunt. the pudge of your swollen clit, the give of your willing hole. you touch each other like that for a while, warm breaths mingling and bodies rocking until the tip of his cock grinds against your clit. 

“i- i- oh,” you stutter. “oh god, ‘m so fucking wet.” 

you’re right. he slips against you; he can’t stop rocking his hips. you feel too good, your lips bracket his cock so perfectly that his head spins. 

“i should do something about that, huh?” he asks. it’s said through a grin, but he’s just as breathless as you are. 

you cling to him so tightly when he sheaths himself inside that he has half a mind to think your muscles will lock that way. his plump mouth is mashed against the side of your nose while his hips slowly rock into you. changbin is pressed so tightly against you that he can feel when you start to cry, and he’s scared to death again. he stops rolling his hips, immediately cupping your face in his warm hand and searching for the answer. 

“i hurt you. i’m so sorry, what’s wrong? sweetheart, what did i do?” changbin begs. he might just start crying too. 

the pet name makes you cry harder, but you shake your head. 

“i never thought i would have this again,” you weep, clutching onto his shoulders tighter and pressing your heels against his ass as a sign to stay put. “but you’re here with me.” 

he’s here with you, and he’ll stay as long as you’ll have him. 

changbin eases himself forward until his hips are flush to yours and nuzzles his nose in the space behind your ear to breathe you in. 

“i’m here with you,” he whispers. it sends goosebumps up and down your arms. he knows his cock is thick, and he wonders if you’ll feel it tomorrow, if you’ll feel the phantom ache and remember that this is real. “i’m right here with you.” 

you’re pressed so tightly together that he has no other choice but to rut his hips into you. there’s no room to thrust, so he cages you in and grinds into you deeply. changbin’s flesh hand comes up to cup the top of your head, and his titanium Arm curls underneath your shoulder to pull you as close as possible. you’re all he can feel, all he can taste and smell and hear. inside and out, your body is warm, and he can’t get enough of it. your fingers wind themselves into his damp hair and curl over the bulging bicep of his Arm. 

“you feel so fucking good in me. you always feel so good, baby, your cock-!” you mewl. he shivers when you mouth desperately at the shell of his ear. he can hear how much you like it. the precious noises you make in his ear tell him all about it, the whimpers, the moans, but so does the sweet squelching of your soaked cunt. he’ll bury his face in it later if you’ll let him, drink your nectar until there’s none left to swallow.

you’ve always felt so good too, he remembers. the clutch of your body has always been breathtaking, but memories could ever compare to the real thing. 

he has to fuck you better. he has to fuck you like you deserve, so he kisses the whine from your mouth when he pulls back and sits up on his knees. god, you’re a sight for sore eyes, a flower in the desert. he rubs the heaving skin of your stomach and plants his knees firmly on the soft blankets underneath him and fucks you. his thrusts shunt you up the pallet until you’re chanting yes-yes-yes-yes! with your head thrown back. you’re clutching at his arms where they’re balled into fists and planted by your sides, fingers wrapped tightly around his forearms.

“fuck. fuck,” he grunts. “do you like it? is it good?”

you nod frantically. “i love it! i love it, please don’t stop, changbin, oh-!” 

he can’t. he wouldn’t dream of it now. it’s not like he had the chance to try it out, but he has a feeling the serum coursing through his veins could keep him going all night if that’s what you want him to do. changbin wants it too, wants it more than anything, to reacquaint himself with your body after so long without it. 

your chest shakes every time he fucks his hips, and he breathes a rough curse into the air when you cup them in your hands. you thumb at your nipples, twist and pinch them between your fingers. you up your game when you notice him watching - pushing your tits together and jiggling them in your hands. 

“you’re a minx,” he says, but it’s paired with a fond shake of his head. his heart almost stops when you smile up at him. 

changbin slows his thrusting for a moment to adjust the stance of his knees, sliding them forward until his thighs press against the backs of yours. you spread yourself wider for him, gripping underneath your knees to keep them up and open for him. he’s deeper this way, so fucking deep that it feels like his thick cock is in your throat, and one of your hands scrambles for him again. you’ll settle for anything you can reach; you just want to feel him. 

you grip his Arm, and changbin gasps. he’s still not used to it, not used to your gentle touch on the part of his body he’s most ashamed of, but it gives him a headrush when your fingers seek his out. they entwine frantically with his metal ones, clenching and squeezing while you’re fucked just how you want. your own muscles flex when you move to lift his Arm. the titanium is heavy, he knows, so he helps you the best he can. changbin doesn’t know what you’re doing, but he lets you guide his Arm where you want it anyway. he isn’t expecting for you to bring it to your lips, much less for you to lick the tips of two of his metal fingers. he almost jolts back on instinct, but the look in your hazy eyes keeps him in place. he watches in awe when you suck them into your mouth - his pinky and ring fingers curl downwards to give you more room, and you bob your head in thanks. you suck on his titanium fingers just like you would his cock. changbin can’t stop staring, the way your lips wrap around the metal is intoxicating, nearly damning. you suck him deep into your mouth until your throat is convulsing, and only then do you pull your lips back with a sultry pop!

a deep, depraved part of him tells him to reach down to rub your clit with it, make you cum faster. the coolness of his fingertips would have you thrashing underneath him. admittedly, he’s not ready for that, but the thought has him going nearly cross eyed. you would surely like it, he knows that. maybe he can give it to you one day.

for now, his flesh fingers do the job. he swipes them against the drool running down your chin and brings them straight down to your swollen clit, rubbing swift, tight circles on that cute little button his mind tells him that he missed so much. 

“yes! like that, keep going just like that!” you cry. so he rubs your clit and drills his cock inside just like you ask for until you’re cumming with a high pitched wail of his name. it’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, heard, and felt. he follows behind you quickly, rutting into the softness of your pulsing cunt and stilling inside to let you have it all. 

you trade kisses even as he rolls off of you and lands on his side, he cranes his neck and puckers his lips as you stand up to go use his bathroom, and you’re about to bend down to straddle his lap and kiss him until you fall asleep when you hear a scratch at the door. 

you find the bare minimum of your clothes before you let sadie in; changbin shoves his legs into his sweatpants and you put your panties and sleep shirt back on again. sweet sadie curls right up between the two of you when you let her in and lay back down on changbin’s pallet, and everything feels right. 

changbin breaks the silence first, breathing your name and petting your head where it’s resting on his flushed chest. you hum to show him that you’re listening. 

“i’ll never be the changbin that you lost,” he says. he’ll never be that man again. too much has changed, too much has been taken from him. he’s not the same changbin seo he was before he fell from the train car, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be changbin seo at all. 

you kiss his chest, right above his beating heart.

“this is enough. any changbin you let me have is more than enough.”

you know what he’s done. you know what he’s been through, but you choose him anyway. you’ve chosen him every day since you found him in your house. you chose even before he came back to you; the pictures that hung on your wall proved it. you chose him when you took his hand in marriage, when you took his last name. you chose him then, and you still choose him now despite the things he was made to do, despite the damage that has been done to him. monster turned man. 

“you love me anyways…” he says. it’s not a question, but a statement. 

“i love you anyways,” you confirm. “i love you always.”

for years, all changbin felt was the cold, but here, with your head on his chest and sadie curled at his hip, he begins to thaw.

OT8 MASTERLIST

💖Inked Petals and Message Tones

Prompt Game

I

✨ SKZ!Pack Universe 🌙

"Ask the Pack"-here!

Wolf Inside

Mine

Special

Stupid Dumb Alpha

Smell Like You

Moonmates

Jealousy, Jealousy

Oh Sheet

Before You Know It

I'll Be Home

Puppy Love

Lonely Hearts Club

Zero Complaints

Punish Me

Catch Me If You Can

Prequel Series!

Lemon Squares

Killing, Stalking

Pineapple on Pizza

Thunderstorms and Lightning, Very Very Frightening

Summer Camp

Without a Heart

Pretty (Bitchy)

Snowed In

Citrus Stardust

Imitation as a form of Flattery, Exhibition as a form of Punishment

Dire Straights

You Win Some, You Lose Some

Slay All Day

Sleepless in Seattle (Seoul Style)

♦️ Part I

♦️ Part II

Out of the Closet

Bet on You

Orientation

(Diss)tracted

Hide and Seek

Love and Other Drugs

♦️ Changbin's POV

Dangerous Games

Lie To Me

♦️ Part I

♦️ Part II

Scientific Method

Make It Beta

Half Baked

Emergency Stop

Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

💚Announcement and Clarification

💛Scenarios/Fic Requests [x]

Stray Love Haven Series Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: MLM/MLF Short Summary: A Stray Kids Kink Book with 31 Days' worth of plot

Time Out Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bangchan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Two idiots in love who couldn't tell the difference between platonic pet names and romantic pet names

Silent Cry Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Gender Neutral! Reader Short Summary: You had a rough day, wanting nothing more than to sob your heart out alone but what if the eight men in your life felt it

Monster Under My Bed Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Bang Chan/Lee Felix Short Summary: Stress was catching up to Chan and he wanted to relieve himself, somehow tentacles joined the mix and so did Felix

Phobia Genre: Angst|Psychopath AU|Flash Fic Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Fem! Reader Short Summary: You had a crush on Chan but your best friend Minho seems to disprove your liking. A night out of clubbing, swirled into weeks of terror.

My Love Genre: Fluff|Romance Pairing: Lee Minho/Han Jisung Short Summary: Minho saw a goddess rush past him, taking his breath away. Only to see the same goddess sit on the swing next to him

Sticky Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Plant Monster! Park Jimin/Human! Jeon Jungkook Short Summary: Yoongi kept Jungkook in charge of his wild plant. He warned him about the consequences but Jungkook undermined the warning.

I'm A Charmer Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Stray Kids Song: Venom/Stray Kids Song: Charmer/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Have you ever wondered what it's like to fuck a humanoid version of your favourite song? This is that unhinged fic.

Mini Log Series Genre: Fluff|Ddlg/Mdlg Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Domestic scenes of Chanlix and their little. There will be praise, there will be punishments and most importantly, there will be tooth-rotting sweetness.

Check Up Season Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Doctor! Lee Minho/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Medical play with heavy tension. Lee Know wearing glasses and a doctor's coat is very attractive.

Limousine Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: 3Racha/Short Fem! Reader Short Summary: You pissed off Chan so they fucked you behind a moving vehicle and confessed their love.

Winter Flowers Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Fluff Pairing: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho Short Summary: Getting stuck on a ski lift isn't ideal, especially if you have acrophobia. Enemies to friends to lovers, a 2Min classic.

Stray Kids Scenarios Series Genre: Undetermined Pairing: OT8/Reader Content: Tucking You In|First Time: Calling Them by Their Title|Pillow Fort|Nightmare|When They Notice You Crying During Sex|Lost My Way|Types Of Spankings|Sneak In|Types Of Aftercare|When You Start Being Bratty|9th Little Member|When You Feel Sick|When They Get A Nightmare|Fussy Diaper|Second Chance

Mirror Genre: Fix-it Fic|Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Father! Seo Changbin & Son! Bang Chan Short Summary: Coming out is never easy but imagine coming out to your adult son. Changbin just wants to explain to his child why he divorced his mother and left for ten years.

Monster On My Ceiling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin Short Summary: Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to get railed silly by Minho but before anything could've happened. Our tentacle friend from Chanlix's endeavours joins in.

Adore You Genre: Fluff/Slight Angst/Smut Paring: Fem Dom! Reader/Bang Chan/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix Short Summary: Hyunjin had a rough day, so you decided to make love until his brain turns fuzzy.

Champagne and Cigarettes Genre: Fluff/Smut/Abo Pairing: Virgin! Reader/Bang Chan Short Summary: Jisung has been courting you for months, you already knew everyone in the pack and tonight's the night you become a pack member. The only problem is that you didn't know what you signed up for.

Sweet Little Unforgettable Thing Genre: Fluff|Smut|Age Regression Short Summary: It's the few days before your actual period where you just want to get railed. You got overwhelmed and ended up slipping into little space. What are your responsible CG's going to do?

Nightfall Genre: Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Slight Angst|Age Regression Short Summary: Snow covered the backyard, and you wanted to play in it. Nightfall came, and the members promised you could play more the next day but why wait until that morning when you could play while they were asleep?

Sanrio Carnival Sanrio Carnival Visualizer Genre: Fluff|Domestic|Age Regression Short Summary: You were a big fan of Sanrio characters. Varying from the mainstream to the niche. One day, your caregiver bought tickets for the Sanrio Carnival. Tons of prizes were won, and many characters were seen. What did you do? Who did you see? 

Monster In My Closet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin Short Summary: Seungmin wanted to tease Jeongin into a pile of mush when slick pooled up to his ankles, holding him down.

Threeway To Heaven Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Raves were something your best friends go to frequently and this time they wanted you to join them. Things don't go as planned when you get served a free shot.

Topline Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem Dom Leaning! Reader Short Summary: You drove home thinking it was just another day. Hyunjin wanted to try something new to spice things up, who else to ask except his beloved members to help him out?

Teacher's Pet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem! Reader/Lee Minho Short Summary: Mr. Hwang's course has always been a pain in the ass for your GPA so he decides to confront you on it, but you couldn't hold back from snapping at him. Mr. Lee heard the commotion and wanted to lay some advice.

Moral Of The Story Series Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: OT8! Straykids/Fem! Reader Short Summary: When a poly relationship starts turning cold, with regret, fear, and betrayal tying the strings of fate.

I Need You Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Fem! Reader/Lee Felix Short Summary: Dance practice ended early and Felix had pent up energy. Carving is a strong emotion to deny when it comes to handsome men who can't stop holding you against them.

Chasing That Feeling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Lee Minho/Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Movie night snacks are always essential. Who knew bumping into a wall would lead to this?

Guilty Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: What's a little bit of teasing, when you're dating two most sexually driven men with the sheer need to ruin you.

9th Little Member Series Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Fluff|Age Regression Pairing: OT8/Reader Short Summary: You always felt that being a little was troublesome for the group. Hiding it was the only option you had. But you forgot one thing, your members can see through everything. Kidult|Tea Party|Otter Chaos

I'll Be Your Man Series Genre: Smut/Fluff Pairing: OT8/Fem! Reader Short Summary: A Stray Kids Smut Book with a crazy twist

Stray Heart Untold Series Genre: Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Smut Main Pairing: Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Hero/Villain, betrayal enemies to lovers plot with world building and live writing ARG. Cause of writing: The 2023 5 Stars Trailer - Bang Chan.

Your Fault Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: All you wanted to do want watch a movie. You warned him, you told him it was slow. It's all his fault that his cock took over his brain.

Mommy's Home Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: There's nothing a good old-fashioned BJ can't fix, especially when you're stressed.

Double Trouble Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Seo Changbin/Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Princesses always had the right to feel full. It's not wrong to beg your boyfriend for another set of dick.

kpop cat boy really bought kpop hunky boy a pair of pink lacy underwear for his birthday and wanted a picture of him wearing them…that was not in the bingo card for 2024 but it makes sense

Okay but ... what is wrong with you guys? Why won't you let Christopher catch a break? Do you really hate him that much that you have to make every single thing he does a massive deal for no reason?

You found a way to hate on him for the whole chocolate thing, which, shouldn't have even been a thing in the first place ... he was literally just being silly, and if any of you knew him, you'd know he regularly says silly things like that, and there's literally nothing wrong with it? If you're actually offended by a grown man minding his own business and the way he types his messages, then honestly, you need to sit down with yourself and rethink your priorities.

He had every right to tell you guys to stop telling him what to do. Every. Single. Right. He's a grown man - you don't think he knows when to sleep and when to not? You don't think he would go to sleep if he could? Are you forgetting he has one of the busiest roles as a leader, as a producer, as an idol, as a person who just wants some time for himself and rarely has the time for it - being worried about him is fine but to the point where you keep harassing him and telling him to sleep when he's said multiple times in the past that he doesn't need you guys to tell him that? He's not incompetent like you make him out to be. You're all quick to say "he's pushing thirty and behaving like this" when he sends silly texts but you can't keep the same mindset when you treat him like a child for not going to bed on time? He's an independent man with a brain - he knows what he needs, and if he doesn't want to go to sleep, then just respect that and stop ignoring everything he says? You're acting as if you probably don't stay up till 3am, 4am, 5am, for no reason other than scrolling through your phone or whatever ... if someone told you to go to bed at that time, you'd probably get annoyed too, and you definitely wouldn't listen - so why should he listen if he doesn't want to? Doesn't really make sense, does it.

And getting mad at him for finally sticking up for himself when he's nothing but polite and kind all the time is actually insane ... you get mad when he doesn't put people in their place, and then get mad when he does - honestly, just give it a rest. He can't even breathe without you getting angry about it. He gives you guys everything, he's always there for you and he's always trying to help everyone as much as he can - you have no right treating him like shit? "Oh but he was really rude" No, he wasn't. He was respectful but straightforward. If someone in your day to day life told you to stop telling them what to do, you wouldn't say it was rude. But because it's him and you love picking him to pieces, you had to turn it into a massive scene. Again. It's like in your heads he only has one job, and that job is to show his body off so you can gush about him online. Which, is disgusting. You're forgetting he's a real person, with a real heart, and feelings. If you just want a body to gawp at, just go find a stripper or something instead of constantly criticising and hating on him for every single thing he does other than flashing his abs on stage.

You're making this man's actions your entire life and personality and it's actually really pathetic to see ... don't you get bored of bashing him constantly for the silliest of shit?

You can not like him and not make a big fuss about it. You can't like everyone and not everyone is gonna like you - but hiding behind a screen and saying whatever the fuck you want without a single thought is really not it ... you wouldn't dare to say half the shit you say to his face. So why say it at all? Find something else in your life to occupy yourself with ... go do something that's actually beneficial instead of micro analysing the breathing patterns of a man you don't even know.

Put some respect on his name and just leave the poor guy alone ... he's been through enough as it is.