🕷️ genre: fluff & crack with a side of action and pinch of angst(?), mutuals to partners to lovers, ascended fangirl trope, literally the boy next door
🕷️ summary: myung jaehyun was second-year undergrad student who lived a pretty normal life; he was pretty popular, partied with friends often, went to class, etc. until a radioactive spider bit him! from then on, his life turned upside down. he lost his social life, most of his friends, and who he was as just myung jaehyun. being spider-man consumed jaehyun's life, and he allowed it to, that was until he met y/n. she had everything that he lost while adopting his spider-man identity, popularity, a normal life, and most of all, freedom.
profiles: jaehyun's fbi agents damsels in need of spidey
00: hi, my name is myung jaehyun
» more to come...
status: upcoming!
a/n: this was heavily inspired by spider-man: bnd hahaha! i'm super excited to start on this series after i finish page.coffee, though updates may be slow as school is starting :( regardless, i'll always put my 100% into it no matter what! i will be posting the profiles soon!!
++ also super proud of the cover image :))
🕷️ taglist: open! send an ask/comment to be added!
knock knock ໒꒱ spiderhak x fem!journalist!reader (oneshot) ─ high school au, one-sided pining, attempts at flirting, slight violence+mentions of injuries, fluff, crappy writing bc i'm tired soz, he's a mix of tasm spidey and mcu spidey imo wc. 2,481
📧 school starts in two days, i'm soo not prepared 😭😭 (also i'm gonna be posting lots of drafts so my posts will change between my old and new layout just cuz i can't be bothered to fix them 😓)
“Hey, Woonhak! Do you have the photos from Tuesday’s game?”
A mop of brown hair looked up and nearly swallowed without chewing his sandwich—not because he was surprised, but because he instantly recognized the voice, and you, innocent and unknowing, had caused the poor boy to nearly choke.
Editor-in-chief and president of Midtown High’s very own newspaper club. As well as top of the year, popular, and most of all, Woonhak’s crush since he first laid eyes on you freshman year.
It was the second day, and he was already falling asleep in class. The teacher had called him out, and, out of embarrassment, he’d scanned the room of teenage eyes pointed at him, when he landed on you. It was like a beam of light was projected around you. Suddenly he’d felt very much awake, and from then on he had never slept in any class he shared with you.
“Oh– Yeah, I’ll, uhh, email them to you now.”
“Thanks a lot, Woonhak. You're the best!” As if his heart wasn't already going a thousand miles per hour, you smiled at him, and his heart beat so fast you’d thought he’d taken something. It was a wonder he hadn't passed out or flushed beet red. As you were starting to walk away, he awkwardly, and soon to be embarrassingly, blurted out, “your article on Spider-man last week was really good! I..uhh..I really liked it..”
As he reached closer and closer to the end of his sentence, he slowly started to realize what he’d just done. He gave a sheepish smile, hot pink embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and voice getting smaller and quieter. He didn't know what to expect—except it wouldn't be anything good. However, to his surprise and relief, a grin spread across your now glowing face.
“Really!? You think so?”
He nodded. Good, at least he didn't make a fool of himself. But the sheer joy growing in your voice assured him that maybe it wasn't a mistake to blurt that out.
“You, uh, like Spider-man?”
“Of course! Who doesn't? He’s so cool, and—” You cut yourself off with a chuckle before you could say anything embarrassing. “Sorry, I’m rambling…”
He tried to play it cool, but his heart and mind were going a thousand miles a minute each. And when he thought his crush couldn't get any worse, you go off about his alter ego! She likes Spider-man!? And thinks he’s cool—thinks I’m cool!?
“No, it– it’s fine! You, uh, think he's cool..?” Oh of course he had to stutter! This is why she said Spider-man’s cool and not you!
You shrugged, your lips curling into a timid smile. “Yeah, I mean, he’s always helping people out and just…amazing.” Your eyes dropped to the side, and though the worry that he’d find you silly, you still went on. “It’d be really cool if I could actually interview him next time, don't you think?”
Woonhak’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade with each compliment, and he nodded in agreement. “Yeah! Yeah,” he slowed down, and his eyes trailed off to the side as a lightbulb slowly blinked to life above his head, “that would be…”
“Well, thanks again for the photos. See you later!” You waved and turned on your heel, and he simply nodded despite you being several steps away already. The corner of his mouth lifted as the lightbulb in his head grew brighter and brighter, and he realized something so incredible and momentous. I’m Spider-man!
6:33. Shit! Mom’s gonna kill me if I miss dinner! The sharp evening air prickles your lungs as you push open the wooden library doors. Books held to your chest in one hand and bag strap clutched in the other, you sped down the steps and onto the empty sidewalk. The warmth of the sun dissipated as the warm hues in the sky bled in blues behind you. The wind stung and your lungs fought against the confines of your ribs for more air, feet barely getting to know the ground beneath it before lifting again, leaving a soft pattering sound.
You turned the corner and—
Crash!
Glass shattered and blanketed the ground in tiny, diamond-like shards, followed by a boyish shout. You stopped in your tracks—a red blur flew out of the window, followed by masked men clad in all black, except for the cheap plastic superhero masks. Cash danced in the air like a movie, spilling from their duffle bags as they scurried away. Or, well, attempted to scurry away; as in the next second, a flash of white lunges as one of them and pulls them to a wall.
You knew you should've turned around and taken a different route. Your brain and common sense and every fiber in you begged to turn around and just run, yet you couldn't move, your feet stayed glued to the ground.
Another scream as another one of the robbers—Walmart Thor—was hung upside down on a street lamp by the ankle. The blur of red leapt down only to be met with a fist swung at his left cheek, then a strike from behind. A bag of money swung at his collarbone, green trailing it in the air like a cartoon.
Grunts and shouts and thwacks filled the air, and all you could do was helplessly watch as your brain screamed in your ear to move. You heard your heartbeat in your ear, the rapidness from running or fear, you didn't know. A red fist slammed into plastic Hulk’s face, skewing the mask. Finally, the Walmart Avengers were stuck to walls or hanging from lamp posts.
“Man, I thought the Avengers were good!” You heard a muffled boyish voice. “Well, it was great meeting you, Mr. Stark!” The silhouette of red reached for and straightened the Iron Man mask. When your limbs finally gained mobility, he turned, and you felt yourself freeze again.
Spider-man.
“Oh! Hey there, are you alright?” His lenses widened comically and he jogged toward you, stopping midway to hold his side and groan, before eventually reaching you. He stopped, not only his feet, but his whole body too, including his brain. You could only assume he was staring at you through those wide lenses, and you swore you could see a little spinning loading symbol float above his head as he buffered. Was something wrong?
“Uhm…are you alright?”
That seemed to snap him out of it since he perked up, and you felt him blinking a few times behind the mask. “Oh! Yeah, right. Sorry about that.”
His voice was deeper, and it sounded like he attempted to put on a more mature voice. “Are you alright, Miss?” You nodded. “Yeah, I..only watched.”
“Good, good! Are you heading home? As you can tell it's not very safe at this time, I’ll—”
Your heads turned at the sound of sirens, and a flash of red and blue washed over the two of you. (Well, more you than him since, you know, he’s already red and blue.) “Stay right here, I’ll walk you home.” But before you could decline, he'd already sped off to talk to the officers, leaving you standing there awkwardly, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground.
After declining many offers of medical help, Woon— Spider-man left the officers to clean up, making his way back to you. You. What were you doing here!? What if you’d gotten hurt, or– or worse! But now he gets to walk his crush home, and maybe even throw a couple of pick up lines (that Jaehyun had taught him, and Sungho had disapproved) at you with full confidence, thanks to the mask.
Every muscle in him ached—courtesy of being thrown to the ground and beat up—the cut on his cheek throbbed and he felt the raw skin on his knuckles scrape against the fabric of his suit. But his focus quickly shifted to the halo-bearing, breath of fresh air beside him, and it had the same effect as digging an ‘X’ into a mosquito bite.
The wind shook the leaves, and the patter of your footsteps fell in sync. He kept glancing at you, his lips suddenly sucked dry and glued together. Now’s his chance! Come on!
“Are you from Tennessee? Because..I see you.”
Your head slowly turned towards him, and his eyes widened behind the lenses.
“I– I mean—! Uh, nevermind..”
His head snapped forward under the presumption that if he couldn't see your bewildered stare, it simply wouldn't exist. Then:
“I’m in high school, just so you know.”
His brows furrowed, he knows that—well, Woonhak does, but Spider-man doesn't. But still, why would—
“You could be a forty-year old underneath that mask for all I know. So..”
“Oh! Well, I am too. In high school, I mean.”
Your brow quirked up, and to be honest he felt slightly offended. What about him screams middle-aged man!? He’s pretty sure someone that age would wince at the amount of flips and tricks he does.
“Do you really think a forty-year old can do all that without hurting his back?”
“I mean, it's more believable than a high schooler saving the city.”
He gasped with mock-offense, his palm facing you for extra flare, which you glanced at with a raised brow. “Are you an ageist..?”
“What?” You, despite yourself, let out a small chuckle; his response being perfect evidence that he was not a middle-aged man.
Just as quickly as he’d broken it earlier, silence overcame the two of you again, leaving you wondering, after learning that your favorite superhero might be your age, why he reminds you of a certain someone, and who this certain someone is. He glanced at you again, houses slowly filling the background.
Then, as if confidence itself had surged forward and wrapped around him, he turned to you and, redeeming himself for his first attempt, broke the silence.
“You look..pretty.”
He wanted to slap himself for how bare and silly it sounded, but at least it was better than “because I see you.”
This time you didn't look at him, instead staring at the pavement, and your cheeks felt warm.
“You must get told that a lot, but, you really are.”
He stopped himself before he could go on about how smart you are or a habit of yours he loved, but how and why would Spider-man know that you don't like crusts on your sandwiches or that you pretend to know basketball when you talk to him when you really don't know a thing.
“Thank you, Spider-man.”
You stopped, facing him and tucking your hair behind your ear. “For that and for walking me home.” Your small, timid smile had him yanking at his mental chains to not throw more compliments at you just to see it grow.
“No need to thank me, it was my pleasure to walk with such a charming girl like yourself.”
You simply nodded, eyes glancing to the side as your smile did nothing but grow wider, only the slightest bit, but in his mind it was the grandest victory.
“Still, you better not be forty.” You pointed at him, suddenly serious, and he shook his head adamantly. He watched as you turned and walked up the steps to your house, a little pep in your step despite how you tried to suppress it until you got home.
Sometimes he wished the spider had bitten him twice so he’d have double the super healing, but at least his side isn't throbbing as much as it did the night before.
And gosh, those robbers really put up a fight! Is there some robber self-defense class in case they get caught by him?
Pulling his sleeves to cover his bruised knuckles, he ducked his head to hopefully avoid questions about the questionable cuts and bruises covering him. Every time someone bumped into him in the crowded hallway he’d bite back a wince and the image of him getting thrown against a wall flashed through his mind.
A locker slammed shut just a few feet from him, drawing his attention, and standing there was the one person he hoped to avoid that day (which was highly unusual considering who it was).
“Oh, Woonhak!” He stopped, because of course he did; someone as down bad as him can't even pretend to not hear their crush when he’s trying to hide something. You walked up to him, donning your usual smile that usually has him flustered and empty-headed, talking about something he doesn't even hear because he's too busy wishing the cafeteria doors weren't so far away.
“The photos of the game were—” You paused, brows knitting together, and took a step forward. Your hands reached out to his face, and he knew it was already too late. Instead of fighting against your hold, or even just rushing off, he tried to (and failed) fight back the heat creeping up his cheeks.
“Woonhak, what happened?” You tilted his face to the side, his heart fluttering at how gentle you’re holding his face.
“Oh– I, uhm, fell..” He gave a sheepish smile, but your eyes only narrowed in suspicion. “Really?” He nodded, a bead of sweat threatening to roll down the side of his face.
“Mhm!”
But then, you pulled him closer, the boy almost choking on his breath, and the brush of your breath against his lips doubled the number of butterflies in his stomach. Hold on…
A bruise on his left cheek, another on his collarbone peeking out from the stretched collar of his shirt. A cut on his brow, which you had to admit was a little attractive. But only a bit!
The positioning of the bruises sat suspiciously similar to where you watched Spider-man get hit just the night before. What kind of fall causes these injuries, anyway!? Your intense gaze on his collarbone had his cheeks flushing Spider-man red, which he hoped you couldn't feel against your palms.
“You fell down?”
“Yup!” He replied a little too quickly, nodding and smiling like someone who was one hundred percent not innocent.
You pulled your palms from his face and stepped back, his heart finally settling as the space between you widened again.
Doubt still evident on your face, you nodded. “Just..be careful next time.”
He could only muster another quick ‘yup!’ before speeding off to the cafeteria doors, the feeling of your hands on his face still fresh. And he silently wished, the thought embarrassing him even, that you had been holding his face for a completely different reason. One that might involve lips and mutually assured feelings.
While he was drowning in his own embarrassment, you stood, back to your locker, eyes trailing him as he dashed through the hall, not caring if people bumped into his bruised body. One thought circled your mind, the only possible explanation…
THANK YOU FOR THE TAG 😭 BUT ALSO IF I MISS SOMEONE ITS CAUSE I NEVER REMEMBER YALLS USERS OK.
-> also might tag some people i follow that don’t follow me cause istg i always think everyone already follows me ok. so treat this as blog appreciation even if you don’t follow me i see you on my dash A LOTTT.
listen up all of y'all this is me giving u a big fat kiss on the forehead MWAH i love all of u guys <3 @tobiotaesan @taestulipss @ihanzzn @mwotgata @mirouie @lovehakie @moesthinking @astrae4 @coriihanniee @tsanho @riuscheri @hollyoongs @woongelaatin @htaesan @lusayyawnn @j-jellyous @nemoihan @beomtomie @niiqv @chrrific @tanghuyuj @wonsoire @eunandonly @dat-town @ivehan @koishua @dearwhs @luvbinnies @cinnamorollhyuka (if i forgot anyone IM SO SORRY i love u lots i swear.... please believe me...)
thank you to my spouse @starriniqhts and child @cinnamorollhyuka
💝💖 @nefariouspanda134 (apparently my fave child?)🫶💫 @cinnamorollhyuka ofc, @starriniqhts my enemies to spouse, @kazukazukiiii bcus i like ur vibes idk, @woongelaatin uwi ka na pls, @wingzyyy mrs. tokuno
thank you steby!! i'd tag you but..you know... @ivehan @taestulipss @gentiliana @taesanluv3r @moesthinking @astrae4 @coriihanniee @pwblant @eunandonly @winteringdream @gyurilla @riumori there's sm more so sorry if i forgot anyone 😿😿
Summary: After another failed blind date, you come home past 2AM, you find your roommate sulking silently on the couch because you forgot your plans together.
The apartment was dark when you walked in.
Only the dim kitchen light was still on, barely lighting the quiet living room. You closed the door carefully while checking your phone out of habit.
2:13 AM.
…oops.
You slipped your shoes off quietly and started walking toward the couch.
And then you saw him.
Taesan was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, his face buried against his folded arms on the cushion, completely still.
You blinked.
“Taesan…?”
No response.
You stepped a little closer.
“Did you fall asleep there?”
Nothing.
You frowned slightly before crouching down a little to look at him better.
And then he slowly turned his head toward you.
…ah.
He wasn’t asleep.
He was glaring at you.
You almost laughed a little.
Because even like this, he looked cute.
“Oh…”
you murmured.
“You’re awake.”
Taesan held your gaze for a few more seconds before standing up from the floor.
He didn’t say a single thing.
He just climbed onto the couch and dropped face down against it, turning his back to you completely.
Silence.
You stared at him for a moment.
He kept ignoring you.
And honestly… you knew him too well by now.
He was sulking.
You walked over slowly and crouched beside the couch to try and see his face again.
Taesan immediately turned his head slightly the other way.
Like he was determined to stay upset.
That only made you want to tease him more.
“What’s wrong?”
you asked softly.
“Why are you angry?”
He stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Then he spoke without looking at you.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
You blinked.
“Hm?”
Now he finally turned his face slightly toward you.
And the second he did, you realized you were way too close.
Your face was only inches from his now.
His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before looking back up again.
“You said you’d tell me if you were gonna be late,”
he murmured.
“We were supposed to watch the series tonight. Remember?”
…oh.
And then it clicked.
The food you ordered.
The blanket on the couch.
Taesan saying the night before:
“don’t start the next episode without me.”
Your shoulders dropped slightly.
“I’m sorry…”
you said quietly.
“I forgot.”
He looked away again.
And somehow that made you feel even worse immediately.
Your hand moved on its own toward his messy hair, gently brushing it back.
“The date was terrible anyway.”
Silence.
Taesan didn’t answer.
But he didn’t move your hand away either.
Your fingers kept running softly through his hair while he stayed still beneath you.
So used to your touch.
And at the same time…
still not really.
“Was it that bad?”
he asked after a while.
You let out a tired little laugh.
“He talked about himself for almost two hours.”
That made Taesan let out something close to a laugh through his nose.
Very small.
But it was there.
Your eyes stayed on him for a few more seconds.
And then you noticed something strange.
He didn’t just look upset anymore.
He looked frustrated.
Tired.
Like he’d been thinking too much by himself.
Then slowly, he lifted one hand.
And took yours where it rested on his head.
Stopping the movement of your fingers.
Your breathing stumbled slightly.
Taesan looked down at your hands together for a second before speaking.
“I really tried, you know?”
You blinked.
“Tried what?”
His fingers closed a little tighter around your hand.
And when he looked back at you…
the annoyance was gone.
Only honesty remained.
The kind that almost hurt to hear.
“I tried not to say anything,”
he murmured.
“I tried acting normal every time you talked about your dates.”
Your heartbeat started climbing faster.
“Taesan…”
He let out a short nervous breath through his nose.
Like he didn’t even want to be admitting this out loud.
“But I hate when you go out with other people,”
he admitted finally.
“I hate the blind dates.”
“I hate sitting here waiting for you to come home while wondering if someone else is gonna make you like them before I can.”
wizard! taesan x f! reader - howl's moving castle au
syn: a heart's a heavy burden. you realise this when he makes yours skip a beat for the first time.
genre: fluff, magic. wc: 3k
a/n: for @starriniqhts as part of my 1st anniversary event! tysm my aylin for requesting!!!
cw: insecurities, harassment by strangers
main masterlist
Being a dressmaker comes with its downsides.
It's a mess of fabric and string, tape strewn all over the tiny ground-floor room of the boutique that you have to bend your spine to gather it up after every consultation. Customers can get rude if you make them wait for longer than they expect, the stuffy heat of layers upon layers of dresses gets to your senses until you have to step out for air often, and you get your fingers pricked more than on occasion. A somewhat thankless job, considering the measly pay.
But being a dressmaker is child’s play compared to being the eldest daughter of three—which might as well be the hardest job in the world, really.
When you're staying overtime to bring into life a new design, they're expected to go home and scrub themselves clean—as ladies should. They have to prime their skin and coil their hairs, and they enjoy it, but you on the other hand—you’re wiping sweat off your brow well into the night during most weeks. They aren't all that different from you in age, but there's already been talks of them entering society, finding suitors.
You're no good for marriage. Dress-making is your calling. Your destiny.
It's hard, but it's the life you're most suited to fare.
And you're okay with it because you have to be. Any bigger a dream, and high expectations will simply crush you to dust—its best to keep to the known, the little cocoon of a life you’ve lived till now.
Today, today though—you can’t seem to stop look away from the shop window, and from the commotion that seemed to be unravelling through it.
You're so dazed by the trumpets and dancing petals and soldiers on white horses that you barely feel the shadow falling over you from behind.
“Boo!”
It startles you out of your stool, nearly bumping your elbow into the desk’s edge and spilling a pair of scissors and tape onto the wooden floor. Your heart only calms to a safe rhythm once you see that's it just your sister playing her tricks on you.
“Jiyu!” you reprimand feebly, catching your breath, scowling at how she’s giggling without a care. “What is it now? Father said you shouldn't keep hanging around here with nothing to do.”
“He made an exception today,” she tosses back easily, grabbing an eraser off the table to toy with until you grab it back. “Haeum and I convinced him with some sweet talk, of course. After all, it's the Queen’s parade! There will be soldiers to watch and toss flowers at. Do you think one of them will look my way?”
You want to roll your eyes at her bubbliness. She's always like this—the both of them, really. But you're honest when you say, “Yes, no doubt you'll catch everyone's attention. You're beautiful.”
Because she is. The way she smiles so brightly in response, teeth exposed and cheeks full like she doesn't think twice about her flaws—which don't exist—just drives home your point. They're both blessed with kindness and loveliness and beauty, and you were bestowed the duty to carry on the family business, hold up the finances that your father alone couldn't manage.
But it's okay when you love your family and you're quite happy with your job.
It's okay. Really.
“You should come with!” Jiyu brings you back to the present, hopping on her toes and swishing her frilly skirt all over your plain flat one. “C’mon, Y/N, you stay cooped up all day at that desk of yours. Surely you can afford a few minutes away to forage for some handsome fellas.” She winks suggestively.
It doesn't even bring a blush to your cheeks. She should know you've sworn off romance in this lifetime. It's not like you'll have any luck if you try anyways—true love and fairytale magic was for the privileged and the pretty. You were neither.
“It'll be fu-unnn,” she sing-songs enticingly, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that just makes her look even more endearing. “Maybe you'll meet a wizard! Or a flying ship like they've been saying they made. Oh, it'll be novel, won't it!?”
You've never been good at saying no to her requests; she's half your heart, really, and the other half is Haeum. You've been taught to care for them since you were a child—so it's a hard habit to break now. Wherever they go, and if they let you, you would follow.
She's about to try again when you cut her off with a swift, “Fine.” You gather yourself up, dusting off the eraser shavings and chalk powder off your clothes. “But only for a few minutes. Just to look.”
She seems more than happy to settle for that, launching to lead you by the wrist to the parade before you can even check to see if your face is clean yet. Thankfully, you do manage to grab a hat for your unruly hair before you've made it out.
It's noise and colours, everywhere. More vibrant than you have ever seen the city since the war was officially announced months ago.
Fork-tongued flags and streamers hoisted on poles, miniature copies in people's fists, a brilliant shade of blue gracing the city square. The sound of horns is louder than ever, the procession in the middle of the street filled with men in dark hats and big mustaches, in their stiff uniforms. Dancers twirling feathery sticks, in their dreamy dresses that float like air. And through the gap in the crowd, you can see the queen herself hoisted up on a man-powered carriage—her sharp eyes still notable under the solid gold crown.
“Wow,” you hear yourself whisper, tightening your hold on Jiyu’s hand without meaning to. “All this for her birthday… How breathtaking…”
“Isn't it?” your sister whispers from beside you, but her expression has gone distant and lovesick, swooning at the way a young man in uniform winks at her as he passes by. Once he's out of sight and hearing, she squeals in delight. “Oh, did you see that, Y/N!? He winked at me!! Where is Haeum-ie, she needs to know!”
The two are more interconnected than you were ever with either of them, two peas in a pod, so it only takes one small turn of Jiyu’s eyes to find Haeum on the other side of the parade, waving back at you like she'd picked up the conversation from all the way over there, strangely telepathic in the ways only sisters can be.
And without waiting for the people to finish passing by, Jiyu—who is the most impulsive out of you three—rush forward into the crowd to greet Haeum. You jab your hand forward to stop her by the arm, but she's too quick and lithe, already vanished into a mass of bodies.
First, the panic hits. You can't lose your little sister—you’d be dead before sundown if that happened!
Then you see both of them giggling to each other, swiveling around to wave you over, urging you to take a leap of faith and just maneuver through the crowd, too.
“I—” Complaints die on your tongue when you realise no one can hear. You take a step forward, trying to push past someone, but they shove backwards unknowingly. You end up whispering a sorry on instinct and going the opposite direction, again with no avail.
It feels like an awkward dance with yourself, like an ant trying to go around a crumb and failing miserably, pushing into excited people and the occasional lamppost blocking the way. In no time have you almost tripped over a dent in the pavement, spun around three times in dizzying speed, somehow carried by the wave of the crowd all the way to the emptier part of the street, behind everyone.
It's such a sudden relief that you immediately rush for the alleyway on the side, desperate to get away from the uncomfortable ruckus. Your sisters would be fine, you tell yourself to calm down, they have each other. They may be easy to impress with a couple flashy grins, but they can take care of one another at least. You just need to get back to them without losing yourself.
Which might be a problem. Because you can't exactly tell where you are right now—the city is big and maze-like to begin with, the festivities has rendered it somewhat unrecognisable during wartime.
It's your feet that do most of the thinking, moving on its own accord in the direction it feels is the most safe, leading you to a quieter, more shadowed, almost empty lane, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Until you hear footsteps approaching.
“Ooh, look, a lost kitten,” someone whistles out from behind you, and you turn in fear.
“Well hello there,” another one joins in a similar teasing tone—a man’s, deep and gruff like he sucks on a smoke-pipe all day. “Mind if you lift that hat of yours so we can get a better look?”
They smirk and guffaw between themselves, their looming height and intimidating soldier-uniforms coming into view when you brave a small peek. A gulp travels down your throat, and they seem to enjoy scaring you even more at that.
“I have to go—” you begin, but one of them shushes you softly, taking a step closer. It forces you to take a step backwards, but it's to your horror that you realise you've landed against a wall, with nowhere to run to as the two of them crowd you on either side. “My sisters are waiting for me,” you manage to spit out. “I need to go to them.”
“They won't mind though, would they? Surely they're busy celebrating out there. Doubt they'll even notice you're gone.”
Your blood freezes, their over-friendly demeanour sending a chill down your spine as they get up in your space. A discreet hand of yours slip into your dress’s pocket (that you'd stitched up for ease of carrying around your yarn in the shop), and thumbs around a tiny needle stuck into it. It doesn't hurt you, but you don't know how you can use it to distract them enough to run away. They keep flirting and proding even after knowing you don't want to engage.
“C’mon now, you don't need to lie to reject us,” one of them says again, sneering. “No need to make up sisters and obligations. I can tell you've got no one waiting for you. So why don't you come along and we can keep you company on a date?”
Tears begin to prickle in your eyes, but the second you think you're going to break, a lilting voice cuts through the echoing alleyway.
“There you are,” he smiles in a greeting, and your head shoots up. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.”
A gentle weight falls over your shoulder—there, but barely touching. The soldiers’ brows furrow in confusion, then anger, as they take in the taller man who has interrupted the scene.
Flaxen hair that shines like sunlight, unmarred skin that seems to brighten up even in the grimy alley, looking so out of place. He has a thick, checkered cape, billowy white shirt underneath, and an emerald earring dangling from one of his ears.
You feel like you should know this person.
“Who in the world are you—” the soldier's protest is cut short when the blond man lowers his head just slightly, to whisper, “Take a walk. Don't come back,” in the most entrancing voice you've heard. It's commanding and playful at the same time. Like a spell, almost.
As though suddenly obedient, the soldiers stiffen like wooden boards, and they march out of the alley like their feet have lost control, panicking the entire time.
“What—”
“It isn't safe here,” the blond says, his silky hair brushing over your cheek when he leans to whisper like it's a secret, like you're being followed and he doesn't want eavesdroppers. “Come with me.”
And maybe it's the way he says it that's so compelling—like his voice is made of sugar and honey and melted wax, or the way he smells like sunshine in a field of flowers. Beautiful. You let him lead you out, your hand somehow having moved to hold his elbow he offers, all gentlemanly.
He walks like he's floating, soft and swift, through the streets and up a flight of stairs that land you at the long hallway-like balcony of several doors—a motel, you think. Downstairs, the procession is thinning in a distance, music reaching you in bits and pieces.
“My sisters are over there,” you hear yourself say.
The man next to you smiles. “I’ll take you there,” he hums. “But you’ll need to be brave for this next bit.”
You look at him, startled, but when that does nothing but bring his features even closer to your sight, it runs reddened heat down your ears and neck.
Everything is so… ethereal about him. As though he isn't real or tangible in any sense, even though your grip on him is solid, and you can wager that this isn't a dream no matter how much it feels like one. His eyes are brown, but there's green swimming in it, like little mossy fish. Then he does the thing that makes you backtrack on considering whether this wasn't a dream after all—he steps up onto the wooden railing of the balcony, and balances himself there like it's easy as pie.
“Now you,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.
“What!? No I can't—”
“You trust me, don't you?” He sounds confident, a palm extended for you to take, spine dipping like he's asking you to a waltz.
And you. You are scared. But you do still trust him, because a strange, inexplicable part of you thinks you know this man. That this is not your first meeting, even if you don't even know his name yet.
So maybe that's why you accept his hand.
“Extend a leg, then walk,” he instructs softly, not minding how you immediately grasp onto his shirt when it occurs to you how high you really are. A fall could injure you terribly.
“Walk? What do you mean, walk?”
“Like this.” He demonstrates by extending a long leg off the railing and into the empty space in front, coaxing you to follow. You press closer to him, not knowing what any of this is, but knowing it feels right to listen. “Good girl,” he adds with a smile when you manage to do it right, one leg in front of another, over air. And you're walking on wind in no time.
Not falling. Not plummeting to your death into the depths below onto the streets and people, but floating. Gliding almost—in a dance without a floor to stay afoot on.
“This is—I’m—”
“Wizardry,” he nods with a soft giggle, steering you over the chimney of a rooftop, gently leaping over the piped ledge and onto another house. “Magic is quite helpful, don't you agree?”
You nod in awe, watching the lamps and lights below turn into specks of shiny dust, like fireflies at noon. Beyond the city, there are ridges of mountains and valleys coming into view, touching the dips of the sky. You feel closer to the clouds than to the ground.
And his hands are curled around yours now—one around your palm, the other thumbing at your other wrist, slow, steady circles that test your pulse. It spikes and your heart jumps at a particularly low rumble from his chest that you only pick up because you're so close. Is this a dream after all?
“Here,” he is saying, and you don't even realise that your feet have touched solid ground, another balcony that you slowly realise is the upper floor of your boutique, where you'd started.
How had he known where to take you?
“Who are…”
He tilts his head, lowering your arms to your side and stepping back to take his spot on the railing again, ready to leave. You think he's about to disappear without another word like this was all just imagination, but he indulges you one last time. “Taesan. You'll know me by other names, but for you, I am Taesan.”
You test the name on your tongue, tasting magic, “Taesan…”
“That's perfect,” he flashes a perfect smile. “I’m going to see to it that they don't find you again, but stay put for a while before you go back out, alright?”
Wordlessly, you agree, a small smile twitching at your own lips. Something about him does that to you.
With one final curtsey, he floats backwards in lithe grace, like one of the petals that had fallen from a window. By the time you've rushed to lean over the ledge, he's vanished from sight. Gone as quickly as he'd come.
A wizard, maybe? You've heard stories from your sisters about magic users—its not terribly new to this part of town—but in all the retellings and anecdotes, there's a particular wizard that stands out, known to eat hearts of pretty young girls and leave them weeping all alone.
But him… He'd saved you. You don't think you were pretty enough to pull a trick on, so he'd sought you out and brought you to the safety of your home. A good wizard, you think, that has to be it. Jiyu and Haeum won't believe their ears when you tell them—rather, they’ll be too taken with a new object of their affections they would have picked out to fancy, some time during the parade.
Taesan, you echo in your head, gazing at the spot he'd been standing, trying to fashion out his figure from memory alone.
But something inside you tells you this won't be the last time you meet this man.
genre: fluff | birthday! au, friendship shenanigans
wc: 2.1k
a/n: happiest 20th to my dearest milo @luvbinnies. i wrote you a little present i hope you really like,, it's silly goofy hurt/comfort vibes + lots of friendship which i think is super important on a birthday. hope you have a blast today, and that your twenties greet you with warmth and excitement!!! ilyyyyyyyy 🩵🩵🩵
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It's the worst birthday ever. Single-handedly, irreversibly, the worst birthday in all your twenty years of being alive on planet Earth.
What's even more terrible? You'd been sure this was the year everything would turn around for once, that you'd be spending today with your new friends from uni, and not pretending to be a shapeless lump under your blanket, face smushed into the soft hollow of your pillow.
“Nghh,” you let out a garbled sound into it, counting down to how much longer you could survive with no airflow onto your nose or mouth. 10, 11, 12, 13…
Yep, fuck, 13 is where you quit.
Call it dramatic, but you were so sure you'd be happy today. Your mom had called you in the morning to wish you bright and early, promising that the pastries she'd sent over would arrive soon. (It hadn't. Lost in mail or something like that. Now you have to wait another day to enjoy it.)
But that's okay, you can deal with no pastries until tomorrow. There are the other things you can't seem to overlook no matter how hard you try though.
Like how you'd walked into the kitchen this morning, expecting balloons and confetti from your dear roommates, but instead had been met with Woonhak stuffing a whole chicken leg into his mouth and running off without sparing you a second glance.
But it's Woonhak, and his absurdity can be excused away by his usual personality.
Then it was Wonhee refusing to let you into her room and letting Sungho drag you out to a cafe—until he got a phone call in the middle of your nice little hangout and had to run off after suggesting you get lunch and buy some nice clothes with the notes he presses into your hand. While you appreciated the money, you did not appreciate being abandoned in the middle of a cafe to have a sad meal all alone while you swore people kept judging you from the corner of your eyes.
You were so sure at least one of your other roommates would come back for you. If no one else, then Jaehyun. Always him.
He's been looking out for you since the first day you got here, all bright-eyed and ambitious to start a new chapter of your life. He's your closest friend here; all you wanted was a wish, a hug at best. He's never been shy with affection—always reaching for your hand or ruffling your hair or throwing a hand around your shoulder, pulling you close.
Not a single wish from him either. You know it hurts the most out of everyone, and you also know the bite is more pinched because a part of you knows there's a small crush blooming there for him.
Fuck Myung Jaehyun—and fuck all your other so called friends too. You had slumped in your seat as you stared down at your empty tea cup.
The last straw was a three year old wobbling over to your sad state and offering you her cookie, saying, “You look sad.” You agree with her, and you appreciate her offering, but being called out by a toddler for being a joyless adult is not a fun experience.
And then things just kept going wrong, one after another like the worst game of dominoes in the world.
Your car broke down, your heel snapped, then you got rained on the whole time on your forty-minute walk back home. You're pretty sure you looked like a wet cat dragging its tail across the carpet when you trudged back in, not even bothering to go into the living room before beelining for your bedroom and crawling into your sheets.
Gross. You're sopping from head to toe, and now you need to do your laundry tomorrow—if you don't get sick from mold poisoning first that is.
It's a terrible, horrible day, and the clock is dangerously ticking close to midnight, and all you've done today is be miserable and be ignored by your friends. Your phone died halfway through the outing, you have no energy or will to plug into the socket, and your legs ache from the whole godforsaken journey.
Through the layers of blankets, you hear the creak of your door, footsteps approaching in tentative rhythm.
“Hi,” a soft voice arrives, hesitant, and you feel someone stand above you.
A part of you wants to keep sulking, try and see if they'll get tired of it and leave. But then there's a gentle hand removing the blanket off of you—Jaehyun’s guilty eyes coming to view in your reddened ones, half your face swallowed into the bed.
“What?” you spit back, and it comes out more of a Bwah.
He seems to understand anyways. “So,” he begins, inviting himself over to sit next to you. “You’re going to get sick if you don't dry yourself up—”
“I don't care. I'll just die.”
Your response is bitter and annoyed. Who is he to care whether you get sick or not? He didn't even wish you a happy 20th, didn't even come in to check until the end of the day. He'd forgotten, and now he wants to make amends so he doesn't look like the bad guy.
Well, fat chance—he is the bad guy. And he's a terrible friend.
“Y/N-ie—”
“Don't ‘Y/N-ie’ me, Myung Jaehyun, get out of my room if you're done pretending to be concerned.”
Jaehyun is stricken at that. His face morphs from remorse to a frown, sad around the edges.
Then, “I'm not pretending. I do care.” His fingers are tense where they graze yours, voice hurt. “We’re... Today just went all wrong.”
“Tell me about it. It was the crappiest ever.”
“No, not like that. Not whatever you’re thinking of,” he stays adamant, coaxing your chin to look at him. And then he's brushing your hair back, settling himself on the bed so you're laying facing each other. It sends a spike of electricity through you that you blame on water and heat. “Woonhak accidentally put sugar into the chicken.”
…
You blink. What?
“What?”
“Woonhak,” Jaehyun repeats, huffing like he finds the situation insane himself. “He was supposed to handle your birthday breakfast. But he messed up the salt and dumped sugar into the pan, and when you walked into the kitchen, poor kid panicked and ate the whole thing himself so you wouldn't accidentally get a taste of his shitty cooking.”
“Oh.”
“Wonhee feels bad she had to say no to you hanging out in her room, too. She was blowing balloons in there…ended up bursting half the pack and then Woonhak had to run to get her inhaler for her.”
Oh. There's a weird sense of guilt running through you now, for assuming your friends had any hurtful intentions at all, but Jaehyun, observant as ever, swoops in to soothe you. He doesn't mind that your face is dewy with rain, his thumb brushes at your cheek when he says, “She’s okay, just beating herself up for needing to buy a second set of balloons, and apparently Leehan doesn't know how to colour-match them or something.”
“And Sungho?”
“Yeah, he,” Jaehyun sighs at the bad luck. “He was going to keep you distracted until we had gotten everything ready, but then the cake went missing, the florist got hospitalised for food poisoning, we almost burnt down the kitchen trying to fix dinner, and then he had to run out to save us…”
And all of it sounds wacky enough to be a lie, but you've been able to read Jaehyun from a mile away. The guy wears his heart on his sleeve and his entire soul on his face. “You burnt down the kitchen?” you ask, forcing a glare.
“Almost,” he corrects, booping your nose to distract you.
“You suck,” you grumble, but you lean into the touch instinctively, needing warmth. “Get me a towel.”
Jaehyun's eyes brighten up at your demand, excited to help out in any way now. He knows where you keep your things, so it proves to be not a hassle at all to find.
When he sits behind you to dry your hair without needing to be asked, it feels like the world is slowly returning to peace again. Not in a monumentary way that fixes things forever, more of a gentle bandaid over a wound. And then, he says, “I wanted today to be good, y’know. I was hoping you'd be the happiest you ever were. Sorry for fucking it up for you.”
“You didn't fuck it up.” You shake your head. “It's not over yet. And you're here now, drying me off like some rabid cat you brought back from the street.”
Jaehyun giggles at your attempt to lift the mood. “You're satisfied by just this? So you don't want your present?”
Your head swivels around at breakneck speed. “Present!?”
He rolls his eyes playfully at your quick change in demeanour. “Later. When you're less drenched.”
You huff and pout, crossing your arms to turn away. The least he could do after putting you through that rollercoaster of emotions is get you something you like. Your mind is already twisting through all the possibilities of what it could be. A new album for your collection? That bracelet you've had your eye on since forever? Maybe tickets to the amusement park, like you've been hinting at for a while now, wanting to go with him.
Jaehyun tries to get you to look at him, mumbling your name repeatedly to get your attention. You're too stubborn to give in now, even if your anger has melted away into warm excitement by now. It's just nice to be here with him at all.
“Happy birthday, Y/N,” you hear Jaehyun whisper into your ear, the towel muffling the sound a little but doing nothing to stop the sparks shooting down your spine. His breath ghosts against skin, ticklish.
It's pure impulse that you turn your head to see him, and it's coincidental that he's a millimeter away from you, looking just as surprised, but making no move to widen the distance.
He's right there. Looking all soft with his curly brown hair and rosy cheeks and fuck, you might just kiss away that pout on his lips if he doesn't stop you.
And he doesn't. He's never stopped you now that you think of it, always a supporter of your whims—always your partner in crime. He's leaning in before you know it, and the sheets are bunched up within your fist, a hand at your jaw tilting it, his mouth on yours—
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Y/N!”
Woonhak’s loudspeaker-mouth ruins the moment, the door slamming on the side-wall, and suddenly there's a whole ocean of distance between you and your best friend. Your best friend who you would have really liked to kiss and turn into something more.
But now Woonhak is barrelling into your personal space and throwing himself into a hug, pulling you against him even though your clothes are nowhere near dry. “We’re so sorry we messed up. We were trying to make it amazing for you and ended up doing the opposite, please don't be mad,” he whines, worrying that you were about to cut him off for eating your chicken.
Wonhee, having deemed it safe to enter now that she can use Woonhak as a human shield if your wrath presented itself, also creeps up behind you to hug you. Then comes Leehan, who practically ragdolls himself and drags all four of you down into the bed, stacked up on top of one another, barely able to get your complaints out.
“You're killing her on her birthday, let the poor girl make it to twenty-one,” Sungho’s chiding voice filters in through the gaps in the human-ball. Jaehyun cackles at the sight, then when he can't help but join in, bear hugs the entire group with arms as wide as he can make it. An exasperated Sungho follows suit when he reaches for him as well.
It's suffocating, in a weirdly comfy way. The weight of people you love around you, on you, everywhere. So much love that you just want to squeeze them to oblivion, with uncontained affection.
Through it all, you feel Jaehyun's fingertips grazing yours, looping around your pinky like a secret. Or like a promise to continue where you'd left off earlier.
So you may have suffered through rain and dirt today, but it's okay. Because it's worth it when you have friends who pour their love into you—enough to swallow sugary chicken on your behalf, fight through their shitty lung capacity just to get you your balloons, and even almost burn down the house to make you happy. You have Myung Jaehyun to tell you that you're loved while he dries your hair for you, not minding any of the mess.
It's a good birthday, you realise. Everything feels right in the world again.
Maybe turning twenty isn't all that bad after all.
a/n: hehe i hope this was fun to read, and everyone who made it till the end pls do go slide into @luvbinnies milo's inbox and wish them a wonderful birthday and be really annoying about it too :D !! love youuuuu
no but i have Pinterest where you can look thru my boards and discover my interests and i have Tumblr where you can literally read my thoughts as they form, thanks.
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