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sunboki · 9 days

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— THE ALCHEMIST. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. historical! au, set in 1940’s Korea, alchemist! au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. abusive behavior toward women, impoverished communities, overall sexist beliefs of the time, reader dresses as a man, mentions of death & disease, smoking (not reader or minho), war conflict, making out??

WORD COUNT. 9.6k words

AUG'S NOTES. although it was a bit out of the blue, i had such a great time writing and shaping this universe, thank you to all the love and support thus far<3 also, huge thanks to @comet-falls for instilling the peaky blinders/historical! minho vision in my head with how incredible tooth and claw was, i truly owe it to you :)

SYNOPSIS. Cities stricken with poverty, the lack of male presence in your home while surviving in a male-dominated society leaves meager food on the table and a piling debt. Left no choice but to make a risky decision, you decide that, if biology wanted to fail you, you’d simply try another approach.

alternatively :

In which deception introduces you into an entirely new reality, and The Alchemist.

It’s one thing surviving with the knowledge you can change something, whatever it may be that’s wrong.

It’s another when that problem isn’t merely changeable, but biological.

Your problem? You’re a woman.

Not as easy to fix, right?

With your father lost in the war, fruitlessly straining to support a family of girls, the household is left helpless.

Representation is nonexistent, and merely walking outside frets harassment and laughter struck in your face at the mention of working.

A woman, working? Hilarious.

Or, apparently to the men in pubs it certainly is.

Some things you can’t change, yes, but there are always alternatives. And as for now, you’re helplessly searching high and low for that alternative, whatever it may be.

Selling yourself is possible, though the inability to remain connected to your family eliminates that option.

When you get so desperate, there’s no incentive in guarding your pride. Because being called derogatory names isn’t as bad as losing them, the people you call home.

October welcomes little warmth, biting your fingertips and sending a tremor of chills cascading down your spine. Minimal sunlight peers through dense clouds, shrouding the atmosphere in a depressing haze.

You’re on your way to the apothecary, but not to purchase anything. The pennies in your pocket won’t amount to anything in the face of medicinal prices, which happens to be one of your many alternatives.

Since day one, you’ve had a rock to rely on.

Medicine.

Lack of money meant improper living conditions, entailing sickness.

Constantly.

Whether it was your mother, your younger sister, yourself, an infection of some sort occupied your respiratory system, wreaking havoc for wallets and mental health altogether.

Purchasing necessary medication became impossible the further you drowned in your debt, to the point drastic measures needed to be taken in order to prevent death from infesting itself in the household as well.

Then came the question. If you couldn’t purchase the medicine itself, why not collect the ingredients?

Alternatives.

Behind the apothecary you discovered mint hedges that, if mixed with wormwood and balm, could aid in curing Sun-ja’s current sickness, colic.

Although, you’d have to be swift in your efforts, ensuring the shop owner didn’t notice your presence.

Too many times had you nearly been caught, risking a good beating from the red-haired, burly man regarded as Mr. Myeong.

Fiery red hair complimented an equally unruly personality you aimed not to cross by. Ever.

Yet, unlike Mr. Myeong, his wife was the polar opposite, an ideal magnet. She was petite and soft-spoken, but out of her appealing traits, you found her resilience to be most attractive.

Mrs. Myeong is stubborn. She’s strong in what she believes, sporting an unquestionably vocal opinion that can’t be quenched.

The woman is, likely, the only woman capable of sealing her husband’s mouth shut.

Hidden between thorn ridden weeds sits your desired leaves, abundant in supply.

You clutch your satchel closer, plucking as quickly as possible whilst crouched to the ground, maneuvering through tickling grasses and itchy reeds.

Your mission remains successful, until the wretched sound of a doorknob rips your head upward, the red-haired man in question standing nonplussed, arms crossed.

He wears a cocked brow, examining what you’re desperately trying to veil away.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Stealing, are we?” Black boot clad frame thumping closer, you immediately prepare to run, hair standing on end like an agitated feline.

Instead, his huge hand swoops down to grab your collar, other evidently ready to land a harsh slap to your face.

Instinctively cringing, you brace for the stinging impact.

That is, before a saccharine, lullaby-worthy voice rings from the cracked doorway, belonging to none other than Mrs. Myeong.

“Honey! Have you seen the new envelope that came in?”

Heels clicking whilst padding over cobblestone to where you two stand, her husband fixates you with a stern, threatening glare.

Finally dropping your frame to the ground, you slump forward, pulse pounding loud enough you fear your chest may implode.

Mrs. Myeong, though wearing a taut expression, ushers him off, delivering a curt nod your way, intentional brows furrowed in place.

‘Thank you’ You wish to say, but hold your tongue, watching them disappear inside.

Another time.

Walking home was rather uneventful (much to your delight), left to enjoy the crisp, cool air sifting through your lungs in steady rhythm, the lazy billows of cigar smoke dwindling from gaping doorways.

Calm.

Nothing calm ever lasts long.

Stashing the house key back into your decrepit leather draw bag, your footsteps still upon entering, struck terror-filled.

Your mother, strawn across the floor, hacks amongst her rampant coughs, body convulsing in desperate shivers, skin drenched a ghastly blue.

Sprinting to her side, you kneel down, rolling the woman over to find her face utterly battered, new black eye beginning to swell, cheek bruised a mawkish purple against hollowed cheekbones.

Sharks.

To your left Sun-ja hides in the corner, rags for a blanket pulled to her chest, shielded between the wall and a tipped cabinet.

Over and over they’ve begun visiting, to the point your mother became recognizable by her continuous black eye, her torn clothing and stooped posture.

Exhausted, she was exhausted.

Yet, she took the beatings. The torturous punches. Jarring slaps, traumatic insults, tarnishing. Your mother took it so you wouldn’t, so you and Sun-ja could live.

And it’s at that moment you make up your mind, discover this occasion’s alternative.

“Cut it off.”

“Cut.. Cut it off?” Hyunjin gapes, fingers stalling their descent down a strand of your hair.

You smile, grimacing the longer consideration poises.

No point in thinking too much.

“Yep. Give me the most boy-ish haircut you can.” You emphasize, gesturing toward his scissors expectantly.

Hyunjin, your personally appointed hairstylist, doesn’t seem too convinced. He’s debating, expertly reading your features.

Currently, you’re holed up in his room, a miniature apartment located near the furthest section of town, close to the coast.

In wee hours of morning you boarded the train here, inhaling salty, ocean-smelling breeze. Back in your old residence you met him, your neighbor Hwang Hyunjin. It’s a miracle you still stayed in contact, bond aging like the finest of wines over countless years.

Enough to where you trusted him to help you enact this alternative of yours.

Starting with a haircut.

The man stares at you through the mirror, dark, inky hair matting the longer he runs his hands through it.

Thoughtfully trying to figure out your reasoning, he evidently catches on the moment you witness his eyes roll, releasing a heaving sigh.

“You cannot be serious.”

A torrential truth keeps you from responding, gaze directed at your feet.

“Y/n,” He uttered, eyes filling with a concern you avoid meeting, avoid regarding in a whole. “You don’t have to do this, the war is going to end soon and your father will come ba—“

“He’s dead.”

Silence engulfs the room.

Collecting yourself, you scorn his frown.

“He’s dead and gone. Now I need to protect them, provide for them.“

You deny the shakiness of your voice.

“So, Hyunjin. Cut off my hair.”

Accordingly, he does without another word. Snip by snip, tress by tress falling below, scattering the tile floor in endless strands.

By the time you see yourself, it’s hard to recognize the person in the reflection. Never had you considered your hair a viable source of identity, but now that it’s so sparse, the effect is eminent.

Failing to see yourself in your own reflection beckons a different kind of sadness. For the person you’ve introduced yourself as reigns no more. She’s been replaced.

Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, embrace just as comforting as you remembered. His hand reaches to caress your cropped hair, rocking back and forth on his heels, chin resting on your head.

“Be careful, okay?”

Nodding into his shoulder, you wipe salty streaks from your cheeks.

Hurts.

“And if you need a place to take shelter, I’ll be here.”

Steadying in his hug again, you pull back, cherishing his kindness with a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“Thank you, really.”

Shaking his head at your gratitude, urging you out and lingering by the doorway till your figure retreats in the distance.

Next stop, Mrs. Myeong.

If anyone has any idea how to source the clothing you’re needing, your best chance would be thanks to her.

An hour later you arrive in familiar avenues, creeping out of sight into the apothecary in hopes the woman you’re looking for is working the counter.

Much to your pleasure, after a few unsuccessful attempts do you grasp her attention, edging forward under the guise of a regular hoping to converse.

“I need your help.”

Initially, she carries that sternness, wordlessly lifting your hooded head a bit to notice the latest adjustment. Shock written over her face, Mrs. Myeong drags you along with her, closing the door to a back room.

“My child, what is going on?” She whispers, tone urgent. You can’t help but feel fond of the affectionate nickname.

“I need male clothing and,” You hesitate, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “something to bind my chest with.”

Similar to Hyunjin, she steps back, assessing the situation at hand. Spending a brief few seconds roaming your figure, the woman works hastily toward fetching a petticoat, meticulously fitting each article atop your stock-still frame.

“You’re conceited,” she grumbles. “And foolish.” Carefully peeling off your upper-wear, she’s managed to cut a piece of thick cloth to use as a make-shift binder, assembling the fabric over your breast.

The experience, although strange, wasn’t as painful as anticipated.

“But be careful, and stay in contact.”

Your response is hushed.

“Breathe in,” The older woman instructs, securing her creation with a threaded pin before moving onto other aspects, like a proper coat and pants.

Mr. Myeong’s trousers, though having to be sewn to fit, make do, and you’re reminded to return tomorrow for shoes. Otherwise, the attire is completed, paired with a curved hat to finish.

Sure, the entire male concept is foreign, but given time, you’ll gradually acclimate.

Oh, right.

Your alternative?

Since medicine is what you know, you’ll stick with that. Difference being medicine is a men’s occupation, and so, if you can’t be a female working in the field, why not become male?

Well, somewhat become male.

It’s a risky wager, easily placing your life on the line in the process.

For your mother and Sun-ja, however, it’s your turn to take the beating. Your turn to endure.

Observation is a virtue. It can save and preserve, heed to oncoming danger, and simultaneously (and discreetly) supply useful information.

Today, seated on a bench in Daegu Station, your first observation is the abundance of people scurrying like mice.

Some tall, some short. Distinct moles, eyes. Upturned and downturned lips. Mustaches, beards. Much to see.

Your legs cross and uncross, Mr. Myeong’s oversized heeled shoes beginning to sink at your ankles. Hat strung low enough to peer out without attracting attention, your gaze is magnetically drawn to a magazine held on the adjacent side of the train tracks, title on display.

Prized Alchemist Lee Minho suspected of being the lone survivor of the Red Plagu—

Ignorant to your surroundings, your senses posed numb to the incoming train, blocking off the last few words of the title from view the moment it soars past—nearly sweeping the fedora off your head.

By the time the last few train cars passed, the man honing said magazine had disappeared, and you were left wondering if the experience was merely a figment of your imagination.

Although, you did have one lead. A name.

Lee Minho.

Where you’d find him remained unknown, deciding to rely on a magazine parlor first and foremost for more intel.

To no surprise, nearly every magazine rack lay lined with haughty opinions regarding the war and its evident cruelty.

Many onlookers of both Americans, Koreans, and foreigners alike chatter amongst themselves about their own take between gossiping hands and fumes of tobacco.

In this town, located far off in the business district by a ship port, people are everywhere.

Wives of sailors, families of soldiers off at war. Women honing gleaning parasols and ivory gloves reaching to their elbows.

Languages you’ve never heard before utter their enunciated syllables, vocabulary petulant with accent—all shrouded in dismay.

Roaming the store endlessly to no avail, you prepare to adventure back through dusty streets and battered wooden stall-shops before a peculiar name pauses your footsteps.

His name, The Alchemist, Lee Minho.

“Bring ‘em home I tell ‘ya,” An aged man by the deepened grooves of his face, hollow cheekbones and bunched wrinkles grumbles.

A fat cigar hangs loosely from thin lips, pale baker boy cap adorning a bald head.

Some sentences estranged, you identify his sentences as French, heavy in dialect, throaty and broad.

And although your fluency stay patchy, exposure from French immigrants who’ve relocated near home allow minimal understanding as to what they’re talking about.

“Say, did you hear that Lee Minho chap was a Red Plague?” His counterpart offered past his own leering cigar, foot tapping incessantly.

The other hacks his bewilderment, feeble fist pounding on an equally feeble chest.

“The Alchemist?”

The man’s astonishment returned with a nod, you lean closer, pretending to be consumed in an article.

“Said he was only nineteen when it happened. Shipped ‘em off only for disease to kill them all. One survived, now people are speculatin’ it’s him.”

Either of them sigh out long drags.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Is all the other huffs in disbelief, and upon recognizing the conversation approaching an end, you stir to action, willing your voice to deepen an octave.

Attempting to appeal in your broken French, you stall the two, cautiously claiming you’re in need of his whereabouts for an esteemed business transaction to which, through confused stares, you’re given loose directions.

Loose, but feasible.

80 Kent Avenue, dark blue doors.

Directions that, according to the sudden blank of streetlights, would have to wait until tomorrow. As for now, the world beckoned you to rest, and any progress would prove futile and rather impossible in the dark.

Luckily, a run-down Inn gifted good few hours of shut-eye before dawn peered through the windowsills and you were begrudgingly forced to your feet.

Fitting the binder snug across your body and fastening your trench coat through minuscule belt loops, you’re taught with much haste the stark difference of men’s prestige entitlement.

First access to everything, the ability to have their way with a woman whether she willingly obliges or not, and just about ten billion other things someone of your hidden status couldn’t fathom.

A man’s world is a world only possible through disguise. Yours just happens to be a last resort.

Charming the mistress at the front desk was unexpectedly effortless, not to mention how easily she spilled the details as to where Kent Avenue would be located.

Another noticeable attribute of your new appearance, no one asked as to where you were going nor your intentions, they merely dipped their heads and wished you off.

Adjustments.

Adjustments that, if you’d been born different, would be normal.

Kent Avenue lay twisted in shadows. The surrounding area brims in barely flickering labels and creaking doorways leading to who knows where. Quaint isn’t the word for it. More ancient, all-knowing.

This place has been here for centuries with many stories to tell, most just haven’t heard them yet.

Significantly dark blue doors make the Alchemist’s residence easily noticeable, starkly contrasting with wooded architecture. Massive doorknobs engraved with lions, windows shielded by moth-eaten curtains. Grand, in its own form.

You swore each door stood eight feet tall, the left in particular left slightly ajar.

Wait, ajar?

Doing a double take to ensure your vision wasn’t playing tricks on you, you inch forward, widening the dark gap exponentially until all you faced was a black abyss—apart from the miniature lamp beaming yellow light in a far corner.

Carefully tiptoeing into said black abyss, the further you explore, the greater the visibility increases. Leather cushioned furniture, clean, polished desks. The desk the lone lamp rests upon is a chestnut wooden, ink feathers residing in the upper corner.

Somehow, the matter grants envy, resentment grating your nerves. This man lives comfortably while other’s are beaten for possessing nothing. Maybe it’s a petty, unnecessary thought; and maybe you’re foolish, but all odds are against you, your disposition seems righteous.

Getting too lost in your head turned out foolish as well.

“What’s this?” A voice behind you whispers, voice ghosting chills tickling your neck at an alarming pace.

Whipping around, eyes struck wide in shock, the person responsible for the remark comes into view, his stature opposing the tone muttered in your ear seconds ago.

Not a plump business man like you imagined, not adorning a spectacle, no pipe in sight. Instead, one lone button right below the chest fits snug white sleeves cuffed by his elbows, black vest hugging a slim torso.

Conniving, cat-like eyes analyze your expressions while dark brown hair parts to the side, loose strands covering his right eyebrow. And when he reaches up to brush a few frayed tresses to the side you note sleek gloves covering long, pale fingers.

If anything, this man is more similar to a Vampire.

“Trespassing, are we?”

Collect yourself. This is your opportunity.

Swiftly brushing off your clothes, you clear your throat.

“I have an offer.”

“An offer?” A smile belonging to that of a Cheshire cat adorns his lips, one leg propping itself over the other, fingers intertwining in front of him.

Ensuring your voice is clear and concise (while keeping the deeper, male-ish tone), you state your claim, despising how utterly debilitating it feels being caught under his observative stare.

Like he sees through you.

“I would be a valuable asset to your studies in alchemy. I know about herbs and their uses better than anyone else, and where they’re located.”

Sure, the bargain might’ve sounded arrogant, but you were technically cosplaying as a man when most men of your time couldn’t shut up about themselves, arrogance was the least of your problems.

Gnawing at his cheek as you spoke, he pauses a moment, then laughs.

Amused.

Dark lashes dust above equally dark eyes, nearly black as they study you.

“You want to be my apprentice? Is that it?”

You remain close-lipped.

“I’ll tell you one thing, kid. This world is all about money,” He raises a cane from where he reclined, using the end to tip your chin up and meet his eyes.

“No?”

To which you simply stare back at him, refusing to avert eye-contact.

“I’m sure that’s what you’re here for anyways.” Rising from his place, he sighs heartily. “But see, I’m a greedy man, not a good man.”

Abruptly, his countenance falls flat.

“And my job isn’t fun, so you’re out of luck.”

Immediately, you’re frantic, trying your hardest to ignore his obvious statement to leave. The last thing you need is to run out of luck, run out of options.

And so, you hastily wrack your mind for a solution, an excuse, whatever keeps you in this dimly lit room.

“You- You were part of the Red Plague, weren’t you?” Spitting out words from the depths of your racing mind, The Alchemist stops, fixing you with an unreadable look.

Red Plague as in, the group of young men enlisted during the war that all died of a deadly disease but one. One who, many speculate is the man before you.

Breathe in.

“I may not know much about you, but I know what it’s like to want to save somebody.”

Breathe out.

Now it was his turn to stand there, and for a second you swore you saw a flash of sympathy cross his face.

You wet your lips. “I’ll run your errands and wash your clothing, I’ll clean this place spotless. Plus, it’s not like I’m a woman asking for a job, so please, give me a chance.”

Slowly, The Alchemist raises a brow, laugh disbelieving.

“Since when did being a woman have anything to do with this?”

Huh?

How.. odd.

If anything, the majority would wholeheartedly agree, likely hiring you on the spot with how impalpable such a jest seemed.

He would’ve laughed, maybe slapped your back. Would’ve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, proclaimed you his friend.

Yet, you almost feel flattered. Flattered in a strange, unrealistic manner.

Basking in a deplorable quietness, The Alchemist sighs, combing a gloved hand through silken strands.

“I have a spare room around that corner.” He points, leather gloves narrowly highlighted by orange lighting. “Make yourself useful, hm?”

And like that, even if it was a long shot, you landed it. More specifically, landed a job.

How preposterous.

How exciting.

Yet, it began hesitantly. As if he was initially testing your usefulness. Sending you on runs to the nearby gardens, having you make sure a concoction didn’t derange itself while he fetched better flasks. Easy things.

However, you didn’t complain. A boring job was better than no job, and as long as a few coins were emptied into your pocket afterward, you’d continue to work without whining.

Burdock, oregano. Motherwort that would erupt billows of chemically-infused air when added to oils or sugars.

Then you noticed The Alchemist. His quirks, his characteristics.

He shifts between a long trench coat or tight vests, his hair is always styled a certain way, though some days, when he just wakes up, he has this tiny bird nest of hair atop his head, it’s charming.

He yawns a lot.

He wears heeled shoes, maybe from his shorter height, maybe preference.

And rather peculiarly, the longer you stay in his lair, the greater you notice the many scars littering his forearms, collarbones. Miniature cuts and imprints left on porcelain skin.

Those observations, conjoined with his reactions, make for a truly interesting character.

Reactions being his dislike toward loud noises, the matter in which his shoulders scrunch at a loud clap outside, eyes blown wide, fearful.

The longer you stay in his lair, the more you notice him, nonetheless his fears. Whether suspicion clarifies anything in specific, there’s no denying he’s a man of war.

Lee Minho has secrets, and as badly as your nosiness itches to uncover them, you, as you had promised earlier, will keep your lips sealed.

And it makes you wonder, what’s life like on your side of the street? What throng of unfairness left you awash, left you both suffering?

You wonder about your oppositions and similarities in different points of each other’s lives. Minutes, decades before you ever met.

Certain stones shall stay unturned, but you hope, maybe one day, those questions will be answered.

Interestingly enough, he never asked about your name; not even when you gingerly introduced yourself as your last name, a rather awkward fit.

Likewise, you don’t complain. There’s only two of you in the house after all.

A week in, you’re finally introduced to something new.

The Alchemist plans to have you tag along with him to Port Nova, a docking station located on the outskirts of Busan.

Business thrives in ship ports, the sole source of connectivity for a growing country like Korea. Each day, millions of shipments come in from countries you can’t name, so you’re not surprised in the slightest he’s headed there for a transaction.

You are surprised he decided to have you tag along.

Even more so that, as you hop off the transit, hurriedly tailing his left, he veers off a sharp turn, approaching a worn Burlesque Club, glittering sign halfway dangling from its perch on a scarlet red awning.

English letters spell out Nova Burlesque, a few missing letters left astray to the side, electrical bulbs spasming with sporadic lighting on the dusty ground below.

In the daylight, the place appears ordinary, blending in with its crumbling, desolate surroundings.

Although, you have no doubt this place utterly delights in the eve, pink-neon inviting enough to lure unaware foreigners upon first arrival.

“Mr. Lee,” You utter, returned with a short scoff from the man who insisted you refer to him by his name, Minho.

“Where are we going?”

It’s hesitant, unsure of whether to intervene, but Minho only smirks, whispering a not-very-assuring “You’ll see” you begrudgingly go along with.

Inside is the last of what you anticipated.

Oh dear.

You’ve only been to minimal Burlesque Clubs, but the ornery perspective of faux jewelry, a glittery, hallucinatory stage, and the constant rendition of Why Don’t You Do Right whirling on scratchy records isn’t present here.

Alternatively, there’s stools scattered around a marginally illuminated clearing, some upturned, others occupied by burly men with equally burly beards.

And in the middle, a boxing ring is situated. The stench of sweat and blood soaks the air in a metallic, pungent aroma.

A brisk realization crosses your mind, a conclusion of a sort.

Play a fool’s game, earn a fool’s reward.

Only you, Hyunjin, and Ms. Myeong know the lengths you’re willing to go to secure your family's well-being, and now, at odds you can’t compromise, you have to do everything in your power to maintain your act.

This is a test.

Sifting behind you, he murmurs a hushed: “Cover your ears.” That you begrudgingly oblige to, cupping either hand over your ears as Minho clutches his leather holster, concealed within the confines of a frequently worn coat.

In a split second, a gunshot is fired to the ceiling, the bullet's shell casing dropping atop the welt of his pointed shoe.

Stunned silence ensues.

Arm still extending the revolver in the air, you haphazardly remove your hands, dragging the hat further over your face as more eyes focus on the both of you.

“I’m looking for Reiner and Manfred.”

The longer the tension rises, the further you grow self conscious.

“Already?” A man bellows from inside the ring, breaking the awestruck spell whilst gripping his opponent by the collar, fist poised and ready to strike.

Unusually, they seem to know each other.

Minho merely exhales a loud sigh through his nose, practically two times smaller than his apparent acquaintance.

Said acquaintances grumbles.

“Leave it to our champion to interrupt the show.”

And with that, he hooks the contender in the jaw, sending him pummeling down to the tarnished mat where hoards either cheer or groan, hustling money left and right over the victor.

Champion of the show? You’re adding that to your collection of never ending questions that’ll likely stay unanswered.

From the crowd arises two men. The victor from the ring and another from the crowd, dressed lavishly opposed to his white tank top-wearing counterpart.

Reiner and Manfred, you assume.

Serving as a mere shadow in The Alchemist’s wake, the four of you hustle outside, met with a nonplussed Minho and two, mildly confused (and enormously tall) men.

Foreigners, certainly.

“..Care to introduce the pipsqueak?” Reiner presumably more talkative, piques, beady eyes scouring your figure enough to where you scorn the beads of sweat collecting upon your temple.

Pipsqueak my foot.

You stave down the retort, inhabiting Minho’s shadow as the three discuss matters of a hospital transaction. Almost like you weren’t there at all, as it’s always been.

If it weren’t for the technicalities, you would’ve interjected, made your presence known. Except, other than herbal instances, you’re a novice in the business department. You’ll leave that up to your current mentor to arrange.

Again, lips sealed.

Minho, ignorant to the previous victor’s question, continues to sign legal documents supplied by the calmer individual, Manfred. You internally thank the gesture.

Well, before Reiner’s sordid gaze becomes too stifling to brush off.

“I’m Mr. Lee’s apprentice, L/N. Nice to meet you,” You initiate, fearlessly reaching out a hand he heartily shakes, features graced with amusement, massive hand practically engulfing yours.

Pardoning a gruff “Likewise”, he nearly sends you flying from the timbre of his voice alone.

“Say,” Reiner mutters, finally completing the last of the package transfers. “Don’t you think this one seems a bit feminine?”

Your jaw ticks, nervousness shrouding your being like an unrelenting fog. Minho’s fingers close around your elbow, pulling you closer, brows knit.

“Perhaps you need your eyes checked, Reiner,” He offers, tone nonchalant opposed to the vice-like grip latched to your arm.

Heftily chortling, the man only pats your back, causing your entire body to surge forward upon impact.

“Well regardless, it’s a cute little thing ain’t it?”

Manfred simply grunts his acknowledgment while you bite your tongue, coveting your retaliation when he referred to you as “it”.

No use growing angered. The feeling is futile.

Luckily, your irritable arrangement comes to a hasty close, more than gleeful to have an understandably annoyed Minho steer you from Port Nova onto a short train back to Kent Avenue, to your newly established home.

A home, but not really a home. Semi-permanent, unofficial.

Either way, you wouldn’t complain. Despite the constant efforts in diminishing your past identity, you didn’t feel as conscious when around Minho.

Safer.

As if, in an alternative reality, you could tell him. Your truths, your burdens.

No. You won’t jeopardize this opportunity. You can’t.

At least, not yet.

“I’ll be back Mr. Lee!” You shout, wielding a briefcase bag to your person, nudging the ghoulish door open using your hip.

As usual, you’re headed off on a restocking trip.

Except on this occasion, the restocking consists of hunting down a peculiar herb: Chinese Chrysanthemum. It’s an appealing plant with fluorescent leaves and a constant need for sunlight.

It’s no surprise he’s sent you to fetch such goods. After two months, you soared in and out of the residence routinely, scouring Korea while Minho hunched over a wildly diverse array of vials and flasks, glasses propped on his slightly hooked nose, hands firmly resting on a wooden exam table.

Studious. He is very studious.

However, a catch diverts itself from eye view. A catch you hadn’t considered until your two feet stepped from squealing train tracks.

Somehow, although unusually intentional, you wound up in a rather peculiar area. An area you never imagined paying a visit to in your wildest dreams.

In the midst of economic outrage and warring circumstances, you’re standing in one of Korea’s most unstable, informal districts. A place that, according to your overhearing ear, was where your precious Chrysanthemum lodged.

This district had an infamous name.

The Den.

A fitting name in actuality, where a person didn’t realize they were stuck till it was too late, unable to see where they’re going, living in belief there’s an incentive to the finish line in a race run in circles.

Also, a place the Sharks who torment your family report to.

You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears, nearly ricocheting out of your chest with its horrid cacophony.

Calm down.

Calm down. Think of the goal.

All you have to do is find a flower.

Grounding yourself, you pinpoint some viable resources.

Fertile soil, maybe even sandy, likely in the inner portion of The Den.

Plus, you’re dressed as a man, you might as well act outrageously boisterous.

But you’re not, you’re afraid. Perhaps not external, but inside, your lungs feel as if they’re being violently crushed, sinking deeper in an unsteady submersible to the very bottom of the ocean. And for a second, you truly contemplate going back, telling Minho you’re incapable of the task.

Yet, what would you say? You’re haunted by a vision that hasn’t happened? Fearful for a future event with no guarantee? If you had ever done something so horrid, they would’ve found you ages ago.

This time, you’re in their domain, invading what’s theirs as they’ve done to you.

Greater. You aren’t who you used to be, in more ways than one.

Genuinely, what is there to lose?

That’s it. You’ll complete the mission and return. No run-ins, no fear barricading your job.

In and out.

Initially, you scout out your surroundings, regarding the faint sound of voices funneling in the distance, the smell of mixtures you hate being able to identify, far off machinery croaking before smoke spurs from rusted screws and bolts.

Amongst the chatter of street vendors and the many, notorious gang members patrolling in and out of abandoned shops, you roam avidly, keeping as low a profile as possible.

Number one priority is to not be noticed. Drawing attention to yourself is a one way ticket to failure, and the last thing you need is to arrive back to Minho empty-handed.

However, through the blinding clouds of smoke billowing from exhaust pipes, a specific building, shrouded in the shadows of charcoal residue, douses your peripheral.

A Greenhouse.

Bingo.

Quickly looking around, you shrink low to the ground, racing forward to carefully creak open glass double doors and slip inside.

It feels as if you’re enclosed in a furnace. Mere seconds in and sweat already begins gathering upon your temples.

Though that becomes the least of your concerns after assessing what lies inside.

Hundreds, maybe even thousands of flowers and herbs. Rare species, some critically endangered, just sitting here.

It’s strange.

Why would, in the case such an abundance existed, not be used? Why hadn’t this Greenhouse been raptured from the inside out for such valuable items?

It’s not until a commotion stirs ahead of you that you understand the answer to the question.

With about five plucked Chinese Chrysanthemums expertly sealed into their coordinating bags, a piercing hiss followed by multiple shouts and hollers cause you to shrink back, gazing around haphazardly.

A hiss?

From your perspective nearly kissing the dirt, your vision allows a minuscule glimpse of multiple backs turned, boisterously amused men gathering around something in the front of the Greenhouse.

You feel the need to know more.

Inching forward tip-toe by tip-toe, amidst the roaring crowd, you spare a look between the sea of legs to find an utterly deplorable sight.

A cat.

No, not just a cat, cat fighting. They’re watching cats maul each other for the fun of it. As if they aren’t living creatures, but toys for their entertainment.

And perhaps it’s a foolish decision, perhaps laughable being worried, being angered, but you are and you refuse to leave knowing you could’ve done something to help them.

Hastily scouring the floors, a can of Spam discarded below Foxglove stems proves useful enough, tossing it as far as possible where it whacks against the glass wall, immediately averting their attention.

This is your chance.

As dark clouds and incoming rain thunder outside, you don’t waste the opportunity, sprinting forward while the men make toward the direction of the sound and hoisting the first cat you see into your arms.

Sprinting past narrow pathways and dimly lit streets, you force your eardrums numb to the threats they call after you, mind trained on one thing besides getting as far as possible from here.

To Minho to Minho to Minho.

A hand grabbing your shoulder causes you to shriek, swiftly dragged off where you swear your last breaths will be taken, the feline in your arms scrambling with panic.

“What are you doing?” Your captor furiously whispers, hidden in the low lighting of an apparent alleyway.

Wait. You recognize that voice.

“Hyunjin?”

How does he recognize you?

Just then does a breeze swipe past your head, sending chills trickling down your rain-soaked neck.

Your hat is gone. Must’ve fell off while you were running.

“Wh.. what are you doing?” Slipping from his grasp after the men’s hushed conversation becomes inaudible, you regard the man with an incredulous stare.

“Answer my question first,” He reprimands, and as the cat resounds a pained meow do you assess the dire nature of the situation.

You need to get this cat to Minho, and fast.

“Can’t- Can’t talk right now I’ve got to go—“

“Wait!”

Though, as your footsteps breach the security of the alley, the placating cry of crows mock your left, hurried footsteps belonging to those occupying the Greenhouse heading toward you in rampant haste.

Hyunjin’s hand holding your wrist, you grace a tight-lipped smile his way.

“Let’s not see each other like this again, okay?”

He returns a miniature grin, teeming with mischief.

“Agreed.”

Upon letting go, you race off, attempting to speedily navigate back to the train station whilst torrents of streaming droplets cascade down your face.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks, I’ll need it!” You respond back, voice permeated against the rain, eyes frantically searching for a place to evade.

Finally, a crowd appears, swarming amongst diners and flickering street lights.

Your perfect hideaway.

Swimming through the hive of people, you catapult yourself into the nearest phone booth in sight, fumbling through deep pockets before cashing a coin into the metal slot and jarring your index over slippery metal numbers.

Praying the combination is correct as you hold the wired telephone to your ear, you’re consumed with utmost relief upon hearing The Alchemist’s voice answer on the other side of the crackling line.

Amidst roaring rainfall drowning the booth, you differentiate shouting a ways off, likely belonging to the men from earlier.

“Mr- Mr. Lee?”

“Yes? Where are you?”

“Are you.. Are you allergic to cats?”

Never in your life did you think you would be so overjoyed seeing blue doors.

Clambering inside—the rather upset cat in your arms hissing their dismay—you’re overwhelmed with an unexplainable happiness seeing Minho’s face peer from the guest room.

Relief.

“L/N wha..”

Words dying in his throat as he gives you a speechless once over, your urge to hug him dissipates instantly, beckoning a new set of garments upon realizing how utterly drenched your precious disguise is.

Simultaneously shoving the cat his way before rushing to your room, you thankfully strip of your fretfully cold attire, welcomed in the comforting embrace of clean clothing.

A mere five minutes later you exit, greeted by Minho’s stockstill frame. Hand half-raised, evidently about to knock.

You forcefully clear your throat, praying the momentary awkward tension is alleviated.

Luckily, The Alchemist takes it upon himself to break the spell, eyes dancing across the floorboards in order to avoid your own.

“Well, she’s stable. Her vitals are fine, nothing too critical apart from a few cuts here and there. Just shaken up.”

Your stare of astonishment earns a confused tip of his head.

“That fast?”

Said (apparently female) cat rubbing her body along your calf with an obviously delighted purr, you appear nearly concussed, crouching down to pat the soft, striped fur lining her back.

Minho snorts.

“What can I say, I get work done.”

Maybe he is a vampire after all.

Mirroring your crouch, he watches your interaction, similarly feline-like inspection unnoticed till glancing up.

And for a swift moment, you swear he saw through you. Lips parted, eyes scrutinizing. Piecing together the building blocks to a wavering structure you’d strived so hard to build, to protect.

No. You’re overthinking. He couldn’t possibly know.

You failed to notice the forlorn look on his face, one that ushers to ask if you’re okay, fetch a hot beverage to warm your evidently cold hands.

“Might I ask how you ended up bringing this one home?”

Leave it to him to take the title as your greatest ally and worst enemy at the same time.

Ah. Right.

“Y’know I was about to get to that-”

You pause, deriding the high pitch of your voice into something more appropriate. He cocks a brow.

“As I was saying, it wasn’t my intention to bring her back, but the place she was trapped at, the place with the men- the plants..”

According to his expression, you’ve grown two heads.

…

“Go on.”

“Look, the place I found the Chrysanthemum was having cat fights. Do you remember hearing about the dog fights in Gangwon? It’s the same thing. We can’t just sit still while they’re torturing innocent animals.”

“I don’t know what you got yourself into, but I’m an Alchemist, not a hero,” He sighs, and your hand stalls its petting, face falling while the cat in your lap flicks her tail back and forth expectantly.

He has a point. You got yourself into this, you went into the Greenhouse. It’s not his duty to clean up after your messes, but perhaps you can convince him, even by a small margin.

Play a fools game, earn a fools reward.

You’ll mop the floor of your own mess.

“Minho, please. Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?”

Stifling silence making an additional appearance, you nervously await the verdict, perched rather hilariously outside of your bedroom door.

Chewing the skin of his cheek, he scolds himself for falling so susceptible to you, though you won’t ever know that.

“Fine, but you’d better have a plan.”

Ah. Great.

You don’t.

At dawn’s arrival you’re swept upward, fixing a hasty bout of tea and toast prior to dressing in the privacy of your appreciated quarters.

You don a much-needed hat, hopping aboard the first train of the day with a well-dressed Minho in tow.

Retracing your steps turns out easier than you anticipated, The Alchemist tailing you as you had done him at Port Nova.

Though, just when the task seemed a cake walk, you manage a meager detour, regarding your unimpressed mentor.

“From what I can remember, it’s around here somewhere. But I might be wrong, I stumbled upon it by accident and it looks a bit scary but I think—“

“Stop! Stop- Stop talking. Please.”

You quickly shut your mouth, allowing the man to lead instead till the sight of familiar landmarks becomes a gradual reassurance of your location.

Perhaps now it’s safe to talk.

“Mr. Lee, what did Reiner mean by calling you a champion-“

Shoved against the brick wall, your sentence dies instantly, panickedly glancing in all directions assessing the all too familiar pistol Minho‘s drawn, conspicuous in close proximity.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He enunciates, tone unusually gruff whilst scanning your surroundings.

Your face warms an involuntary pink you clamber to ward off, drawn to the sight of his tense jaw and the feather-like arrangement of long lashes, focused on something elsewhere.

Your retort dies not only from his beauty, but upon the familiar Greenhouse coming into view.

“Looks like we found where your little friends are playing.”

Though, as the man begins forward, you grab him by the sleeve.

“Wait! We can’t just waltz in.”

His hand, slipping from the warmth of his pocket, cups your chin, unbearably close to your face to the point you can feel his breath on your nose.

Curse the butterflies.

“Well there’s no need for an introduction, so let’s listen this time, shall we?”

Left at a loss for words either from your slack mouth or the concerning amount of sweat building upon your palms, you don’t argue back, lingering right outside the door, craning to hear voices.

By the sound of it, at least four people are inside at the moment, and the longer you stay out here, the more ample time becomes for additional threats to show up.

As if reading your mind, he slips through the rugged door, gesturing for you to follow while silently navigating through dense, humid underbrush and overgrown foliage.

However, your quiet voyage is quelled when a twig, unbeknownst to the two of you, cracks under the pressure of his foot.

“Shit,” He mutters, cringing back at the immediate quietness that ensued.

The Alchemist curses as well.

Interesting.

Amidst the men bearing closer, Minho turns to you, tone urgent.

“When I get up, you run and free the cats. Don’t look back, just go.”

Nodding hastily, you reacquaint yourself with the area, ensuring a dead set beeline to where the cats were held without interruptions.

Minho, a split second before you can ask a question, whips the gun from his coat pocket, the sound of bullets whipping through the air enough indication it’s time you go.

Finnicking hands make it hard to unscrew the wired cages, surges of adrenaline helping speed up the rescue as you double check every feline has escaped.

Heeding to instruction, you don’t look for The Alchemist, solely driven to freeing the cats and fleeing the scene. No more problems.

Almost an exact replica to your last visit here, a hand drags you off right as you exit the Greenhouse doors, back pressed against his (whom you realized was Minho, not Hyunjin, thanks to the leather gloves) front.

And perhaps from running, perhaps from something else, you can feel his heartbeat, oscillating in a nonstop orchestra that sends your own heart pounding from the confines of your rib cage.

Stifling a shaky inhale you’d held in as the last of the perpetrators scattered elsewhere, you instantly step back, denying every urge to coddle him like a child, fretfully check him for injury.

A certain fondness lay reserved for Lee Minho, a fondness you can’t discern of at the moment.

“C’mon, quick, Soonie might get scared if we’re gone for too long,” He ushers, crashing your tunneling train of thought right off its rails in the process.

“Yeah-“

You stop.

“Soonie?”

“Yeah, Soonie.”

“You named her?”

“..Yes.”

It’s a genuine struggle hiding your laugh.

“I didn’t find you the type to take in cats.”

“Today you’ve been proven wrong, apparently.”

A sort of giddiness you never experienced fills your chest, wishing nothing more than to look back at the man and swoon.

How could you not? He was very much dexterous, and attractive without a doubt, that much was known to anyone who laid eyes on The Alchemist.

Your trek home proved relatively easy, able to skillfully get to the station away from prying eyes and trod along a mixture of gravel and dusty roads without issue.

Silently celebrating your success, you nudge your counterpart's hip, the unimpressed side-eye he grants doing little to dull your happiness.

“Aren’t you an Alchemist? How come you’re oddly good with a gun?”

He clicks his tongue.

“Aren’t you my apprentice? How come you’re getting yourself into trouble when your only instruction was to fetch herbs?”

You conceal a smile he obviously catches, glare failing to quiet your bubbling laughter, his own lips tugging upward.

“It was necessary Mr. Lee! And you know you love Soonie.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nearly a month into her residence, and Soonie has become an effervescent force to be reckoned with. Although initially sassy and wary, she’s transformed into the most affectionate cat you’d ever met.

You have to give it to her, she’s grown on the both of you, a lot.

Plus, you might just have to thank her for unleashing Minho’s tender side, whether that’s the two of them cuddling on the couch while he naps or him picking her up and treating her like a baby while you watch from afar.

Over the course of the five months you’ve been here, you’ve sent countless checks back home—enough to where dues could finally be paid and the hope for a good life came into view.

Everything seems right, seems ideal.

But of course, on an equally ideal Thursday evening, a thousand pounds of bricks drops right on top of your head.

“How long were you planning to keep it from me?”

He, Lee Minho, The Alchemist, voices.

Simultaneously, your stomach plummets to your feet, peeking over your shoulder to find his back facing you, hunched over a straus flask.

Then the bomb drops.

“You being a woman, that is.”

Abruptly pausing, you don’t reply, worried you’d say the wrong thing, unintentionally summon the catalyst to this arising catastrophe.

Yet, you can’t stay quiet for too long. And a fear lingered inside, a fear that if he looked at you, you would break.

“Forever.”

Doing just what you dreaded, he turns to you, wearing a horribly serious expression.

You avoid eye-contact.

“Because you thought I would fire you?”

A nod.

“And that’s why you said that, when you first came to me? That you weren’t a woman asking for a job?”

Another nod.

He sighs, pulling glasses from atop a hooked nose. You remain staring at the floor.

“I don’t decide who to hire based on what they are. If you can do your job and do it well, you’re worthy enough to work.”

Minho spoke softly, the dim, orange lighting of his lamplight doing little to shake how overwhelming the occasion is, how it feels as if your disguise is wearing, thinning to an impossible degree.

Except, your world isn’t ending like you thought it would if someone found out, so why do you feel so heartbroken? So overstimulated with realization?

“How did you..” you trail off, raging tears longing to spill.

No, you can’t afford to cry now. You’ve held out so far, it will stay that way.

Should stay that way.

Minho dips his head lower in order to fully see you in all your lip-chewing, anxiety-ridden glory. The ghost of a smile rests upon his lips.

“It was impossible not to tell. You’re unusually tiny, those shoes are massive, and, um, I do the laundry.”

Watching his once bemused expression dissipate, you mark this as the first time you’ve ever seen him genuinely flustered—and, upon realizing he’d likely seen more than necessary as well, you’re also diminished to a bright red.

The room wilts in stillness before he exhales, stepping a bit closer to where you linger by the bookshelf, your heels tapping against the frame.

Tone minimizing itself terribly gentle, The Alchemist carefully collects your cheeks in his hands, urging you to see him, see those terribly thoughtful brown eyes granting a terribly kind disposition.

“It’s been scary, hasn’t it?”

Well, you had held out thus far.

Cracking into pieces, you melt like droplets of honey in his fingertips. He perfectly catches them in the jar.

Out of anyone in this world, you can’t help but be grateful he was the one who found out, found you.

Chest bubbling with breaking sobs, Minho’s thumbs caress your under eyes, swiping away the many salty droplets in their continuous descent.

Own hands shakily reaching up to hold his resting on your face, you stand there, soaking in his wooded, earthy scent and the soft hums he occasionally emits as if a reminder he’s still there, listening to your cries without intent to leave.

“Mr.. Mr. Lee… It was so scary, I’m so tired Mr. Lee,” You hiccup, mentally berating the endlessly freefalling tears, how your once staved emotions reduced your strong, dutiful voice into nothing but a stuttering mess.

Carefully swiping drool from your chin, he leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know why you did it, but I promise it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”

Then another kiss to your forehead, staying there until your sniffling and breathing calms.

Gathering yourself if only slightly, you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm hug he gradually accepts after a beat of shock.

“Thank you, Minho.”

And just when he thought the shock faded, he’s struck again from the sound of his name leaving your mouth.

Minho.

Mr. Lee had been charming, but Minho, it was different. A good kind of different.

He particularly favored the way it sounded falling off your lips, two syllables he’d replay over and over, savoring each a little bit more than the last.

More so, he wished to substitute his nagging thoughts with you, have you narrate the phrases bouncing inside his skull.

Perhaps then everything wouldn’t be so loud, if he had your voice to nullify the battlefield.

Unfortunately forced to separate, Minho adjusts his tie, clearing his throat in a manner you can’t help but feel nervous about.

You like this flustered Minho.

“I’ll.. I’ll run you a bath.”

You wince at the rawness of your skin when your face wrinkles in a chuckle.

“Do I smell?”

Minho, frantically scrambling for an excuse, rubs his temples, exasperation evident in the grooves of his face, the curve and dip of prominent cheekbones portraying a mature visage.

“No I-“ He grumbles. “It helps calm you down.”

Merely able to halfway staunch your irrevocable glee, you call his name as he begins stepping out, ears an adorable pink.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N. L/N is my last name.”

Not allowing you view of his front-side, you listen to his whispering with delight, testing the newly discovered title on his tongue as if to memorize it.

Ah, you’re falling in love.

Or maybe you’ve already fallen.

Hastily closing the door behind himself and letting you get situated in the bath, it’s not long into your relaxing that you notice a shadow seeping through the door’s crack, a figure standing there, debating.

“Minho?” You announce amusedly, watching the shadow jump and causing you to bite your frothing laugh whilst choosing what to say next.

“Would you like to join me?”

The Alchemist audibly chokes on his saliva outside the door.

Sparing a few seconds for him to collect his oxygen, you hadn’t been prepared for when he replies a quiet: “Another time”.

Your eyebrows shoot up with surprise.

Daring.

Then his shadow, after furious shuffling, disappears, serving as a reminder of your extended time spent bathing.

Assembling the copper drain and pulling foreign nightwear over dampened skin, opposed to your usual rush to your room, you allow the chilling air to grant its harsh greeting, leaving the steamy room in its wake.

No more secrets. What a breath of fresh air.

Minho, still cooped up at his desk like routine, barely moves when you place your hands on his shoulders, adorning those charismatic glasses, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“You should go get some rest Mr– Minho,” You beckon, response a sleepy blink of his eyes, obviously exhausted.

“...I really wanted to kiss you.”

The remark drifting off as a murmur, you crane to hear him, wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Hm?” Humming, you lightly push his back toward his quarters, the man begrudgingly following your inaudible orders.

At least he’s cooperating.

Abruptly, he turns around, evading your hands that ease his back forward, sporting a pout adorable enough you might just lose your mind.

How unfair that someone could behave like this and expect you to not go insane.

“When you started crying.” His eyes flicker to your lips, if only for a moment. “I really wanted to kiss you.”

A portion of your stock-still frame wants to blame his tiredness, but another so badly wants it to be true, wants those words to be irrevocably real.

Fighting the urge to scream with how stupidly childish he’s making you feel, you reject every ounce of sensibility, looping one arm around his neck, using your other hand’s index to tug him closer by the belt loop.

Trust, the feeling is mutual.

Why waste the opportunity?

“What’s stopping you?”

The utterance barely graces air, and in milliseconds he’s crashing into your lips, a wordless confession it is real, not a mere figment of your imagination.

Stumbling to loosen his tie whilst keeping your faces impossibly connected, you fall deeper and deeper into the manner he tilts his head, expertly diminishing you into puddy in his touch.

Back and forth, memorizing your taste on his tongue.

Clumsy footsteps lead to his sofa, your fingers tangled in his dark strands, his kneading your waist.

And it’s not until your lungs cry for oxygen that you pull apart, Minho’s bottom lip tugged and bitten, yours swollen with his feverish kisses.

Both of you avidly messy, you can’t bring yourself to care, too busy enjoying the afterglow, his dazed smile.

“Whoever you want to save,” He starts, carefully smoothing over your skin with his thumb . “I will save them, deal?”

Returning that same lazy smile he directs at you, the both of you lean back on the couch, a twine of legs and limbs flailing in every direction.

Close, closer.

A part of you aches at the thought, blinking up at such a stunning tragedy. Aches knowing you can’t return the favor, can’t say the same, promise him that same promise.

Because according to the Red Plague, he’s lost that person, those people. So you remain silent, merely hoping one day they’ll receive proper eternal rest.

That's something you might be able to promise.

Tipping your chin up to where it sits right above his heart, those brilliant eyes of yours blinking up at him do little for his well-being.

Has anyone told you you’re beautiful? Because he thinks you are, he knows you are.

Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?

Minho grins deeper, brows creasing, expression doused in unadulterated adoration.

“And yet, you rope me into something else,” He whispers to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, let’s run another bath. I’ll join you this time, hm?”

FIC TAGLIST. @linocz @foxinnie8 @wonniesverse

sunboki, may 2022 ©

445 notes · View notes

darqx · 7 months

Note

Hi I understand if you don't reply, but I was wondering if you have any advice to beginners who want to start making their ocs a reality? (Like in the sense of having Charecters that have been in your thoughts for a while, but it's hard to encapsulate them into physical form?) As I have some that id like to make either into a game or comic but I'm a little stuck..

Also I'm curious if there will be any other content with the best boy himself rire?? : 0

Hullo! Ah, (physically) designing characters, how fun ❤️ - there is part of a reason why I only have a handful of them lol XD; ANYWAY here are three things that help me, so hopefully they can help you as well :)

(I'll use Demon!Rire as an example as unless you are an old guard of mine, he will probably be the most recognisable of my characs.)

--------------

❓What do you know about them?

First of all since you already have your character in mind, congratulations you are most of the way there already! It's helpful to know the general vibe of them. And I don't mean the super detailed things that may arise from like..."Get to know your OC" quizzes - we are more looking for the core feeling of a character here. If you dumped this character into different AUs what things are going to stay the same/similar? Some things you should consider are:

What is their personality like? Why do they do the things they do?

Do I already have any physical traits for them in mind? Hair/eye/skin colour? Body type? Age? Name??

📝 Write a simple paragraph or some dot points about your character with these things in mind.

---EXAMPLE---

Sophisticated and charming, Rire outputs an aura of power and elegance. His pleasing physical appearance and gentlemanly demeanour usually enchants or commands people. Realistically, he is extremely manipulative and sadistic, and finds entertainment in the reactions of others.

---/EXAMPLE---

🤔 Make informed choices

Ok cool, you know something about your charac! Now build upon what you know to make them real - it is important here to try and match your design choices with the characterisation and "why"s of the character, and less with what you personally think will be cool/cute/whatever. What I mean by this is just pretend they are a person you are describing to a forensic sketch artist - you are giving "facts" as to what you think they look like not making stuff up (eg you would NOT be like "oh yeh she was totally a punk rocker however i'm going to say she wore a long flowing gown cos I think she'd look prettier in it?"*)

*Note that designing a character with opposites in mind can work out if you can at least answer the cursory "why" of it being a part of the character design. For eg maybe the punk rocker is secretly the alter ego of a socialite - flowing gowns and high fashion by day, grunge by night. Like Batman.

📝 Feel free to use dress up doll games and image searches for particular types of clothes/hairstyles/etc if you need inspiration. Thumbnail a bunch of different designs and see what works.

---EXAMPLE---

In my prev example paragraph I highlighted a few things in red. Here I'll break down how they can help craft a physical appearance:

Sophisticated and charming / elegance - to me, these combined make me think of ballrooms and black tie functions and nice suits. A well tailored outfit and someone who knows how to wear them.

Gentlemanly demeanour (well to some degree lol) - since I already know he's hundreds of years old (973 to be exact) I decided that an aristocratic Victorian-esque aesthetic would suit him. Somewhere in between a modern look and something with a bit more fantasy steampunk flair. He smiles quite genially until he's doing it with all his teeth.

Aura of power - he's got to be a bit of an imposing character so he's quite tall (or at least taller than all of my other characs) and carries himself confidently. Hooray for the ability to loom. Dark colours for this character, to cut an impressive figure.

Pleasing physical appearance - kinda stereotypical type of good looks that aesthetically most people would be like "yeh he's pretty". Athletic build - muscular but not bulky, broad shoulders, tapered waist etc etc.

Extremely manipulative - first of all, he looks rather human, for a demon - his entire species is designed very particularly like that. Then there's the sunglasses. The "why" [does he wear them] is they function to hide his eyes (one of the main parts of him that give away his demon-ness), but also as a bit of a red flag to the audience that something isn't quite right with him. I mean, look past his charm and he wears them all the time. The black and yellow colour scheme also ties in as warning colours ⚠️

Put them all together and this was one of my first sketches of Demon!Rire.

*Note that I already more or less knew how he looked other than his outfit; you will probably have a lot more sketch duds as you figure out what your character looks like.

---/EXAMPLE---

🔐 Don't lock yourself in

Despite the fact I've just said "pretend your character is a person", remember you're still their creator so obviously you have final say over them. Sometimes you'll find that they grow and change from what you initially thought of them (or you just evolve in how you draw them). Don't be afraid to make the tweaks and changes that enhance these - whether they be physical or core characteristics - and you'll get closer to the true character you always had in mind.

---EXAMPLE--

I now draw Rire with a more pronounced V-shape, longer, wavier hair, and somehow he ended up with way more pronounced eyelashes than I usually draw on my male characs. Which works out quite well considering how I tend to draw his eyes. Anyway the point of this is that these things developed over time as I kept drawing him.

---/EXAMPLE---

🍀 Try it out with your own characs! Have fun and don't force yourself to try and get it "right" on the first go.

#prettyboysmakegravezz #character design #ref #character design tips #hope this is kinda helpful!#also honestly have fun aye #long post #also as for other content with rire there kinda is but he's not really the main charac lol #also who knows when that will come out im a bit pedantic planning a webcomic #sz

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klausysworld · 10 months

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hello, can you do a one-shot for soulmates au, where klaus and stefan are in the summer making hybrids and they go to ray's pack, and when they start to convert everyone klaus catches the scent of his soulmate and is surprised that she is an omega and notices that some wolves try to subdue her and klaus quickly takes care of them.

Lovely little omega

Klaus stood looking proudly at the wolves as they all passed around a cup with Klaus’s blood and begrudgingly took a sip and awaited Stefan to snap their necks.

He breathed in deeply and went to let out a sigh of success but the scent that filled his senses caught him off guard.

His eyes darted around to where he saw a few of the waiting wolves huddled and exchanging harsh whispers and staring at something or someone.

Whatever it was, smelt positively delicious.

He pushed past the half dead almost hybrids and growled when he heard a gushing as the men turned to face Klaus and pushed someone behind them.

“Move. Now.” He commanded and watched them all hesitate but choose to remain stood in place. He narrowed his eyes and looked to Stefan who forcefully moved, borderline threw, them out of Klaus’s way to reveal the wolves secret.

Klaus stood frozen as the small girl that looked up at him with wide fearful eyes. A gold ring of colour flashing around her irises as he felt his own eyes do the same.

His wolf was starstruck and dead silent in his head which had his reaction time reduced and left him staring at her in wonder.

Thankfully she was better in contact with her wolf as she hadn’t had hers locked away and so her instincts immediately told her who he was to her.

She took an apprehensive step forward and wrapped both arms around his waist making his breath get caught in his throat. Her head rest against his chest making his heart run a thousand times a second. His wolf snapped back to reality and his hands were pulling her up his body to have a proper hold of her as quick as he could.

He growled as a few of the wolves began to grow angsty

“Look man, you get the whole pack but not her just put her down” one of them yelled while moving to grab ahold of her arm resulting in Klaus snapping his wrist and then his neck

“Shit okay, alright look you can’t turn an omega alright? She hasn’t even experienced her first heat alright? She isn’t ready” another stepped up and Klaus scowled and stroked her hair

“Stefan kill the lot of them, I’ll be over in the trees” Klaus mumbled dismissively and carried his new found omega mate away from her old pack.

He felt her nuzzling and sniffing his scent glad against his neck making his wolf pant with desire. Her soft little tongue licked right over his sensitive spot making him shudder and hold onto her tightly

“Now now sweetheart, I haven’t even heard your name” he chuckled and she whined. It being a full moon for an omega wolf was a big deal, her sensitivity was peaked and finding her mate who was one of the most powerful alpha wolves known to exist was driving her to insanity.

Her hands tugged at his henley like a needy baby and he hummed lowly as he put her down onto her feet. “Dainty little thing aren’t you puppy?” He murmured seeing the top of her head barely at his shoulders.

“Need alpha” she whined needly as her hands grabbed and pulled at him. His eyes flicked over her delicate frame a few times as she pressed all up against him

“My lovely little omega, I know you’re all hot and bothered tonight and I would love to have my hands all over you, but I won’t take advantage of your instincts darling.” He whispered trying his very best to hold everything he wanted to do to her in his mind. She was his mate, his prized possession not a toy for him to throw away in an hour.

But she didn’t understand him. Wasn’t his wolf going as crazy as hers? Was she not desirable enough? All of the wolves in her pack had wanted her, needed the touch of an omega every since she were a child the wolves treated her as though she were their darling pet. Never really treated as a human but more a precious gem. She was used to it and didn’t understand why he wasn’t all over her.

“Please?” She whispered a little reluctantly, she frowned and took a little step back “do you…not feel it?” She asked, a twinge of hurt in her voice making his eyes widen and his head switch between nodding and shaking

“I do love, definitely do. But you’re a delicate little angel and I would hurt you” he argues “besides it’s the full moon sweetheart, you’ll be in your sweet puppy form within hours if not sooner” he reminds and she tilts her head

“So?” She asked confused and he blinked surprised “you’re a wolf too right?” She asked sniffing him a little more to make sure she had got his hybrid scent right.

“Ye-yeah I just, you mean you would…in your wolf form? Love who have you let touch your pretty figure?” He questioned while his hands dropped to her hips and pulled her to him, not liking the thought of another touching his mate.

She nods and happily stood with her front against his “well Ray was my alpha so-“ an instant growl cut her off and had her wolf falling into an immediate obedience and silencing her for him. “I’m…I’m sorry” she whispered “I didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed”

“It’s not your fault darling omega” he murmured while holding her closer “I will ensure that sorry excuse of a man is dead as soon as possible. From now onwards you are mine and only mine, are we clear sweetheart? No more wolves get close to you, not sniffing those mutts, you get hungry, sleepy, you need or want for anything at all and you come straight to me okay? I’m your alpha, just yours forever, yes?” He spoke clear and relatively slow to insure she took in all information.

“Promise” she whispered and he smiled

“Now what’s your name princess?” He hummed watching as a bright blush spread over her cheeks

“Y/n” she whispered and he grinned

“Perfect, do you know who I am?” He asked gently

“The hybrid” she stated like it were obvious and he smirked a little bit

“Not quite my name sweetheart but close enough. You may call me Klaus or just keep calling me Alpha” he growled pleasantly and she nuzzled into his chest again with a pure rolling through her. He stroked her hair gently and hummed

“Will you be with me to turn alpha?” She asked and he let out a breath

“Of course I will my omega” he smiled and she snuggled him closer making him sigh in contentment. “And I will stay forever after that”

“You promise?”

“I give you my word”

(Ngl ran out of my creativity half way through 😭)

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

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Hi I’m the anon who submitted the ‘Hi! I hope you’re having a good day, I was wondering if you could do a platonic fanfic with parental Husk and Angel dust with a teen reader who tries to sneak out to prove their ‘adult’ enough to go out on their own. Maybe they get caught w a secret S/O 🤔’ ask and to answer your question I think a Huskerdust parental duo would be killer, thanks!

Hmmm… okaaay! That can work! This is my first Angel Dust writing as well! Let’s just pretend HuskerDust isn’t built on sexual harassment and that these two get married after a healthy relationship— just a little AU for a, could be, cute couple… if it’s handled better! Also, sorry… this is kinda short

Husk and Angel Dust- Growing Up

Before anything starts. Let’s establish how these two gay dads treat their adoptive teenage child!

Husk is a doting and caring but also strict and wise father. He gives off the most brutal but truthful advice and reality facts. He is a loving parent and won’t tolerate his child being mistreated or bullied so you can always turn to him when upset or in need for help, he is emotionally intelligent and protective after all

Angel, on the other hand, is the most affectionate and mindful father you’ll ever meet and have. He isn’t the one to deal out the punishments, he’s the fun one. Playing with his child, giving them unconditional love, support and encouragement but he is also quite protective. He will come running at the drop of a hat

Whilst both Husk and Angel encourage their kid to be independent and not rely so much on them, they aren’t a fan of letting you out on your own. You are still fifteen and therefore, completely vulnerable to this nightmarish hellfire realm called H E double hockey sticks

However, you’re determined to prove to both of your dads that you’re capable of defending yourself and be an adult so you’ve been recently sneaking out of your home and going around Pentagram City. On your own, no protective powerful Overlord father or protective infamous actor father

You’ve been doing it for weeks now. Going behind your dads’ back to prove to yourself, then to anybody, your complete and utter independence… but of course, all good things must end

And both of your dads had caught you escaping the house through the window and your beloved partner, a demon you fell in love with and begun dating in secret, just waiting in the backyard of your home whilst you climb out

Husk is very annoyed and ordering you to explain yourself, not at all happy with what you’ve done whilst Angel is dragging you off the windowsill and is resisting the urge to cry since his heart is broken

Your dads fend off your lover, not wanting to deal with them at this moment whilst they are trying to scold their child for doing this… and yes. This causes a big old fight with your parents. You just wanted to prove that you can handle yourself whilst your dads aren’t happy that you did something so reckless and harmful to yourself

Husk takes a bit longer to own up to his accident. Making you cry and angrily go to bed. You’re nearly a legal adult and they are shackling you… Angel can sense how you feel and immediately apologies for his lashout and tries to encourage his husband to do the same thing

When they do. They talk to you, accepting and encouraging, to try make a compromise inbetween you wanting to go outside at night to have fun with your lover, and talking to them and informing them about your location so you three will be happy

Husk lays down the must text them rule with this accommodation himself and his husband have made for you, their precious baby, that you must follow this at all causes whilst Angel is actually excited about you going to have fun on your own but begs you to inform either himself or his husband if anything bad happens to you

They just love you… please. Give them a break, they’ll try their best to let you do whatever you want on your own… as long as they know you’re okay

“Heartthrob. Do you have your present for your partner? Yes? That’s good. When you get to the party, text me or your father so we know you’re okay. That’s all we ask now. Here, let me finish rolling you up before you go”

“Fluffball! Fluffball! Fluffball! Aww! You look so precious! You’ll blow the competition off the dancefloor and you’ll make that partner of yours’ jaw drop! Make sure to shoot me or your dad a text when you’re there, ‘kay?“

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recreationalfanfics · 1 year

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Hello, I really love how you seem to have such a good read on RoR characters! Kinda shy asking this because I swore I read Record of Ragnarok for the action and backstories but it’s hard to contain my simping…. (๑꒪̇⌄꒪̇๑)

May I request some headcanons for Poseidon x a shy but kind human fem!MC? The idea I had in mind was that some thousands of years ago, Aphrodite, annoyed with Poseidon’s indifference to her charms, “cursed” him with a soulmate. This soulmate turned out to be MC who wasn’t even born yet back then. The plot will take place sometime before the actual human vs. gods battles start, so maybe during some preparation period where they’re setting up the stadium and all that? During this period, the human audience had already been “teleported” there (I don’t think they ever elaborated on how the humans all just end up watching the ragnarok) MC is one of these humans and coincidentally happened upon Poseidon during her stay. Of course, the soulmate stuff won’t magically make Poseidon have a complete change on humankind, but I was hoping he’d gradually soften up to her even if he won’t admit it.

As for what kind of soulmate AU, maybe the type where the first words your soulmate says to you is inscribed somewhere on your body? I think it’ll be fun to have her say something to him, he realizes but doesn’t say anything back so she just doesn’t know until much later.

Hopefully this isn’t too detailed or convoluted (๑•́‧̫•̀๑) And thank you so much in advance if you decide to write this! And if it’s not too much to ask, please don’t kill off Poseidon, but I also don’t want Sasaki to die either… maybe Poseidon will choose to forfeit (after fighting at first) because his soulmate is amongst the humans that will be eliminated if gods win? •ू(ᵒ̴̶̷᷄ωᵒ̴̶̷᷅*•ू) )੭ु⁾⁾

THIS REQUEST IS SO CUTE OMG!? I'M MORE THAN HAPPY TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU BUT ALSO, UR SO VALID FOR WANTING NIETHER OF THEM TO DIE, IDK WHY BUT THIS ANIME MAKES ME ATTATCHED TO BOTH THE GODS AND THE HUMANS-

Either way, I hope I did well, this was my first time writing for Poseidon!

- Consider how vain these two can be sometimes, it's only natural that they would butt heads often but when Poseidon dared to claim that Aphrodite truth wasn't as fair as she claimed herself- no, that she KNEW herself to be- she just couldn't allow this injustice to stand.

- He cherished absolutely nothing, he appreciated absolutely nothing. So she took it upon herself to change that. After all, it was HER who was the Goddess of Love. So she decided to pull a little trick

- Now, lets flashforward (to modern? ancient? Idk, man, heaven time??) and Poseidon has been summoned to his match. A match he felt was pointless but, whatever, who was he to deny his brother?

- Gracing the God's hall and going to his room to prepare and shield himself from sharing the same air as humans; imagine his surprise when he sees you.

- You're pathetic. Skittish, looking around like a confused mutt, and looking as disgusting as the rest of your kind. He knows your human alone and he's offended that you had the AUDACTIY to walk INTO THE AREA WHERE THE GOD'S RESIDE, AND EVEN STAND IN FRONT OF HIS DOOR.

- In reality, you weren't trying to piss anyone off. You had gotten separated from the rest of the humans and accidentally found yourself in a part of the arena you weren't familiar with.

- You were so relieved when you looked and saw another person in the hallway with you! Maybe you could ask them for directions. Poseidon did not know why you were approaching him so casually but he did NOT like it, like, AT ALL.

- Since your soulmates, maybe the reason why you don't feel his threatening aura like other gods and humans do is because some part of you just can't find it in you to fear him. He takes this as a sign of disrespect.

- You do feel anxious, however, he was such an attractive man but he absolutely did not look pleased to see you and you assumed he was just having a bad day.

- "H-Hello, I don't mean to trouble you!" You call out, your voice quiet and filled with uncertainty.

- He narrows his eyes at you, absolutely enraged by the idea of you approaching him so casually. You filthy little worm, he should destroy right-

- But then he takes a look at his wrist, he doesn't know why he does, a subconscious decision perhaps. But he side eyes you...odd, he makes sure to check his wrist. Oh well, he may as well grant you a few seconds of life.

- Then he checks his wrist and sees that the very first words you said to him...were on it. He looks from his wrist to you, who has no idea what's going on and honestly just wanted to find a way out of this big hallway.

- "U-Um, sir? I-I'm sorry, but do you know the way out?"

- He merely narrows his eyes at you before summoning his trident into his hands and thats when you realize; you're standing before a God. He says nothing to you and you instantly want to apologize but before you could, he just points in his trident into the direction he came from.

- You look at him, scared and confused, and he continues to stare at you with cold eyes. When he doesn't say or do anything for a few minutes you finally realized he was pointing the direction out.

- You apologize for the trouble and run like hell, his gaze following you.

- He observes you closely after that, believing this may be some kind of mistake. Thats why he didn't say anything to you, because a part of him was nervous. But he was mostly angry.

- It showed by when he barged into Aphrodite's room to DEMAND her what trickery she had stuped too and to undo it, she just smiles slyly and asks him: "What trickery?~"

- After some frustrating interrogation that goes NOWHERE...he finds himself staring at you quiet often, the mortals all cowering in fear when they feel his divine prescence. Not you, though, you never seem to notice him until you follow their stares and see his cold eyes, staring you down like you were gum under his new shoes.

- It's a very odd exchange, overall. Everyday, he'd show up at the most random of times and causing a stir among everyone else but yourself. Sometimes it'd even be multiple visits a day. Either way it confused you because the matches hadn't even started and already, you had somehow invoked a God's wrath.

- At least, that's what you thought at first until you noticed that he never did anything to really threaten your safety. Yes, watching you was a bit odd, but you find that you aren't really all that nervous about it anymore. Especially since with every visit, you believe that his gaze softens when they're set upon you.

- He kept his distance at first but then, once you started to take notice of him, you'd offer him to sit next to you as you sat in the beautiful fields that surrounded the arena or would be reading in one of the vast nearby libraries. Originally he would just walk away and as time went on he slowly began to warm up to you.

- Like a cat. tbh.

- He couldn't help it, at least, it FELT like he couldn't help it. He didn't know if it was your bond as soulmates, the unyielding kindness that he originally saw as foolish and niave, or overall just your quiet nature until you saw your friends.

- Either way, the more he began to see you, the more he could look past your flaws (which was being a human) and start to appreciate the things about you the made you beautiful.

- Don't get me wrong, he was definetly in denial for the longest time so he would kinda start off with small things. Like it goes from: "Oh, at least they bowed their head to my statue, thats a redeemable quality, at least." to "She is the epitome of perfection♡"

- You wouldn't really ever know that Poseidon's feelings towards you have grown, he hides it very well behind that stoic face that he wears and he hasn't even really spoken to you, yet. He doesn't know why but he feels like...the time isn't right. Despite his growing feelings, he truly isn't ready to accept a human as his soulmate yet.

- You just assumed he didn't talk much so you never pushed him too. Yeah, it mightve been a bit awkward at first but you appreciated his prescence, it brought you a new sense of comfort and peace that you never felt, not even when you were alive.

- When you made flower crowns in the gardens, you'd ask if you could decorate his trident for him and he gave you a deadpan stare before nodding his head in approval. He'd silently gesture you to follow him and show you a private pool whenever a say seemed a bit too hot for you and watch as you played in it, a soft smile growing on his face.

- He would even feel a bit of anger when he was with his fellow gods, listening to them generalize their hatred towards humanity. Usually Poseidon would join them but he couldn't bring himself too. After all, humanity was pesky and troublesome but some of them weren't that bad.

- They could be sweet, they could be unfailingly kindhearted and empathetic...They could be you. So he'd just glare distastefully but never say anything, but he didn't need to as everyone slowly stopped talking after sensing they somehow upset him.

- He spent a lot of his time with you during the days that led up to his match, you were unsure of who to root for; since it's true that humanity would be wiped out if the God's continued to win but at the same time, you didn't want to see Poseidon get hurt.

- He picked you out from the crowd immediately and made eye contact with you, not even acknowledging his opponent as he stepped into the ring.

- Did he still look down on humanity? Yes. But...he supposed there were some good aspects to it. Good aspects like you.

- As the mythical creatures and gods from his side cheered him on, shouting insults towards the humans, and telling him to destroy them like the ants they were: his eyes were locked on your (e/c) eyes before he finally made a decision. Internally, he had just lost a battle within himself in that moment...but he wasn't upset about it.

- So he interrupts Heimdall's introduction speeches as he addresses the whole crowd, "I FORFIET THIS MATCH!"

- Shock and bafflement was all that could be heard from both sides of the arena. They couldn't have possibly heard him right, though, after all: He was Poseidon, the beautiful God of the Sea, there was no way he would just-

- Then he looked at you and your heart leapt at hearing his voice for the first time. His eyes became gentle as they stared into yours, "I will fight for humanity. For some of you are worthy yet."

- You didn't respond for a bit, not noticing how the words "I will fight for humanity" appeared on your wrist, but he did. And he knew that even if Aphrodite had "cursed" him, that it truly didn't bother him. You were made for him. His perfect mortal♡

- This was only proven when you broke out of your shocked trance faster than anyone and cheered his name happily, your shyness lost as you joyfully cheered his name, causing him to visibly smile in front of everyone.

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euphorajeon · 1 year

Text

taste your whiskey kiss | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff (?) | college!au, boxer!jk

— word count: 1.2k

— warnings: long-haired, glasses-wearing jk, annoying jk, oc still wont admit that jk is hot, jk is supposed to be a cs student, making out, mention of oral sex (f. receiving), this is plotless honestly i just miss boxer!gguk T_T

— summary: long-haired jeongguk is a menace. long-haired, glasses-wearing jeongguk is even worse.

— author's note: boxer!gguk is back at last! sorry for the (again) weird summary though. i wrote this in one sitting after that YTC in Busan episode came out and jeongguk blessed us with him wearing glasses :))) anyways. hope you enjoy!

— tags: @dunixxd

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

“Glasses?”

You look up to accept the peck your boyfriend gives you as a greeting while he hums a confirmation, the object perched on his nose knocking against your nose lightly. It’s sled down his nose so much that he looks like a grandpa from your point of view.

“Since when do you wear glasses??”

“Since my mom decided that putting my eyes five centimeters from my computer screen is not good for my sight.” Jeongguk’s hand moves to his nose to adjust his glasses. “She said my codes would never work if I keep mistaking commas for periods.”

You let out a sigh as he takes a seat on his desk chair, his computer displaying lines upon lines of codes you’d never be able to understand.

“You could zoom in, you know, instead of doing a staring contest with the screen,” you say matter-of-factly, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Jeongguk spins his chair around just to give you a one-eyebrow-raise.

“And where’s the fun in that?”

The playful smirk he sports afterwards makes you roll your eyes, not getting why your boyfriend enjoys flirting with danger like that.

“Besides, I can’t see the whole code if I zoom in. Hard to see where it went wrong.”

“Yeah, keep making excuses until you go blind,” you frown as you look at his eyes behind the round lenses. “I won’t help you if you run yourself into a pole.”

Jeongguk shakes his head in mock disappointment. “That’s harsh, babe.”

“That’s your reality if you keep damaging your eyes.”

“Why are you suddenly so hostile? It’s just a pair of glasses.” Jeongguk runs a hand through his long hair, visibly getting frustrated with your elevated emotions.

“I don’t know!” Oh, you do know. “Just— get back to your codes. We can talk about this later.”

“I have something else to do later,” your boyfriend bites back with just as much fervor. “But sure, I can spare some time to talk to you about my glasses.”

He turns back around in his chair and you’re left to stare at the black wavy hair that curls around his nape as he types away on the keyboard.

Despite your denial earlier, you know exactly what got you so worked up like this.

It’s the same thing you felt when Jeongguk first showed up on your doorstep with piercings and a tattoo sleeve, the same thing you felt when he provoked you in the gym, the same thing you felt when he dyed his hair to your favorite color.

You hide behind worrying for his wellbeing when all you want to do is scream how hot he is to his face.

It’s truly unfair how your boyfriend manages to look so hot even in something as simple as a pair of glasses. A pair of prescription glasses at that, too. That combined with the long hair that frames his handsome face perfectly might just be the death of you. It takes everything in you not to pull him away from his coding assignment to tug at his hair as you explore his mouth with your tongue.

Your mind is reeling thinking that all of this is just because one single pair of prescription glasses. And the hair too, you guess, but it’s not like you haven’t experienced what long-haired Jeongguk is like in bed. (He made sure you know that he was a menace a few weeks ago when his hair only reached a bit below his ears.)

By now, you should be immune to whatever shit he’s going to pull, yet here you are.

Half an hour pass before Jeongguk stops typing and lets out a sigh, turning his chair around to face you once again.

“I can’t focus when I know you’re upset with me.” His tone is curt, like you being upset is wasting his time. “So talk.”

“You’re the one who asked me to come, then you blame me when you can’t focus?” you scoff.

“Didn’t think you’d get upset over my fucking glasses.”

“You’re only wearing glasses because you’re too stupid to think that exposing your eyes to such short distance to your monitor is not gonna damage them! You’re the reason why I’m upset!”

“Oh really? Isn’t it because I look too hot in these glasses but you have too much pride to say it to my face?”

You force yourself to sound firm in your one-worded response. “No.”

“No? As in you don’t wanna make out with me right now and fog up my glasses?”

“N-no.”

You’re wavering. It’s over.

“Okay.” Jeongguk shrugs. “I want to make out with you.” The stare he gives you is piercing. “So climb onto my lap and let me take those feisty bites I know you’re dying to give.”

It doesn’t take a second for you to leap off the bed onto his lap, crashing your lips to his in a mess of teeth and tongue. Feels like dejavu when you tug at his lip ring hard enough to make him let out a whimper of pain.

“Why are you so annoying?” you manage to say in between kisses. “If you wanted to make out you could’ve just said so from the fucking start.”

Jeongguk hums, hands on your waist to pull you even closer to him. “You’re more fun when riled up.”

You grab a fistful of his hair and yank hard upon hearing his reason. “Say that again and I’ll withdraw any form of physical intimacy for a month.”

“See?” He grins. “Feisty.”

“Fuck, just kiss me.”

He does, biting your lips and licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue you can’t help but moan. It just fuels him even further to tighten his grip on your body and steal all the breath away from your lungs.

“Should I— fuck— put on the tongue piercing?” he asks when you roll your hips against his, creating a delicious friction between your bodies.

“No,” you pant. “That thing is— wait.” You pull away a fraction when you remember his words from earlier. “Didn’t you say you have to do something else?”

“Make out with you.”

His lips chase yours but you evade them, confused. “Huh?”

“My to-do-list. For today. Make out with you. Nothing else.”

You let him capture your bottom lip between his lips to suck and chew on like a kid would to a jelly while you contemplate the meaning behind his answer.

Once you understand, you deliver a harsh bite to his bottom lip, making him hiss (in pleasure or pain, you don’t care.)

“Yeah, babe, hurt me with your mouth,” he moans, but it doesn’t last long as he pulls away with another hiss.

“Ah, gotta take these off though, it’s digging into my nose.”

He slips the glasses off his nose, a faint red mark from where it pressed too hard on his skin. You move to place a soft kiss against the flesh, a stark contrast to how you’ve been kissing each other seconds ago.

“That’s what you get for being annoying.”

“Your kiss? Yes please.”

“Shut up.”

He dives back in for your lips, but barely a second pass when he pulls away again, making you groan impatiently. “For someone who wants to make out with me, you sure are pulling away a lot.”

“Just thinking,” he says. “How about I put on the tongue piercing and eat you out until you beg me to stop? Last time you only lasted three, let’s make it five this time, hm?”

You give him six.

a/n: i haven't written in 4 months so i apologize that this is bad hehe. thanks for reading! any feedbacks here will be appreciated :D

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brightgoat · 2 months

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Hey! lurker who likes your stuff who's been meaning to ask something and finally made an account. please don't take it personally but... isn't pucci like 15 when he meets dio? Sorry to bother you by the way! your stuff is cool!

Thank you but idk how I can take a fact about the story personally? Except for the fact that it was actually 16, let's get our facts straight

since your message is really vague and I don't know what you mean, I am going to make an assumption and answer that:

FIRST OF ALL

I ship diopucci, but I ship them as adults. Boom, bang, kapow, I have enough imagination to imagine them as adults together, wow

SECOND OF ALL, JUST TO GET IT OUT OF THE WAY HERE-

I don't care how others ship it. People can ship them as adults in AUs, or in canon with their canon ages during their meeting.

At the end of the day, these are fictional characters that we can do whatever we want with, we can put them in uncomfortable situations or we can make everything okay for them, even if in real life it would not be okay (i.e. romantic relationship between a 16 yr old and an adult) because it's fiction.

Fiction is for thinking about what's not real, what could never happen, what shouldn't happen, the otherwise unthinkable. If that's not for you, that's fine.

Except that, if anyone engages with fiction of any kind, you are engaging in that dichotomy between fiction and reality whether you like it or not, for that is the only way we can see a character suffer on screen and not feel like we're seeing an actual person suffer for our amusement.

Now - diopucci kissing in my head right now 24/7 they are making out they are planning the wedding which will be on the joestar's graves WORLDSNAKE-

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lani-heart · 2 months

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously

parings -> ( eventually ) enhypen x reader genre -> soulmate au, fantasy au, angst warnings -> angst, rejection word count -> 2.2k

abstract -> are second chances deserved?

sunghoon's perspective

Who did he think he was?! y/n wasn’t his soulmate! Sooha was and he still rejected her even after everything that has happened?!

I decided to take her stupid potion… and here I was staring angrily at the moon. My wolf was gone… It felt a bit lonely.

“And here I thought you wouldn't take the potion” I heard a voice that made my heart jump… I could only look at her.

She still wore bandages on her neck… Jake really did a number on her. He went too far.

“By the looks of it also, Solon isn’t present anymore. I guess the medicine is the reason?” she aside and she was right.

“That's not healthy for a wolf… but you are a hybrid so there are exceptions,” she said and I knew that. It was in the books she let me borrow… that I still haven’t given back.

“Jungwon and Sunoo are worried about you,” she said and I was shocked. I was happy they still cared, I thought they didn’t anymore…

“K! Slow down!” I heard as I saw a brown wolf and the vampire-human hybrid chase after him. He seemed to run straight at me and y/n as she now hid behind them making me growl.

“Get away from her!” I said and he scoffed. “How about we switch? y/n for Sooha?” he asked and I should have said yes but instead I declined.

“K, please you can’t do this,” Sooha said with tears in his eyes. “Sooha, you should be in your dorm, a werewolf can bite–” “Why should I?! I thought you were my friend! Friends tell each other how mad they are and don't take each other's soulmates!” she yelled.

I hate to admit but that was hypocritical…

“Then take your own advice,. K I’ll help you find EJ,” she said angrily. I huffed and jumped up trying to get her attention but not hurting her.

“I’ll help… just stay with Sunghoon. He doesn’t deserve you rejecting him… I don’t like either of them like that y/n. Please give them a chance” Sooha said and the witch seemed to know that…

“Does she know K is her soulmate?” she asked and I was shocked. SHE KNEW?! I nodded and she sighed… “K can stop hiding from her now,” she said and it made sense as to why Riverfield didn’t talk to her anymore.

“Act like a werewolf and actually embrace this side of you,” she said as started walking away but I followed… which made her quite annoyed…

“I don’t think you want to follow me back to my dorm as a wolf,” she said bluntly and I whined, making her sigh.

“Go find Sooha… surely you want to be around her more than me,” she said and I knew I was annoyed about what that Riverfield werewolf did but… I wanted to be around her.

“Just because she rejected you, you think you can now come to me? Just because I'm your soulmate?” she asked and I shook my head. Was she right though?

“I’m not your backup option, Sunghoon”

It’s been hours since she left me…

The eclipse was wearing off now and I was now in my vampire form… I had to find her. I couldn’t let her think that lowly of me.

When I was in the student council… was she always working? I knocked when she scoffed at the sight of me. “Whatever you want to ask, take it up with Wonyoung,” she said and I chuckled.

“I don’t think she can accept my apology,” I said and she sighed waiting for me to talk. “I liked Sooha your right. But I’ve been miserable for weeks now… I thought at first it was fine ‘cause I liked Sooha but I guess I don’t if I’m bothered that K has a crush on you!” I ranted and her eyes widened. “What?” she asked and I didn’t really care at this point.

“Sooha and K are soulmates… but he rejected her because he likes you,” I said and she shook her head. “K doesn’t like me. He’s known about Sooha being his soulmate longer than he’s known me, he probably doesn’t want to interfere with the four of you” she said and in reality, it made the most sense.

Part of me though hopede it was... cause if he had to compete with a Riverfield wolf he was actually

“y/n… I want a chance. I want to be happy like Jungwon, Sunoo, and Niki are.” I begged her and she only stared at me with blank eyes. “I’m not your–” “I know you aren’t! I don’t think you ever were?!” I said really unsure of myself

“Sunghoon if you’re not sure why are–” “I don’t know! I just… I'm jealous of them. I wanna be happy too and I thought Sooha made me happy but I guess she doesn’t if–”

“Sunghoon you’re ranting… you need to calm down, especially after an eclipse” she said and I shook my head.

“y/n… I felt horrible for weeks. I deserve it because I would’ve done the same to you, but it opened my eyes… and I’ll be honest. I don’t think I ever felt these feelings for Sooha like I feel with you. Everything is just... intense? Amplified?” I said and I could see that she didn’t believe me.

“Sunghoon, Jay is waiting for you in the dorm” I heard the aggressive voice of Sunoo… he’s been annoyed by all of us recently.

“Sunoo please?” I asked and he shook his head. “Hyung you should leave,” he asked and I felt defeated. “You know how I was… you witnessed it. Sunoo, I’m asking you to trust me… I think I genuinely want to accept the bond” I asked and he was silent for a while.

“Do you still like Sooha?” he asked and I knew he used his power…. “Not romantically” I answered and I felt my thoughts run free again

His eyes widened before they softened… “Sunoo?” I heard her ask confused about what was happening. He smiled at her in a way that I hadn’t seen in a while… “Remember about my power? He’s telling the truth” he said and she looked conflicted.

She must’ve not realized how she put her hand around her throat… “I’m not Jake, I never want to hurt you. All of us were shocked at what he did and it was out of line” I said and she nodded.

“Let me think about it”

I went back to my dorm… Sunoo said he’d talk to y/n about it but I was sure of my decision. No more rejecting my wolf nor more rejecting my soulmate.

“You’re being immature Jungwon!” I heard as I opened the door revealing Jake arguing with Jungwon… “Jake, stop. It’s his decision so stop arguing” Jay tried to reason.

“Jay, come on! Even Heeseung is annoyed he’s overworking himself because of the immaturity of Jungwon! Just for y/n?” he argued and I sighed.

Out of all of us, he was the blindest... even I could admit that. He's always been obsessed with Sooha.

“Sunghoon-hyung!” I heard as I saw Niki. Despite him being on y/n’s side he did try calming everyone down. “Are you okay?” he asked and I nodded.

“I decided to stop ignoring Solon,” I said and he looked shocked.

“But what about his constant comments of wanting to be why y/n?” Jay asked and I sighed. “I think I’m ready to accept her if she accepts me. She is our soulmate… and Sooha isn’t” I said not wanting to tell them about last night…

“Now Sunghoon has been bewitched,” Jake said and Jay followed to try to calm him down… “Why the sudden change?” Jungwon asked and I sighed. “When she rejected me I thought it was just my wolf sadness but then I realized it was because of me also… when you guys were with her and even when Niki got accepted by her I was jealous. I want a chance to be with my soulmate like how you guys are” I confessed without mentioning that stupid Riverfield wolf and they nodded.

“But I thought you liked Sooha?” Niki asked and I sighed “I thought I did too” I confessed…

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring my feelings for too long”

y/n’s perspective

“I just don’t understand why the sudden change?” I asked and Sunoo smiled softly. “He has been very bad these last few weeks… moping and dazed more than usual. Something must’ve pushed him to finally snap?” he said and I wondered…

“He said something about Sooha and K being soulmates,” I said, knowing Sunoo would keep it a secret. “THEY'RE–” “SHHH… K told me when we first met that he found out about Heeseung rejecting me. He rejected her though and said he liked me–” As I said it I noticed his angry look…

“He won’t take you away,” He said with a serious tone and face. “He won’t… I’ve already accepted you, Jungwon, and Niki as my soulmates” I reassured and he nodded as he hugged me

“Maybe jealousy finally showed him what he was feeling?” Sunoo suggested and thought so too…

“What did you do to Sunghoon?!” I heard as I saw Jake rush into the council room. I felt my body freeze a bit still weary of him but Sunoo rushed in front of me. “Jake, leave,” he said and I heard him scoff.

“Yah! She bewitched Sunghoon!” he accused but before we could say anything Jay was rushing in. “Jake, stop!” he yelled… he was the only soulmate who I hadn’t touched, but he was also blinded by his feelings also

“I just want to talk to her so she can tell me what kind of spell she did to all of you! So get out of my way, Sunoo!” Jake yelled but before anyone could say anything else…

“Jake, you should stop before Sunoo decides to control you,” Heeseung said… I peeked from behind Sunoo and he looked tired and pale.

“Heeseung! Sunghoon wants to accept the soulmate bond–""Then let him” Heeseung answered quickly…

“Sooha officially found her soulmate,” he said and I was shocked he would just rip off the bandaid. “What?” Jake said… I saw sadness in his face, almost like he just lost something…

“Her soulmate is K from Riverfield and he apparently likes a certain witch,” he said as we made eye contact. Sunoo covered his view and mine…

“That doesn’t concern you… the both of you rejected her, and you don’t plan on accepting her either” Sunoo said.

“Why the hell is the council room filled with vampires this early in the morning?!” I heard a familiar annoyed voice.

“This doesn’t concern you–” “You’re literally in the witch council room where I have work to do, I don’t care what type of love affair crap is happening,” Wonyoung said making me laugh a bit.

“I have to agree with you. y/n we have a lot of work to do, but I’m guessing the vampires have time to spare?” EJ said. “EJ I thought you weren’t coming in today?” I asked and he smiled softly.

“I’ll be fine, but I’m the only one in today,” he said and he seemed to ignore the glares from Jake effortlessly. “Sooha!” I soon heard Jake say and I saw how his eyes lit up but then died down at her tear-stained face.

“Jake?” she said confused…

“We need vampire repellent,” Wonyoung said. “Maybe some stakes, garlic, and holy water?” EJ suggested. These two stayed unbothered…

“Ooh maybe–” “Everything you're suggesting is myths,” Sunoo said and they laughed.

“Maybe you’re just saying that to trick us!”

After the incident in the morning, today was a busy day…

Now I had to go to the human / vampire council to help Sangyeon with some paperwork and suggestions he had.

I went with Niki who was my bodyguard for the moment as he proclaimed.

“Ah, y/n!” I heard as soon as the door opened to the council room. “Regarding the upcoming Summer dance, I've done the paperwork and approved some stuff you need to look over,” he said and I nodded as he continued to explain but it was quite hard while being glared at by Jake and eyed by Sunghoon.

“Niki, wanna actually help us?” I heard Jake say but I decided not to get into their own conflicts… and I guess Niki has nothing to say either.

“y/n!” I heard two voices say… Sunghoon and Sooha who I didn’t notice until now. “I… I wanted to talk to her” Sunghoon said to the girl and she sighed and muttered ‘me too’

“Um… im going back to the council room where I don’t think either of you are welcome unfortunately,” I said and Sooha visibily deflated as Jay patted her back whilst Sunghoon stood up otherwise.

“I’ll walk you there!” he offered like a puppy… I looked at Niki who gave him an unamused look…

“Come on!” he said, not letting me decline.

I decided to allow it and we walked together in silence… but not peaceful silence, it’s almost as if I could feel Sunghoon’s anxiety radiating off him.

“Hyung,” Niki muttered, annoyed and almost embarrassed. “Ah! I’m not making you uncomfortable right?! That's the last–''Sunghoon calm down” I said to stop his fast talking.

“You want to ask something right?” I asked and he nodded.

“Have you thought about it?” he asked and I smiled softly. “Sunoo says you're telling the truth… but I don’t want you to separate from your friends. I feel guilty as it is–" "So that's a yes!” he said with a grin not caring for what I had to say about his friends…

I laughed silently and nodded.

“You’re my soulmate… I should give you another chance Park Sunghoon”

aglist -> @sunus-sun @loumin908 @on-1ce @shinkenprincess-oh @b-a-nshee-blog @bnnyniky @sakuxxi @chiiiiiiiiis @cncreams @pre1ttyies @justanunstablefrog @graythecoffeebean @starzniiky @singlepringle4you @chirokookie @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @imtoanonymousforyou @lovgfrd @ilovecheese09 @sousydive @pink-but-rosie @kyleebob @jihyosgf @in-somnias-world @jilxxasu @bee-the-loser @mitchikeli @cyberpunksunwoo @lhspeachie

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vipower001 · 2 months

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DP & DC prompt 2:

We all know that there are countless brother/twin au’s with Danny and Damien. There’s ones where they become friends and/or shipped together. But what I don’t see a lot of with these two are mentor au’s or like “adoption” au’s. So here is my idea for this au.

Danny has become almost like an apprentice to clockwork and since that is he has to learn about different dimensions and universes. But since Danny doesn’t have the same ghostly powers as clockwork (he can’t see into time and realities) he has to go the said realities/universes/dimensions and learn about them in person. (Also Danny is in his early 30’s in this).

So one of the dimensions he goes to is the the one that has Gotham in it. Clockwork tells him that he has a job here and will be staying here for a while (though he tells him in a very cryptic way). So Danny stated and sets up shop there, literally. He buys a store that has living quarters in the upstairs and makes a shop for electronic repairs and also a lil book shop where he sells books that are hard to obtain, such as old books or books that were classics but can’t be found anywhere. He technically is an librarian that fixes electronic stuff (bc he totally learned how to creat and fix his parents inventions).

So he has been there for about 3 months waiting for the job clockwork said was for him when he ran into a wounded Robin. He was just walking home when he stumbled across Robin passed out in an alleyway. Danny instantly is concerned about the child’s well being bc holy sh** Robin is so small and just a lil kid. So Danny takes him back to his home and patches him up. It’s a few hours later that Damien wakes up and is instantly alert bc he woke up in a strange place. As he jumps to his feet to prepare for an attack or something, a huge wave of pain makes it way across his body bc obviously your gonna be in pain if you were shot!

Danny, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, catches him before he can crumble to the ground and scolds him for getting out of bed with his injuries. Damien goes on the defensive and started asking where he is? And who are you? And Danny just smiles at him and says his name is Danny and that he is at his shop/home. He tells Damien to get some rest and leaves him on the bed.

Damien keeps thinking that he should leave but something tells him he shouldn’t so he stays. After he is all healed and is given good Danny asks him if there’s anyone that can come pick him up. Damien says he can just leave on his own but Danny says he will not allow that. He offers to drop him off somewhere and Damien accepts.

From then on Damien keeps going to Dannys shop/house whenever he needs to be patched up or just to get away from the Batfam for a while. I kinda lost my train of thought bc this has been in my drafts for almost two years now but if anyone wants to take this idea pls do and tag me in whatever you write. Have fun!

#danny phantom #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc prompt #damian wayne #adult danny

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fairykazu · 2 months

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WISH UPON A STAR FT. SCARAMOUCHE ! cws: best friends, mutual pining, requited, fluff, modern au, teens, gn!reader notes: guess what they wished for. this has been in my drafts since forever. so sorry about that. masterlist | moonflower masterlist taglist: @ainnofinway @lovemari @lily-lmao @aethion

it was friday and it was usually the days where you and scaramouche hang out and relax from school, which is almost always turn into a sleepover. both of you were in his room, underneath a blanket fort. leaning on scaramouche's shoulder, you yawned, "scara, did you know it's going to have a meteor shower tonight?"

he shrugged you off, your head hitting the pillow besides his torso, "really?" he liked how you didn't mind that your head hit the pillow, instead resting nicely on his shoulder. he didn't want you to know that he actually liked it.

you nodded your head, boring your eyes into his indigo lensed ones. he turned around quickly, ignoring your gaze as his ears burned. "when?"

"around 11:50, i think." ignoring his antics, you answered, smiling. "i hope we would see it by then, if your mom lets us."

"don't worry, she will."

he replied quickly as you furrowed your brow, "are you sure? how would we even see them?" as long as you could remember his mother is protective over him, but luckily, not to a point where she's overbearing. regardless, she hates when scaramouche gets rebellious which is bad for her since he likes to rebel whenever he can. you try your best to prevent it, but you end up wrapped into whatever he wants to do.

his answer was blunt, as sharp as a newly forged sword, "sunroof."

you scrunched up your face, scaramouche likes when you do that. it's funny to see your reaction to his seemingly careless replies. "the sun roof? seriously?"

it's clear that you aren't taking him seriously, maybe it's time to amp it up a bit.

he confirmed it and took it a bit further by crawling out of the fort to point up. he could hear the blankets rustle behind him while you crawled out of the fort from the tiny opening. looking where he was pointing at, you wanted to cry. despite his family being rich, his mom liked to spend it rarely, making sure it goes to the right places, which is smart. she is smart but man, how could you guys even see the stars from this one-by-one square?

well, not really one-by-one, but it's big but not big enough to see every star that's possible to see with the human eyes. you wanted to cry but instead you turned around, hearing scaramouche's chuckles. "did you really believe me?"

your frown pressed into a thin smile, "what?" you were in disbelief because not only did he lie, he's laughing at you. wow, rubbing salt in the wound is really cruel.

he liked to pull pranks or jokes on you because your reactions are almost always funny to watch. but seeing the doubt set into your face, it made him feel a bit guilty. so he decided to uplift your spirits instead."im lying! of course, i won't make you watch it from this window because this-" he drew a rectangle with his fingers. "- is too small for you. when it's around the time, let me know and i'll show you how we'd watch it."

"what?"

"i just know a place."

when he said, 'i just know a place', you didn't expect it to be on the roofs of the house and how you got there? you don't even know nor remember. it kind of just happened within a blink of an eye.

scaramouche was chuckling to himself quietly as you looked at him, dumbfounded. no one in this house ever discovered that he had dug up tunnels and pathways in secret. so of course, he had a pathway to go up the roof. is this really true?

kind of. mikoto figured it out it was him but despite it, she never tattletale on him so it's technically a secret. if you ask him why he did it, he'd just smirk but in reality, he was a devoted liv and maddie fan.

you two sat on the roof, where scaramouche laid out a blanket for the both of you. scaramouche threw up pillows in which you caught, "are you comfortable?"

"as comfortable as a person can be on a roof."

"good enough." scaramouche replied, climbing up and adjusting the corners of the roof. you're just happy that he didn't make you sit on the slanted roof but instead, where he had his hideout on the flattest part of the roof.

you took two of the pillows and set them down. scaramouche immediately hogged both of them as you frowned, "that was two for two of people sitting here..." you pointed to yourself and then him. "two people, scara. me and you."

"...uh huh, i'm following?"

"you're insufferable." you replied as your face lit up. "wait."

"what? what are you doing? you're making me scared."

you pretended to stretch your back as you declined on him, resting full body weight on scaramouche. "humph! what are you doing??"

"you're a hogger, you know that? this is what you get and you can't push me off." you said, expecting him to fight back or roll you off gently. but instead, you hear,

"fine. what time is it?" thank god, he changed the subject because you wouldn't have known how to continue it after he agreed with your antics for once. "around 11:40."

"good, we can wait out here then."

"good..." you glanced everywhere but where he was. "scara, i don't think your roof may not be the safest place for us to stargaze." you said, recalling your complaint from earlier.

scaramouche lifted himself up as he watched for you if you fell, his hand near your head in case you did. "either this or the sunroof."

"thank you for blessing me with the opportunity to see this beautiful night sky, scara!" you replied quickly as he hid his chuckle.

waiting for ten minutes just to pass away is taking forever, scaramouche thought as he annoyed you by poking you. it was easier to just watch paint dry than wait for the incoming meteor shower. but he looked at you while you began to fight back with his poking by poking him back, it was worth it.

"scara! the stars!" you jolted up as scaramouche pulled you back into his embrace. when you turned to his face, he explained, "i don't want you to fall down and die. i don't want to be linked to your death, how would i go to the ivy league colleges now?"

"uh huh."

but did you really care? no... you rested your head against his chest, noticing how his heartbeat was increasing. you wanted to make fun of him, but you didn't want him to notice so was yours; you kept your mouth shut.

you asked, as he was tapping your arm, "scara, isn't the stars so beautiful?"

scaramouche agreed with you but not for reasons you may think. as you looked at the stars, he looked at you.

"wait, scara! wish on the stars."

"that's so childish."

"but i heard they come true!"

"... fine but im not doing it because you said so."

"i know, don't worry."

#genshin impact x you #astronetwrk #modern au #genshin fluff #gender neutral reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact #fairykazu #wanderer #scaramouche x you #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader #scara #scara x reader #scaramouche

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fayes-fics · 2 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?”

Your stomach plunges.

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue.

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then.

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately.

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation.

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology.

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes.

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear.

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.�� You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out.

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again.

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling.

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared.

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you.

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