#it's my AU and I get to decide how many problems I fix!!

[giltarvek-no-divorce-au]

Okay so apparently I'm just refusing to cooperate with the "finding and collecting my various snippets and notes to compile them into an established timeline of lore" thing so I guess I'll just start yapping and go from there.

So this AU hinges upon a single concept, which is the idea of "What If Gil & Tarvek Never Had The Friend Divorce And Just Stuck Together?" from there I, of course, took it in my own direction because any simple concept can be spun into infinite different shapes based on each person's different tastes and thoughts.

(Which is to say that the base concept is not particularly original and frankly someone could take it in a completely different direction than I did which I encourage them to do because like.. Two Cakes!!!)

But anyway from there I decided that I was going to use the Collaboration and Communication of it all to solve as many plot problems as I could along a certain line.

[It only occurred to me recently that I could have pulled a Well Met and just had Agatha come onto the scene way earlier and thus spare her the years of Locket Trauma, but I'm already pretty set on my direction so like, do with that concept what you will, I already have my established lore]

Some of these changes I do genuinely think would likely be the natural consequences of them getting to face everything together, and some things I just decided that I could plausibly get away with, and other things (like large parts of my Paris University Arc) I just did because I felt like it.

Obviously my specific tastes, preferences, and perceptions influenced what I've come up with. So like. Is it probably canon-accurate? No. Is it based on how I think the characters might behave in this context? Yes.

But anyway, I digress.

The point is, I had to pick a place for the timeline to diverge and everything to change, and I had to decide what all would change after that.

What I decided was; in the vaults on the day they were investigating the files on Gil, after Gil runs off distraught at the story they find on him, Tarvek makes a split-second decision to go after Gil instead of staying to investigate more (he reasons that they broke in once, they can break in again, the files can wait but Gil needs him now) and catches up to him and explains that while he suspects that the story they found is falsified and they can absolutely keep looking, whoever Gil is related to is irrelevant to the fact that they are friends and they're sticking together. They swear a little pact to stick together no matter what, and then they hear something and realize they should probably get out of the vaults before they get caught.

As a result of this; Gil isn't found upset and brought to The Baron who explains things to him and Tarvek isn't caught snooping in the vaults and brought to The Baron to be accused of spying. As such, The Baron remains blissfully unaware that his vaults have been broken into by two 8-year-olds and Gil doesn't find out he's The Baron's son neither is he told that Tarvek's family are untrustworthy venomous snakes (which is absolutely true but Tarvek is sentimental enough to make a real actual friend to whom he is absolutely loyal anyway) and Tarvek has no current record of wrongdoing with The Baron. So! They grow up. Klaus watches suspiciously as this Valois kid is uncomfortably close to his son but as far as he's aware the kid has done nothing wrong himself and his only crime is being related to awful people and he hasn't yet given any sign that he intends to hurt his son so.. So Klaus watches. And Klaus waits. And he expects that eventually this little baby viper from the snake nest will slip up and reveal himself but.. but it simply never happens. So Klaus only watches this little Valois and his son being best friends and seemingly improve each other as people and he wonders.

Meanwhile Tarvek and Gil, having sworn their little pact of forever-friendship and loyalty, are graduating from shenanigans to scheming. (I've decided that Tarvek has to go home every summer to learn important Valois things because I want him to have at least SOME of his canon skills and I need him to be at least somewhat aware of the goings-on of his family which presumably he wouldn't have known all of at age 8 and would probably not ever be sent in a letter. So he gets some Smoke Knight training over the years and discovers Things about his family. During the summer they write each other letters because of course they do.) And because they trust each other they have an agreement to share all relevant information they have (because sharing ALL information would mean they have to tell each other literally every single thought they've ever had and that would just be completely unfeasible) so Tarvek eventually tells Gil about the Storm King Heir thing and Gil doesn't know the Baron is his dad yet so that becomes a thing they work on together. They're sticking together no matter what, forever and always, so obviously they're allies in everything. They have a little hidden room on Castle Wulfenbach (like Gil's secret labs in canon) and they keep files and reference materials and plans and conspiracy boards and other scheming essentials in there. One time they snuck an armchair in there. They have ideas and they are In Cahoots™ and they share everything.

Also I've decided it would be kinda funny/sorta charming if Gil actually did have some kind of actual relationship with Anevka before the whole Sturmhalten thing happens. (Anevka lives because I say so!!) So at some point Gil starts sending Anevka letters alongside Tarvek's letters to her. Because Gil saw their letter exchanges and was so fascinated by the concept of a sister that he wanted to speak to her. Also because Tarvek had spoken often and extremely highly of his sister and Gil held respect for her by proxy. Frankly I'm not sure what Anevka thought of it but I imagine she would be at least mildly amused by her brother's little minion being so enthusiastic. (Of course, Gil is not Tarvek's minion, obviously, but I'm sure that's how Anevka would see it) Gil is fond of Anevka as Tarvek's beloved sister and kinda-sorta views her as a sister by proxy? not in that he sees Tarvek as a brother (ew no) thus making Anevka also his sister, but more like.. more like.. Gil wouldn't think of the word, but more like a sister-in-law. [I should probably clarify at this moment that I perceive the GilTarvek dynamic as romantically charged. There will be yearning here. The stupidest yearning you have ever seen.]

At age 15 Gil is summoned into The Baron's office for a meeting and is given the "I'm your father and also you should not trust any member of the Valois ever" talk. Which is shocking but not earth-shattering given the lack of emotional whiplash and being completely emotionally compromised, and also that he's 15 and not 8 at the time he received this message. So while Gil is pretty thrown for a loop he doesn't blindly trust the whole "your best friend might be evil, actually" thing because again, he's currently emotionally stable and also older. And Tarvek already told him that his family is a seething pile of venomous snakes in a lot more detail than Klaus provided so Gil doesn't feel inclined to change his opinion of his very best friend over this. Which means that while Gil "uh-huh"s his way out of that meeting he also immediately goes to their Schemes Room, thunderstruck by the news, and tells Tarvek everything. Tarvek is surprised obviously, because they'd actually already found the whole Teufel story so they'd thought that question was answered, but it's not actually all that shocking once you think about it so it's really just a matter of "huh. well that complicates some things and simplifies others.. time to adjust our plans". From there they start figuring out the logistics of that particular political alliance. They'll figure it out eventually.

They are also close friends with Sleipnir and Theo, but they are noticeably obviously unmistakably closer to each other. They are also friendly with some other Castle Wulfenbach students including Tarvek's cousin, Zulenna, whom he, like in canon, schemed to get sent to Castle Wulfenbach knowing it was safe there, which she is unaware of. I imagine she and Gil are still fencing buddies and Tarvek probably tags along in some capacity. I'm not sure if Violetta ends up with them on Castle Wulfenbach but it might be fun if she was? On the other hand she might only join in on the Paris University Arc alongside Bang. This whole thing is very work-in-progress based entirely on whatever concepts I think up that I find particularly interesting or compelling. The Paris University Arc is where I really go ham because there is just so much space to make things up to fill the gaps.

There's plenty more I wanted to discuss but I am growing increasingly tired at the moment so I'll leave it here for now. Rest assured that I will be back to yap more in the future. I just wanted to sketch out the foundations of this AU in the form of the basics of where we start off.

Feel free to say words at me about this. Okay byeeee

[helenazbmrskai]

Road Fix [Lee Know: SKZ]

Pairing (Minho x Reader)

Genre (Mechanic AU, Smut, Small Town, Strangers To Lovers)

Summary (Your car breaks down in the middle of the road but thankfully there’s a handsome stranger to fix it for you. Giving him a ride to town you find yourself not wanting to just let him go.)

Rating (+18)

Word Count (5k)

Warnings (Sexual content, hitch-hike, dirty and oily Minho)

A/N: Cinema inspired me to write this, we all need some dirty mechanic Minho who fixes shit before he fixes you!

Stranded on 51st Street is not how you imagined your morning to go. With no signal and your car broken down, it looks like a ghost road that not many choose to pass by. You have two options either you wait in your car and hope that someone comes to help you or you abandon your car and start walking. Neither of those ideas appears to be life insurance as you can picture a dozen of scenarios that can go wrong.

You have grown up watching Criminal Minds so of course in this situation you can't help but think about the worst that can happen.

Before you can actually decide what to do there's movement on the road but it's not a car like you expected. It's a single silhouette, a man walking towards you with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His body grows bigger on the horizon as he gets closer but not that much as his form is not threatening the least as he has a lean body and slim build. His clothes are dirty and his hair is unkempt but even underneath those layers, you can see how handsome the stranger is.

"Do you need help?" He has an accent when he speaks.

You mentally debate if you should accept his help but in the end, you sigh and start explaining your situation. There's no guarantee that anyone else will come down this road and going alone to find a gas station is not a good idea.

"My car just broke down I don't know what's wrong." The guy listens to you, watching you from under his bangs. Thankful for his gesture to stop a few feet away not getting too close to your comfort zone.

"I can help you I'm a mechanic. If you want I can take a look." Relief floods over you at his friendly questions. He's not pressing or ordering you he's simply asking. Taking a look can’t hurt.

"Yes, please, and thank you." His kindness elicits a real smile, which he mirrors with a smaller one.

"No problem." He dismisses your gratitude as he makes his way over to the hood of your car. He opens it with ease, one hand on the car and the other looking around at the electronics. His nose crunches in concentration.

"I can fix it." You let out a relieved sigh when you hear it. He gets a few tools out of his bag and resumes his work. You hear clinking and twisting sounds occasionally as he works.

"All good. Try to ignite and see if it works." You get behind the wheels and squeal in happiness when the engine roars to life again.

"Thank you so much, you just saved my life!" You roll down your window to thank him repeatedly and he just shakes his head with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"Happy to help. Get home save." The stranger nods as goodbye and starts walking again. You contemplate if you should just drive and leave him to walk but it's a long road and after he helped you you didn't get any creepy vibes from him and you will think about him all day if you don't help him out worrying if he's still walking. What if he gets kidnapped? You can’t leave him here.

"I'm going into town, if you want I can give you a lift as a thank you." You yell after him before he can get too far. The guy looks surprised but his feature morph into a polite smile.

"Are you sure?" He asks unsure if he should accept or not.

"I swear I'm not a serial killer and if you promise not to kill me either I don't see why we can't just ride together." Half serious and only half joking but the beautiful stranger finds the situation just as hilarious as you.

"Okay, thank you, and I'm not a serial killer so rest assured." You wait for him to get into the passenger seat before you start the car again.

"Honestly, if I were a serial killer this is what I would say to my victims."

He takes your humour with a stride as he laughs at your antics.

"Well, stranger can I get your name if you won't murder me?" You turn on the radio to a low volume so it can be a good background sound.

"Minho." His chuckle is angelic and despite the strange situation, you don't feel like you're in danger. Even though you know that charisma can be a bad sign but what can you do when you find him so attractive that you would let him abduct you? Well, technically you’re the one taking him away.

"I'm Y/N. Right, there are wipes in the compartment your hands must be dirty from my car." You offer and he hesitates looking down at his hands.

"Sorry for dirtying your car. I've been on the road for a while." You don't dare to ask how many hours he was walking all by himself before you met him. You might have been cautious with him but in his shoes, you would think about it twice to hop into a stranger's car. So you guys basically put your thrusts into each other.

"Don't worry about it. Just get cleaned up." Minho nods and reaches for the wipes you mentioned. First cleans his hands and then his face.

The silence is comfortable with the radio occasionally breaking the stillness.

You want to talk more but are unsure if you can ask him more questions since you're strangers but you're so curious about where's he heading or if he has a place to stay for the night. You wouldn't be able to just get up one day pack a bag and just get on the road after the first minute you would be panicking and thinking about where you will be sleeping, what will you eat what if something bad happens to you.

"You should be more careful. If you want to go somewhere just get a taxi walking alongside the road is dangerous." You can't help but voice your concerns.

"I-" Minho hesitates before his answer. "I don't have the money for that." He looks embarrassed to admit it.

"Where are you even going without money? That's very dangerous Minho." You know you shouldn't scold him but you can't help but get worked up at how irresponsibe it sounds.

"You wouldn't understand." Your hands tighten around the steering wheel hearing his hard tone. He has the right to be angry, you shouldn't preach when you don't know about his circumstances.

You take a deep breath before speaking this time. "You're right, I'm sorry if it sounded like I'm scolding you. I'm just worried about what will you do after I drop you off even though we don't know each other. I overstepped. I- just, you seem like a nice person and I'm usually a worry wart."

No one speaks after that for a few minutes. Both of you are lost in your thoughts.

"I got a new job in town. I have a lot of debt so I had to sell my house and car. This was the only way for me." Minho looks out the window avoiding meeting your eyes due to embarrassment. Anyone would feel uncomfortable if they had to talk about being broke so you try to not show much reaction as you know his pride would probably take a hit if he could see that you're pitying him.

"At John's?" There's an auto shop repair down the street where you live it's like a ten-minute walk.

"Yeah, how did you know?" He looks surprised at how you guessed so easily.

"I swear I'm not your stalker. It's a small town so there's only one mechanic shop there, it wasn't much of a mystery." You joke to set a lighter mood.

"Oh. It makes sense." Minho hides his smile behind his hand but you can tell that your plan worked at the end.

The three-hour long drive felt so short with Minho next to you. After the heavy topic of his debt and journey you talked about mundane things but as you got to know him better you dreaded parting ways at the end of the road as you didn't want the time you spent together to come to an end.

You know this is a crazy idea and you're probably out of your mind but you had to ask before he leaves.

Even if it's a small town your interactions will be limited to saying hello and polite waves before both of you go on your way and for some reason, you hate that.

You don't want to remain as the nice girl who helped him once.

He's handsome so many girls will try to get his attention, you need to act before them if you want to get a chance.

"You can say no if you find it uncomfortable but I have a proposition." You start feeling nervous as the shop soon comes into view this is your only chance.

Minho picks up your nervous jitters his full attention on you.

"So, what I'm trying to say is if you don't have a place to stay at the moment you can become my roommate?" You wait for his answer while holding your breath. It’s normal, you had roommates who were strangers before you met them. You're never this bold but there's something about Minho that just draws you in. He appreciates your weird humour and it wasn't awkward to talk to him like you're with other guys. He's so attractive and nice with a sharp edge and playful teasing comments that you're ready to risk it all for him even if you're normally a very logical and cautious person.

"I- wow, that's nice of you but I can't afford it for now. I can't pay you rent." The fact that he's not rejecting you outright is what gives you the confidence to try and convince him a little more. If anything he looks flustered by your sudden offer.

"You can pay me back later once you get your paycheck and I'm not letting you live for free you will have to help me around the house and honestly you saved me today so I'm the one who's in your debt. But if you feel uncomfortable I totally understand. You can say no but I only accept if the reason is because you think I'm creepy or something." You laugh at the end feeling nervous as you keep bubbling nonsense.

"No, honestly that sounds perfect it's just you're too nice y/n. People will take advantage of you."

Your smile grows wider as he frowns. "Oh, are you worried about me? If you're so worried you can just keep an eye on me."

"Alright. I will." Minho shakes his head with a light-hearted smile, you won. He can't say no to you.

This is how two complete strangers started living together. From strangers to roommates and now as you spent more time together considered as friends you started to feel something more than friendship that gets harder for you to hide, life truly takes unexpected turns sometimes.

Honestly, it's frightening how nice it is to live with him.

Before you met Minho your life only consisted of getting home from College and then going to work at the cafe down the street, studying or watching something on the TV before you fell face down on your bed exhausted and asleep.

Now he waits for your shift to end to walk home together, cook together on the weekends and watch movies to relax. Even if you study he brews you a coffee and reminds you to take breaks.

Even when you fight for the remote or just exist together after a long day, you're thankful that Minho is next to you.

"Your boyfriend is here." You bite your lip as Clara keeps teasing you but she's right about Minho waiting for you by the door as you catch his reflection from outside waiting patiently. The cafe is already closed leaving the only two employees inside are you and your friend wiping down the tables.

"He's not my boyfriend." You jab her in the ribs but she's unfazed.

"But you wish he would be. Honestly, I don't get it why don't you just confess? He likes you too. Not even my boyfriend comes to pick me up every day after my shifts."

You want to believe her but there's something that keeps bothering you. What if it's just gratitude? You helped him when he needed it the most. Maybe he's just thankful and you misjudge his intentions.

"He's just a good friend." You like to play it safe even if you're torn between wanting to tell him. It's easier to think that he's just doing these things for you because he considers you a good friend.

"You're so hopeless. Now get out, I will finish here." Clara takes the rag from your hand shooing you to change out of your apron and go home.

You put away your work clothes and grab your things from the changing room before you meet Minho at the entrance. Once more thanking Clara before you go.

"Hi." You greet the handsome man in front of you cheerfully.

"Hi, how was your day?" His smile reaches his eyes as you appear. His hair is dishevelled so you impulsively reach out to tidy it up. His clothes are dirty with oil and grease but you're not concerned with that as you close the distance.

"Good." You reply focusing on your fingers carding through his hair.

"You will get dirty." He warns you. Minho tries to keep you at a distance his hands hover over your waist as he catches himself before he can soil your clothes with the remaining oil on his hands.

"It's fine. I'm almost done." You never really cared if he was dirty you know it comes with his job. You perfected the art of getting the spots out of his clothes so it's not a big hassle if you just put your clothes in with his in the washing machine.

"You're weird. Normally girls would hate getting dirt on them." Accepting your nonchalance with defeat he places his hand on your waist at last as you pat the stray stands down. Your white shirt now sporting two big handprints.

"I can always wash my clothes." You reply with a smile. Carding your fingers through his hair one last time before you deem your work is done.

You step back and Minho lets go of your waist as you start walking side by side to your apartment.

"You look tired. Long day?" Minho nods rolling his shoulder as he slows his pace to match yours.

"We had so many cars to fix today. My back and shoulder are killing me."

You listen as he tells you about his day even if the technical words are flying over your head. It's a short walk home but you're able to catch up with each other, you complain about rude customers or tell him about school.

Neither of you had the energy to cook once you arrived home so you decided to order takeout and talk over the food as the TV served as background music. This is what a usual afternoon looks like for the two of you, relaxing and talking.

The only difference in mood got palpable in the air when you offered to massage his shoulders and back to help with his pain. You're thankful that he's showing his back to you as you have a hard time controlling your expression when he takes off his t-shirt. You knew he was fit but not the six-pack kind of fit.

You massage the muscle relaxant gel into his shoulders, you can feel each twitch of his muscle under your fingers as you spread it over moving lower to treat his back with the same attention.

"Does it hurt?" Unsure if the pressure is alright you ask.

"No, it feels good. You could be a professional masseur."

You snort at his overreaction.

You carefully work your fingers over the knots in his back and shoulders, you don't stop until your hand starts to ache from the use. You wiped mugs and made coffees all day that your hand already hurt.

"Thank you." Minho turned around to give you a lazy smile. You must have looked like you were in pain because he held your hand and rubbed your fingers to relax your hold. Your eyes grew wide when he put two of your fingers into his mouth. You could feel his tongue running over the tips.

"Heat is good for when your joints ache." He gives you this explanation after he pops your digits out of his mouth.

You look away afraid that your blush will give your feelings away.

"You're gross." You try to appear unphased as you rub his saliva into your pants but fail miserably as Minho smirks.

"But you like it." He gives you a wink not leaving you room to react he gets up to clean the plates from the table.

Sometimes his flirty actions give you hope that he might consider you as someone more than just a friend.

Peaceful days are the new normal with occasional slightly charged moments when you think he might actually kiss you but in the end, it never happens.

The unresolved tension makes you agitated. You don't know how long you can play this push and pull before you break.

Seem like Minho has other plans. At work, you get a text from him. He forgot his lunch so you agree to get some pastries and coffee for him.

Once your lunch break rolls around you get the food and make your way to the workshop. One of his chatty colleagues tells you where you can find him and you do find him under a BMW.

"Delivery for Minho." You say in a singsong voice and shake the paper bag to get his attention. The metallic clunks under the car stop before he rolls back, his body sweaty and dirty.

"Finally. I was starving." His smile is bright as he gets up. He looks at you sheepishly holding up his dirty hands.

"Can you feed me? My hands are dirty and there's a bathroom repair right now so we don't have running water at the moment." The first thing that comes to your mind is: that God must be testing you.

"Alright." You gulp. Minho sits down as you get the food. You bought a chocolate croissant and some raspberry twists for him. Grabbing the croissant you place it in front of his mouth waiting for him to take the first bite.

The position is already making you conscious as you stand between his legs.

Minho holds your wrist his fingers leaving behind oil marks on your skin. "Hey, no touching." You pull away, inspecting the grease he left on you.

"You can just wash it off at work. Come on, I'm hungry. You said before that you don't mind if I'm dirty." He's pouting, making ridiculous grabby hands at you. You can never win against him.

"Alright, but you can't touch anywhere else." Minho nods guiding you by the wrist as he devours the food you brought.

"You're my saviour y/n." Minho grins when he's finally full. He thanks you between sips of the coffee you hold up for him.

"You owe me Lee Minho, I'm here on my precious break to feed you." You're joking with no real meaning behind your words but he pulls you closer by your wrist.

"How can I ever repay the favour?" It sounds seductive as his face is inches away from yours.

"You look like you have a few ideas in your single man mind." You don't know what possessed you to flirt back maybe you're going insane after the building tension. There's no way he can't feel it.

"Maybe." Minho grins. His lips trace the line of your neck, dragging down on your skin breathing in your scent without really touching. He's seizing up your reactions, the spike in your heartbeat or the hitch in your breath when he finds your pulse point and latches on it.

"No marks I still have four hours before my shift ends." You warn him when you feel his teeth on your skin.

"Yes, ma'am." His smirk is pressed into your neck.

This time his tongue playfully peaks out wetting your skin, you jump at the wet sensation the hand that encloses your wrist tightens ever so slightly as a warning to stop squirming.

"Since my hands are dirty I can only use my mouth I hope you don't mind." You roll your eyes at how cheeky he is. As if he can sense it he bites down on your ear, making you yelp at the sudden pain.

"Stop playing or I will leave you here." You press your fingers into his shoulders, getting fed up with his antics.

"When will your break end?" He asks between kisses.

You look down at your watch with half-lidded eyes. "M-maybe 20 minutes. Why?"

"I can work with that." He nods playfully nipping at your neck.

"What do you mean?" It's hard to concentrate on the conversation with his lips all over your jaw and neck.

"I'm positive I can make you cum in ten minutes."

"Confident are we?" You scoff.

"Should I take that as a challenge?" This is not how you expected his competitive side to arise and it shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"You can't be serious. You're in the middle of work." You make a circle with your hands showing him around that you're standing in the middle of his workplace if he didn't notice.

"No one comes in anyway, if you can be quiet no one will ever know." Minho nips at the rim of your jeans with his teeth, laughing when you gasp in terror.

You push his head back but not before he can plant a kiss on the skin showing below your crop top.

"If you keep thinking about it we will have less time." He doesn't fight you pushing his head away as if he's trying to show you that he won't do anything that you don't want. If you say no you're sure he will back down but the painful part is that you don't want him to stop despite this risky action can cost both your jobs.

"How are you even going to do it? Your hands are filthy." Minho smiles showing you his white teeth awfully confident in himself.

"My mouth is enough, you don't need to worry." His shit-eating confidence is a turn-on and an annoyance at the same time.

"Fine but I'm not sure if you can make me cum in ten." You look behind you at the door making sure that it's closed and you sigh when you see it is.

"Relax." Minho dips his head down to kiss your lower stomach, pulling at the button with his teeth to free you.

You help him with sliding your jeans down your thighs but stops you when you try to pull your panties down and realise why he stopped you. He wanted to drag it down with his teeth, his breath brushing over your legs as he pulled it lower until you could step out of it.

You hang your clothes on the back of the chair so they won't get dirty. Urging you to take your place you sit down and obediently put your leg over his shoulder exposing yourself to the cold air.

Minho's eyes lock on your glistening folds his jaw tenses as he gulps. His hands are locked in a fist behind him to avoid the temptation to touch you.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." You blush at his evident desire to devour you. His arms flex as he tries hard to not touch you, you can feel the muscles in his back dance with the effort and when he moves your leg bends with it, making your stance wider for him.

"Wish I could touch how wet you are." You're getting more turned on by his dirty talk than embarrassed by how he keeps staring at you from his position on his knees. It feels like he's about to worship you and kiss the ground you walk on.

"Yeah? You're all talk and no action so far. The clock is ticking." Your smile is devilish, and your teasing is all he needs to finally part your folds with his tongue and taste you with a long lick.

"Set the timer, baby, because you're gonna cum in five." Minho licks his lips, looking into your eyes as he buries his face back into your cunt. His tongue flicks over your bud repeatedly, getting your thighs to close on his head but he's not fazed as he continues his exploration. His pink tongue runs up and down your folds.

The speed at which he moves is insane and it doesn't help that he occasionally switches to sucking and slruping.

You need to bite your lip hard so that you can keep your noise down. Minho watches you fight to stay still as his hands are still behind his back keeping his word of not touching you with dirty hands however you're past the point where you would care if he got you dirty or not.

The one thing that's hotter than his harsh breathing against your folds is the tongue that pokes your entrance with each descent. Expertly flattening his tongue for long licks and switching it up at the top where he sucks your clit between his wet lips.

If the space gets smaller as he fights with your closing thighs he just pushes against you harder until your legs part on their own giving him the space to work his magic. You're not in the mindset to count down the minutes but he does work you up fast. His mouth hanging open he watches you from under his lashes studying where are the spots that make your toes curl and find them again and again.

It's not just you that has to be quiet as he moans his little grunts sending vibrations through you.

You're close, he can tell by the shaking of your leg on his shoulder and the fact that you let out small moans between your fingers a little louder than you would have liked. Now he's focusing solely on your swollen clit as he pushes you over the edge with his tongue flicking over in circles.

You grab his hair tightly as you cum the other firmly pressed into your mouth to silence your cries.

Minho helps you through the high with slow drags of his tongue, his throat bobbing as he drinks down your essence. His licks slow down but keep up the consistency.

His lips glisten as he pulls back his hair dishevelled and breathing hard but has that satisfied look in his eyes as he regards you sprawled on his chair.

"8 minutes. Might just be a new record." You check the clock and can't deny that he made you cum fast.

Minho distracts you with kisses, his lips touch every inch of your thighs that he can reach as you desperately try to catch your breath.

"I think my soul just left my body." Raking your hands through your messy locks you try to move your legs that by now become jelly. Minho laughs at how cute you are, your cheeks are tinted pink in embarrassment as you need to slip your panties up your legs and cover your still slick pussy.

"This was just an appetizer, you will learn soon how grateful I can be back at home." Minho leans down for a short peck. Your lips shape a shocked O as he pulls back.

"But before I get ahead of myself I have a condition first." His tone is unusually serious as he fidgets with his hands.

"I remember tomorrow is your day off so I hoped we could go to have dinner that day. I'm paying and if you're wondering- yes, I'm asking you out on a date."

You're so shocked that for a moment your mind shuts down.

"Really?"

You ask dumbly. You need a moment to process everything.

"Everyone in town already thinks we're dating. Fuck that, everyone knows how much I love you. Except for you, apparently."

"You love me?" You repeat him like a parrot.

These shocking revelations just come out of his mouth one by one that you have a hard time following.

"Yes. I love you." His confession spurs your frozen body to take action and attack him with a hug that the momentum pushes him back as you two collide.

"I love you too." Minho lets out a sigh of relief he started to think that maybe he misjudged you reciprocating his feelings.

He hugs you back without realising that this is how he soils your clothes.

"Your break is ending." He reminds you even if he doesn't want to let you go.

"Right. I need to go back to work." You will do something about the oil marks later if you're lucky the apron will hide it until your shift ends.

"I will pick you up later." Minho grins happy that you accepted his confession, leaving you with one more kiss.

You try to get yourself occupied but the hours seem to drag on as you wait for work to end. Clara can sense your sudden agitation not to speak about the marks she put two and two together.

"Your boyfriend is here." Minho only grins when he hears it and you don't correct her this time.

"It's okay if you close up Clara?" She rolls her eyes, duh, she's the one that always closes and today is nothing different.

"Get out you love birds."

"Thanks!" You yell back before you leave with Minho, your fingers intertwined as you walk side by side.

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[keikikait]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.7k

summary: rafe helps you after your car breaks down

warnings: dead dove, do not eat. stalker!rafe, smut? (it's just masturbation + some suggestive stuff), rafe is obsessed, please read at your own discretion!, innocent(ish)!reader, again, stalker!rafe, manipulation, rafe gets the reader high on coke (she agrees, but he thinks some weird things), idk anything ab cars but i tried, also i've never done cocaine but i tried to do some research

a note: happy halloween.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You didn't understand what was wrong with your car.

No matter how many times you took it to an auto shop, how much money you spent, it kept breaking down. Your check engine light would come on at the most random times, even after just getting it fixed the day before.  You were spending all of your money on trying to fix your clunker, a 1993 Lexus LS400 that your father was certain was a waste of time. In the long run, it would be cheaper to buy a new car, but you loved it too much to say goodbye. The AC was surprisingly cold, providing much needed relief for the hot North Carolinian summers. It didn't take much to fill it up, and you had beau coups of trunk space. It was your car and that's all that mattered to you.

You had decided to take your car to a different auto shop, across the thoroughfare onto the mainland. You had thought that a fresh pair of eyes would keep you from coming back the week after because your transmission was shot again. The mechanic was able to fix your transmission in no time, sending you off on your way with a hefty bill. It was raining, a summer thunderstorm on the horizon, and you couldn't wait to get home.

You had just passed over the thoroughfare back onto Kildare when your car started to rumble and shake. You feel like screaming as you pull over, banging your palms on the steering wheel. Your car rumbles and shakes, smoke billowing out of the hood. You reach behind your seat and grab your raincoat, putting it on and putting the hood up. You grab your phone and turn on the flashlight, reaching down to pull back the lever to pop the hood. Afterwards, you step out, pulling your hood tight over your head as you lift the hood and prop it up. You look around, waving the smoke away from your face, but you don't even know what you're looking for.

Gravel crunches behind you as another car approaches, casting a shadow over your hood. You freeze, sliding your phone open to the emergency call. You look over your shoulder as someone climbs out. 

Rafe Cameron, Kook prince of Kildare, in his own navy blue raincoat. He raises his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face. “Having car troubles?”

You tense up a little. You knew Rafe, of course you did, but your interactions with him were few and far in between. You were on the sidelines for most of his problems with JJ, John B, and Pope, not wanting to piss off the most powerful man in the Outer Banks. You finally find your voice, fidgeting with the sleeves of your raincoat. “Yeah. I just got it fucking fixed, too.” You sigh.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he looked at you. He had noticed you long before you had even crossed paths, but now, here you were. Standing in the rain, soaked and shivering. He walked over, joining you at your side, and he glanced into your engine, not even pretending to be able to fix it. “You know... this old clunker is gonna cost you more in the long run than if you just got rid of it. Might as well cut your losses while you can, angel.”

Your stomach flips at the nickname, but you ignore it. “It’s my car, Rafe, I can’t just like…abandon her.”

He chuckled, his gaze moving from the hood of your clunker to your face. Your big pretty eyes, your cheeks already beginning to flush from the cold rain. He stepped closer, pushing against the hood so it was angled more, blocking your view of the world around. He leaned against it, crossing his arms, and he stared down at you. “You can, you just don't want to. There's a difference. You like this thing. You're attached.”

You sigh again. “Well duh, Rafe, it’s my only car. I know that concept is hard for you to understand.”

“Is that any way to talk to someone who could help you?” Rafe asks, taking a step back. He glances under the hood again, although he’s just as clueless as you. 

“Help me?” You ask.

He looks over at you again, his expression blank. “I’m a pretty powerful guy, you know. It wouldn’t take much to… oh, I don’t know, maybe find you a newer car. Or,” his lips twitch up into his signature smirk. “Just pay for the repairs.”

“I don’t want to take your money, you know.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Why not?” He asks with a scoff. “It’s just money, angel. I have plenty.”

You sigh. You really don’t want to do this with him. “Look, just…thank you for stopping to check on me. I’m just gonna call a tow truck and wait out the rain.”

He watched as you turned to your phone, a heavy frown settling on his lips. That wasn’t going to do. Rafe suddenly reaches out, grabbing your wrist. “Or—“ he speaks before you’re able to dial, his touch firm but not bruising. “You could just come with me.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say.

“But I want to,” he says. “It’s raining, you’re cold and alone, and you’re gonna wait on a tow truck who may not show up for hours. Your little car is about to get flooded. Come on, sweetheart.“

You hesitate, reaching over to put the hood of your car back down. “I don’t know, Rafe. I feel bad, you know? Making you drive me all the way to The Cut.”

“It’s nothing for me.” He says, gently tugging on your wrist to guide you toward his car. He looks at you from the side, his gaze taking in your worried expression, and he lets out a soft sigh. “You’re cute when you’re being stubborn, angel. But it’s unnecessary.”

You sigh. His truck did beat walking. “Fine. Lemme get my stuff.”

Rafe lets go of your wrist, watching you as you dig through your front seat, grabbing everything important. He crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the hood forward as his eyes run over your body, stopping on your ass, head tilting as he admires the way your jeans hug your body. He bites the inside of his lip, wondering what you would look like bent over his lap with two red handprints on your ass, slightly bruised from where his rings would catch the skin. 

Did he feel bad about constantly fucking with your car? A little bit. 

But was he happy that he now had you all to himself? Of course he was.

You were Rafe’s obsession, ever since he first met you a year and a half ago. He, at first, tried so hard to forget you, the little Pogue girl that had the sheer audacity to be friends with his least favourite person in the world, Pope, but as the days passed, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He started out by just thinking about you every so often, occasionally glancing in the direction of The Boneyard when he drove past, hoping he would see you in a bikini. 

Then, he started thinking about you every day, which turned into every night. He would lay on his bed, back against his headboard, and stroke his cock while scrolling through your Instagram feed. Just one look at you would send him close to cumming, and he can’t count how many times he’s cummed in his pants just from seeing you around Kildare. You had a few bikini pics taken from all angles, but his favourite ones were the ones of you smiling at the camera. Rafe has a favourite photo to jerk off to, something that sends him cumming all over his fingers after a few strokes. It’s a photo of you, taken from a high up angle, looking into the camera with your big beautiful eyes, holding a lollipop in your mouth. 

He loves it so much, it’s even his phone’s wallpaper.

Rafe wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to consume you, turn you inside out and fill you with just him. You didn’t need anyone else. You had him, even if you didn’t know it.

You shove your registration and some other important documents from your glove compartment into your bag, shutting and locking the door. You unzip your jacket, sliding the bag between your body and the fabric to try to keep it protected from the rain. You join Rafe back at his truck, climbing into the passenger seat. His car is neat, surprisingly, with only a tube of Aquaphor in one of his cupholders. Hanging from his rearview mirror, along with a car air freshener, is a Polaroid photo of him with his youngest sister Wheezie. There was also photo of you, which was now scurried away in his centre console, buried under a packet of Wet Wipes. He didn’t think you would appreciate that gesture, even though he did, and he didn’t want to scare you off.

Rafe takes the bags from you, carefully placing it on the floor of the backseat, his eyes running over you as you settle into the seat. His hands were shaking slightly as the starts the car and puts it in drive. He couldn’t believe this actually worked. He had been following you all day, tracking your phone as he kept his distance in his car. 

You didn’t even notice when he cloned your phone. Rafe had been tracking your every move for months, reading every single text and listening in on every single conversation. He knew it would freak you out if you found out, but he was just trying to protect you! You didn’t realise it, but you needed him. He was protecting you from the scumbags who were trying to date you. You were so sweet, too sweet, and he didn’t want one of those dirty Pogue bastards to take advantage of you. He had planned on making his move with you anyway, but your car breaking down was a gift from the gods. They were placing you right into his calloused hands.

The rain splatters against the windshield with a low tap tap tap, a steady rhythm that keeps the silence from feeling completely unnerving. The air is warm, the heat turned up high, and Rafe looks at you as he buckles his seat belt. “You better thank me.” His smirk is back, a wicked curl at the corner of his lips.

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, Rafe.”

He chuckles, glancing away from you briefly as he puts one hand on the wheel. “That wasn’t very convincing, angel…” His gaze returns to you, moving over the slope of your nose, your neck, down to where the rain has made your shirt cling to your chest. His mouth is dry, making it hard to swallow, and his knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the wheel.

You look up at him, your head tilted towards him, your eyes big. “Thank you, Rafe.”

His smirk falters, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of your big doe eyes staring up at him. He bites the inside of his lip, staring down at you. He can’t believe that you were really right here, that he had you trapped right in his own little cage. There was something about seeing you look so innocent that made him want to ruin you. His breathing starts to come a bit harder, the urge to grab you and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe with your wrists tied behind your back making his entire body ache. He clears his throat before putting the car into drive, pulling off of the side of the road, heading back towards Kildare.

You notice his heavy breathing and his tight grip on the steering wheel. Your eyebrows furrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearing his throat. His grip loosens on the steering wheel, clenching his fingers to alleviate the ache. He forces himself to relax his grip, taking a deep breath. After a moment passes, and the silence is heavy on his shoulders, he glances over at you again. “You ever done drugs, angel?”

You rub your lips together. You could be honest with him, right? “Yeah, once.”

His gaze runs over your face as you speak. God, you’re so fucking innocent, it was intoxicating. “Once?” he echoes, tilting his head slightly. “That’s adorable. What drug was it? Pot? I can’t see you doing anything hard core, angel.”

“Yeah, it was weed,” You say. “JJ got his hands on some, and he let me have a few hits.”

He glances over at you again, his fingers clenching as he tries to not show his jealousy. He hated all of your little Pogue friends, JJ included. He didn’t like the idea of you getting high with JJ -- becoming vulnerable. What if JJ took advantage of you? Rafe clears his throat, looking back at the road. “That’s cute, angel. Was that your first and only time?”

“Yeah,” You say, shifting in the seat. “I just… I don’t know if it’s my thing, you know? I had a pretty bad high. I thought I was dying.”

His lips twitched, trying to keep his temper under control. He had just gotten you into his car, he couldn’t scare you away. Of course that fucker JJ had a hand in your bad experience, he probably gave you too much and didn’t take good care of you. He would never do that to you. He would give you the perfect intro into the wonderful world of drugs. “That’s because he gave you too much, angel. A beginner should never go too far their first time. You need to start small, so you don’t have a bad experience. It’s all about moderation.”

You look over at him. “Well, it’s technically my fault. I took too many hits.”

Rafe laughs softly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He glances over at you, his gaze roaming over you slowly, from head to toe, and back to your face. He had already decided that he was going to give you something, just to see you experience it. “What did it feel like? Being high.”

“I liked it,” You say. “I was laughing a lot, until I started feeling like I was dying. I don’t know, the floaty feeling… it was nice, you know?”

He hums, his lips curling into a slight smirk. He could only imagine what you would be like, all loose and relaxed, a giggly high. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you when you were high, how compliant you would be, unable to stop him. His mind starts to wander, thinking about the look in your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, all woozy and out of it. “Would you ever smoke weed again?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You say. “Just wouldn’t do it with JJ in the middle of The Boneyard again.”

“Good,” he says with a firm nod. He glances over at you again, the smirk still playing on his lips. His gaze is dark, his pupils dilated. He was itching for the right opportunity to show you something better, something that could get you addicted, addicted to him. “Would you ever try anything harder?” Rafe pulls to a stop at the red light. Turning left would bring you to the north side of Kildare, where Figure 8 is, while turning right would bring you to the south side, towards The Cut.

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Rafe. I would want to do it in a safe space, you know? Not at like a party or anything.”

He hums, turning right when the light turns green. “A safe space, huh?” He glances over at you, biting his lip. His eyes trace your face, how sweet and innocent you looked, and his mind was suddenly made up. He was going to introduce you to the most euphoric feeling of your life, and he was going to take care of you as you felt it. “What about if we did it? Just you and me.”

You shift in the seat again. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut, like something is telling you to run. “Do you just… have cocaine lying around?”

The light turns green. The car doesn’t move.

His lips twitch again, and his fingers drum at the wheel. “Yeah, angel, I actually do.” He glances over at you, noticing the way you were shifting. He could see the hesitance in your wide eyes, the look of fear. “You don't have to look so scared, sweetheart. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I'm gonna make sure you feel so good. Just trust me.”

You bite your lip, looking out the window. You had heard so much about Rafe from Pope, JJ, and John B about how psychotic, impulsive, and destructive he is, but he was being so gentle with you. You look back at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He turns his head, making eye contact. He knew you were scared, and it made his cock throb in his jeans. He was telling you the truth, of course, he would take care of you, and he would make sure that you liked it. He wanted you to come back to him for more and more. “You know, you really don't have to be afraid of me, angel. I'm only bad to people who do things to deserve it. I promise I'll treat you good. I will make you feel good, so long as you trust me, and do what I say. Can you do that?”

Your stomach churns. You shouldn’t do this, and you shouldn’t be in Rafe’s truck, but something about him made you want to stay. “Yeah, I can do that.”

His lips curl into a smirk, that same wicked curl as earlier. He was slowly breaking you down, making you do what he wanted, without you even realising it. He wasn't forcing you to do anything, he was just asking. How could you say no to him, when he asked you nicely? “Good girl.”

Rafe takes the left turn.

You let out a shaky breath. You were really doing this.

You look out the window as he drives through Figure 8, taking in the sights of the looming mansions. You glance back over at him as he drives straight past Tanneyhill. “Are you not there anymore?”

Rafe snorts, shaking his head. “Haven't been there in months, not since my dad died.” He glances over at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. “I'm living somewhere else now. A true bachelor.” He slows down as he turns into the driveway of a large white home that looked like one of many others that surrounded it, although, not quite as big. He pulls to a stop, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tucking them into his pockets. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

You grab your bag from the floorboards of the backseat before hopping out, quickly rushing through the downpour to the front door. Rafe easily catches up to you, his stride much longer than yours. He leads the way though, pulling his keys back out of his pocket as he shoves the front door open. He holds it open for you, gesturing with a sweep of his arm for you to head inside. “Welcome to my humble home, angel. Make yourself at home.”

You stand in the entryway, not wanting to drip water all over his real hardwood floors. “Do you have clothes I can borrow? I don’t wanna get your furniture wet.”

Rafe smirks, his gaze running over your soaking wet body, his cock throbbing at the thought of how hard your nipples must be. “I think I have something you can wear, but yeah, you really should get out of those wet clothes.” He pulls the front door shut, locking it behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you to my room.” He grabs your hand, leading you through the empty house.

You follow him through the house, taking in the minimal, neutral decor. It honestly looked like no one lived there, the walls of the house were bare, the couches were all black leather, including the recliner in the corner. There was a large white rug in the middle of a living room, covering the floor. The kitchen was to the left of the front door, although it wasn't as barren, with stainless steel appliances and cabinets. The only personal things in the house were a large flat screen TV in the living room, a framed picture of a young Rafe with baby Sarah on the kitchen counter, and a hallway of closed doors that led to the extra rooms. 

His room is just as bare, although it’s a lot messier, boxers and t-shirts litter the floor and are strewn over an armchair set up in front of his TV and PlayStation. His bedside table is covered with empty plastic water bottles, a crumpled bag of chips, and another framed photo, although this one is of him and Wheezie.

“Cute room.” You say.

“Thanks.” He says, his gaze running over you again, his eyes lingering on your chest, imagining what your nipples look like before returning to your face. He walks over to his dresser, pulling out a green T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He tosses them towards you and you catch them. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall and throw your clothes into the dryer. Just set it to quick dry, okay? Otherwise, it’ll take fucking forever.”

You smile softly, holding the clothes in your arms. “Thanks, Rafe.”

“No problem.” He says, sitting down on the edge of his bed and leaning back. He watches you as you slip down the hall, headed towards the bathroom. Rafe waits a few moments, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He had been waiting to get you alone for so long, to make you his, and now, he was so close.

But he had promised to go slow, and even though it was killing him. He didn't want you to run away.

You peel your clothes off, hanging them over the sink as you change. You dry your hair with a towel before pulling Rafe’s T-shirt over your head. It smells like him; a warm, slightly citrusy smell that makes your head spin. You step into the sweatpants and tie them around your hips. They were a big baggy, but you didn’t mind. You put your clothes into the dryer and set it to quick dry before heading back into Rafe’s bedroom. You spin in a circle, looking at him over your shoulder. “How do I look?”

Rafe had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity, trying to resist the urge to go after you. He had changed himself, putting on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. He was almost half hard and as he watches you spin around, the look in your big innocent eyes, he has to dig his fingernails into his palms to prevent himself from jumping on you. He swallows, a dry click echoing in his throat, and he licks his lips, his eyes fixed on you. “You look good.” he murmurs, his gaze travelling over your body and how his T-shirt was loose enough for him to slip a hand under it without any effort. “Are you comfy?”

You nod, fiddling with the hem of the T-shirt as you sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I’m comfy.”

Rafe’s lips tilt into a smile as he watches you fiddle with your hem. You looked so sweet, his pretty little angel, all alone with him, no one to protect you. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re in good hands with me, I promise.” He scoots a little closer, looking down at you with his big blue eyes, his lips mere inches from yours. “Do you still want to do it?” God, please say yes.

“Yeah, of course I do,” You say quickly. “Just haven’t done it before, so I’m nervous, you know?”

God, he was going to hell for this. “I know.” He whispers, his gaze roaming over your face, drinking in every beautiful detail. His fingers reach out, gently brushing your jaw. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel. I promise.” He glances away for a moment, toward his bedside, toward the bedside table where he had a small bag of coke.

Fuck. This is actually happening.

Your back straightens as you crawl closer to him on the bed, watching as he gets out the bag of coke, along with a small circular mirror.

Rafe looks back at you, his gaze darkening as he sees you come closer, closing the space between you and him. His hand trembles as he opens the bag, using the edge of his credit card to separate the white powder laid out on the mirror. He couldn’t wait to get you addicted to him. He had wanted this for so long, had wanted you for so long, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “You gotta promise not to be scared, angel.” He whispers, glancing over at you as he grabs the rolled up bill.

You let out a shaky breath. “Is there, um…do I have to snort it? Or is there, like, another way? I just don’t know if I can snort it, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He smirks softly, his gaze travelling over you as you move even closer to him. He couldn't help but smirk slightly at your question. He was going to love this. He straightens out the lines with his credit card. “I can rub it on your gums if you want.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. That works.”

He grins, glancing over at you as he pushes himself back, getting comfortable against the headboard. “Come here, angel.” He grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer so that you’re sitting before him, between his legs. He glances at your pretty face, his gaze dark and heavy.

You’re scared. He loves it.

Rafe grabs your chin, fingers squishing into your cheeks. “Open your mouth, angel…” You oblige and he grins. “Good girl, good.” Rafe licks his pointer finger before reaching over and swiping through one of the lines. “Alright angel, last chance, do you wanna do this?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” Rafe hums, grabbing your chin as his wet finger moves from the line of coke, rubbing it along your gums. His gaze flits between yours and his hand before pulling away. You looked so fucking good, letting him take advantage of you like this. “Leave it for a moment, okay? You don't have to suck or lick, just leave it in your mouth.” Your gums tingle, the taste slightly bitter.

Rafe watches you close, leaning back once he takes his hand away. He watches you intently, watching the way your expression changes as the drug takes flight.

He was in love.

The cocaine hits you fast, and you start getting squirmy, your pupils wide and blown out. He watches your face as you react to the drug, watching how your eyes flit around and how your breath comes in deep, slightly shaky. He leans forward, grabbing your arms. “Come here, angel, sit in my lap.” You can’t do anything, letting him move you around before settling you into his lap.

His arms slide around your waist, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you against him, like a precious doll. “Does it make you feel good, angel?” He asks, leaning forward, his nose brushing against the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You smelled sweet, and you were a perfect fit in his arms, so much so that he almost didn’t want to let you go. Almost.

You nod. You felt so good. Everything was heightened so deliciously, and you melted into Rafe’s arms, letting the scent of his cologne travel through you.

“I’m so glad, angel, I wanted to make you happy.” He whispers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your jaw, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you flush against him. He loves the way you move, how your body feels against his, how you were his. He wanted to make you want this again, and again, until you couldn’t think about anything but him, until you couldn’t go without it. Rafe kisses up your neck, hands sliding under the front of his shirt. Your eyes are fluttering and your whole body shakes as your ears start to ring. You squirm, and he grins, moving his head up. He gently bites your earlobe before whispering into your ear. 

“You did well saying yes to me.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

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[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 2 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub. (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: I realize that the GIF I'm using for this chapter is TVA!Loki, but the attitude is very much in keeping with this chapter, so I decided to forgo accuracy in favor of thirst. Also, you may be thinking "Part 2 of 5? I thought this was going to be 3 chapters!" Me too. Welcome to what it's like being in my brain: even I don't know what's going on here.

The wedding night isn’t the end of the sex, of course.

The immediate, sharp need for your first coupling is gone, but there’s a dull and persistent ache that keeps you coming back to his bed every night (and several times during the day). Loki is equally ravenous, if not more so.

While you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to fuck him, you still don’t like being the one to initiate sex. It sounds silly, but it feels like admitting to a vulnerability that you’re not prepared to acknowledge, let alone act on.

The problem is that your sex drive has skyrocketed since the wedding.

You’ve heard about this happening—the saying soulbonds are meant to be consummated, but some are more thorough than others didn’t come out of nowhere. You just didn’t think it would be a problem for you, especially once you found out who your soulmate was. 

You were wrong about this, of course—you are constantly horny. Your mind is a cineplex of perversion, constantly playing memories of the times that he has fucked you, ways he might fuck you next, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his annoyingly perfect cock. It makes you want to run your brain through the washing machine, like a couple of Tide pods and an extra rinse cycle might fix this.

But the part that drives you crazy is that he always seems to know when you’re in these moods and he always manages to claim the upper hand. It is—like so many things with Loki—profoundly irritating.

It’s all physical—your conversations are limited to the mundane or the utterly filthy. It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

You can feel his gaze caressing your body as you walk down the stairs to meet him. Your dress is gold and glittery, and hugs your curves while the slit sneaks just high enough that you know the fashion blogs will call it daring. You keep your eyes on your feet and your hand on the railing as you navigate the stairs in your heels. Normally, Loki would comment on that—something about how you needed proper education in comportment, you were a queen, queens don’t stare at their feet, people expected elegance, blah, blah, blah. Tonight, though, he’s silent as he takes you in, which you know means that he’s particularly enchanted by how you look. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to feel sexy and confident, to enjoy the fact that the most powerful man on the planet has been rendered speechless by how you look.

Are you ridiculously horny? Sure, but you’ve got it under control. You can hold out for an evening and you’re pretty sure Loki hasn’t figured it out. If he had, he almost certainly would have said something inappropriate when he offered you his arm. He’s probably going to be distracted by the gala anyway. Why had you ever doubted yourself?

When the two of you get into the limo, you remember why. 

The moment the door shuts behind you, Loki is pulling you close, his hands cupping your breasts and then sliding down to your thighs while his lips latch on to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as though his intentions are in any way unclear.

“You need to come. I can smell you.” He’s hiking up the fabric of your dress.

Well. So much for him not noticing.

Your cunt clenches. “We’re in public.”

“Those windows are tinted and the partition is up.” His breath is warm on your neck as the fabric of your dress pools around your waist. 

“I can still wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can.” His fingers slip between your legs (when did you spread your legs for him?), gently grazing the gusset of your underwear, which you know is embarrassingly wet. “Soaked already,” he breathes, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. “You need to come.”

“I-I c-can—I can wait until—oh fuck.” 

He pushes the fabric of your underwear aside and lightly teases your clit with the tip of his finger.

“You can’t,” he rasps, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You’re such a greedy, needy little thing. Your cunt is insatiable.”

He presses his first three fingers together and rubs your clit in a big, broad circle that makes your back arch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flexing against the seat. “Fuck, just like that.”

“I thought you said you could wait?” he says with that mocking lilt to his voice, the one that makes you simultaneously want to punch him in the face and also ride him hard and fast and a little rough.

“Shut up,” you grit out.

He laughs low in your ear. “Oh, you don’t mean that, I know you love it when I talk you through it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“You love hearing about how tight and wet you are, how hard I am for you.” He drops his voice lower. “How hard I’m going to fuck you.”

You can’t help the quiet moan that falls from your lips.

“Yes, you love it when I talk to you like this,” he purrs. “And I love hearing what an utterly filthy, wicked girl you are.”

You whimper, despite your best efforts to keep quiet. 

“Oh, I like that little noise,” he says, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Let me hear you.”

“I hate you so much.”

You’ve said this to him before and like all the other times, he simply laughs. “Hate me all you like, darling, but you and I both know that you love what I do to you.”

You bite your lip and try to focus on the pleasure that’s rising in your hips.

“Has anyone ever made you come as hard as I do?” he muses, like he’s just making casual conversation. “From the way that you scream and beg for it, I imagine that there haven’t been very many that were capable. Your cunt has quite clearly been neglected.”

You’re going to ignore what he’s saying. That’s what you’re going to do. There’s no reason to listen to any of what he’s saying.

“The truth is that you need me, don’t you?” he says, nipping at your ear. “You need me because I know exactly what to do to sate your needy little cunt. I know exactly how to make you scream.”

You hate how close you are, hate how the impending rush of your orgasm has basically rendered you speechless, save for a few incoherent whimpers.

He brings his lips close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “What would those pitiful Midgardians say if they knew their queen was such a needy little slut?”

Instead of delivering a stern rebuke, you come hard. Incredibly hard—it is arguably one of the most intense orgasms he’s given you yet, blazing through your body with a ferocity that leaves you shaking in its wake.

And he notices.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purrs as he rubs you through the aftershocks. “I felt how hard you came, how utterly desperate you are for me to fuck you.” 

“Loki, please,” you breathe.

He tugs at your underwear. “Take this off.”

Your first instinct is to challenge him, but the fabric is now uncomfortably damp and you desperately need him to fuck you, so you lift your hips and slide your underwear down and off your legs without any complaint. He takes it from you and sticks it in his pocket.

You expect to hear the clink of his belt buckle followed by his silky smooth voice ordering you to sink down on his unfairly perfect cock. Even though you’ve just come, you want more. You always do with him. 

(You decide not to think too much about that last part).

Instead, though, he smooths his hair and settles back into his seat, looking out the window. After a moment, you clear your throat expectantly. 

He glances at you, utterly casual. “What is it?”

Your eyes narrow. He’s playing dumb and you both know it. 

“You made me take off my underwear,” you say, biting back a sharper reply.

“I did.”

“So…fuck me.”

He gives an amused little chuckle that makes your palm itch to slap him. “Darling, we’re in public, that would be unseemly.”

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You’re full of it.”

His gaze turns smoldering and stern. “And if you want to be full of my cock later tonight, you’ll change your attitude.”

You’re not sure if it’s the absence of underwear that makes you feel more aroused than usual or if he’s awakened some latent perversion you were previously unaware of. Possibly, it’s both.

Your breath hitches and he smiles like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Do you want that?” he says. “Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt with my big cock?”

You’re so far gone that you find yourself nodding before the thought of being contrary can even cross your mind.

“Well, then,” he says, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his tuxedo jacket, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

You huff out an irritated sigh and yank the skirt of your dress back down. “You’re an ass,” you say with a scowl.

“And you’re going to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t be coming at all.”

You stare at him, lips parted in the start of a complaint.

“And however much your pretty cunt is aching right now, I imagine it will be twice as worse tomorrow with no release,” he says. “If I’m feeling generous, of course. I could always make you wait longer.”

You close your mouth, biting back the urge to scowl.

He smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

Your cunt throbs. By the end of the night, your thighs will surely be sticky with your own arousal.

“This is unfair,” you grumble, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

“Behave,” he says as you approach a rather impressive set of gates. “We’re almost there.”

A flick of his wrist sends seidr racing along your skin, smoothing your hair, straightening your dress, and fixing the smudge of lipstick at the corner of your mouth.

Your underwear remains in his pocket.

You have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.

The Minister for Finance is giving a presentation. You’re not entirely sure that you would have been able to follow it under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Loki’s hand up your dress.

The two of you are seated at your own table—it’s one of the more stupid formalities he insists on, though you suppose it’s advantageous in this instance. His actions are obscured by the table and tablecloth and probably a little magic, but your heart is still racing with the thrill of it. His movements have been slow and deliberate, and the result is that he’s effectively been edging you for the duration of this forty-five minute presentation.

It feels incredible; it’s agony. You love it; you hate it.

“You’re being a very good girl,” Loki murmurs to you at one point and that alone nearly sends you over the edge.

“You’re a jackass,” you whisper back to him.

He chuckles. “If you want me to let you come once we get home, I’d suggest changing your tone, my love.”

You resist the urge to scowl, but only barely. “You made me come in the limo over here because you said I couldn’t wait,” you point out. “What happened to that philosophy?”

“It was supplanted by a desire to see what happens when I tease you for several hours.” A wicked smile curls at his lips. “Besides, I love how tight and desperate your cunt feels when I make you beg for me.”

You always come hardest when he makes you beg for him. You’d never admit it, though.

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about getting caught,” you say. “What do you think that would do to your image?”

“Oh, I think it would do wonders for my image,” he says. “Attentively tending to my wife’s needs despite potential social embarrassment? It’s rather feminist of me, don’t you think?”

“Okay, first of all, that is not what femini—” Your voice cuts out as he rolls his finger in a particularly devastating circle.

“What was that, my love?” he asks, voice thick with faux concern, his true intent easily betrayed by his shit eating grin. “You seem distracted.”

You’re not entirely sure if you’re tensing your muscles in anticipation of an orgasm or in an effort to stave it off. “You’re awful.”

His voice drops. “But I’m making you feel so very good, aren’t I?”

You take a deep breath, trying to soothe the tightening knot in your belly, even as your body is begging you to rush toward it.

“Aren’t I?” His tone turns stern and you hear the implied order loud and clear.

“Yes,” you bite out.

“Yes what?”

You swallow. You’re starting to get close, closer than he’s let you get so far. “Yes, you’re making me feel good.”

He smirks. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

You nod, taking another deep breath through your nose. Keep it together.

“I could let you come,” he muses. “Everyone’s watching the presentation. You could be quiet, couldn’t you?” His pace increases just slightly, enough for you to start to feel the tempting, shimmery tendrils of release. “Do you want that, lovely?”

It’s not a good idea, but you nod anyway. 

“I had no idea you were so filthy.” His fingers are massaging your clit more firmly and you bite back a gasp because you know it won’t be long. You’re trying to keep a straight face, but you’re struggling. You are so deliciously close.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

But just as you’re about to start to tip over the edge, Loki’s hand retreats and the building pressure in your hips diminishes back to that steady, throbbing ache just as the Minister for Finance concludes his presentation.

Loki is smirking like he expected this. “Ah. Unfortunate timing.”

You may kill him.

“You did that on purpose, you ass,” you hiss at him.

“Oh, you’ll thank me for it later,” he says, his voice dropping low.

You scowl at him, though you suspect he’s probably right.

You get a slight reprieve during dinner, but only in the sense that Loki’s hand is no longer up your dress. Your aching arousal remains, coating the inside of your thighs. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsing in your clit, the muscles of your cunt aching as they clench repeatedly around nothing.

While his hand is no longer up your dress, Loki continues to be as unhelpful as possible.

“Shall I let you unravel on my tongue?” he murmurs to you during the main course. “Or do you need my cock first?”

“I think you need to stop talking,” you say as evenly as you can muster.

“Whatever for?” he asks with the sort of feigned innocence that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Surely you’re not concerned that I’m going to make you come simply by telling you what I want to do to you.”

You take a slow sip of your water.

“Or perhaps that idea appeals to you?” he asks, dropping his voice even lower. “Do you want me to make you come in front of all of these people?”

There’s something about the idea that’s admittedly appealing in a taboo sort of way, though you aren’t quite sure you actually want to pursue it or if you’re just so desperate that even objectively bad ideas sound good.

“Truly, I doubt you could keep quiet,” he says. “You and I both know how much you like to scream for me and I’ve been teasing you for what, three hours now? But perhaps that’s what you want. You were about to come for me earlier. Perhaps you want them all to know what a needy little sl—ah, Stefan! So good to see you again.”

Loki has seamlessly directed his attention to the Swedish official who has approached your table. His ability to be charming and personable is irritating, particularly when he’s often been uttering absolute filth to you mere seconds before. Meanwhile, your brain has completely short circuited—your thoughts stopped being anywhere near coherent when he started touching you under the table during that presentation and your cunt is pulsing. You manage a polite smile and a pleasantly vague expression that you hope hides the fact that all you can think about is Loki throwing you down on the table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight and you’ve screamed yourself hoarse.

“You conducted yourself quite well,” Loki says softly once the man leaves. “I’d never have guessed that you’re hiding such a needy, sloppy cunt under that dress.”

You take a deep breath. “What’s to stop me from slipping off somewhere and taking care of things myself?”

His eyes flash a little dangerously and you hate how much it thrills you. “If you do that, I’ll see to it that you don’t come for a week. At least.”

You are irritated with him, certainly, but you are far more irritated with yourself for being even remotely aroused by his words.

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss instead.

Loki smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’ll see how you feel a few hours from now when I’m buried in your tight cunt.” His breath ghosts over your ear and it takes everything in you not to shiver. “I suspect I’ll find you much more agreeable. You always are when you need to be fucked.” His voice drops even lower. “And I know how much you need it.”

Your legs are shaking and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening.

You almost come during the concert.

It was probably easier for them to set up the orchestra on the same stage as the presentation, but it means that you’re still sitting at the same table as before, which gives Loki more than enough cover to continue touching you. His hand is creeping back up your dress before the oboe even plays the tuning note and while he’s still going slowly, it’s been four and a half hours and your body is aching for release in a way you have rarely felt.

His fingertip skates across your clit just a little too quickly and firmly and suddenly, you’re poised right on the edge. One more stroke of his fingers, just one more slight movement and you’ll come.

It’s a split second decision, so quick you can scarcely think twice about it. You desperately want to come, but even though you almost let it happen earlier, you know that a stifled public orgasm isn’t really what you want. You want him to hear you scream—you don’t want to hold back.

And you want to be good for him. You want him to reward you for being good, you want to be his good girl—

You shake your head to dismiss that thought and grab his wrist in a silent warning. Quickly, he moves his hand away, sliding it to your knee. Your cunt shudders and aches, the pulsing throb of your arousal even stronger than before.

He brushes his lips against your ear. “Oh, very good, darling. You’ll be rewarded for that.”

“You could reward me now and take me home,” you say pointedly, though it would probably be more effective if your voice wasn’t so shaky.

He chuckles, draping his arm around your shoulders. Every so often, you’ve seen a candid photo of the two of you in People or one of the other celebrity magazines and you’re always taken aback by how normal you look. You imagine that it would be the same if someone were to take a photo right now—you’d look like just another couple cuddling and canoodling instead of…whatever it is you actually are. Soulmates who hate each other but fuck like it’s their job and the rent is due? There’s no easy way to classify your relationship, which you suppose is for the best: this is not the sort of thing that should be common enough to have its own word.

“We still have quite a bit to go.” He brings his index finger—the same one that had just been up your dress—up to his lips and closes his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. “Norns, I can taste how desperate you are.”

You cross your legs in the hope that it will alleviate the pulsing ache between your thighs (it doesn’t). “You’re not helping.”

“Of course I’m not,” he says. “I told you, I want you begging for me by the end of the night.”

“How have I not already exceeded that threshold?”

He smirks. “I like to be thorough.”

Five minutes later, his hand is back between your thighs.

“Let’s try that again,” he murmurs. “Do you think you’ll be able to resist a second time?”

Somehow, you do—and two more times after that. By the end of the concert, your heart is pounding, your legs feel like rubber, your cunt is dripping, and you’d easily sell your soul for an orgasm.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” says Loki. He’s been full of praise and filthy promises and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

“Can we please go home?”

He chuckles. “Of course not, that would be rude.”

“I have a hard time believing you’re concerned about rudeness, considering where your hands have been this evening,” you say with a pointed look.

“You wound me.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it grudgingly, your legs wobbling slightly. “Now. Come help me charm the Minister for Defense. I need him to be much more cooperative about sharing intelligence.”

The only good thing about schmoozing with Swedish officials is that Loki can’t have his hand up your dress while doing so. Even so, he still finds ways to be constantly touching you—a hand on your lower back, your elbow, your shoulder, your waist. These things shouldn’t be erotic, but he somehow manages to make them so. Every brush of his fingers against your bare skin is agony: you are burning for him.

You watch the clock tick through another hour and a half while trying not to let anyone on to the fact that you’re keen to leave. Time feels like it’s dragging—even when the event officially ends, it still takes another thirty-seven minutes for you to say your farewells and make your way out to the front where your limo is waiting.

Your legs are shaking as Loki helps you into the limo. He slides into the seat next to you and you find yourself leaning into him, unable to resist any longer.

The door shuts.

“Loki—” you start to say.

“When we get home,” he says promptly.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I can.” He pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been hard for you all evening,” he purrs in your ear, settling you so that the thick column of his cock presses hard against your ass. “Do you know how many times I nearly dragged you off to some empty room to take you up against the wall?” He brings his mouth down against your neck, teeth pressing against your skin just hard enough to almost hurt. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access, guiding his hands to your spread thighs.

“Do you know why I didn’t?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Because you make terrible choices?” you say before you can think it through.

His low laugh rumbles deliciously against your throat. “No.” His hands slip underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skating along the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your hips roll forward almost unconsciously, your breath hitching. 

“I didn’t because I know that you need to scream for me,” he says. “Just as much as I need to hear you.” His fingertip grazes your slit. “And you know that we can’t do that properly in the car.” His finger strokes your clit and you moan. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, tracing a slow circle over the sensitive skin. “I don’t think that I’ve ever made you this wet.”

“Loki—”

“I’m not giving you permission to come yet,” he murmurs, adding just a little more pressure. “I need you to be good for just a little longer.”

You let out a whine that you’re not at all proud of as he moves his hand away to gently massage your inner thighs. “Loki, please.”

“Be good.” His voice promises pleasure and punishment and everything in between and you feel drunk with desire.

“I’ve been so good,” you say, bringing his hand back to your cunt. “Please just let me come.”

“When we get home.”

“Just once. Please.”

He chuckles and brings his lips up to your ear. “You know that I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You know I always take care of your needy cunt. I always make you come. You just need to wait a little longer.”

“I need to come now.”

“Think about how good it’s going to feel if you wait just a little longer.”

“It would feel good now.”

“It will feel even better in our bed.” He rolls his fingers in a slow circle on your clit. “You know it will.”

You whimper, rolling your hips with his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this desperate,” he says. “I’m rather partial to it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you grumble.

“Oh, I’d advise you watch your tone, darling,” he says low in your ear, sliding a finger inside you, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit. “I don’t want to deny you, but I may have to if you keep being so pert.”

As if to make a point, he slides another finger inside of you and you find yourself once again on the edge. You grab his wrist, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to hold back the rising tide within you.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he growls and the pride in his voice makes your cunt clench hard on his retreating fingers. “You want to come so badly, but you’re being so good waiting for my permission.”

“God, this had better be worth it,” you say as you wait for the pulsing ache between your thighs to recede.

“It will be,” he murmurs against your neck. “You know it will be.” He shifts you in his lap so you face him and guides your hand to his cock. “Do you feel how hard you’ve made me? I’m aching for you.”

You rub his shaft, working your way up to catch the tab of his zipper between your fingers. He looks at you, eyes hungry, a smirk curling at his lips.

Slowly, you pull down the zipper.

“Oh you wicked thing,” he purrs, a low groan escaping him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and slowly begin stroking him. He’s rock hard and throbbing, and your hand quickly grows slick with his precome.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, flicking your tongue against his earlobe.

He chuckles. “Are you trying to flip the tables on me, darling?”

You’re a little miffed that he figured that out so quickly. “Would that be so bad if I was?”

He laughs again. “You’re adorable.” He slides a hand along your inner thigh and back under your dress. “But I think we both know who’s really in charge here.”

Even the possibility of his hand touching your cunt has your breath quickening and your hand faltering in its rhythm on his cock.

You’re not about to admit defeat, though.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” you say, trying to keep the quaver out of your voice. You give his cock a few long, indulgent strokes. “We’re nearly there already. All I’d need to do is move a little closer.”

He chuckles, his hand sliding up to lightly tease your folds. “I would have made you warm my cock the whole ride back,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “but I don’t think you could have done it without coming. You’re too sensitive.”

Your lips part like you have something to say, but all rational thought and the entirety of the English language has fled your brain and even more arousal is pooling between your legs.

Loki smirks like he knows all of this and he briefly strokes you from your entrance to your clit before withdrawing. “Ah, we’re nearly home,” he says, moving your hand away and patting your thigh before tucking himself back into his trousers. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, shall we?”

You climb off his lap and straighten your dress, but don’t even bother trying to fix your hair or makeup. You stumble out of the car a minute later, hoping that you don’t look like you’ve spent the entire evening poised on the brink of orgasm.

Loki, of course, is annoyingly put together. He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you forward.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get to our rooms,” he says under his breath as you make your way into the foyer. 

“That had better be a promise,” you say.

“I thought we established that I’m the one who gives you orders—”

“We established nothing—”

One of his advisors—Sigurd, the same one who spoke to you in the hotel when he found you—is approaching Loki at a brisk clip.

“Your majesty—”

Loki barely takes his eyes off of you. “Later,” he says, waving a hand in Sigurd’s direction.

“Sire, it’s urgent.”

Your heart sinks. Loki stops and turns to Sigurd, eyes sharp, mouth pulled into a firm line. “It had better be.”

Despite the intensity of Loki’s expression, Sigurd looks unbothered and remarkably calm. “We received new intelligence on the matter you inquired about earlier, your majesty.”

Loki’s expression darkens and you realize with a sinking sensation that he has to go deal with whatever this is. “A moment,” he says to Sigurd before turning to you.

He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him. “Go to our rooms,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

You nod and he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be good for me.”

A thrill runs through you.

By the time you get back to your rooms, though, you’re a little annoyed. He’s been teasing you for hours and when you finally get home, he suddenly has another work thing?

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.

Though admittedly, he did look pretty surprised and annoyed by Sigurd’s sudden appearance. It’s probably not fair to blame him for that.

Probably.

You take your time getting undressed, mainly in the hope that it will somehow hasten his return or trick you into thinking time is passing quickly. Not that you’re looking forward to him returning for any reason other than sex. You still hate him—you just really need him to fuck you. That’s all it is.

You hesitate for a long time over the collection of silk nightgowns in your wardrobe. Should you put something on? Should you just wait naked on the bed? A silky green number catches your eye. He’d probably like that. He’s pretty predictable when it comes to that sort of thing—put on his colors and he goes feral. With any luck you won’t be wearing it for very long, but you might as well do what you can to facilitate that outcome.

You contemplate underwear and decide there’s little point, given that tonight’s set is still tucked into his pocket.

You situate yourself in the middle of your bed and try not to think about your throbbing cunt. It would be so easy to get yourself off, but you know that it won’t be as good.

You need him.

You try to ignore the thought. It’s just physical. That’s all it is. You’re on edge from being teased all evening. It doesn’t mean anything.

You wait.

It’s late when you finally hear the door click open, followed by the tap of his dress shoes on the floor.

You sit up in bed, your eyes roving greedily over him. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is draped around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled up. You are loath to admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.

Before you can even get any words out, he’s striding across the room, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. His clothes disappear the second he hits the bed, followed swiftly by your nightgown. Seconds later, he’s on top of you, mouth seeking yours, cock pressing insistently against your stomach. Your hands are just as greedy, skimming up his back and combing through his hair.

“Have you been good for me?” he murmurs as he nudges your thighs apart.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, his voice stern.

“No,” you say.

He knows you’re not lying and the hungry smile he gives you almost makes it all feel worth it. “Good girl,” he growls. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drags his cock through your slickness. “Please.”

He chuckles as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I know, darling, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Your cunt is so slick and sensitive from his hours of teasing that just the act of him sliding inside of you feels like you’ve reached your own personal nirvana. 

“Oh, fuck.” Your voice comes out in a whimper and your legs tighten around his waist to hold him in place because he feels so overwhelmingly good.

Loki lets out a low groan as he eases inside you, catching his lower lip between his teeth as his brow furrows. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you as he starts to move. His first thrust is slow but even so, it draws a whimper from your throat. He’s always felt good, but this is transcendent.

“Oh god, please don’t stop,” you gasp.

“I won’t, my love.” His voice is tender as he moves with an aching, slow precision. “Not until you’ve had your fill.”

For the first time this evening, you let down your guard. Every time he’s touched you tonight—even before the gala in the limo—you’ve had to hold back to some degree. You haven’t been able to give into it, to let yourself be completely unbound and unguarded. But now when he’s moving inside of you, you have the freedom to just be and feel and it’s exquisite. Every thrust of his hips, every reverent caress of his hands, every sigh or groan is an opportunity to discover a new kind of heaven.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between your bodies to rub your clit. “Even with my fingers playing with your pretty cunt under the table, you looked every inch a queen. My queen.”

He’s never talked to you like this before and it makes your body sing. You arch, rolling your hips with him as the building wave inside you rises impossibly high, as though every orgasm you almost had this evening is starting to arrive all at once. The tension in your hips is equally fantastic and unbearable, a supernova of sensation that may destroy and remake you all at once.

“Filthy girl, I can tell you’re getting close,” he purrs, tilting his hips so he hits the spot that makes you tremble. “You act so prim and proper in public, but it takes so very little to turn you into my perfect little slut when I get you alone.”

You are approaching the peak, the whirling center of the storm building inside you. “Loki—please, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

You always come the hardest when he’s inside you and this is no exception. The pressure in your hips is suddenly and spectacularly ablaze with a shimmering euphoria that draws a raw and primal moan deep from inside your chest. You are a fountain of sparks, all the tension and desire of the evening finally reaching its apex. You have yearned for this all night and the resulting blaze is spectacular.

His pace is still slow, but Loki’s eyes are wild and you get the sense that his composure is hanging by a thread. Though his eyes occasionally flutter shut as your cunt convulses around him, his gaze is locked on you in a kind of wonder. 

“Do you have any idea how good you feel when you come on my cock?” he rasps.

Even in the throes of utter bliss, you need to hear his voice. “Tell me.”

“I would create entire worlds and walk through the fires of their destruction just to feel you come.”

You shudder out a sigh. “More.”

He picks up his pace just slightly. “I would flatten mountains and raise valleys and reverse the currents.”

“More.”

He’s hitting that aching spot inside you again and the rolling tremors of the aftershocks are starting to coalesce into another building wave. You moan and his hand moves back to your clit, slick fingers pressing and rolling in just the way you need.

His eyes shine, bright with lust as his hips and fingers work diligently to unravel you again. “I would take down the stars and bring the heavens to the earth…”

His words are making you dizzy and his movements are coaxing the pressure inside of you into a cyclone that you know is going to take you down.

“Loki, please.” These are the only words you know because your entire world is him moving inside of you, inevitable as the sunrise, the architect of the heavenly destruction and renewal that is building and building in your hips.

He shifts so his weight is entirely on his elbows, bringing his lips up against your ear so you don’t miss a single word. “I would lay my crown at your feet and forsake my name…just to feel you come on my cock.”

The coil in your hips snaps and unfurls into a starry, sparkling oblivion that has you crying out his name over and over like he’s your ending and beginning, the center of your universe. Your eyes are shut against the onslaught of intense sensation, but you can feel him reaching the blissful height he’d been speaking of. He groans and slurs out a few incoherent oaths before succumbing to you and filling your pulsing cunt with his hot release.

His mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he means it as he slows to a halt. You lie together for a long moment, hearts beating wildly against each other. 

This felt different than other times. There was an intensity there that had nothing to do with the sex. You don’t know what that means, other than it’s definitely not any kind of feelings for him. It must be something else. You’re certain it’s something else.

“I didn’t realize I’d be called away upon our return.” 

You’re so distracted by your thoughts that the sound of his voice startles you slightly.

“Oh, um, yeah, I figured…it seemed unexpected,” you say.

He lifts his head to look at you, green eyes intent. “Trust that there are very few things that could have pulled me away from you in that moment.”

He’s being sincere. It’s not what you expect and that scares you a little, though you can’t quite articulate why. The idea that he would care whether you thought he’d intentionally extended your wait hadn’t even occurred to you. You don’t really know this side of him. 

“So, it wasn’t like…making a proclamation designating June National Peanut Butter Month.” You know you’re deflecting, but you don’t know what else to do.

He frowns. “That can’t possibly be a real thing.”

You shrug. “It might be. Lots of governments do stuff like that. Maybe you should consider it.”

His smile is slight, but brief as he stretches and slowly eases out of you. “I will leave that to others.”

There’s a beat of quiet and you suddenly find yourself desperate to fill the silence. “What did they need to talk to you about?”

He looks at you sharply and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Loath as you are to admit it, this conversation has fostered a flicker of warmth between you, a fact you only notice now because of its sudden absence.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says as he rolls off of you. It’s not unkind, but it’s also not warm, and the discussion is clearly closed.

Part of you mourns the loss of that little spark of closeness, but a larger, louder part is intent on pretending it never existed in the first place.

“Suit yourself.”

You’re annoyed and you roll off the bed and go about your evening routine with a little more clattering and stomping than is strictly necessary. There’s a lump in your throat that you don’t understand and you’re full of feelings you can’t define. You eventually settle on the bed with your back facing him, glaring at the wall like he can see you.

But then he reaches for you in the darkness, his arms winding around your waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of your neck as he pulls you to his chest. And instead of reading him the riot act, you let him hold you and let yourself relax into his embrace, fingers twining around his. You sleep better like this, you tell yourself. That’s the only reason you’re allowing it. It’s nothing to do with him.

You’ve told yourself that every night since your wedding and every night, it gets a little more difficult to believe.

Next chapter

[sweet-honey-tears]

Just Turn it Down

dad!Aizawa x biological!GN!Reader FAMILY FLUFF!!!!!

…. I’m so sorry for how long this took… I hope you like it🖤🤍🥺 and thank you for your amazing request!!! -🍯

WARNING: None, cute stuff. Possible gender mix ups, when I write a draft, I write in fem tense (she,her,ect) and then go back and fix it after- but I’m sick so may have missed a few. I’m incredibly sorry.

To say it was a surprise to the world would be an understatement. The scary, hard-headed, slouched teacher of AU had a kid—an actual, biological child. It was no surprise that Aizawa would keep it under wraps. Your safety and his patience could easily be strained.

“Who is the mother?”

“Was it a Fling?”

“Did the Pro-Hero Eraser Head hook up with…”

The world got its answers; with it, you got your silence. “My mother is dead. Died in childbirth, I’d like to be left alone now.” It was a blatant lie, and when Hizashi asked you why, trying his best to understand, his tall frame slumped slightly as he rubbed the back of his head, you answered, “Because she is.” The subject was never brought up again.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

While not your biological siblings, Eri and Shinso have been part of your family since they stepped through the door. Shinso, who was older than you, had offered advice more than once on subjects such as schools, relationships, and your future career. The world is aware of your future decisions, another blunt shut-down.

“Do you wanna be just like your father? A hero”

You glanced at your dad off to the side, his arms crossed yet still tense. Ready to pull you back the minute they ask a question that crosses the line. Aizawa smiled slightly, ever so suddenly that only you caught it. Then, there was an ever so slight nod.

“No.”

Shinso supports you fully; he always feels the public backlash of his decisions due to his quirks. Villain, villain, villain. He’d prove them wrong. But that didn't stop his anger when his mind bounced to the idea of you being put through assaults. You can manipulate living organisms. Specifically, increasing the size of plants and controlling movement. As always, with their lack of space, the press managed to grab photos of you using the quirk. Your sweet smile as you lean over some old lady's rose bush, the spiked vines climbing up to reach your fingers as soft pink flowers open. According to you, it had been stepped on and crushed under some careless foot, and you just wanted to fix it. Yet that story would be too sweet. The public zoomed in on the aspect that you could grow thorns! What if you decided to covered the town in poison ivy?! You huffed at the so called fears written in the paper.

“I wouldn't play their game, so now I need to be their villain.”

Your quirk explicitly comes from your mother's side to your disgust. Thou Aizawa couldn't care less about the quirk; he wouldn't care if you were quirkless, something he’s said more than once. However, he felt the slightest bit of glee as he watched you quiet the loud blonde in his class. It wasn’t your fault; he wanted to spar, and you did. Thou, you slightly regretted your decision as you watched the problem child, as your dad called him, scribble furiously down his journal.

You don't go to UA, a choice that sometimes stresses Aizawa. Yet, considering the recent events with this group of students, it now seemed like a safer choice, ironically. But when you do go to UA, for whatever reason, it feels like another home. Surrounded by the many staff and heroes that raised you, taking you on days, Aizawa had patrol. AllMight, in his uncle-like glory, yelled:

“Ah Young Y/n, how tall you’ve grown!”

This caused all students to stop and look at the one kid who was not in uniform. You’re as much their daughter as you are, Aizawa. Your hair getting ruffled, cheeks pinched, comments how beautiful you’ve become. Midnight, despite what the media says, and Rumi

have been wonderful mother figures throughout your life. Aizawa, as great a father as he is, knows when to throw his hands up for your comfort and sometimes his. You tell the two women secrets, crushes, and heartbreakers, and they keep it locked up, never spilling the information on even Aizawa.

Your little sister, Eri, clings to you like a koala and you her, pulling you to a point where your spine is more of a bridge than a body part, just so she can whisper you a secret or happily show you the family photo she drew in class, with you, Shinso, and Aizawa all drawn with wide smiles, stick hands holding stick hands.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You blame Shinso for your music taste because if you admitted that Bakugou was the one to introduce, you think your father would get his motto tattooed onto you. “Stay away from loud blondes.” But you couldn't help it. Scene Queen seemed to attach to every cell of your body. The loud, angry music about worth and the media seeing comforting as you watched the world around you. There is so much pain, so many big problems, and yet some so small and meaningless, silly almost. These are easy ones to fix if people just agree. Maybe the same could be said for the argument of where Villains came from; the same ones you watch hurt your family, but the thought feels so sickening. So switch to another artist, the screaming, feeding, and subduing the boiling anger that lingers in your chest due to the media. You were getting ripped apart by the bloodhounds for not giving them the bloody steak they required, so instead, they chose you. You're a small, converted life forced to be nailed and screwed since you wouldn’t play their games.

Your finger mindlessly tapped to the next artist, pondering slightly if your hearing will be gone when you reach your 20s due to Metalica. Your fingers lightly drum on the page, your body unconsciously moving to the beat of the song that blasted too loud in your headphones. To be stuck in your own world and notice your dad walking past you, peering over the couch to see what you were doing. Aizawa paused; the screeching music from your headphones sounded all too familiar. With little hesitation, he reached down and grabbed one of the earpieces, listening for the split moment he had before the music paused. It was clear he startled you from the way you jumped and whipped around.

“Dad!”

“(Enter favorite metal band)?”

You paused, searching his face for something you weren't really sure of. ”Uh Yeah… Shinso introduced me to them.”

Aizawa smiled a bit, handing you back the headphones. “The band came out when I was in UQ,” He huffed, watching your surprised face. “Mike was very much into them and even met the band.” He watched the excitement in your face take over. He’d need to call Hizashi and tell him the radio hero would be over the moon. “They’re from (Enter Country), I believe.” He leaned against the couch.

“Yeah they did!” Azawia paused, about to speak again, when his phone rang, the screeching sound leading from the kitchen; it was UA; you both knew it. He sighed, looking back at you, smiling slightly. “Just listen to them at a lower volume.” He ruffled your hair before leaving to get his phone.

He left and was gone the rest of the day, some issue on the campus. Damn problem children. And when you came home from school, he still wasn’t there. But sitting on the kitchen counter,rested a small keychain of the band of the bands logo.

[sunboki]

— 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 ©

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IX

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) ->chapter map

IX.

-While you’re waiting in the empty classroom you're staring at the drawings pinned up on the wall. Each student was asked to display their first drawing in class, and their last one. The improvement between Matt’s two is staggering. Composition, form, shape, line, contrast, fucking everything–he’s come so far, and you cannot fathom what John could find to dislike about the latest one. The longer you look at it, the more you boil inside, to the point when Professor Wick returns to his desk you are ready to explode.

“Y/n,” he greets stiffly, setting his briefcase down. He looks tired, a little haggard even, his raven black beard grown bushy like it hasn't seen a razor in quite a few days. You wonder what makes John Wick lose sleep. For a moment you can't help but feel sorry for him, which in turn only frustrates you more. 

You don’t say anything, just glower, before turning back to the wall. 

“Is something wrong?” You nearly jump out of your skin, his voice coming from right behind you, and you did not hear him move.

“Yeah. What the hell is your problem with Matt?”

You sound brave, but you don’t actually have the courage to turn to look at him. 

“I don’t have a problem with Matt.” You scoff, biting down on your first three rude replies, grinding them between your teeth. “Are you upset that I picked on your boyfriend?” 

There’s an edge of taunting to his words, and finally you do whirl. You regret it instantly–Wick is very tall, and very looming, and you have to swallow your heart back down your throat. 

“He is not my boyfriend, and you are being an ass.”  

He frowns at this, not angry yet, but you have definitely crossed a line. 

You’re getting fired today. 

You’re so certain of it that you decide you may as well say what’s exactly on your mind. “Look at the difference between these! Would it kill you to give him some encouragement?”

You know you have a misplaced savior complex, but Matt doesn't have a mother who will stick up for him. Someone should. You ignore the chuckling Palpatine voice in your head. Yesss, the ‘I can fix him!’ is strong in this one…

“He won’t learn that way, y/n. He has improved. But this study is still trash. Even with the extra time he spent on it.” He fixes you with a gimlet stare, and suddenly you know he must know all about your extra session. He must have excellent hearing from across the classroom. “How is that fair? I didn’t hear you offering anyone else extra time. Why not Josh? He could use the extra help.” 

Josh is very sweet. He also strongly resembles Mr. Toad, and you know Wick is calling you out for playing favorites– with your vagina. 

“That’s not the point,” you grumble.

“No? You just think you’re qualified to tell me how to run my class?”  

You know you’re on thin ice–but you lift your chin anyway. “Just calling it like I see it.” 

“Yeah? Let’s play that game.” Suddenly he is turning you brusquely by your shoulders, his long fingers gripping you firmly. 

Outside of that first handshake, he’s never touched you before–you should be scared, but the strength you feel in his hands just makes you weak. He speaks low by your ear, the resonance of his deep voice raising every hair on your body. “How many vertebrae are in your neck?” 

“I…don’t know.” 

“Oh. So you didn’t read your textbook either?” He sweeps your hair aside, running one finger lightly over the knobs of your spine. The back of your neck is your Kryptonite, and you cannot stop the shudder that runs through your frame.“The answer is seven. Though to judge from his shading, you’d think the answer was nine.”

“I…” He withdraws, though you still feel the blistering line of his body heat from him standing so close behind you. 

“The bottoms of your scapulae are here.” He touches your back lightly with just two fingers, but it sends a delicious thrill down your spine. There is only the thin fabric of your robe between his hands and your skin; It feels so good, and in that moment you wish you could die.  “They are not, as our young friend suggests, here.” 

His fingers move two inches down, feather light, and as you look at the drawing again…maybe he has a point. You’re not sure, because it is impossible to focus while his hands are on your body, even if barely. How is it possible to put so much aggression in a featherlight touch? You don’t know, but you fancy you can feel that he is seething through his very fingertips.  

“Unless she’s starving, individual ribs are not typically visible on a woman’s body in this position, merely the suggestion of the ribcage cased in flesh. He’s given you…” His fingertips press lightly into your sides, and it takes every iota of self control the gods ever gave you not to squirm as he spiderwalks down your ribcage, counting, “One, two, three, four…”

For a handful of seconds you cannot breathe.

“John…” 

He ignores your plaintive entreaty; you don’t even know what you’re asking for. You’re not sure you even want him to stop, yet you don’t think you can survive if he continues. 

“They’re tangible, but not visible.” 

All you can take are shallow breaths; you start to feel light headed, and you wonder if you’re about to pass out–or cum, just from him touching your back. The ache between your thighs is pure agony. 

Next a single finger traces down the inward curve of your spine, and damn you if you don’t stand up straighter. “These are your lumbar vertebrae,” he says low in your ear. “There are five of them. Who the fuck knows what’s going on there.” Hearing him curse feels like he’s plucked a string directly tied to your center. Your breasts have tightened to unbearably sharp peaks, sliding against the silky fabric of your robe with every treacherous breath you take. The flood of moisture between your thighs is mortifying. You’re going to need a shower before you model today. An ice cold one. 

He’s barely touched you, and yet somehow you can’t decide if this is wonderful, or obscene. 

“And finally…” Somehow you know he only uses one hand to span your lower back, pressing at two points with his thumb and pinky just above your buttocks. You hold your breath, helpless under his touch, entranced by his low voice as he leans in to lecture, “The Dimples of Venus, arguably the loveliest feature of the female backside. I know you have them, yet he has left them out completely. What a crime. What do you say to that, Miss y/n?” 

You let your breath out with a shuddering exhale, so filled with desire and adrenaline that you fear you might pop a brain vessel. “I might…see your point,” you finally manage to get out in a whisper. 

“Good girl.” He practically growls it in your ear, and fuck you if your pussy doesn’t pulse and flutter for those two words alone. 

You have lost your goddamn mind. Or, he has.  

Suddenly he steps away; without thinking you hug yourself, cold without his furnace of a body at your back. Perhaps you’re in shock; with wide eyes you turn to face him again, mouth hanging, all words turned to ash on your tongue. 

He returns your gaze with a challenge of his own, those dark orbs black as a coal fire.

You feel as though he can see into your very soul–yet you cannot read him.

If he is angry, or smug, or vindicated, or even horny…nothing shows upon that handsome visage. He is like a statue carved of alabaster and onyx, unmoving all but for his stare burning through you. 

Before either of you can dig this hole any deeper, the students start pouring in, and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.  

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[witherby]

two completely unrelated asks

bc of the 'littlest villain au' ask, what about the opposite, where in kon goes villain-mode (but mouse is alive, i can see mouse dying as a villain origin for him) how are they dealing with that?

and second, bc i just got back from my last final exam this term, how do the batfam handle mouse failing a class or exam? do they try and find the issue and fix it immediately, by helping study even in a slightly overbearing way, or do they let mouse learn to work thru failure/just listen to them if they need to vent without trying to fix it right away? (if that wording makes sense, i'm brain fired)

If Kon decided to become a villain, it could go either way for Mouse I think. One of those ways is for Conner to become a yandere, which I don't write, so let's assume he managed to convince them to join his cause legitimately.

He's spitting straight fax, no printer. All of his reasons for crashing out seem perfectly valid for some reason. Mouse is throwing question after question at him and he's got every single answer locked and loaded. With the help of some puppydog eyes and a quiet "you don't have to like it. I'll understand if you have to see me as an enemy now, but I will never hurt you," Mouse sighs and nods their assent. As long as he swears off hurting any of the bats, they're in.

From here, we have to make a choice. Is Conner trying to take over the Earth, is he trying to conquer other planets, or is he only "evil" because he isn't obeying the No Kill rule? That'll determine how much resistance he's facing from the JL and general civilian populace. He'll find the most success by ignoring the No Kill rule. If Jason gets a pass, and the JL is comfortable slaughtering invading alien species coming to earth, why doesn't he get to snap a few necks?

"If you kill a killer there's still just as many killers in the world!" Shut up. Just kill more than one killer and your reasoning falls apart. Besides, how many people will he really have to off before Earth's quality of life sees a huge increase? Ten? Twenty? Kick the Joker and there's already a significant improvement. Pop off Lex and 3/4 of Superman's problems vanish immediately. Stop giving these idiots ten thousand chances to amend and take the goddamn shot.

So, in short, he'd play fast and loose with ending lives vs sparing them much like Jason. But I don't want a Jason copycat, so Mouse is the true villain between them and Conner is the loyal lapdog.

Oh, unless we think he might want to make a Krypton Vers. 2. The first planet's downfall was because of resource mismanagement. He could do better. Yeah, that's an interesting idea...

And, to your second question, they'd do their very best to help you, perhaps overbearingly, but overall they want you to know that your academic weaknesses do not make you less worthy of love and adoration. Just do your best! That's all they can ask of you! Whatever the result, they're proud of you for trying!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Competition | Yandere Hades

Yandere Pantheon College AU (1/7) | Master List

Providing guidance to the up-and-coming youth was a privilege not awarded to many and for that Pantheon College put a substantial amount of its budget toward its counselors. Allowing said counselors to manage the health of the students and staff at their discretion. 

Since the grand split of the social classes, unofficial titles were given to the counselors. Dubbed the Average counselor and the Elite counselor staff and students divided themselves in turn. This wouldn’t have been a problem if the Principal didn’t find this funny enough to make a game of it.

“Hohoho whoever gets the most votes from students will get the lion’s share of the budget! Hohoho!”

Forcing the students and staff to submit their votes in a poll on a specific day would decide where the money would go and thus began your many bouts with the Elite counselor: Hades. 

“Feel like giving up yet, (Y/n)?”

With his winnings from last year, he’d assembled an impressive display. A nationally acknowledged catering buffet in the courtyard. Separated by quality, the more upscale side needed identification as an elite student to even get a plate. It was downright degrading.

“Never in a million lifetimes.”

You were always rushing around busy trying to fundraise or stretch the tiny budget you did to help the average students plus they guaranteed their votes. The only problem was that the elite students were well aware of the predicament of the guidance counselors they did their best work to stunt the polls.

“(Y/n), you look so much more cross today what seems to be the matter?” 

The smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. 

“Another one of your students has been bullying mine out of voting.”

“Oh really I’ll have to look into it.”

His stupid smile was still on his face as he twirled the glass of wine in his hand. He always looked so unbothered it reminded you of the things that did get under his skin. 

So you tilted your head pretending to rifle through files before faking a disappointed face, “I wish I could stop pitying you though.” 

He stopped twirling his glass to pointedly stare at you, his single eyeglass catching the light. You continued, “It’s a little more demeaning that you can only win through sabotage. But I don’t have to live with your pride, right?”

He seemed like he wanted to argue but you ducked into your office, filing the manila folders away. Keeping your gaze fixed on your desk and the various items on it, pretending you don’t see the counselor waiting for you to acknowledge him.

“For your information, I am completely faultless for what my students do besides it’s just regular teasing–” 

A student being held by a peeved security guard continued to head out of the office. The student looked up at the man outside of your office, letting a smile spread on their face.

“Hey, Mr. Hades! Make sure your votes stay up there, just like we talked about, even if I am getting suspended!”

“That’s enough out of you brat, out the door!”

It couldn’t have happened more perfectly than that, you looked at the counselor who was hiding his expression behind his gloved hands. Stifling your giggles you twirled in your chair over the small triumph. 

“I wished I’d taken bets on how likely it was that you did convince your students to compete with the majority on a contest that doesn’t concern them.”

Letting his hand fall as he looked exasperated at you, “Why don’t you share the exact predicament with the students? It would certainly keep you in the running.”

“Because there’s already enough animosity between the groups and this is more about finding activities and events that benefit all students.”

He walked deeper into your office, languidly stepping closer to the edge of your desk.

“But the professors know, doesn’t that go against your….morale?” 

He let the word on the end drag. Allowing that prideful smile of his to spread across his face as he leaned over the trinkets on your desk.

“Professors aren’t my main priority, it’s the students that I really need to worry about. It’s helpful that they know but I didn’t tell them. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if you included your professors in the same briefing that your students did.”

Hades quirked his eyebrows, in neither confirmation nor denial. Instead letting his grey-iris eyes glaze over as he stared at the different memorabilia on your desk picking up. Landing on a picture of your child he picked it up, dodging your grasp that tried to put the frame back in place.

You only could watch as you watched his eyes roam over the small picture as he walked around your office, casually taking in the art and graduation photos from various graduates. The smallest bloom of envy built in his chest when he saw the picture of a graduate hugging you. Thinking about his own office the sterile look was meant to maintain professionalism for his people. The only exceptions were the picture he had with his brothers and the single photo he had of his first day—the only picture he actively had with you. 

“If you’re done looking, I’d like my picture back. I have an appointment in fifteen.”

At your voice, Hades turned from your wall still clutching your picture while he went behind your desk. Leaning on your side of the desk he came in close, still wearing that prideful smile.

“How do you say we have lunch together?”

You scoffed,” I doubt I could afford wherever you want to go.”

“No worries. I’ll pay.” 

“And be in debt to you? No thanks.” 

You took the frown on his face as a chance to swipe your frame back looking pridefully at the family photo before putting it in its proper place.

“Besides I’ve decided I’ll be working through lunch so it’d just be a waste of time.”

“Working through lunch? Our office hours are required to be closed then.”

“They will be and it’s a budgeting meeting. So yeah.” You took advantage of the shamed roll of his eyes while you turned your attention forward, looking down the hall and waiting for your appointment to walk through the door.

“Then how about dinner?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Hades–”

“I’ll pick a kid-friendly place it’ll be a private thing.”

“Do you even know what it’s like to have a toddler in a fine-dining atmosphere it’ll be a mess!”

“I’ll get us a booth tucked away, let the owner know in advance. It would be fine.”

“Hades–”

“That sounds like an awesome dinner plan, (Y/n)!”

Walking in was one of the art professors: Apollo waving off the enamored office workers and secretaries to enter your office. He casually sat in your chair across your desk spinning it as he waved at Hades. You let your head rub against your forehead, mildly aware of the annoyed gaze Hades was sending.

“Apollo, you booking an appointment under a student’s name is an issue. This time is for students who need to talk to me.”

“But (Y/n)! I do need to talk to you!”

“If it’s anything about what you offered before I want no part of it.”

“Come on (Y/n), you’re supposed to be open to making the staff and students happy!”

“Going to a party with you to take psychedelics is not research to make anyone happy.”

“It’d make me happy! Plus you’d get yourself a bunch of new votes!”

“No Appollo.”

Hades watched with growing disinterest as you went back and forth. It occurred to him that as the Elite using whatever methods to reach their goal was natural. He was aware of this when he told a select group of students and staff. He wasn’t aware that attempts would be made for you directly not that that’s what Apollo was doing. Not among the few he told, he must’ve been told by one of his ‘friends’ who gave him the courage to take advantage of your situation.  Hades really hated that.

“--If you want to do it privately we can—”

“Apollo.”

“What?”

All he had to do was step beside him and put his gloved hands on the professor’s shoulder. The sight of Apollo was the Elite guidance counselor looking down at him, his single eyeglass glinting with his usual smile. For whatever reason it was darker than usual, letting a healthy set of chills run down his back.

“How about you try again another time, Apollo? (Y/n) and I were talking.”

The question wasn’t that. Just as abruptly as he entered Apollo was waving goodbye to you both before skipping out of your office quickly. 

Vaguely aware of the veiled threat, you turned your attention to the smiling counselor. 

“So, about that dinner.”

[hel1nn]

𐔌 . ⋮ Levi Ackerman x fem reader .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

｡𖦹°‧ : fluff to angst to fluff and smut | nsfw | 18+ content mdni | fingering | pussy eating | squirtin | cum eating | cursed words | friends to lovers | mordern/college au | ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂

A/N ୧ ‧₊˚ : credits goes to the owner of the arts i used here!! English isn't my first language sorry if i did any mistakes:)

You were just another classmate of levi. That's how levi sees you. You think. But in your eyes levi was so much to you since you knew him from when you first stepped in the collage. He wasn't the type of to be with everyone and blah blah. But your little heart after seeing Levi every time made you cling to him everywhere he got. Physical touch was your love language. You loved holding his hands. When you told your friends about him..they asked you "does he feels the when he holds your hand?" Fuck no. Maybe. You want him to feel butterflies like you do whenever you're with him

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆

As always today you were sticked to levi, holding his hand wherever he goes...today Levi wasn't in the mood of handling you. Levi never knew how you felt about him so it was obviously wired to him how you'd act like hes something to you. How you'd stare at him with your round eyes. Hugging him whenever he did something for you. he was so sick of it... because you were his friend. Not his lover. So catching feelings for you would ruin him..if you don't feel the same. He was so confused with what you were doing to him. He sat on his usual desk in class. Staring at you being all bubby and sweet to your other friends. He sighed and looked away. The classes started to begin. You sat beside levi as always, throwing small balls of papers at him to annoy him. Loving the twitch of his eyebrows. Giggling and then getting scold by the teacher because of it. The lunch time came soon so you left with levi again. Dragging him with you. Everyone was already with their date partners because the prom was nearing,you had never attended proms in collage before so you decided this year you'll attend it. With levi. But you didn't had the courage to ask him to be your date or anything like that, you'll just go to the prom with him as friends..even your bsf mikasa got a date,eren. You didn't minded it because levi never liked proms but he agreed to go this year since you asked him. It was enough.

*at the prom*

You'd never go to the prom again..you had noticed that somehow levi was pushing himself away from you so tonight when you were as always sticked to him,he snapped at you. Not for once. Snapped at you three times during the whole prom.

"Can't you just stop your mouth for a second!?" You ignored it and continued clinging on his arm.

"stop being so childish you can get your drink alone" he again snapped,this time it kinda made you sad. you didn't say anything and stayed there without getting your drink. Since the guys around there had been a little scary..you thought you'd ask levi to get you a refill.

"you know if you have so many problems here you can just left already" he snapped the last time when you just tugged at his arm so he could tell you where the bathroom is. You wanted to fix your makeup but you wre so done with him being a jerk to you today..or maybe for the first time.

_

You had already left the prom, now you were at your college dorm. Laying on your bed. You had cried about why he was acting like this today..no for few days. Your phone had few texts from levi,but you didn't noticed it. Too tired to look at your phone. You took a deep breath trying to sleep but...

1:40am -

You couldn't sleep.

2:15am -

You got up from your bed and to walked here and there in your dorm completely board,you finally stopped when you noticed you backpack on the desk,you sighed looked inside of it to find something. You remembered buying few packets of buns yesterday since often times you get hungry at midnight. You didn't eat dinner tonight. When you pulled out a packet of bun from it a diary in your bag catches your eyes. You pull out the diary too. Walking off to your bed you layed down on it. Unwrapping the cun you took a bite from it as you opened your diary. It was the diary you used to write so many things when you first time felt something different towards him. The first two-three pages were written about How you had met Levi. The second page had a picture of levi sleeping with a bread you had drew on his face with a marker. You smiled at that before slipping to other pages. There were more silly pictures of levi or levi and you together. And so many thoughts you never told anyone about.

3:43am -

You finally fell asleep,the diary left open by your side.

୨ৎ

The next day when you wake up you check your phone finally..also noticing the texts he had sent you

♡ Levi >ᴗ< :

9:34pm - yn stop being childish.

10:30pm - you won't stop being a brat i guess

(he got drunk)

1:16am - i em sowwy

1:22am - yyur a jark

1:18am - stop bweimg a bret

(he texted again when he was normal)

2:20am - y/n i am sorry,i really am. talk to me tomorrow when you will wake up.

2:23am - mikasa told me you left crying because i was being a jerk.

You didn't know what to reply to his texts and left for collage. You tried your best to ignore him the whole classes and day. At Lunch time you were miles away from him. Even though you missed clinging to his arm but you were too nervous to talk to him after yesterday night. You were still hurt so you just decided to give yourself some time. 2days passed like this and you missed him even more but you also didn't talked to him. Tonight you were curled up on your bed as always. But tonight was different,you heard a knock on your dorms door. I didn't took for you to realize who was knocking by hearing it. Levi. You knew you can't avoid him for so long..

_____

Levi was sitting beside you,your head was down looking at your lap fidgeting with your fingers "why are you here?" You mumbled. He sighed before speaking "your still mad aren't you" you tense up slightly, before nervously smiling. It was looking like a panicked expression. "N-no its not like th-that i know i should respect giving you s-space since i am always st-sticking up to you and-" levi groaned in frustration looking away from you. even if you weren't mad you were hurt and he knew it. "I am sorry." Your gulped,you didn't expected him to say that right now "for snapping at you" its o-okay...you can always tell me if you want any space..you don't have to snap like that" you pouted slightly but this time you moved closer to him. Resting your head on his shoulder "i missed you.." you mumble before nuzzling against him like a puppy again. Levi didn't said anything more,he pulled you closer to him, hugging you. His lips gazing at your forehead. Your arms wrapped around him.

Few months has passed away since then. It was now winter. February 14 is tomorrow. You had decided that you'll spill out all of your feelings to levi. even if he rejects you the heavy weight in your chest will go away. You told him to visit your dorm tonight. You took a dayy off from college to bake cakes and chocolates for levi, you weren't gonna propose him that boringly. You got yourself a new sweater to doll up for levi. As the time paased 12am came near. Before 12am you bought levi to your dorm,he had no idea about what you were doing. A clothe was covering his eyes as you pushed him in your room and waited for the right moment. 12am actually.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

You didn't knew how this came so far. When you heard him say yes you're world had shook,you attacked him with kisses. Almost making him faint. cut the cake and spended your time with him for hours,watched a movie on the laptop and then...you didn't understand how but...you were grinding your clothed pussy against his thigh. Kissing the soul out of eachother. And then your clothes were gone. His fingers shoved into your hole,you cute pussy fully bare Infront of his eyes. It felt like a dream but it wasn't,your tits bare for him. Only him. He sucked on one of your cute nipple as his fingers fucked you, curling them up finding your g-spot. Gummy walls flutter around his fingers cutely as he shoved the third finger. You moaned loudly gripping his torso. Your tongue lulling out of your mouth. Pink lips covered in his and your spit. You were so close so close and- he took his fingers out of you, licking your juices of his fingers as you stared him with a pout for teasing you,but it didn't took long for him to shove his face in your soft pussy. Groaned in pleasure as his tongue licks the hell out of your cute hole and clit. Your eyes rolling up in pleasure and his eyes were rolling up at the taste of you...and suddenly something snapped in you,you moaned loudly. Your legs shaking in pleasure as your hand grips levis hair. He doesn't even lets a drop off your juice go wasted.

"your turn" he murmured as he unbuckled his belt, getting his hard dick just in front of your pinky lips. Pre cum dripping from his red tip,he gently pushes his tip against your lips as you stare up at him with those doe eyes. His breath hitches seeing you like this. You don't have any idea how he had dreamed about this and woke up with a hard cock. "Go ahed" he mumbles and you shyly nod,taking his tip in your mouth,giving it a soft suck.he almost cums at that,eyes wide in pleasure as he pushes into your mouth more. You let out a breath before taking his whole cock in your mouth. He lets out a loud moan his tongue almost out of his mouth. You softly bob your head up and down. Sucking his delicious cock. Your hands slipped underneath his sweater as your hand caresses his hard abs. He breath shaking like a balloon in front of a fan. Pulling away you took s breath then start to lick his cock again. Levi gently grabbed the bun of your hair and pushed his cock into your mouth again. It only took few minutes for him to cum in your mouth,he pulled out his softening dick out of your mouth. Without any complain you swallowed up the salty and bittersweet cum. Licking up the cum in the corner of your lips...that expression of yours didn't take too long for his cock to get hard again. He leans down and kisses your forehead before laying your bare body down on the bed. Folding you up for mating press. Your legs pressed to your chest as his tip rubs against your entrance. "Don't tease..le-" is all you managed before he slipped his cock in your hole,the soft groan of his voice and your "nghh hahh" filled up the room. another thrust and you were down bad for his cock. He lets you get adjusted to his cock for few minutes. The gives some slower thrusts.. making you look dumb on his cock. The pace of his thrusts became faster and then it turned into pounding into your little hole. You were moaning mess as as he continued to pound in you,you love it. And he loved how tight and sweet your pussy was. How beautifully it clenched on his cock as he fucked you dumb,your cute breasts bouncing up and down as he leans down to suck your nipple. Dick pounding into you. "Hngh hahhh more" you slur out amd his pace becomes even faster, making you go see stars. and with the last thrust,"i am gonna hngh-" you ended up cumming on his cock and his cock ended up Cumming inside your pretty pussy with a loud "ahh...hunghh" moan of levi.

[heiayen]

gently wipe the sorrow off my life, i dream scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: "you didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed." you're surprised and completely heartbroken when your lover, kunikuzushi, suddenly disappears without a trace. you think it's the end of the world, with your heart open and bleeding but soon you discover, that there is still happiness waiting for you.

tags: based on the prompt "there’ll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you", scara's real name used, modern au (from highschool to college), scara basically pulls an irminsul but why? blame dottore angst/bittersweet, [name] is very much going through it </3 title name taken from the honkai star rail song "if i can stop one heart from breaking". not proofread

notes: hi. i come back with angst! written for @thexianzhoujade's personal memoires event and truthfully i kinda hate this fic HAJAHS but this is fine i am not fine blah blah blah yippee. i forgot how to write scara so sorry if this fic is kinda ooc but yeahhh have fun enjoy !! <3 as if anyone is going to enjoy angst LMAO

“Come on, it’s just one photo and besides, we barely have pictures of us…”

“...just one, fine. Get in here.”

A part of you wished you had taken more pictures with him. Pictures from dates in the blooming parks, from hangouts with your friends after school, from spending time together at his place, something to fill up the empty photo album you found hidden in your room. You filled only a few pages, with a few pictures of you and Kunikuzushi, of you taken by your friends, of your family during holidays, pictures of you and your friends, his friends, a picture of him you took when he didn’t see– the one you considered putting in your wallet, laughing how you’d look like a spouse missing their husband. 

(You counted exactly six photos of him in your album, compared to the twenty or so with others. Barely a quarter, not even a half, barely a page and a half of the album.)

You moved your fingers over one of them, the one you took after graduation– laughing with your friends, posing at the camera, tightly holding his hand, and tugging him closer, and wondered.

Did it have to end like this? If you only knew what was happening, would you somehow fix it in time?

Things were… nice, before. Being with him was nice, even if his personality sometimes made you tug at your hair in annoyance. But you found a common language and spoke in it till the very end, sharing your joy and sadness, annoyance and anger, silent tears and gentle fluttering in your chests. 

When you first met Kunikuzushi in school, you had your opinions about him– he wasn’t the nicest, wasn’t talking with many other students, and seemingly valued his time alone more than with someone. You understood it, some people simply weren’t the social butterflies but it became a problem when, by some unlucky charm (at least, you thought it was unlucky then), you ended up together to work on a project. You didn’t know him and your teacher decided to pair you by herself, saying how she wanted her students to interact more with each other. It seemed like a terrible idea at first.

(You rolled your eyes, giving a look to your friend. You really didn’t entertain this idea– to do a big project with someone other than your friend? You dealt with enough shitty groupmates leaving you on read or delivered in your life, and that was for small projects! What if you got someone as shitty as them? You shuddered at the thought alone.)

But, oh, how wrong you were. You didn’t expect to befriend that guy, and yet a few months in, Kunikuzushi became your best friend, and a year later– your lover. 

You remembered that love confession like yesterday; a little awkward, he jumbled over his words and you said something stupid in return, laughing awkwardly at yourself and almost getting up from that bench and marching back home. It was late, the bench in the park illuminated by the streetlight. A part of you was sure he planned for the confession to look different, yet whatever his ideal plan was, you wouldn’t exchange what you got for it. 

He walked you back home, you remembered, holding your hand.

To say you were happy was an understatement. Something bloomed in your chest with every day spent together with him, the little affections between you warming your heart and cheeks, and every morning seemed… a little brighter. It wasn’t wake up, get dressed, go to school, spend majority of your day studying, sleep, anymore.

Wake up, reply to Kunikuzushi’s late night message he sent. Get dressed and don’t forget about that chain necklace with a pendant he gave you for your birthday (you were matching, of course you were matching). Go to school and spend the day with your friends, with Kunikuzushi, with his friends (although you weren’t sure if that ginger guy was really his friend, but…). Spend the rest of your day studying, texting, and sometimes hanging out if you had free time (which turned into weekly hangouts with all your friends and… sometimes, more than once a week, just you and Kunikuzushi). Text him goodnight and smile at his, although short, reply back. Sleep. 

You hoped it would stay like this… for longer. For as long as possible, just living in this bliss, being happy and not alone, with people you loved and who loved you back, some even more than others.

(Selfishly, you wanted that to last forever. Forever the high school student with no worries other than passing exams and doing your homework on time. Forever with your friends, spending weekends with them, having fun and not caring about anything else. Was it selfish to want to be happy forever?)

Kunikuzushi was here with you for all your problems, even if, truthfully, he wasn’t the best at solving them, and neither he was good at words. But he was still here, offering you support and letting you talk about what annoyed you, what made you sad and sometimes, he still would try to comfort you, loudly agreeing with your complaints, (lovingly) threatening to beat someone up if they were an asshole to you, telling you to not worry. It wasn’t the end yet. 

His presence alone helped you manage through harder days– it was better to be with someone after all, rather than spend your days wallowing in sadness alone, with only the walls willing to listen. 

(You offered him help, too. Quietly sitting and listening to his rants about his mother, squeezing his hand and tugging him closer to you– or simply being next to him, when touch was something unwanted.)

When graduation came, in bittersweet tears you promised your friends (and Kunikuzushi, of course) to still be in touch with them, and never leave them alone just because you weren’t students from the same class anymore. That didn’t change anything, no.

The summer vacation you spent mostly with your friends, hanging out and enjoying the warm, summer weather. So many trips, so many walks with Kunikuzushi and dates– oh, that picnic you two went on one day… it started raining at one point (the weather reports lied to you, it seemed) and you only had a blanket to cover yourself from the rain. How funny it was, how much you wished you could get the chance to do it again, with him–

You sighed, closing the album. Sometime before the summer’s end, right before the start of college, you noticed… changes in Kunikuzushi’s behavior. He still was your lover, caring about you in his own ways, he still was the man you loved, but something seemed to always bug him. Something seemed to sit on his shoulders, heavy. You always asked him if he was okay because yes, yes, you noticed his worse mood, noticed all the little things he tried to hide and you were worried, really worried, and–

And yet, you never got a proper answer. Always to not worry, that nothing was wrong, and you were tired of that, maybe if you, at least this once, pressed him for answers, during that summer night you called a date–

Maybe you would know why he suddenly disappeared without a trace.

The many messages you sent, the many unanswered calls– you asked your friends around, his friends, and were greeted with radio silence in answer. You didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed.

(These flowers would never truly burn, you feared. Some would still leave, polluting your heart and making it harder to breathe.)

What was once beautiful turned into a burden, far too heavy to carry alone. There was so much stress on your plate– because what if something happened to him? What if someone did something to him, what if there was something you could do to change it? Why were you so distracted throughout the day? Why was it hard to get up in the morning, why the only thing you wanted to do was to wait at your phone, with hopes of seeing at least a single message from him? Where went your motivation to study, to do well in college as you promised yourself?

Where was he? What happened? Could you change it?

Were you at fault?

(No, of course you weren’t. You did everything in your power, but it just wasn’t enough. None of this was your fault.)

Were you alone in it?

…no, you weren’t. It felt like you were, especially at first; with new people around you, your friends offering you support but ultimately being busy, you felt alone. Terribly so, loneliness gnawing at your soul all the time, leaving the icy cold feeling in its wake. 

But life forced you to get up from that pit, whether you wanted that or not. You couldn’t fail your major, not when you worked so hard to get into it in the first place. And neither you wanted to completely cut off your friends, so you started replying to their texts more. You’ve met new people, too, and made new friendships.

Things were getting back on track after, you thought that they wouldn’t. You pulled yourself up with your own strength, with your friends cheering for you from the distance, their cheers putting a smile on your face. 

(Younger you thought that if you ever were to break up with Kunikuzushi, the world would simply… end. You ignored that thought creeping into your mind, waved it away, pushed it deep at the bottom of your mind. It wouldn’t happen.)

Now, as you looked at the pictures, you still felt a sharp pang in your chest. You missed him, yes, and you still thought about the days you spent together with him, but they no longer brought you back into that darkness you once experienced.

They were a bittersweet memory now. Ones, you would cherish till the end, gently putting them on the shelf with new, happy memories. 

You hummed to yourself in thought, tapping at the cover of the album with your nail. Maybe instead of pondering how you should take more photos of the past, maybe you should take more of the future? Fill the album up with new photos of yourself, your friends, random things that you found pretty and worth remembering. 

Your phone threw you out of the thinking, the loud noise of the ringtone filling up the room. Right, you were supposed to meet up with your friends in an hour and here you were, going through your old stuff and procrastinating the shower. 

You put the album away and picked up your phone. A smile tugged at your lips hearing the overjoyed voice of your friend, telling you how excited they are to meet with you again (your last hangout was two weeks ago!) and that they already left.

You looked back at the album.

With today, you’d start filling it up with new memories of your happiness.

[fruitmins]

Agust Dad—Two

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: mentions of vomit and throwing up, pregnancy, one singular cuss word, talk about self hate, hints of abortion

<next part>

note: i have such big plans for this, I just hope my writing comes in clutch. this is a little shorter, the next one will be longer I swear

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @tatyhend @jiminiesunicorn @littlestarstinyseven @baechugff @thelilbutifulthings @tearykth @familiarlikemymirror3 @coree730 @prajusstuff @wobblewobble822 @choisoorin @manuosorioh @0funsite0 @whipwhoops

“What are you doing here?”

You ask, eyes widening when Yoongi shows up in your office one morning, effortlessly closing the door behind himself and stepping up to your desk before you can even finish your sentence.

You should have guessed that you’d have a visit from him, but you thought he was more rational than showing up at your office in broad daylight. He was supposed to be one of the more professional members.

“Is the baby mine?” Yoongi asks point blank, his tone neutral, perhaps even slightly stern.

His question hangs in the air, the answer being obvious – if slightly daunting and it catches you by the throat.

Instead, you continue to remain silent, your gaze fixed on the computer in front of you that faded to black a long while ago. You don’t know how to respond, or even what to say. And you were afraid that answering him would make everything more real. That reality would finally set in and you’d have to face the consequences.

Yoongi sighs and runs his hands through his long black hair frustratedly and decides to ask another question instead.

“How many weeks are you?” He asked this time and you know you can’t give him silence twice, not if you wanted to get him out of your office as fast as possible. You suck in a breath before you speak.

“Six weeks..” You whisper, your voice barely heard. Yoongi thinks back to six weeks ago, and realizes that the timeline added up. That he could possibly the the father.

Yoongi remains quiet for a few moments, as if letting your confirmation finally sink in. As he processes your words, his expression softens, but it’s visible that he was hit with a wave of thoughts. A mixture of emotions seems to dance across his features – uncertainty, fear, maybe even a hint of joy but you can’t find the strength to stare at him for too long.

You look at your computer, having your own wave of conflicting emotions and thoughts wash over you. Disbelief, shock, guilt – all of it, all at once.

But the longer there is a stalemate between the two of you, the more uncomfortable the atmosphere gets.

Just like you had thought. Reality set in the more silent you sat through.

You were pregnant with Min Yoongi’s baby.

“So…” Yoongi starts, breaking the heavy silence once and for all, “what do you plan on doing about it?”

“I plan on having a baby..” You state firmly but your voice is still small and quiet. You still can’t look up at him and stare at the black screen, feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. You couldn’t believe you were having this conversation with him of all people, in broad daylight.

There’s a long pause after your declaration. Yoongi takes a step back, his expression shifting into one filled with worry and concern. When he speaks his voice is in a whisper and filled with emotions.

“Why?”

You could guess in what direction this conversation is heading, and you don’t like it.

“You know I work in music. People wouldn’t be pleased to know I have a kid, let alone with a co-worker. Not to mention that I’m a public figure. Hell, we’re not even married.” You know it makes sense, you know that this baby would only make problems but something deep inside you urges you to object anyway. You know I’m your heart that you can’t just abandon and give up on this baby.

“I don’t need your help raising it.” You dare to say, your voice firm. You knew the risks of people finding out you were pregnant with Yoongi’s baby. The media would go crazy and you would likely lose your job. Still, you didn’t want to abandon your baby like he did you. Like he would do this child. You didn’t need his help, in fact, you rather he stay away all together.

The silence is stretched out until Yoongi finally speaks, his words measured.

"I see," he says slowly, the words sinking in, "so, you plan on raising the baby by yourself." He clarity’s to himself and you nod, staying firm.

He runs his hands through his hair again, this time with more tension. He thinks through your words and tries to process them, all while struggling to keep calm. He looked visibly stressed about the entire situation so you’re half expecting him to just give you a check for your silence and walk out.

He lets out a long sigh, the tension between you two reaching its breaking point.

"This is my problem too. I'll help you however I can," Yoongi says, his tone shifting into a more level- headed one. “But you can’t just decide what happens to this baby if it’s mine and leave me out. This affects me too.”

You roll your eyes and scoff at his choice of words. If it’s he’s. Like you were always so unprofessional and just slept around. He was calling it a problem for God’s sake. Calling you a problem.

“It’s not like you would risk your whole career for a woman you don’t even know.” You say sternly, trying to control your emotions but it’s hard when your stomach and your throat are burning.

“I’ll raise this baby alone just like how you left me alone after we did it. You don’t get to decide anything.” You say and the words sound harsh but you’re just looking out for yourself. You didn’t need Yoongi and all the package he came with.

“So you’ll just have Jin help you though the whole thing.” He says and it earns him a scoff and a glare.

“I didn’t want to get Jin involved he was just there.” You say firmly, feeling your blood boiling even though you know you should calm down. “At least he was there.” You say harshly.

“Why do you keep saying shit like that?” He finally asks clearly getting worked up as he looks at you in disbelief and confusion.

“Because that’s what you did! You lured me in and then left me! I put my entire job in jeopardy and you didn’t even care.” You state, memories of being alone in the hotel, wallowing in self hate over your mistake.

You wanted to tell him how much he made you hate yourself. How much he damaged you on the inside. How he took your pride and dignity with him when he left.

“You made me feel terrible,” your voice cracks slightly as you try to hold down the tears in your throat. “And the worst part is that at the end of the day. It didn’t even affect you. You’re still famous and rich and loved by many.”

Your stomach turns as you think back to when you first heard BTS. When listened to his first album. How excited you were when you got to work with him on a song.

Yoongi's expression is blank, his eyes boring into you from the opposite end of the desk as he contemplates your words. This is indeed new information for him, and it might take some time for him to wrap his mind around.

Something changes in his eyes as he stares at you, his eyes never leaving you. He opens his mouth, looking conflicted as he tries to build a sentence but your to embarrassed and ashamed to even hear what he wants to say.

So before he can say anything you stand up from your desk and rush out, holding your stomach as you feel morning sickness coming. You know that he still has more to say, but you refuse to look back. For now at least, Yoongi will just have to stew in his own conflicted feelings.

You get to the bathroom, tears finally falling from your lids as you bent over the toilet and throw up the little breakfast you had. You felt like a mess all over again. Your head is spinning and your eyes are hazy. You’re so exhausted and tired you think you might faint.

You know that seeing Yoongi again would likely break you completely, and you’re to scared to go back to your office because you don’t know if he is gone or not.

You decided to go home early, stating that you’re sick and all it took was one good look at you and they gave you permission to leave. No doubt you looked a mess, even with a mask on.

Once you're home, you slump down on your bed, exhausted after the events of the day. You’d really need some rest after today's events, not to mention the persistent nausea and fatigue that have been plaguing you. You feel tired but can't seem to fall asleep, thoughts spinning around your head about your pregnancy and what's to come.

When you finally manage to get in a short nap it doesn’t last as long as you needed. You check the clock on your phone and see it's late at night, and that you have a new message from a number you don't recognize.

The text is completely anonymous. From an unsaved number you had never seen before. But despite this, know how exactly who it’s from and it sends you into a spiral.

i’m here now

[ivipl1]

what are evil thespius' plans may i ask and why do they always revolve around keeping click clack all to himself? (/silly. but like really though, what is he planning behind all those beuatiful flowers of his?)

This is a long one so im putting it under tha cut !!

my idea was its sort of like. A fucked up & evil version of the games events. In this world, Inspekta never sent out the letters, hasnt tried to take over. He's still rotting away in his own misery, Cobigail is still isolated, and Click Clack... is Click Clack.

King doesn't ascend this time (she would fix things way too easily. Perhaps she chooses to spend some more time helping people out in the world along with Razzma? Not sure. Will have to consult my King experts)

Either way, Thespius watches as his closest friends suffer in loneliness and denial, trying so desperately to keep things together, to keep everyone happy, but eventually he just... can't. Something snaps in him. The god is overwhelmed by the amount of misery in the world and hides away, keeping up a facade of happiness and suppressing everything.

Obviously, when you're an emotion-based god, suppressing your emotions & being overall miserable is not going to impact you very well.

so anyways you know how i mentioned inspekta never did anything (sorry. Sorry. i need him to be involved somehow. i cant abandon him.)

he's been sort of slowly sabotaging everything, his manipulation slow. It's not exactly a fully conscious action, but it's still something he's been doing. He hates feeling useless, so he's become their helper, now! Look at how many problems he's solving! Totally not ones he made up himself! (obviously he can't solve their actual problems or else they won't need him anymore. and we can't have that, can we?)

He's slowly been worming his way further into Thespius's life as he isolates everyone from each other, which directly leads to Thespius getting So Much Worse. It eventually, like many of Inspekta's relationships, ends up being incredibly codependent and unhealthy.

Eventually, it gets out of Inspekta's control, and Thespius completely snaps. He decides the world is too miserable as it is, and the only way to make everyone truly happy is to take over & rebuild the world as he wants :)

The reason this is so chaotic is because i came up with all of this kind of on the spot. The summary of this au is:

Inspekta and Thespius horrible awful friendship, Thespius loses it and scares the shit out of everyone.

here u can have a bonus doodle for reading all of this

[starkparade]

Tony Stark Bingo Round 8 Masterlist by starkparade

Saying goodbye to my @tonystarkbingo Round 8 card! I really enjoyed finding ways to incorporate these prompts in my fics, even if some of them just as smaller mentions. I am me, so all my fills were stevetony fics. The one fill I'm the most proud of in this batch was for the adoptable prompt "Anger Issues" which I used to replace the "Building Your Friends" square and get a bingo!

Below are the 8 MCU and 3 comics (616 and Avengers Twilight) stevetony fics that filled my squares!

S1 - "Please Let Me In"

Making the Right Call (MCU, T, 6.1k)

Civil War Fix-It, Getting Back Together Tony and Steve have not spoken to each other since that fateful day in Siberia. However, when Steve gets gravely injured in a fight and thinks he is going to die, he goes to find Tony in his workshop so he can see him one last time.

T4 - Go Away

Go Away (Please Stay) (MCU, M, 4.6k)

Divorced Tony, Getting Back Together Steve and Tony were together for four years before breaking up due to the events of Civil War. Since then, Tony got back together with and divorced from Pepper. When seven years after their breakup Steve seeks Tony out in his lakehouse, Tony has to decide if he has it in him to give their relationship another chance.

A3 - FREE SPACE

My Home in Your Time (616, E, 15k)

Falling in Love, Sexual Dysfunction Before Tony knows it, he's head over heels in love with Steve. Which isn't surprising, it's just a lot more complicated to want to be in a relationship with someone now. Even if he could tell Steve that he is Iron Man, there's still the stupid chestplate. Steve seems to be keeping him at arm's length anyway, and Tony can't figure out why. Steve wakes up in the 21st century, and all he wants is to go home to his time. That's until he falls in love with Tony Stark. Unfortunately, he can't tell him how he feels. Tony deserves someone who can give him everything he wants. And that someone can't be Steve, considering he lost all erectile function as a side effect of the serum.

A4 - Flutter

The Fun Way (MCU, E, 1.7k)

Blow Job, Resolved Sexual Tension Tony is convinced Steve keeps harping on about him putting himself in danger on missions because he is frustrated about something else entirely. He has an idea how to relieve that frustration.

A5 - Cuddling

Morning Light (MCU, E, 1.8k)

Morning Sex, Mild Somnophilia Tony can’t sleep in complete darkness, and Steve can’t stay asleep once the sun comes up. Most mornings, Steve just gets out of bed quietly so he wouldn't disturb Tony's sleep, but this time he can't bring himself to.

R1 - Reincarnation

Who Wants to Live Forever (MCU, T, 2.8k)

Major Character Death, Immortality It turns out that not being able to get drunk is far from being the worst and only unfortunate side effect of the serum. As the years go by, Steve notices he has not been aging. Everyone else, including Tony, has been.

R3 - Christine Everhart

Close It (MCU, T, 3k)

Major Character Death, Soulmates AU Steve had to make the hard call to prevent the nuclear blast going off inside the wormhole from reaching the island of Manhattan. As a result, Tony Stark never made it back. Steve did what he had to, and yet his guilt is eating him alive and he can't figure out just why he is so affected.

R4 - picture prompt (Iron Man armor)

with you (in never-ending twilight) (Avengers Twilight, E, 5.1k)

Body Dysmorphia, Intimacy Issues In the dystopian future of Avengers: Twilight, Steve found out that Tony had survived the devastating H-Day that had claimed the lives of many heroes and led to the rise of a totalitarian government twenty years ago. After Steve rescues Tony from captivity, they must face their feelings for each other. The problem is, Tony's body is now reduced to his disembodied head. How could he ever be good enough for Steve like this?

R5 - Abandonment Issues

love (if it means you) (MCU, E, 10k)

Demisexual Steve, Virgin Steve Steve isn't a puritan prude, thank you very much. He may not have had partnered sex, but it's not because of some moral conviction or a conscious choice of abstinence. He simply never felt like he needed a partner. Even with his serum-enhanced libido, the idea of sex never meant much to him before he's fallen in love. With Tony, however, it does. Even if Tony doesn't think he's the right partner for Steve.

K1 - Missing Scene

Romcom Fantasies (MCU, T, 4.8k)

Too Many Beds, Misunderstandings Tony runs into Steve at the airport, and when the hotel Tony booked in Washington DC abruptly cancels his reservation, Steve offers him to stay the night at his place. It sounds like something straight out of Tony's romcom fantasies starring Steve, except Tony is convinced that Steve is in love with someone else.

Adoptable - Anger Issues

The Price (616, M, 2.1k)

Major Character Death, Guilt Steve never meant for this to happen. He agreed to meet Tony at the Mansion, hoping the fact that Tony asked him to meet meant he reflected on his mistakes and was willing to see Steve's side. But he wasn't. He kept insisting, and kept telling Steve that he needed to stand down. And Steve— Steve saw red.

[andy-kuramy]

Teen!José Kanzaki

+ José is currently studying 5th Year in a private high school on Mexico!

+ Has changed highschools at least 10 times in one year because of his father (gets bombarded with fans asking him to ask his father to Sign things for them, and even with his chill attitude, his father didn't wanted him to endure all of that while studying)

+ Hates using the complete uniform of his highschool (Tie, vest, long sleeve shirt, and black moccasins/dressing shoes) constantly taking off his tie and vest, only using his shirt with a few buttons undone

+ And yet, José's teachers never dress code him.

+ Possibly because every time a teacher is around, his vest and tie come out of his backpack in less than a blink of an eye and are back on him.

+ "Failing" Math and science with a beautiful C (2/4 or 10/20 if you want to see it in a bigger scale).

+ Meanwhile, having a field day with physical education and history with surprising A's (4/4 or 20/20).

+ Uses brackets on his upper teeth thanks to an incident while Training .

+ He basically got a bad hit on his mouth and the thing developed like this:

"My teeth hurt now..."

"Dude, let me see your mouth, your dad will kill me if I knocked one of your teeth out of your mou-"

"No no no, I'm fine, just let me go wash my mouth and wait for the pain to go away."

"José, don't be stubborn, come and let me see what happened to you."

"Does it look bad?"

".....You're going to want to kill me"

"More than I already want?"

"Look in the mirror..."

+ Then, the chaos unleashed in the bathroom thanks to an stubborn José wanting to punch the hell out of his friend while screaming at him "......SON OF A BITCH YOU PUSHED MY TEETH BACK".

+ His dad wasn't that happy when he took José to the dentist that day.

+ After that, José uses brackets to fix his teeth, mainly to avoid problems with his bite rather than "have a perfect smile".

+ Still as passionate about wrestling like his adult counterpart, staying up late watching the matches while studying (Tends to give more of his attention to the match till a commercial break appears).

+ Some times gets teased about his brackets (light or medium tease intensity, not to the point of being something of every day), if he isn't feeling that well, he will cover his mouth while talking for a few minutes before speaking normally again.

+ The kind of classmate that:

1) Will forget if you have a test tomorrow.

2) Won't study because he also forgot.

3) Will ask you at 5 in the morning if you studied for the test that he didn't told you.

4) As soon as you tell him that you didn't study he will just accept his fate of re doing the test later on the week.

+ Besides that (and the fact that he loses the track of time very easily while helping you study) He is a decent classmate 6/10 in friend material.

+ If you need a shoulder to rest or a house to spend time, José is already opening his door and telling you to leave your backpack on the couch without any interest.

+ Overall, a decent classmate yet a good friend once you leave the highschool grounds ♡.

So, the first one in the Au is out! :3 I really didn't know how to structure this post since I had too many ideas for José that I mayyybe delayed this for a while.

The good thing is that I finally did it! If you want to ask something about the Au or want to help me with designing/Writing the Hc's for any character, slide into my DM'S or my ask's! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍)

Also, The poll to draw the next character is here, in case you want to help decide!

Who is next?