#laughter is a good medicine & i live by it

[sailortongue]

Good Luck Charms

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: Kenji has misplaced his earrings and refuses to leave without a pair. so you loan him a pair of yours

an: I wrote two blurbs involving his piercings bc I couldn't decide which one I liked more. one where he wears yours (this one) and one where you wear his (here!)

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“Hey, baby, have you seen my earrings? I can’t find them,” Kenji called out from the bedroom.

“Have you checked your nightstand?” You asked as you walked into the bedroom to see him looking around frantically for his lost jewelry.

“Twice. I’ve looked all over but I can't remember where I put them. Only that when I put them down I told myself I'd definitely be able to find them there.”

You chuckled, knowing the feeling all too well. “Why don’t you just go without them? I doubt anyone will be looking that closely”

He looked scandalized at the mere suggestion. “I can’t go without them because I’m hotter with my earrings.”

“Kenji, you'd still be hot in a burlap sack. And who exactly do you need to look hot for, hmm?”

He smiled slyly “For you obviously. Can’t let people think my girlfriend has bad taste.” He shot a conspiratorial wink at you.

“Would you like to borrow a pair of mine?” You offered.

He thought about it for a moment before nodding. You walked over to your jewelry box and he sidled up next to you, browsing through your collection. He picked up a pair of chunky hoops—a far cry from his usual studs—and held them up to his ears. “These are definitely the ones,” he joked, mirthful laughter bubbling from his plump lips.

“Oh, for sure,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words but your giggles from his antics still seeping through.

He set them back down and watched as you dug for a more suitable pair. “What about these?” He asked, pointing to a much more modest pair this time. They were a favorite of yours, ones you wore often. “It'll be like having you there with me,” he said, a soft smile settling on his face.

You melted at his sappy words. How could you possibly tell him no? You gave him permission to wear them, and he excitedly ran to the bathroom to put them in. When he came back out, the small jade studs were secured in his earlobes, the wide grin on his face displaying how pleased he was with his choice.

He walked up to you and leaned down for a kiss. “Thank you,” he said sweetly.

“Consider them good luck charms,” you said. “Now get going before you’re late.”

He swooped in for one more kiss before rushing out of the bedroom to make it to his interview on time.

-❀-

“So, Ken, a lot of your fans, especially the women, seem to be very fond of your jewelry, but they can’t help but notice you don’t wear a ring. Is there any special lady in your life? I'm sure they’d love to know,” the interviewer teased.

Kenji chuckled, knowing that you were without a doubt watching this interview live from the comfort of the living room. “There is,” he replied. He brought his hands up to finger at the delicate jewelry in his ears. “These belong to her actually. She has wonderful taste. I mean, she must if she’s dating me, right?”

-❀-

You heard the crowd laugh at his response, a grin of your own spreading across your face. The show went on a commercial break shortly after, and you decided to get ready for bed while waiting for Kenji’s gorgeous face to once again grace your screen. You entered the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, opening the medicine cabinet to grab your dental floss—but something else caught your eye. Lo and behold, there, on the bottom shelf, were Kenji’s missing earrings.

[fairyhaos]

❖ all mother nature's fault // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.9k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, established relationship, crack, me furthering my 'joshua hong has erratic hay fever' hc, kinda sick fic

warnings: mentions of medicine ??

notes: good lord,,, sick!shua is just so pathetic (fond)

“Joshua? Shua, are you there?” 

You step into Joshua and Jeonghan’s shared apartment, humming a little to yourself as you take off your sunglasses, the spare keys that Joshua had given you dangling in your hands.

It’s a delightfully sunny day, and you’re dressed all nicely, fully sun-screened and ready to go out. Joshua had asked you yesterday if you wanted to go on a walk in the park today, and you’d never say no to spending a sunny, lovely day out with your boyfriend.

But at 11am, Joshua hadn’t appeared on your doorstep, so you’ve come looking for him in his own home.

“Joshua?” you call again, padding through the apartment to stop at his bedroom, knocking on his door. “Are you in here? Can I come in?”

“The door’s open,” a voice says, and you open the door to see Jeonghan sitting on the bed, holding a box of tissues next to a sprawled-out Joshua.

“Oh, Jeonghan?” you say in surprise. “Why are you here?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “I live here, too,” he says, sounding put-out.

You laugh, closing the door behind you. “You don’t live here in Joshua’s room, though,” you say, but Jeonghan just waves a hand like that little fact is irrelevant.

“I can live anywhere I want. I pay half the rent for this place.” He looks down at Joshua, and grins. “Unfortunately, the other rent payer is a little… incapacitated right now.”

And he’s right. ‘Incapacitated’ is probably the right way to describe Joshua’s state, because he’s pathetically lying spread-eagled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, head propped up with multiple pillows. He’s still in his pyjamas. In the few minutes that you’ve been in his room, you’ve seen him take at least three tissues from Jeonghan to blow his nose.

“I’m sick,” Joshua says, and he sounds all bunged up. “No, I’m not sick. I’m going to die. I’m dying.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at how dramatically miserable he’s being, sitting next to him on the bed. “Is it your hay fever?”

“Of course it’s my hay fever,” Joshua laments, and then sniffs loudly. He turns his head, looking at you through puffed-up eyes, before sniffing again. “I can feel all the pollen particles attacking my body right now.”

“That bad, huh?” you say, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Joshua stares hazily at you. “It shouldn’t be this terrible, though. It’s been raining for the past week.”

Joshua whines, flopping around on the bed like a child. “I don’t even know. But I keep—keep—ah—” He sneezes then, mid-sentence, covering his mouth with his hand, and then promptly reaches for a tissue to wipe his hand and his nose. “Keep sneezing.”

You hum, trying not to laugh aloud at his misfortune. You exchange amused grins with Jeonghan. Your boyfriend is the only person you know who gets hayfever, and what makes it worse is that it’s the most random hayfever you’ve ever seen.

He could take you for a date to a flower field in the middle of summer and not have his eyes water at all, but during one random week in the middle of autumn, he’ll be sneezing so hard that he could blow over a jenga tower.

That happened, once. It’s the only time you’ve ever seen Seungcheol genuinely cry with laughter.

“My poor darling Shua,” you coo, trying not to smile too hard at the memories whilst Joshua looks so pathetically sad next to you. His eyes are all puffed up, and he looks so miserable and it’s actually a little adorable.

“I know, your poor darling Shua,” Joshua says miserably, his words coming out all distorted due to his blocked nose. 

“Poor Jeonghan, too,” Jeonghan cuts in. “He called me over just so I could hold the tissue box for him.” He lightly bonks Joshua on the head with the tissues. “Meanie.”

“I’m the one actually dying here,” Joshua says, and wow, he really does sound ill. “I feel terrible. I feel like one of those hanahaki victims in those fics you keep sending me.”

“You can’t compare yourself to my hanahaki recommendations if you laughed at the fics for an entire five minutes after I send them to you,” Jeonghan says, stabbing a finger in Joshua’s direction.

“Well, they’re always totally unrealistic! And why are you even reading fanfiction about that sort of stuff?”

“Hey, they’re good stories!” Jeonghan says, holding his hands up defensively. It makes him lift the tissue box into the air just as Joshua was about to take one, prompting your boyfriend to whine as he stretches fruitlessly. “And the genre only ever comes up in fanfiction. I love hanahaki stories.”

“He loves reading about other people’s pain,” Joshua says in your direction, and he forcefully yanks Jeonghan’s arm downwards so he can take a tissue. Holding it up to his nose, his voice is muffled as he says, “That’s why he’s here right now. To laugh at my pain.”

“You brought me here to laugh at your pain.” Jeonghan hits him over the head with the tissue box once again.

“I brought you here to comfort me,” Joshua cries as loudly as he can, which isn’t very loud, because his voice is all croaky. “You’ve just been laughing at me the whole time!”

“Should have known that I would do that. How many years have we known each other, Shua? Do you really still not know your best friend at all?”

“Apparently not,” Joshua grumbles, sniffing. “Next time you’re sick, I’m going to destroy all the tissues in your house.”

You’re practically crying with laughter, listening to the two bickering, and this is something that is always the funniest to watch. Jeonghan and Joshua bounce off each other so well, both having equal sass and equal wit to be able to do this, though one might not think so when meeting them for the first time.

Joshua’s just always too busy holding up his gentleman image to properly rip into Jeonghan.

“Gonna destroy all your tissues and then ban you from ever buying any more,” Joshua is still threatening, poking at Jeonghan with his snot-covered tissue. “You little monster. I hate you.”

“You’re the one cursing at me?” Jeonghan says, incredulous. “How am I the monster here? Y/N! Do you think I’m the monster here?”

You’re giggling into your hand, trying not to be too loud, and when Jeonghan directs the question at you, you startle and let out another surprised laugh. “Um… I don’t know.”

“You have to side with me,” Joshua insists croakily at you, snatching the tissue box from Jeonghan so he can get his own tissues. “Y/N, please? I’m literally your boyfriend.” 

He smiles weakly at you, then, in an attempt to gain your favour, and even though his eyes are all red and his nose is still leaking you can’t help but think that he looks utterly, utterly adorable.

That’s not gonna stop you from messing with him, though.

You shake your head, smiling. “Yeah, but you ditched me on what was supposed to be our date today, so I don’t know if I should side with you.”

Joshua’s eyes widen as best as they can, betrayed, and Jeonghan cackles.

“You’re so mean,” Joshua mumbles, dabbing at his nose, and then kicks Jeonghan when the man won’t shut up. “Hey, stop laughing! It’s not that funny.” He looks at you again, and if possible, he looks even more miserable. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”

That makes you laugh, and you reach over to pet his hair consolingly. “I’ll tell you what. You let me take care of you today, and I’ll agree with you that Jeonghan’s the one in the wrong here.”

Joshua blinks, like he’s processing your words, before nodding. “Deal.” He looks over at Jeonghan, and kicks him again. “You heard Y/N. Get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jeonghan gasps in mock offence as Joshua continues prodding him with his toes. “How dare you!”

“I’m not your boyfriend, so you don’t have to take care of me anymore,” Joshua said, and then he grinned up at you, all watery-eyed but still devastatingly adoring. “Y/N’s here now.” You smile down at him, and he seems to positively light up under your gaze.

And then he sneezes.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Jeonghan says, as Joshua starts going through some sort of sneezing fit. “Goodness me, you’re even pulling out the sneezing attack in an attempt to get rid of me.”

You laugh, shuffling closer to your boyfriend and taking the tissue box from Jeonghan, handing Joshua tissue after tissue and helping him prop himself up so he doesn’t choke on his own gasps for air. “Sorry, Jeonghan, we just really want you gone.”

“I’ll remember this,” Jeonghan says, pretending to be all upset even as he practically lunges for the door. “I’ll remember this act of treachery!”

And then, with a neat click of the door, he’s gone.

The room becomes quieter, then, and Joshua’s sneezes die down into little sniffles. You place more pillows behind him, helping him sit up, patting his hair affectionately as he attempts to take in a deep breath. You weren’t joking when you said that you’d take care of him, and he seems to notice it, eyeing you over the tissues that he’s blowing his nose with.

“I’ve already taken antihistamines,” he says, as if preempting your question. “This is me all already drugged up.”

You chuckle, pinching his cheek. Taking the dirty tissues from him, you deposit them into the bin beside his bed. “Wow. Your hay fever is really bad today,” you say, and he snuggles into your side with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yeah. It really is.”

There’s silence for a moment, as Joshua miserably tries to breathe and you run your fingers through his hair.

And then Joshua sits up a little, looking at you.

“Sorry for not being able to take you out on that walk today,” he apologises, eyes big and wet and sincere. You just smile pinching his reddened cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m not actually mad. You know that, right?”

Joshua shrugs. “Still. I feel like I should say sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” you say easily. “It’s the weather’s fault. It’s ‘cause of all that pollen that you’re in this state right now.”

“Hm. You’re right.” A grave look comes over him as he nods, eyes darting up to you. “Will you fight the weather for my honour, Y/N?”

That makes you laugh, surprised. “Your honour?”

“My honour is totally destroyed right now,” he says, dead serious. “Baby, I’ve been defeated by tiny little flower particles! I definitely think that you should fight for my honour.”

He’s being so serious about this that you can't help but laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek even though he protests that he’s all sticky and disgusting right now. But it’s Joshua, so you peck him on the cheek anyway, and then kiss his hair.

“Sure,” you say, and when he looks at you again, your eyes sparkle brighter than a thousand suns. “I’ll fight Mother Nature for your honour, Shua.”

He beams. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

A beat.

“Quick question… how do you feel about going on walks in the rain from now on?”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[necronomicorn]

Scorned Sympathy ( Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Fandom: House of the Dragon, Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower's sister has always hated the King, and transversely, he has hated her back. But, that all changes after he returns from Rook's Rest.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none? I think, I don't know, its HOTD but mostly hurt/comfort and fluff

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They say that burns are a sacred death. The death of  dragon riders, honoring them among the living, and the dead. In his history lessons, Aegon had heard it was peaceful. Yes, there was supposed to be a screaming,  agonizing pain, but as flesh burned away, it took nerve endings with it, leaving them to feel nothing, numb. 

But Aegon hadn't been so lucky, he had only wished he had died back on the battlefield, died on impact of the flames. Then he wouldn't have had to suffer through spiraling to the ground, snapping his bones, or feel his armor being peeled away after it had merged with his flesh. He wouldn't have had to sleep nearly every hour of the day, waking up only to experience excruciating pain, relearning to walk when every step made him cry out in agony. 

The once comforting walls of his bedroom had turned into a torture chamber as he was forced to his feet by the Maesters, only to hobble around the confinements of those walls, good hand gripping the cane with enough force to drive splinters in his hands and cause his knuckles to turn white.

He cried out as the Maester pushed him into another step, holding him upright as best he could. Larys Strong stood in the patch of sunlight in the room, giving him an angelic halo, ironic as it was his devilish idea to make Aegon start walking so soon, only weeks after he had returned to the Red Keep.  

"Impressive," the club-footed man says, heads turning in his direction, "But I'm afraid you must work harder."

Aegon screams as Larys reaches around his other arm, cries of pain sounding like twisted laughter as together, they move him another step. Burned tissue stretched as they did, a blinding pain seeping through his barely-healed broken leg. 

The men pause in their persistence as the large bedroom doors swing open, silver-draped guards pushing them back to reveal the figure of Y/N, the youngest Hightower daughter. Her frame was draped in a long black gown, tied around her center with a golden chain that stopped several inches above the hem of her skirts. Long copper hair draped down her back, just as her eldest sister, yet that was where the similarities stopped. 

While Alicent was looked up to, a regal Queen of the realm, her sister had all but denounced her high-blood status, working in the streets as a herbalist, giving medicine to the poor, healing wounds, and delivering children. It wasn't until Viserys had died that Alicent welcomed her into the castle, for her protection, she had explained, though no man nor woman would dare to touch the 'witch'.

"Return the King to his bed, my Lords," the woman says, striding into the room, hands folded neatly in front of her gown. 

"The King must regain his strength, my Lady, he must practice," Lord Larys calls over his shoulder, dismissing her command.

Y/N smiles curtly at his defiance, "How would you like to disfigure your other foot, Lord Layrs?"

The man stops, struggling out from underneath the King's arm, "The King-"

"The King is too busy moaning in agony to give a shit about what you think," the woman interrupts, a boldness frowned upon in the castle, "Return him to bed, and leave us. I'm sure there are whispers to attend to."

Reluctantly, the Maester carries Aegon to his bed, allowing him to fall back onto the sanction of his covers. The Maester moves to lift the King's legs, despite his protests, earning a painful cry as they hit his sheets.

Vhisrya watches as the King rolls to his untainted side, arms curled up against his chest in defeat, body trembling as whimpers escape his scarred lips. The Maester exits quickly, Lord Larys slowly following, glaring at her with every step. It is only when she hears the large doors latch shut behind the men that she makes her way over to the King's bedside. He resembled a small child more than a man, curled around himself in loosely fitted clothes, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook.

He takes a ragged breath as he senses her presence beside him, eyes opening just the slightest to glare at the black-clothed woman, "Come to finish me off, witch?"

The witch makes no remark against him, only motioning for the boy to sit upright in the bed. He does so, grunting in pain, bracing himself on his good arm as he slides up to prop his back against the headboard. 

Y/N makes note of his trembling hands, the way he still insisted on putting up a bitter front despite not being able to move even a foot without collapsing in pain. It reminded her of his father. 

Regardless, she reaches for the buttons of his nightgown, pulling them apart hastily till his chest was exposed. Blistering red wounds stretched across the expanse of his left side, charred and black in some places, while in others, the skin had been cut away in jagged marks from separating melted armor from the King's flesh. 

"What-what are you doing?" Aegon trembles, fear lacing his voice. 

The woman's eyes move from his chest, to his face. He watched as they drifted from his swollen eyelid, to the top of his head, where silvery-blonde hair parted from vibrant burns, to where his ear once was, reduced now to a small lump that opened into his eardrum. He knew it was hideous, he wouldn't lie to himself, trying to persuade his own mind that he was still the beautiful boy the kingdom worshiped. He knew that if he healed, he couldn't even be seen in a pleasure house, not even the whores wanting to be fucked by a monster such as himself.

"Your grace?"

A soft voice draws him out of his own mind, one that was nearly unrecognizable coming from the woman beside him, "I have an ointment, one that should assist in healing your burns. But, I require you to remove your sleeves."

"Can't", Aegon grunts, talking becoming an exhaustion.

"I can assist you," the woman cooes, dragging the soiled fabric down his good arm first.

Aegon whimpers as her hand moves to his burned side, gently peeling the fabric from his neck, then down his shoulder, drawing near his bicep. He could feel the fabric stick to his skin, the pus that leaked from his wounds drying, attaching itself to the coarse fabric.

"I'm going to lift your arm," the woman says, earning a series of pleading "no"'s as she does.

The prince groans in pain, feeling the blistering skin stretch, muscle burning as she peeled the fabric away from his body, letting it pool around his waist.

Y/N could see the King's murderous gaze as she finished, pulling his arm back immediately, heavy breaths filling his chest, followed by shaking exhales. 

She makes haste, placing a mortar on the nearby table, filling it with oils and herbs, grinding it till the scent fills the room, overwhelmed by lavender. The King watches as she pulls a small vial from the pocket of her dress, opening it to reveal a nearly clear, thick liquid.

"What is that?" the King asks, the filth of his mind overpowering common sense.

Y/N looks back to the burned man, unaware he was watching her, "It's dragon saliva. Something in it prevents the dragons from being burned when they breathe fire, and proves itself to assist the healing process quicker than the Maester's brew alone. It only took me so long to bring it to you as your brother won't let me near his dragon, Sunfyre has not returned from Rook's Rest, and Helaena won't speak to me as she thinks I had something to do with your son's beheading."

Her last words come out as an aggravated shout, making the boy flinch. With a deep breath, she regains herself, carrying the mortar to his bedside, black dress fanning out on the sheets beside him, "I apologize, your Grace. You all think of me as some plague here to ruin the sanction of your home, yet Alicent refuses to let me leave the castle walls."

It was strange, hearing his mother's name be used so plainly, everyone else referred to her as the Queen, even Aemond and him referred to her as  "your Grace". 

Aegon clears this throat as the woman begins to spread the paste across his chest. It burned at first, but not to the level of the Maester's concoction. Perhaps dragon saliva was the key.

"She believes you would flee to Rhaenyra, aid her conquest for the crown," he grunts, intently gazing at the greenish mixture spread across his skin.

"And she is right," Y/N states plainly, "Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and you have usurped her crown."

"I could have your head for that," Aegon jokes, a faint smile, one of the first since he had returned, spreading across his lips. 

The woman smiles back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she continues to coat his torso, " I could have already had yours."

"Why haven't you, then?"

The hand that holds the brush hesitates, as Y/N searches for an answer. In all honesty, she has had many opportunities to kill the man, yet the thought never truly crossed her mind. She takes a deep breath before continuing her strokes, "You may be a monster- the sins you have committed are so terrible that you'd burst into flames if you ever set foot in the Sept. But, I know you did not choose to be King, just as I did not choose to waste away in this castle. I do not wish to punish you for something you cannot control, you have suffered enough."

Aegon says nothing, only faint whimpers coming from his lips. His breathing stilled as the woman traced a line of ointment across his face, delicately placing it across the edge where untouched skin met charred flesh. His body jolts as she accidentally brushes over an open wound on his cheekbone, where his helmet had melted, merging itself with his flesh. Despite how careful the Maester had been when removing it, deep gashes still marred his face. 

The King yelps in pain, eyes shut as the oils burn their way through his open wound, sending a new wave of intense pain across his face. His body curls against itself, a position he found himself in more and more often these days. But rather than digging the nails of his good hand into the palm of his fist, he found a softer, more delicate hand in his , softly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "I'm sorry."

Aegon whimpers, the comfort of her touch calming the scarred boy. It was rare that he obtained touches like these, not even from his mother, despite how much she claimed she loved him. No, she was more focused on being Queen than being a mother.  His wife was the same way, more fascinated with her bugs than her husband, only laying with him when they were forced to produce an heir, before returning to her own quarters in solitude. He would watch Helaena with their own children, interacting with them, holding them, reading to them, only wishing that his mother had done the same. 

So Aegon welcomes the warmth of the witch, clutching her hand with the intention to never let go until his scars had healed and he could hold his head with as much dignity as a true king. "Tell me a story," Aegon whispers, distracting himself from the pain that stretched across his body with every breath.

Y/N smirks, placing the mortar between her legs so she could continue placing the ointment with his hand still clutching her own. 

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, who was locked away in a tower guarded by a fierce dragon. Her parents, the King and Queen, missed her dearly, and declared that any knight who were to rescue her from the dragon's keep, would marry the lovely Princess.

Not far from the kingdom lived a beast, alone. He was happy that way, till a power-hungry Lord wished to take the beast's land for himself. Upset, the beast made a deal with the Lord, in exchange for his land, the beast would rescue the Princess from her dragon's keep, so the Lord may marry her. True to his word, the beast saved the girl, yet as they traveled back to the Lord's castle, the beast found himself falling in love with the Princess."

Beside her, Aegon's breath slows, muscles relaxing against her grip, yet his violet eyes stay fixated on the woman. He listens to her intently, soft voice ringing through the silent room, as airy as wind blowing his curtains in the night. 

"One night," Y/N continues, brushing the ointment across his scarred forearm, "The beast sought to confront the Princess, yet when he came to her cabin, he heard vile words coming from her mouth, ones solely describing such a monster as the beast. Furious, he gave her to the Lord, returning to his swamp alone. Yet, he couldn't forget the Princess, as even if she despised him, he loved her. So, he returned to the Lord's castle the night of the wedding.

As the sun fell that night, the beast watched as the beloved Princess transformed before his eyes, to a beast herself. Cursed by a witch many years before, the Princess turned ugly, monstrous, every night, the curse only to be broken by true love's kiss.

Together, the beast and the Princess slayed the Lord, and wed that night. Yet, when she kissed the beast, her appearance remained disfigured. The Princess then realized, that love's truest form was not based in beauty, but in happiness. She returned to the swamp with her beloved beast, and the two lived happily ever after."

Vhisrya finished her story with a smile, placing the brush back in the mortar. She looks down at the King, whose eyes were shut. For a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep, but Aegon grunts, indicating he is still conscious, "Was there a moral to that story?"

He had only thought of the question after listening to one of Jaehaerys's lessons, one of the few times he was sober while the sun was still high in the sky. It made him feel like a child himself, curled along his tutor's side as she read him tales of past Kings.

The woman beside him rolls her eyes, placing her hand atop his own, "The moral is that even though someone may appear hideous, it does not make them a beast."

A deep flush overtakes Aegon's body, understanding her words. Still, he purses his swollen lips, "What if one's insides are as hideous- as hideous as their outsides?"

"Then that is truly a monster," Y/N replies, watching as the boy's face turns to a scowl.

A few moments of silence pass before the woman lets out a heavy sigh, "The beast was known for killing villagers set foot near his swamp, yet after he rescued his bride, he never killed again. He changed, Aegon, and you can too."

A chill is sent up Aegon's spine when she says his name. Like the rest of his court, she only addressed him "your Grace", and even when she did refer to him indirectly as "King Aegon", spite laced her words, bitter as poison. In every sober moment he had believed that she had hated him, yet her presence and aid in his time of need dismissed the notion from his mind entirely. 

Not even his mother had looked at him for this long, or made conversation so kind. Aegon had seen her, several times, hovering behind the Maester's as they tended to his wounds, yet she never dared to approach him, so close to his gnarled flesh. He couldn't blame her, he knew it was hideous, and the Queen's stomach was not meant to see such obscenities. 

In all honestly, neither should Y/N, but her previous line of work made her accustomed to such sights. The King swallows thickly, pain stretching up the left side of his neck, causing him to let out a small whimper. 

He feels the woman's hand stroke through his matted hair, hair that hasn't been brushed, or even washed in days. It shamed him, that he was incapable of keeping up his own appearance, needing the hands of servants to take the place of his own in combing his hair, washing him, dressing him, feeding him. 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispers, discarding the last bit of dignity he held.

Y/N looked to the boy below her. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never seen before, a glisten of sadness, despair, hopelessness. "Of course."

Aegon grunts as the weight shifts on the bed as she lays beside him, on his good side, not wanting to damage him in his slumber. The tormented King watches as she discards her jewelry on the furthest bedside table before fluffing a pillow to join him in the bed. Her long hair splays across the pillow as she grasps his hand, leaving several inches between the two of them. 

"Come closer," Aegon pleads, pulling gently on her hand, as much as his muscles would allow without excruciating pain.

"I don't want to harm you," Y/N says quickly, concerned etched in her features. 

"You won't" Aegon replies, sinking into the warmth of her body pressed against his own.

His body aches from his burns, the ointment only soothing his pain so much. It was nights like this, when Aegon couldn't sleep, when his body caused him so much trouble that he trembled and moaned until the morning sun rose. But as he curled against the woman, his pain began to subdue. He knew it wasn't literal, that her presence made his hurt go away, but he wished to believe it that simple, that she was his cure.

Y/N listened to his wheezing breaths slow as she held him, hand tight in her own. She felt the King's nose bury itself against the nape of her neck, a small grunt escaping his lips. She could feel his  chest rise and fall against her own as the King falls into a dreamless slumber. 

Darkness fills the room as the final candle burns low, the witch finally closing her eyes for her own rest, holding the broken, tortured boy in her arms, keeping him safe through the night. 

[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 ©

[teapartyprincess4two]

I’m begging you PLS make AT LEAST a part 2 for sturniolos older sister, I genuinely am so obsessed I’ve read it at least 5 times today. I need a series but- I’m a needy person so… PLS

Big Sister Pt. 2- Sturniolo Triplets

pairing: bigsister!reader x littlebrother!triplets

classification: fluff, sibling banter

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, VERY LONG

inspiration: request^^

summary: After visiting the triplets in L.A, the reader returns back home and works with her brothers to plan another get together. This time the triplets visit her, taking a trip down to the Lone Star State.

Big Sister PT.1, PT2, PT.3

—

“No, May doesn’t work for me. I’m still working in May, I won’t be on vacation until June,” you mumbled, scrolling relentlessly on your laptop in search of flights from L.A to Texas. The search seemed endless because you and your brothers couldn’t seem to coordinate schedules, all of you either being too busy with work or tied down to previous commitments. “Okay. So then we’ll go down in June,” Chris’s voice rang through the phone, stating it like it was an obvious solution.

Nick groaned at this statement, immediately thinking of how hot it would be in Texas during the summer, “it’s going to be so hot though!” He loved you, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with the Texas heat for two entire weeks. Once Matt had heard Nick’s comment he interjected, “Stop being a baby, Nick. We’re going down in June.” You were only half listening to them, still scrolling away on your laptop trying to find 3 two-way tickets that wouldn’t completely drain your bank account.

In all honesty, you were surprised they’d even agreed to visit you. Usually it was you and Justin making the trip to L.A to visit them because they were always so busy. When you mentioned it to your husband Jack, he was equally as surprised but also extremely excited because he was never able to take enough time off work to accompany you on your trips to L.A.

“Fine. Y/n, we’re going down in June,” Nick said, defeat evident in his voice. He supposed he was just going to have to put up with the Texas heat because he could not find it in himself to argue with Matt or Chris right now. They awaited your response, but you were so immersed in the screen in front of you that you hadn’t heard a single thing they had said. ‘What the fuck are these prices?’ you thought, biting the inside of your cheek in determination to find the best tickets.

“Y/n! Are you still there?!” Chris shouted into the phone, the sound blaring loudly through your speaker. The sudden noise caught you off guard and caused you to jump in surprise, breaking you from your concentration. “What the hell are y’all blabbering about?!” You shouted back into the phone attempting to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Ever since you all were little, your brothers would always jump at the opportunity to tease and bully you. Sometimes it was funny, other times it was just annoying. Right now it was annoying.

“Y/n would be the type to say y’all,” Chris laughed, ignoring your question completely, opting to bully you instead. Even though they couldn’t see you, you rolled your eyes at his comment, preparing yourself for the onslaught of bullying that you were about to receive. Before you could even think of a snarky remark Matt joined in on the bullying as well.

“My name is y/n and I live in Texas y’all,” he put on a goofy country accent as he said this causing both Chris and Nick to fall into another fit of laughter. You could only imagine what stupid facial expression he was pulling on the other side of the phone.

“Shut up you fucking doofus,” you grumbled, only half mad because you were happy you finally found tickets at a reasonable price. Without a second thought you purchased the tickets, doing a quick victory dance. “Shut up you fucking doofus,” Matt mimicked you, still imitating his corny version of a country accent. If you were being honest, he was pretty good at it, but you’d never admit that.

“Yeah, shut your damn trap before I send you out to the barn, you fucking billy goat” Chris joined in, throwing in random phrases into his sentences as he attempted his own version of a country accent. The three of them were laughing so hard that they had to lean on each other for support as to not fall backwards.

Considering you’d already purchased the tickets, your work here was technically done and you could easily hang the phone up, leaving your goofy brothers to their stupid jokes. If you weren’t so excited, you probably would have done that and texted them the information later, but you decided to forgive their antics just to share the news, “Y’all, I bought the tickets!”

You didn’t catch yourself say it, but your brothers sure did, completely ignoring the exciting news you’d just shared. “Again with the ‘y’all!’ We get it! You live in Texas!” Matt groaned, earning yet another round of laughter from Nick and Chris.

“Oh my God, I actually can’t stand you guys right now,” you rubbed at your temples, wondering if you should just refund the tickets. How were you going to survive two entire weeks of this?

“At least you didn’t say y’all that time,” Nick said. You sighed and hung up.

—

For the next couple of weeks you and your husband, Jack, worked together to prepare your home for visitors. You made sure you had everything you needed in order to be considered a good host. Finally, summer rolled around and you and your husband were on your way to pick your brothers up from the airport. “Stop changing the station, I like that song!” You swatted his hand away from the radio, causing him to chuckle in response. Before he could retaliate, your phone rang.

Quickly you grabbed your purse and dug in it until you found your phone. Nick was calling probably to let you know they had landed safely so you answered it, “Hello?” There was a pause on the other side, but you could hear Chris and Matt faintly bickering in the background. “Shut up, Chris. Just grab our bags so we can go find y/n,” Nick said, sounding far away. He was too busy trying to reel the other two in while grabbing his carryon to hold the phone to his face.

“Hello?!” You repeated louder in hopes that he’d hear you this time. Finally he placed the phone to his ear, using his shoulder to hold it in place as he grabbed his belongings in both hands. Although the flight was only 3 hours long, he still packed an unnecessary amount of things including a blanket and a pillow. “Hi, sorry. Chris and Matt are being stupid,” he finally responded as he slung his carryon over his shoulder and stuffed his pillow under the arm that wasn’t propping his phone against his ear.

“Did y’all land?” You asked while looking over at your husband as he struggled to find where to go, becoming lost in the maze that was the airport. He was going towards the East exit, but from your countless trips back and forth from California to Texas you knew he was meant to be going towards the South exit. Quickly you snapped your fingers in Jack’s face to grab his attention before pointing in the direction he was meant to be driving. Without a hitch, he shifted the steering wheel and went in the direction you were pointing.

“I wouldn’t be calling you if we hadn’t,” Nicks voice was laced with sarcasm as he scurried behind his brothers to make his way out of the packed airplane. You hummed in response, mostly just relieved that they had landed safely, “well I’m asking cause we’re here already.” There was a lot of background noise coming through your phone speaker, mostly the voices of people you couldn’t identify. “Tell her we’re grabbing our bags,” you heard Matt say faintly in the background, probably wanting to cut your conversation with Nick short so that Nick could pay attention to where he was walking and what he was doing.

“Y/n, Matt says to tell you we’re getting our-” Nick begins to say, but is quickly cut off by Chris shouting through the speaker, “WE’RE GETTING OUR BAGS Y/N!” You grimaced and held the phone away from your ear to avoid busting your eardrums. Jack chuckles at this, putting the car in park outside the South exit before chiming in on the conversation, “we’re waiting for you guys outside the South Gate.”

“Was that Jack?” Nick asks as he, Chris and Matt watch the conveyor belt of luggages intently in order to spot theirs. You put the phone on speaker and place it on the middle console of the car, wanting to allow your husband to join in on the conversation, “Yeah buddy it’s me.” Jack had always been like an older brother to the triplets even before you two started dating, especially because he was such good friends with Justin.

Finally the boys find their luggages, working as a team to grab them all before they wiz away. “Cool! I thought y/n was gonna come alone and we’d meet you back at your house,” Nick sounded slightly out of breath as he said this because he was trying to juggle the phone, his pillow, his carryon and now his luggage. “Why would I do that when I can quite literally be a passenger princess,” you shot your husband a knowing look which received an eye roll and a dramatic scoff in return.

“Can you believe this girl, Nick? She forces me to drive her everywhere,” Jack decided to play around with the joke, wanting to embarrass you slightly. It was true though, you were always asking him to accompany you places just so you’d have an excuse to sit in the passenger seat. “As much as I’m loving this conversation, I’m gonna hang up now,” Nick replied, the multitude of items in his hands becoming too much to carry as the three of them made their way towards the South exit.

“What? No! Nick don’t hang up, what if we can’t find you guys!” You grabbed ahold of the phone again, taking it off speaker and placing it on your ear. You shifted your body to face towards the window, peering outside to try and getting a better look inside the airport. Your brothers weren’t too far away, already having made their way outside, but they hadn’t spotted your car yet. Slowly, they came into view and you watched as they trudged in the opposite direction of your vehicle.

“Oh never mind, I see you guys,” a laugh escaped your lips as you said this. Hurriedly, you undid your seatbelt and unlocked your door before hopping out of the car. “What? Where? I don’t see your car,” Nick was now looking left to right, his eyes scanning his surroundings for you and your car. At the mention of this, Chris and Matt did the same thing. “The other way, dumbass,” you replied, hanging up the phone and shoving it in your back pocket so you could wave your hands in the air.

Jack was standing next to you at this point, also waving his hands in the air in an attempt to grab your brothers’ attention. “GUYS!” You shouted, watching as they looked around in confusion still unable to spot you. Mentally you face palmed at their stupidity before shouting their names. This is what finally caught their attention, pulling their gaze in your direction. A smile grew on your face as excitement bubbled up inside you.

Their pace quickened as they tried to get to you faster without dropping any of their things. “I’m so excited!!” You whisper shouted, doing a small dance before beginning to walk towards your brothers. They were holding a lot of things and it looked like they could use some help. Your husband followed suit behind you, making sure to lock the car. He was equally as excited as you, probably even more excited because he hadn’t seen the triplets in so long.

When you finally reached them, you immediately pulled Nick in for a hug. Chris and Matt, on the other hand, went in to dab Jack up. “It’s so hot, I’m sweating already,” Nick chuckled, pulling you into him. “It’s warm,” you agreed, pulling away slightly to get a good look at his face. He looked so much older from the last time you’d seen him, his face adorned with stubble. You also noted that he had dyed his hair, his blonde locks contrasting Chris and Matt’s black hair.

You pulled away from Nick so he could greet Jack and made your way over to Chris and Matt. Nick and Jack shared a side hug, Nick making the same comment about the weather. Before you could say or do anything, Chris was pulling you in for a hug. He held you tightly, rocking you two back and forth before letting go so you could hug Matt. Matt engulfed you in his arms just as quickly as Chris had, rubbing your back before saying, “where’s your car?”

You ignored his question, wanting to get a good look at the three of them before walking over to your car, “Let me get a good look at you guys first.” They were slightly confused at the sentiment, not understanding that they looked older and older every time you saw them. As an older sister, it was your responsibility to absorb these moments like they’d never happen again. Although they were confused, they huddled together and allowed you to examine their appearance.

Your heart swelled as you took a look at them, they looked so grown up. Each of them had stubble, Matt’s being more outgrown than Chris and Nick’s. You also noticed Nick and Matt’s arms were littered with more tattoos than last time. “You guys look so grown up right now,” you commented, a small smile growing on your face. They rolled their eyes at this, you were always so dramatic and sentimental. “What! Let me love you guys!” You exclaimed when you caught sight of their eye rolls.

“Love me by carrying my bag, kid,” Chris said, shoving the backpack he’d used as a carryon in your direction. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you snatched his bag and allowed Matt and Nick to hand you something of theirs too. Jack laughed at this, offering to help carry some of their things too.

“Aaaand now I hate you guys again,” you said jokingly, turning in the direction of your car and walking away. They laughed, shaking their heads and following behind you.

—

The ride from the airport back to your house wasn’t too long, but it seemed like forever for the triplets seeing as they had just gotten off a 3 hour flight. In retrospect, 3 hours isn’t long either, but when you paired it with the two hour time difference from L.A to Texas, the time it took them to get to the airport, and the long wait for their flight you realized that they must be tired of sitting around. “You guys hungry?” You asked, shifting to face them in the backseat.

It was 2 in the afternoon now, but because of the time difference, it was 12 in the afternoon in L.A so you figured they’d be hungry. They were all bunched up in the back seat, pillows and blankets squeezed between them. Nick’s head rested against the window, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar buildings that passed by. Matt’s head was down and his eyes were shut, chin resting against his chest with his arms crossed. He must’ve fallen asleep as soon as he got in the car, allowing himself to relax once in the presence of familiar people. Chris, who sat in the middle seat with a pillow on his lap replied, “I could eat.”

You hummed in response, waiting for Nick to reply. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty hungry,” he said, still looking outside. He noticed that the traffic here was nowhere near as bad as it was in L.A, you guys were flying down the highway and if he stared at one building too long it would become a blur. “You think Matt’s hungry?” You asked, not wanting to wake him up.

“Mmm probably, he was to nervous to eat this morning,” Chris replies, leaning forward in his seat so he can get a good look at Matt’s face. Chris grabbed one of the many blankets that were in the backseat, pulling it over Matt and tucking it snuggly against him. “Yeah, he couldn’t sleep last night either,” Nick says, finally averting his gaze from the window to look at Matt. You also look over at Matt, feeling a bit sad that he allowed his nerves to get the best of him.

“Awe, my poor little brother,” you whispered in sincerity. “Poor dude’s slumped,” Jack says, looking back at Matt quickly before looking back at the road. Matt’s eyes shot open, somehow sensing that all eyes were on him. “Oop!” You exclaimed, quickly facing forward again. All of you, with the exception of Matt, were laughing now. “What’s so funny?” His voice was groggy, a small yawn following his question.

“Nothing Matty, go back to sleep,” Chris replied, throwing a corny nickname in the mix for good measure as he readjusted the blanket. You all were still laughing, leaving Matt confused, but he decided not to question any further and shut his eyes again.

“Y’all want Whataburger?” Jack asks, he doesn’t wait for their answer as he rounds a corner and enters the parking lot of said restaurant. “Do we have a choice?” Nick asks, not knowing much about the restaurant.

“You do not,” you stated, knowing that this had become your husbands favorite restaurant since moving to Texas. “It was a rhetorical question,” Jack says, putting the car in park and smiling at Nick through the rear view mirror. “This place looks like it just got sentenced to 40 years in prison,” Nick comments, referring to the orange and white stripes on the roof of the building that resembled a prison jumpsuit.

“Team orange, for real,” Chris jokes, earning a laugh from the rest of you.

—

It’s 4 in the afternoon when you all finally arrive to your house, lugging all the bags inside and leaving some of them in the living room to be dealt with tomorrow. The triplets had never been to your house before so when they walked in they looked around, taking in all the little details. “Welcome to our humble abode,” you said in a dramatic English accent before beginning a house tour. It was typical for you all to put on funny accents to exaggerate the importance of a situation or to make the others laugh. They laugh at this, following behind you as you walk them through your house still speaking in your English accent. Your house wasn’t too big considering the only people who lived in it were you and Jack, so the house tour was over quickly.

“Follow me this way gentleman, let me show you where you’ll be staying,” Jack said doing the same accent you had been doing, motioning for your brothers to follow him. You laughed at this gesture, loving the fact that he played along. “Thank you kind sir,” Matt replied attempting to do the same accent, but accidentally doing his infamous country accent instead. “Well I’ll be damned, this Texas heat is getting to me,” he continued, still putting on the country accent as he played into his failed attempt at doing an English accent.

You all laugh at this, the boys following Jack to the room you’d prepared for them. In it was a queen sized bed, a blow up mattress, a television, and a closet big enough for all of them to put their things away. There was also a restroom attached to it, stocked entirely with clean towels, toilet paper, toothpaste, and any thing else they might need during their stay. The large window in the room brings in a good amount of natural light, a perfect view of the house’s backyard visible.

The triplets walk inside, throwing some of their things on the bed. Chris jumps onto the bed, sprawling his limbs out so he looks like a star. “We’ll let you guys get situated. We’ll be in the living room, okay?” you say with a chuckle, ushering Jack out of the room. “Okay, yeah. We’ll be done in a bit,” Chris replies, rolling over onto his stomach so he can look out the window into the backyard.

“Yeah, I just have to shower and I’ll be down,” Nick agrees, placing his suitcase on the floor and opening it so he can dig through his clothes for the perfect outfit. Matt agrees as well, joining Chris on the bed so he can gauge whether he wants to sleep there or on the inflatable. “Alright, I stocked the restroom with everything you guys might need. Use it all,” you assured, ready to close the door and to join your husband in the living room.

“Oooh I’m gonna make potions!” Chris says giddily as he rubs his hands together maliciously, causing you to roll your eyes and shut the door.

—

The next couple of days were completely adventure filled as you and Jack took your brothers to as many places you could think of. The five of you had also put together a list of locations you wanted to visit and so far you’d checked off quite a few. Considering you lived in a small town between many big cities, it was easy to compile a list of ideas. For example, on the first day you guys had gone to Six Flags, the Alamo, and had taken a river boat ride in San Antonio. The five of you must’ve gone on every ride at Six Flags at least twice.

On the second day, you visited The Galleria Mall and Color Factory in Houston, even taking a quick trip to Chinatown before heading back home. You guys took so many pictures on this day, making sure to pose as many times as possible in every room inside the Color Factory.

On the third and fourth day you guys decided to stay home, watching movies and getting takeout. You guys watched scary movies and took turns taking jabs at the characters on the screen, commenting on their poor decision making skills and how you’d easily survive every situation presented on screen. You and Nick had even baked cookies that day, not allowing Chris, Matt or Jack to help because they were sure to mess up the recipe.

Since they were only going to be here for a couple more days you wanted to make the most of it. So on the fifth day you guys were ready for yet another adventure. This time, you guys were heading back into San Antonio to go to the rodeo, an experience that your brothers had never had before. Jack unfortunately couldn’t join you guys today because he couldn’t get the day off which bummed you slightly, but you knew you’d have a good day regardless.

“Make sure you pack the water bottles,” you shouted towards your brothers, watching as they packed the trunk of your car with all the things you could possibly need today. “Oh! And the sunscreen, it’s going to get hot!” You called again, going through your mental checklist so you wouldn’t forget anything important. “It’s already hot!” Nick calls back in a sing-song tone as he shuts the trunk of your car.

All three of your brothers were super excited to go to the rodeo, but they were not excited for the blistering heat. You guys learned your lesson on the first day when you guys had gone to Six Flags and came back home extremely red and sunburnt. You locked your front door, your brothers piling into the car. Chris sat in the passenger seat with Matt in the seat behind him and Nick in the seat behind the drivers seat.

You ran over to the drivers side, opening the car door and jumping into the seat. Chris had already taken the aux cord, connecting it to his phone before scrolling through his endless playlist for the perfect song. “You guys ready?” You asked, adjusting your seat and fixing your mirrors before buckling yourself. A string of agreements came from your brothers, so you put the car in reverse and began your journey.

The drive into San Antonio wasn’t long, but for whatever reason Chris decided his current soda wasn’t up to his liking so he demanded you stopped at a gas station so he could pick something new. As annoying as it was, you agreed because Nick and Matt also wanted to stop and get something. “Fine, find something on Google Maps,” you said, not looking away from the road.

Chris grabbed his phone from the center console, where he had placed it so he could skip and search for songs as he pleased, before opening Google Maps and searching for the nearest gas station. “It says the nearest one is called busseys? I don’t know, I can’t fucking read that shit,” he said, clicking on it and allowing the phone to guide you towards the location. You listened intently for the directions, wanting to know what exit you’d have to take to get here. Nick grabbed ahold of Chris’s phone and read the name of the gas station, “Buc-ee’s?! You fucking dumbass?!”

Matt laughed at this, scooting forward in his seat to look over at the phone. He read the name, laughing at how Chris had completely butchered the pronunciation of the name. “Kid really said busseys,” Matt laughed again, sitting back in his seat. The three of them were laughing, you were giggling too but you were mostly trying to listen to the directions. “Chris! What exit is it?!” You used your right hand to try and grab the phone, but Nick was still holding it.

“Nick has the phone, how am I supposed to know!” He exclaimed, pointing at Nick like he was the culprit of a terrible crime. “Calm down, it’s the one after this one,” Nick replied as he dramatically placed the phone back on the center console. “Thank you,” you said sarcastically, shooting Nick a playful glance through the rear view to which he rolled his eyes.

When you finally pulled into the parking lot, Chris jumped up dramatically at the sight of the building. He inched closer to the dashboard to get a better look. It was the biggest gas station he had ever seen, complete with a mascot and everything! As he examined the building closer, he caught sight of a statue in the front of entrance. He squinted his eyes, trying to decipher what the statue was. When he finally realized what it was, his eyes opened in shock, “IS THAT A FUCKING BEAVER?!?”

“WHAT?! WHERE?!?” Nick shouted, moving closer to Matt for protection because he thought there was an actual beaver outside. Matt stretched his neck, trying to see over Chris’s seat to see what he was looking at. His eyes grew wide too, seeing the giant statue in front of the building. “Holy fuck that thing is huge!” He exclaimed, pushing himself up from his seat to get a better view. When he said this, Nick only became more flustered, “WHERE IS IT?!? DON’T SAY THAT!” He shouted again, causing you all to laugh.

“Nick it’s just a statue,” you said through laughter, attempting to reassure him. “Oh,” he relaxed immediately when you said this, finally looking over Chris’s seat and seeing the giant beaver statue. “He’s kinda cute,” Nick admitted, feeling silly for reacting so dramatically.

“Wait…” Chris said as he looked around suspiciously as if he was about to reveal something no one was supposed to know, “is that beaver… Bussey?” His voice came out in a whisper almost like he had just discovered a conspiracy. You erupted in a fit of laughter again, getting out of the car to make your way inside.

“Ha. Bussey,” Matt laughed to himself, unbuckling his seat and getting out of the car to walk into the gas station.

—

The stop at Buc-ee’s had completely sidetracked you guys and you all almost forgot about the rodeo entirely. It took you guys an abnormally long time to look through everything the store had to offer. There were food items you’d never seen before, a mini restaurant, a bakery, a section with house supplies, and even a gift shop filled to the brim with specialized Buc-ee’s merch. Chris was mesmerized by the drink station, wanting to try every single flavor. He had successfully talked you all into each getting a different flavor so he could try as many as possible.

When you finally checked out, you were each walking out with a bag or two of merch and snacks. There was so much to choose from including mugs, keychains, sweatshirts, t-shirts, and plushies all of it resembling or including the gas station’s mascot.

“Shout out to Buc-ee, man. This soda is so good,” Chris commented once you guys were back in the car, taking a long sip from his drink. “Wait let me try,” Matt said, trading his drink with Chris so they could try each others drinks. Matt took a sip of Chris’s drink, eyes widening once the flavor settled in his mouth. The soda was actually really good. “Stop, it can’t be that good,” Nick said, rolling his eyes at Matt’s theatrics. “Try it,” Matt replied, holding the drink out for Nick to take.

Nick takes a sip, eyes also widening once he realized how good it was. You watched them intently, now you wanted to taste it to see the hype. “This tastes like the time Matt threw the fork at the old lady!” Nick exclaims, taking another sip to make sure he was getting it right. “Yes! Yes!” Chris agrees, recalling the memory fondly.

“Let y/n try it!” Matt says, pulling the drink away from Nick mid sip, causing it to dribble down his chin a little. “Woah Matt, calm down tough guy,” Chris says, watching as Nick wipes the soda from his chin, mouth still full of soda. Nick tries hard to hold in his laughter so that he doesn’t spit the drink out in your car, the three of you looking at him fully expecting there to be a mess in the backseat in mere seconds. He calms himself down, breathing in deeply before swallowing.

Once the coast is clear and he’s sure that Nick isn’t going to spit his drink out, Matt hands you the cup. You take it and immediately take a sip, having the same reaction as your brothers. “It’s good, right!” Chris says, eagerly taking the drink back and taking another sip.

“That does taste like the time Matt threw the fork at the old lady!” you exclaim in excitement causing Matt to shake his head as he reminisces on the memory.

—

Finally you guys arrive at the rodeo, making sure to go up to every booth and ride every single ride. You guys even waited in the long lines to try the crazy food items being advertised like the fried oreos and boiled peanuts. The four of you walked around the carnival portion of the rodeo for what seemed like forever before deciding to enter the area where they had all the livestock.

“It stinks in here,” you commented as you guys walked into the building where the animals were in. You plugged your nose, leading the way through the building. “Ew it does,” Nick agreed, copying your actions and plugging his nose. Chris and Matt were either unphased by the smell or they didn’t want to be rude because they didn’t say anything.

There were so many different animals so you guys walked around the building to look at them all. After a while, you and Nick had become accustomed to the smell and took your time admiring the animals. The ducks were your personal favorite, but the cows were a close second.

“Look! They have horses over there!” Matt said, this was the most excited you’d seen him since you’d arrived here. He rushed his way over to where the horses were, the rest of you following behind him. You guys pushed through the sea of people, trying to keep up with Matt. “Matt, wait up!” Chris shouted, excusing himself as he pushed past people to try and reach Matt. Before you knew it, you guys had lost sight of him and were looking around trying to spot him in the crowd.

“I think he went this way,” Nick said, leading the way in a completely different direction. You and Chris follow Nick, careful not to leave too much distance between between the three of you as to avoid getting lost. “Nick, you’re going to fast,” you mumble, trying to grab ahold of his hand but fail due to being pushed out of the way by other people trying to make their way through the crowd. You stop dead in your tracks, not wanting to bump into anyone causing Chris to bump into you.

“Sorry,” he says, moving to stand beside you. When you start walking again, you look up to see where Nick went but you can’t find him anymore either. “Great, now we lost Nick,” you groaned, facepalming while Chris tiptoed to see over the crowd. You were too short to see that high up so there was no point in trying, but Chris had spotted Nick’s blonde hair in the distance.

“He’s over there, I see him,” he says confidently, grabbing your shoulders and turning you in the direction he saw Nick. He pushes your shoulders lightly, guiding you in Nick’s general direction. When he felt like you guys were heading the right way, he let go of your shoulders and began walking next to you instead of behind you. “He might have gone this way,” he says, turning right and walking in the direction his gut was leading him.

“Which way?” You asked, looking over to where he was just standing. Another groan escaped your lips, you had just lost Chris too. For a while, you stood in place hoping that one of them would somehow find you, but after about 5 minutes you realized no one was going to find you in this large sea of people. Panic was beginning to build up inside of you, but you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down, determined to find your brothers so you guys could leave.

Your inner monologue was going crazy, thinking of all the things that could’ve happened to your brothers. For all you know, they could’ve all walked out of this building and were somewhere across the whole venue. First you passed the pigs, not finding anyone there. You asked some people if they’d seen any of your brothers, trying to describe what they looked like before realizing they were literally almost identical and that asking people wasn’t going to get you anymore.

Secondly, you passed the chickens, still coming up empty handed. By the time you had circled back to where you started, you were actually beginning to panic. You felt the tears brimming, trying to hold it in so you wouldn’t cry in front of a room full of strangers. Everything was slowly becoming too much, the animals, the people, the noise, even the smell was beginning to bother you again. Before the tears could flow, you heard Nick, “Oh thank God I found you!”

You turned in the direction you heard him, an instant wave of relief washing over your body. “Hey, you okay?” He asked softly, noticing how scared you looked. His hands were on your shoulders, grounding you. Once you saw him, you weren’t as scared, but the built up emotions from before had shaken you. You nodded your head in response, wiping a stray tear.

“Let’s go find Chris and Matt,” he suggested with a small smile. He slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him protectively. To your surprise, he was being very gentle with you. Ever since you’d shared your heartfelt story on the podcast, Nick had felt an urge to protect you like you’d always protected him, Chris and Matt.

You two did another lap around the building, making small talk along the way before deciding that Chris and Matt had probably left the building. As you two walked outside, you saw Chris and Matt walking in your direction each with a corndog in hand. They were too immersed in their own conversation to notice you and Nick.

“What the fuck?!” Nick shouted once they were in earshot, only saying it loud enough for them to hear. They perked up at this, looking in the direction of you two with confused looks on their faces. “We walked around that place like 5 fucking times looking for you idiots!” Nick exclaimed again. Matt shrugged, taking a bite from his corndog. “You’re both so annoying,” you grumbled, actually upset.

“We saw you guys, it looked like you were having a good time,” Chris commented before taking a bite of his own corndog, not catching that you were actually mad at them this time. “And we were hungry soooo… we got food,” Matt explains, offering you a bite of his food. You push his hand away in annoyance only causing him to offer Nick a bite. Nick rolled his eyes, but he took Matt up on the offer and took a bite. The corndog was good, but he was still mad.

“Let’s just go home,” you reply, feeling the exhaustion and anger ruin your mood. “Hmm yeah, it’s starting to get dark,” Chris agrees, dipping his corndog in mustard before taking yet another bite. Matt agrees with him, making a comment about how he hates driving at night. How could two people be so oblivious?

You decide to hold your tongue, instead humming and beginning to walk to your car. You’re quiet the entire ride home, not singing along to any of the songs Chris is playing and not engaging in any of the conversations surrounding you. Nick is the only who notices, both Matt and Chris still completely oblivious.

Finally, when you get home you sigh in relief and turn the car off. You unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out of the car and slamming the door in the process. “What’s her problem?” Chris asks, taken aback by how hard you slammed the door. Nick mentally facepalms, how is Chris just now noticing you were upset? “That was dramatic,” Matt chimes in, watching as you disappear into the house without waiting for them to get off the car.

“Are you guys that dumb?” Nick asks, unbuckling himself and gathering the bags that you all had accumulated throughout the day. “What? She slammed the door, not us,” Chris said, also gathering his things from the front seat. Matt was about to interject, but was swiftly interrupted by Nick, “She was looking for us inside that building!” Chris and Matt couldn’t be more confused.

“What building?!” Matt asked, raising his voice to the same level Nick had. “THE ONE WITH THE ANIMALS YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Nick responded, unafraid to get loud. “Okay? We were looking for you guys too?” Chris responds sassily, not quite ready to raise his voice yet. “She was crying, though. I think she got really scared,” Nick’s voice softened a bit, remembering the scared look on your face and the tear that rolled down your cheek.

“Oh,” the other two mumbled, finally realizing that they had kinda ditched you two in there. “Let’s just go inside,” Nick sighs, opening his door and getting out of the car before walking inside the house. Chris and Matt felt bad now, but how were they supposed to know you’d get scared? Older sisters weren’t supposed to get scared. They got off the car and joined Nick inside.

—

The next morning you woke up bright and early, still a little upset from yesterday, but not as upset as you were when you got home. Everyone was up already, you could hear noise coming from the kitchen and the triplets talking with your husband. You got ready for the day before heading downstairs, ready to greet your family in the kitchen. As you neared the final step, you stopped because you wanted to hear what the boys were talking about.

“You guys need to apologize, she was really scared,” Nick said, referring to yesterdays events. Leave it to Nick to try and make amends and keep everyone happy. You were going to walk in the kitchen, but Chris’s voice stopped you, “What if she cries again?”

“She’s going to cry, she always cries,” you hear Jack say, followed by the sound of whisking. ‘I hope he’s making pancakes,’ you thought before realizing that he had just called you a crybaby. He’s your husband and here he is agreeing with your brothers that you cry a lot. “When she comes down, I’ll apologize,” this time it was Matt who spoke, feeling a little nervous, but also sad. You two had never had a falling out before. Growing up you would only ever have big fights with Justin, sometimes having an argument or two with Nick, even a slight disagreement with Chris, but never had you been actually mad at Matt. He felt like he had failed you.

You were done waiting, you took the last step and rounded the corner. “Good morning,” you greeted, offering everyone a small smile, including your husband. You walk over to Jack only to see what he was making, but he thinks you’re going over for a kiss. He leans down, ready to plant his lips on yours, but you turn your head to the side and let it land on your cheek. He’s taken aback by this, but doesn’t say anything. You might’ve let him kiss you, but upon inspection you realized he was making eggs. ‘Gross,’ you thought, before walking over to the fridge for something to drink. You liked eggs, but you were hoping for pancakes.

“Morning,” Chris says awkwardly, coughing right afterwards to try and sound casual. “Morning,” Matt greets, sounding extremely nervous as he watches your every move. “How’d you sleep?” Nick asks, pouring cereal into a bowl. “Mmm pretty good for the most part,” you reply, grabbing the orange juice from inside the fridge before closing it. Nick hums in response, grabbing his bowl of cereal and walking over to the kitchen table.

“How did you guys sleep?” You ask, look between your three brothers. Nick knows you’re really only asking Chris and Matt so he stays quiet, silently eating his cereal as he prepares for the events to unfold. “Um, pretty good?” Chris’s answer is unsure, he’s scared to say the wrong thing. Was he supposed to say he had the worst sleep of his life? Cause if he was it would be a lie. He hated fighting with you, but he wasn’t the type to kiss ass just to earn forgiveness.

You nodded your head, not saying anything before looking at Matt. Matt hates this, he quickly realized you were probably going to scold them after this. “Same, I slept- um- I slept good,” he’s stuttering through his words, so nervous that he could probably shit himself. Nick is still munching away, watching you all intently. Jack, on the other hand, was too busy stirring his eggs to care about a sibling quarrel.

“Hmm, okay,” you respond, slowly nodding your head. “I’m sorry?” Chris finally says, wondering if that’s what you wanted to hear. You smirk a little, looking over expectantly at Matt this time. He realizes what this is and goes from nervous to annoyed. You weren’t even mad anymore, you were just trying to get them to apologize to embarrass them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, avoiding your gaze in fear that he’ll go completely red.

“What was that? Sorry I couldn’t hear you,” you pushed, cupping a hand to your ear. “I’m sorry,” he replied again slightly louder than before. “I’m sorry, Nick could you hear him?” You look back at Nick who quickly shakes his head no, chuckling at the entire situation. “Go ahead Matt, we couldn’t hear you,” you had let go of Chris at this point to to get a better look at Matt.

“I’m sorry!” He’s almost shouting at this point, beyond annoyed with you. “Why didn’t you just say that the first time!” You ask innocently, hugging him dramatically. Matt attempts to wiggle out of your grasp making Chris, Nick and Jack laugh as they watch you two struggle like children.

“The eggs are ready!” Jack announces, turning the stove off and picking the pan up in order to serve everyone. “I wish they were pancakes,” you grumble, letting go of Matt to take a better look at the eggs. Matt sighs in relief, hating everything about the previous interaction.

“Yes, chef!” Jack salutes you like a soldier, turning the stove back on immediately. You laugh, finally giving him the kiss he didn’t get earlier.

—

The last week flies by quickly and before you know it you’re back at the airport dropping your brothers off with more things than they arrived with. “I’m going to miss y’all,” you whisper into the group hug, not wanting to let go. The last two weeks had been so fun and now you probably won’t be together again until Thanksgiving or Christmas.

“We can always come back to visit,” Nick suggests, not wanting you to cry. There was always an opportunity to visit, especially on the weeks when their schedules were flexible. “Yeah, don’t be sad. Plus we call all the time,” Chris chimes in, the four of you breaking from your hug. You nod at this comment, knowing it was only half true. The times you were able to call them were slim, the time difference playing a sight role in your ability to coordinate a good time to talk.

“Plus there’s still Christmas,” Matt says, becoming sad at how far away it seems. “Yeah, you guys are right,” you admit. This wasn’t the end of the world, you’d see them again soon. You were mostly sad that you were going to be alone at home now when your husband was at work. Plus, in a month you’d be returning to work. You groaned internally at the thought of returning to work.

“Good afternoon passengers. This is a pre-boarding announcement for flight 76A to Los Angeles, California. All those boarding this flight please make your way towards the gate 3 immediately.” You hear over the intercom. Suddenly it feels more real, they were really leaving.

“That’s us,” Chris says, looking in the direction of the gate before grabbing ahold of his carryon and slinging it over his shoulder. You smile weakly at them, nodding your head. Of course you know they have to leave, you understand that they have a life of their own. “Alright, I guess we gotta go,” Nick says, offering you one last hug goodbye. “I love you guys, be safe. Call me when you get home,” you say as you hug him.

“So bossy,” Matt chuckles, offering you a hug of his own. You laugh a little as you hug him, too sad to argue with him over this comment. “This is the final boarding call for passengers on flight 76A to Los Angeles, California. Please proceed to gate 3 immediately.” The boys grab their things in a rush when they hear this.

“Okay guys, we gotta to go,” Chris says, ushering his brothers towards gate 3 as quickly as possible. Chris hated goodbyes, he didn’t see the point in all the sappy hugs and kisses. It’s not like you were never going to see each other again. You know this, so you don’t press him for a hug. “Yes! Go!” You agree, waving them in the direction of their boarding gate. They hurriedly walk away with all their things in their hands, looking back at you and waving. You were a little sad you didn’t get to hug Chris goodbye, but you’d survive. You watch as they rush to make it to their gate on time.

Just as you’re about turn to leave you see Chris stop and you swear you hear him groan. He drops his things and turns back to you. Before you know it he’s running back to you and engulfing you in a hug. The guilt was eating at him the closer he got to the gate, how was he going to leave without hugging his only sister goodbye? “I should’ve just hugged you the first time,” he says, resting his chin on the top of your head. You smile, wrapping your arms around your brother and rubbing his back. Who knew Chris could be such a sap?

“CHRIS!” Nick yells from the gate as he tries to tell the flight attendant to wait for him. “Okay, I gotta go now,” he lets go of you and runs towards where Nick is, grabbing his things in the process. “I’m going!” He yells, almost tripping from how quickly he’s running. They disappear into the gate, the doors closing behind them.

You were going to miss them, but you were so glad you had the chance to spend time with them.

PT.3

—

A/n: you ask and you shall receive! I wrote a long story for you because I don’t really know if I want to turn this into a series, but I do want to provide you with enough content to hold you over haha. Hope you enjoy!!!! Also, for those just reading this story for the first time, go read part one for a better understanding of the little details.

- L.A.M.B 👼🏻💗

[yandere-romanticaa]

It's 8 PM. I am listening to Frank Sinatra. And Jing Yuan makes me emotional therefore, I need to write some shit down. When will I ever write for any other HSR character that's not him???

Jing Yuan, a long living species, who falls for a regular human. A short living species.

He is a man who is able to play the waiting game, he is that kind of person who can and is willing to analyze every single possible move his enemy, or ally, can and is willing to make. Centuries of long and hard battles have desensitized him to certain brutality. Now, he is not some beast who is not capable of compassion but when you've lost so much, it's only natural for your heart to harden.

That is why the realization that he cannot play the waiting game with you dawns on him.

You may stand by his side now but where will you be in the next 10 years? The next 50 years? A century means nothing to him. It will all go away in the blink of an eye, forgotten and unnecessary.

His heart sinks at the thought of you not being with him. The way in which you coo after him, it gives him a reason to actually enter his office and leave it with a smile on his face. Who will be there for that cheeky little Cloud Knight of his when he's feeling pouty? Who will be there to smack Jing Yuan back to his senses as he takes yet another unnecessary nap?

One day, you will grow old and he will stay the same as he is. He will hold you in his arms and weep as he watches the life leave your eyes for good. Jing Yuan will be forced to watch the final piece of his heart be ripped away from him, stolen by cruel destiny. He could already taste the blood in his mouth as he bites back a scream of pain.

Curse the Abundance. Curse the entire Universe for taking you away from him. Curse your silly mortality, curse the fact that you were so perfect to begin with.

That is precisely why right now, he must have you. He takes you away and locks you in some private estate, where you can be safe. The thought of making you a long living species is tempting but he is not sure if he's willing to play that card.

You scream sometimes. You weep and cry to please let you go, that you love him but that this is not alright. And Jing Yuan can do nothing but to kiss your forehead and mumble sweet nothings in your ear.

He may perhaps even marry you in secret. If he does, his wedding ring would never come off his finger, not even after your passing. This sparks so many rumors on the Lofu but Jing Yuan does not acknowledge them. He is the only one who needs to know the true meaning of the ring.

Jing Yuan is not ready for your death. He may try to prepare but really, who is ever ready for something so painful?

He sits quietly next to you, the sheets beneath you all silk and perfection. The room reeks of medicine and flowers but it is missing the bright sound of your laughter. You are gone. Jing Yuan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks of funeral arrangements.

But it's so hard to concentrate if his vision is filled with black spots.

Jing Yuan stands up, his feet shaky, his soul shattered. His heart is either dead or dying because you took it with you, wherever you may be. The General can feel the walls around him tightening, the air in his lungs knocked out as the floor is suddenly covered in golden leaves.

Ah, they look pretty. You would have liked those indeed. Jing Yuan reaches towards them, a long, ink black talon gently picks it off the marble floor as his long white hair covers his face.

Odd, he thinks to himself. His hands never looked so black before.

A nearby caw of a raven breaks him out of his trance as Jing Yuan looks to his left, where a massive mirror hangs. He is greeted with something that should horrify him, something that should make him weep but he has no tears left to shed.

The Mara is taking over him. It is too late to fix him.

Maybe, just maybe, the General of the Lofu does not want to be fixed. Perhaps he can be slain in battle and be reunited with you in the afterlife. Would you be happy to see him? Would you hold him in your arms, play with his hair and sing him songs in the quiet evening?

Perhaps you wouldn't show him such kindness. After all, he has hurt you in so many ways. He does not deserve your love. But he can't help but to reach out for it.

A final tear cascades down his pale cheek as Jing Yuan smiles at his reflection. A maid opens the door behind him and lets out a loud scream, her eyes shaking in fear as she witnesses the General transforming into the same kind monster he swore he would keep in check. Jing Yuan sighs as he feels his heart beat, for the final time.

He was coming to see you. He was going to see you again. He was ready to grovel and beg as much as necessary, if it meant that you would be by his side. Yes, that truly was a pleasant thought. You and him, together as the sun sets. He can still see the faint glimmer of the golden ring on his finger, his eternal promise to you. It shines like a lonely star in a massive galaxy, with no way to protect itself.

However, not even stars can live forever.

And just like that, the world goes dark.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 12

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: and its here everyone. Any thoughts about this?

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2013, Circuit de Monaco

"Happy Birthday sister!"Mark greeted on the other line "Am I the last one to greet you?"

Despite the afternoon horizons outside the window of Y/N, she was still in her bed. Usually she doesn't like waking up with calls but Mark's greeting was something that she can tolerate today.

"You are the first, I just woke up"Y/N replied.

"Woke up? Are you back in London?"Mark's confusion was evident.

"I'm actually here in Monaco"Y/N clarified "I had a late flight so I was a bit tired so I woke up here at around.. oh its 4 in the afternoon"

In hindsight, she should have set an alarm so she didn't miss out a huge chunk of hours sleeping. However, she was exhausted from packing and taking care of things before she left Spain. She wanted a complete break for her birthday that's why she overworked herself to ensure everything can function without her.

"How long are you staying there?"Mark wondered.

"Till the Monaco GP so I have 2 weeks to enjoy Monaco's waters"

"You have a good one there sis"

"Thanks Mark"

"Happy Birthday again, I wish you all the best" Mark added "And if you want to buy anything, just tell me and I'll pay for it"

"Mark, you didn't have to do that"

There was a sigh on the other line. Mark knows how much Y/N values to work for the money that she spends that's why she doesn't like spending money that she didn't own.

"Just let me be Y/N, I missed a huge part of your life because I was immature"Mark explains "Just let me do this for you, okay?"

The whole brother-sister relationship is still mending. It was already one of the best gifts that Y/N could have asked. These moments are just some instances that they tried to make up with each other.

"Okay, I won't buy anything expensive though"Y/N compromises.

"That's tough in Monaco"

It earned a shared laughter between the two. It was obviously common knowledge that Monaco's cost of living and the items displayed on the store could cost a month's worth of fortune.

"You take care okay? I'll call you later when I still have time"Mark said

"Thanks big bro"

When Y/N ended the call, there were several messages from different people. She felt inclined to thank them for their greetings and for remembering her birthday so she spent the next few minutes texting them back.

She already had a voicemail from Mick, a painfully long message from Jenson, even some Team Principals sent a message to her. Their greetings made her feel so loved.

However, there is this void feeling upon realizing that there is someone missing.

Y/N: Hey goodmorning! Are you okay? I'm leaving tonight for Monaco maybe we could grab some lunch later? Away from the media and everything. Miss you a lot x Y/N: Heyyyy so I heard from Britta you had a night out so maybe you are suffering a hangover. Let's just resched lunch? Y/N: Btw I gave her some hangover medicines that Jenson claims to be magic when he is hung over. I hope everything is alright xx

The messages from yesterday remains unread by Sebastian. It was a bit disappointing that she wasn't able to talk to Sebastian at all during the Spanish GP. She knew how it must have been difficult weekend for him.

I'm sure he will call, Y/N assures herself.

The grumbling in her stomach caused her to remember that she hasn't eaten yet. Y/N opened her luggages and decided to get dressed to get her first meal of the day.

There was a perfect cafe spot that was just right the corner of her hotel. It also has a perfect view of the yachts parked in Monaco, Y/N couldn't think of another perfect place to eat.

She was enjoying herself when all of a sudden someone called out her name.

"Y/N?" for a moment, Y/N wanted to think that it was Sebastian calling her.

But she knew that this voice was a little bit too different to be Sebastian. Sebastian has a certain kind of accent that pronounces her name in a certain tone regardless of his emotions.

"Jules?"she recognized the driver.

It was not often that she have interacted with Jules a lot but he was a friendly face in the paddock. He has always been a gentleman to women and he is one of those drivers that isn't a PR nightmare.

Jules made a beeline to Y/N, he was followed by a younger boy with a mop of brown hair.

"I thought it was you"Jules smiles "And I was right. What are you doing in Monaco?"

"Oh, I'm celebrating my birthday today"Y/N replied

"Wow, I didn't know that. Happy Birthday then Y/N" Jules greeted.

"Thanks, how about you why are you in Monaco? It's a bit too early for the GP"Y/N joked.

"Oh I'm here with my godson"Jules gestured to the young boy "Y/N meet Charles, Charles meet Y/N. Y/N here is from McLaren and is the one in charge of Jenson"

Y/N handed out her hand and Charles shyly picked it up to shake it.

"I'm Charles Leclerc, its nice to meet you Miss Y/N" he greeted back.

The boy had a certain smile that if Y/N was not informed earlier then she would have mistaken him as his younger brother. She could tell that if Charles gets a little bit older then he might looks strikingly similar to Jules.

"That's a very polite boy, you two look very much alike"Y/N noticed.

"Yeah-"

Jules phone starts ringing and he seems troubled to see the caller ID.

"Is it alright if you could look after Charles for a while"Jules asked "I have this really important call and it might take a while"

"Yeah sure!"Y/N agrees.

"Thanks, you are an angel! Be good Charles, I'll try to make this quick"

Jules stepped out of a cafe and began speaking to the one of the phone. Charles and Y/N were left at the cafe, the boy looks a bit lost in Y/N's opinion.

"You can sit there and you can tell me about yourself"Y/N offered.

He nods and he immediately took the chair next to her.

"Would you like something to drink or something to eat?"Y/N asked.

"I can't eat much, I have to be lightweight to be able to drive faster"Charles responded.

"You race too?"

"I kart around here and there, Jules has been teaching me a lot"Charles confirmed.

Y/N takes a sip of her hot chocolate as she smiles. When they started talking about racing, Charles certainly changed his attitude. Aspirers like Charles are quite exciting to watch because she knows that with their determination then she might end up seeing him in the grid in a couple of years.

"My brother drives too, his name is Mark"Y/N shares.

Charles' eyes widen in recognition. He went closer to Y/N with an excited smile.

"Mark as in Mark Webber? The teammate of current world champion Sebastian Vettel"Charles enumerates excitedly.

"You know your Grand Prix winners"Y/N notes.

"I think I know more about them than school"

This made Y/N laugh. It was not uncommon that F1 drivers drop out early of school so they could race. For this reason, they don't seem to have a life outside of the sports. Sebastian is a good example of how the man has been a walking encyclopedia of Formula 1. You could ask him the Grand Prix winner of 1978 and he could tell you it was Andretti without missing a beat. But ask him about the current president of America and he won't give you any answers.

"Sebastian is one of my idols, I wish he is still there when I drive in F1"Charles wishful thinking.

The thought of Sebastian crosses her mind again, her smile obviously falters upon checking her phone for the umpteenth time today.

"You seem to be sad today" Charles noticed "Shouldn't you be happy that its your birthday?"

She forces a smile.

"Its nothing, I'm just waiting for someone's birthday greeting"Y/N brushes it off.

"Is it your bestfriend?"Charles pressed "If my bestfriend forgot my birthday then I would be very upset as well"

Bestfriends? Soon lovers? The relationship is a bit complicated but either way Y/N understands Charles statement that its indeed upsetting when a special someone forgets. However, due to Y/N's closeness with Sebastian she is willing to make up excuses for his forgetfulness.

"He must have been busy, work hasn't been quite easy for him lately"Y/N reasons out.

As if on cue, Charles rolled his eyes. Gone was the shy boy from a while ago as he leaned closer to the table.

"You shouldn't make work as an excuse"Charles rebutted "Jules said that even if you have a bad race or a bad day, you should never take that out to the people important to you"

It was a good advice that Jules has given Charles. Y/N was sure that one day, Charles will be able to give himself a perfect work-life balance in the future.

"Believe me Charles, he is not usually like that"Y/N defends again "Maybe he is just caught up in some stuffs"

"Suit yourself but just remember that if he wanted to then he definitely would"

The words lingered in Y/N's mind even after Jules picked up Charles and the two said goodbye. It was something that kept repeating in her mind as she mindlessly walked the streets of Monaco and watched the skyline go dark.

Sebastian must have a reason for forgetting her birthday, didn't he?

2013, Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve

As a driver, they should not stay up late the night before the race. They must have a clear head so that they can focus on the task ahead. Any sort of pressure or stress may be detrimental to their performance.

Lately, Sebastian has been feeling all sorts of pressure. A lot has happened lately.

"You look like you had a lot of things going on"Jenson walks next to him.

"Aren't you supposed to avoid me at all cost?"Sebastian questioned.

"I mean we're not going to get caught if you don't tell anyone"Jenson grins "So what's on your mind?"

The heavy sigh that Sebastian has been keeping in finally gets out in the open. He doesn't even know where to begin with his story. Should he be completely honest or is this something that he has to sugarcoat to lessen the blow?

"A lot of things"Sebastian stated.

Jenson opened his arms wide and gestured that he is a person that Sebastian could confide him.

"Come on Sebastian, I'd like to think we're friends. Come on, lay it out on me"Jenson encourages.

The thing that Jenson doesn't understand is that Sebastian is wary of the information he gives out to him. He still doesn't know how to deal with Y/N and Jenson may say the wrong thing and it falls all over from Sebastian.

"I made several mistakes" that was one way of putting it lightly.

"Mistakes can be fixed"

"But I fear this mistake can't be fixed"Sebastian argued "No sorrys can fix this thing"

"Hey if this is about you missing out on Y/N's birthday then don't worry. I'm sure you could say that you have been preoccupied and she would understand that. You know she doesn't even make a big of a deal that we miss out her birthday-"Jenson was explaining.

Then it hits Sebastian. It was June.

"Oh fuck"

If Sebastian could just hit himself all over the wall then he would have done it all night long. He can't believe that he forgot about her birthday. He did not just forgot the birth date but even the birth month. He felt extremely stupid.

"You mean to tell me that forgetting her birthday is not the mistake were talking about?"Jenson pieced out the puzzle.

"Fuck, I am so fucking stupid"Sebastian lamented.

"What else did you do then?"Jenson inquired.

"Just something stupid"

Sebastian is at a lost of words before on how to explain his situation but with this new dilemma then its even more stressful. How can he tell her that he was so drunk that he slept with someone else that night in Spain. He couldn't tell the worst part that it was with someone that the both of them know. That the whole reason why he was occupied and forgot her birthday because he was trying to keep the situation quiet.

The comforting pat on the back from Jenson brought Sebastian out of his thoughts.

"You just got to be honest with her, I'm sure Y/N will understand"Jenson assures.

There was a voice in Sebastian's head that is telling him that this was something that any woman cannot understand.

"Y/N loves you a lot. You have to trust that her love is strong to understand you"Jenson stated.

Sebastian could just give a weak smile. The guilty feeling is eating him up more than ever. What did he ever do to deserve her love?

"Tell you what, I'll make some arrangements in the next Grand Prix. I'll make sure to keep McLaren occupied and you two could go spend time with each other"Jenson added.

"You would do that?"

"Of course, anything for Y/N"Jenson replied "Just don't make her cry, I hate seeing her cry"

Too overwhelmed by emotions and planning what to do next week, Sebastian failed to notice the smile that Jenson had on his face. If he paid attention then he would notice that Jenson was also as troubled with thoughts for a certain girl.

With a heavy sigh, Jenson keeps his true feelings at bay.

2013, Silverstone Circuit

It was already midnight when she arrived at her flat. Y/N was a bit tired and she was so glad that the race was happening in Silverstone so she has a few days in the comforts of her home. She was ready to hit the bed when she heard noises coming inside her apartment.

'Did I forget to lock the doors when I left?' she wondered in her head.

She quickly armed herself up by putting up her bag in a defensive manner and her phone hovering to the emergency number.

"Mein Gott! Why is this so difficult to do?"the voice from inside the apartment shouted.

She knows that voice a little too well. But Y/N couldn't believe that he would be here waiting for her.

"Sebastian? What are you-"

Seeing Sebastian Vettel in the kitchen with an apron was the least shocking thing that Y/N saw in her flat. The living room decorated by some balloons and a bouquet of flowers was placed there. Sebastian was tending over a cake that seems to be in the process of being coated with icing. The table was filled with some food that seems to be homemade.

"Hey, I know I have been a jerk recently but I'm here to apologize"Sebastian explains "Jenson stole your duplicate key and I prepared these little welcome dinner and I hope to get back to your good graces"

Something so domestic about the whole thing that Y/N's weeks of sadness immediately disappeared into thin air. She went to give him the biggest hug and she felt like the pieces are being glued back together.

"I missed you so much"she admitted.

"Its been a while"

"I really missed you"she confirms again "Please don't leave me like that again"

The way that Sebastian gazed at her and gave her a gentle forehead kiss seems to be a promise that he won't go away again.

There were a lot of questions that remained unanswered but Y/N is too distracted to ruin the whole thing by asking those. She is just happy to have him back and she wants to savor every moment with him.

2013, Nürburgring

"She seems to fit right in the family" Norbert told his son "Any progress?"

Sebastian was in a lovestruck smile as he gazed his attention to the garden where his mother and Y/N were conversing together. It wasn't the first time that his parents met Y/N but this was the first time that he brought her to his childhood home.

"I'm working on things"Sebastian replied.

"She is a wonderful girl. You treasure her and you don't make her cry alright?"Norbert reminded.

"Papa, its like you are handing me out for marriage already"Sebastian snickered.

"Isn't that the main point of dating? To get married eventually"

The word marriage seems to be foreign in the conversation between the couple. They both know and understand that they have to settle the score between their respective jobs to ensure that there is no conflict. Then the team mate thing has to be resolved as well. On top of that, they both have careers and dreams that they want to achieve.

But making Y/N a Vettel is something in the plans.

"You seem to be talking about us"Mrs Vettel called their attention out and Y/N's turned her head.

"Anything you want to share Seb?"Y/N wondered.

Sebastian just went forward to wrap an arm around Y/N. There was pure bliss in his eyes that everyone is getting along in the household. If he would make her a Vettel then she would be a happy addition to the family.

"What are you and Mama talking about?" Sebastian diverts the topic.

"Oh I'm just showing Y/N your childhood photos"Mrs Vettel gleefuly answered.

"Mama no"Sebastian groaned.

The albums from the past is filled with lots of photos of Sebastian that would be horrifying to show to the public. It includes his early track days, snotty seasons, and even some nerdy photos from school.

"You look adorable Seb"Y/N comforts "Look here Seb, this looks so cute. Is this you on your first day of school?"

The photo had a younger Sebastian holding hands with a blonde haired girl. They have their backpacks on and they seem to be giggling at the camera. Frankly, Sebastian have no memory of what they are talking about but they seem to have been caught conversing when the photo was taken

"Oh that's his first day of school with his friend Hanna"Mrs Vettel recognized.

"Hanna as in Hanna Prater?"Y/N inquired.

The mere mention of the name caused Sebastian's stomach to churn as if he swallowed a rock. The day have already been perfect but the name caused all of his worries to come back.

"You know Hanna?"the elder male Vettel asked.

"Yeah, I met her in some Grand Prix"Y/N answered "She was super sweet and she seems like a very supportive friend to Sebastian"

The way that Y/N talks about Hanna makes Sebastian feel more guilty about what transpired weeks ago. He couldn't have the heart to tell Y/N the truth about them. The first one in Brazil was an accident and could be something forgivable but what happened in Spain was something he was not sure of.

"Hey you seem pale? Are you alright?"Y/N voiced out her concern.

"I'm alright"

"You must be starving already, let's get you two some food"Mrs Vettel immediately got up from her seat.

"Mama you don't have to"Sebastian begs.

"Nonsense, you should get a plate or two before you go for the race weekend"Mrs Vettel argues.

It was useless to argue with his mother. Sebastian just raised his hands in surrender as his mother went off to the kitchen to prepare some meals for them to eat. She has also grabbed Mr Vettel and instructs him to set the table.

The couple was left alone and Y/N seems to be concerned with Sebastian.

"You can tell me anything that's bothering you" Y/N repeated

"I know"Sebastian sighs "But I'm not sure that I'm able to tell you this yet"

Her hands touched his face. It was a gentle caress meant to soothe Sebastian.

"I trust you, whenever you feel like talking then"Y/N smiles.

Those comforting words seems to be digging deeper wounds for Sebastian as the bile rises up in his throat. He wanted to tell her the truth of what happened but she is scared that in doing so that he might end up losing her.

He allows himself to be selfish for a little bit more time.

[often-daydreaming]

Keep Running

In between one moment and the next reality quakes and for the briefest of moments Jason finds himself standing in the remnants of a destroyed Star City. He knows it's not real, that it's just some magical mumbo jumbo overlaying memory magic nonsense bleeding into their timeline but he can smell the smoke in the air from the fires and hear her tired laughter as the static filled image of a red haired woman sits down beside him. He knows her or at least this version of him does as they talk about the little suicide run they were planning in order to hopefully end things for good and Jason can feel how tired his alternate self is as he takes a seat on the ground beside her. It's all a rush of emotions and faint memories that were getting harder and harder to ignore before he's suddenly back on the Watchtower with every other available hero the League could call in stuck arguing about these stupid visions affecting heroes and villains all over the globe if some of Ra's latest movements were any indication. His men were searching everywhere for answers while others like Luthor were making more subtle inquiries. The only upside to all of this was the reactions coming out of Arkham but that didn't mean he wanted to be up here with the League nearly at each other's throats.

With everything he's managing to piece together through a couple of brief check-ins with Dickie and the girls he could see why B wanted answers.

As morbid as it sounded Dick and the others were a few of the lucky ones who were able to be pulled out of their memories faster since they were at ground zero when the Watchtower was pulled out of orbit. The quicker you died the quicker it was over but neither of them were as lucky.

In those jumbled memories him and Bruce were the only two left after Gotham went up in flames since Phantom went after them first and there were still a few lingering effects clinging to that since he could still remember what the older version of himself felt. It was somewhat muted now but some of it was still there and if he focused hard enough Jason could still see the makeshift doctor's office in his mind. He could feel the phantom pain and see her flowing red hair. She seemed so relieved to find him alive and he wanted his own answers but Impulse was in the wind.

The little speedster was gone before anyone could really recover from the sudden onslaught of memories and while Bruce was doing everything he could to figure out a plan of sorts the others weren't as lucky with Superman stuck bouncing between the moments of his own brutal death and worrying about his family's safety. Whoever or whatever Phantom was, he knew exactly where to hurt them with Jon nearly losing it in public after being forced to live through the memories of his mom dying and the man of steel's own death at the hands of some magical Martian whatever.

Wonder Woman seemed the most put together out of everyone but even she was kind of twitchy, her had never leaving the pummel of her sword as Zatara went over what he could piece together on his own since the bulk of JLD was still out of commission.

His own daughter was comatose from the magical backlash of whatever this was while Constantine was just missing, his home a mess of overturned books and hurried scribbles which left them on the back foot for now since the only solid lead anyone had was Impulse and Young Justice was closing ranks around their missing speedster.

With JLD in shambles and Ra's on the move Replacement was running his own investigation into whatever was going on and shutting everyone else out of his systems after the first attempt at locating Impulse through his tracker backfired horribly.

I blame my cough medicine and a love for Fallout for whatever this is turning into but I felt like adding onto Run a little. I wouldn't even begin to know how to explain it but I just have this image in my head of Bart and Danny in a Fallout like world but the whole memory thing could be anything really. I just like the idea of reality shifting to the left just enough that Bart suddenly remembers details about his past he'd forgotten thanks to time travel/reality resetting and he suddenly remembers Danny while the rest of his team remember bits and pieces of their missing teammate Phantom. Everyone else just gets doomsday memories cause I really don't care and mostly think it's funny so I'm either blaming this on the gauntlet from the movie or Clockwork but anyone could add something else if they want.

[nrdmssgs]

Kissing Price on the forehead

Masterlist Kissing Ghost on the forehead Kissing König on the forehead

At some point it hits Price. A simple idea, just two words, enough to make his life easier.

He's replaceable.

War will not be lost the minute he is gone, his squad won't stop fighting, the world won't end. Gaz will eventually grow into the best Captain out there, Soap will never stop coming up with new shenanigans, Ghost... Well, John is sure, legends around Ghosts figure will only continue to multiply. It's not, that Price will be immediately forgotten - but in some ways he'll just be replaced with a new man. And that's a good thing. Aging and moving further and further away from egocentrism, which used to make Price the key to the existence of the whole world, felt... calming. John wasn't trying to surrender, give up the fight, he just slowly, but surely broke free from anxiety. Every next deployment he took a step closer to death, and every time it felt a bit easier.

Price was somewhere deep inside his thoughts, when the entrance door of his secluded cabin creaked opening.

You enter, and thin tongues of blizzard crawl across the floor in the hallway after you, before the door slams shut. John hears you kicking off winter boots and unzipping a coat. In a few minutes, water flows from the kitchen tap and a bitter smell of rowan fills the air. Price smiles to a memory, awakened by this scent.

***

A few years ago, it was as cold outside as it is now. You brought a mug full of crimson berries that you had picked around his house.

“I swear, if you had told me earlier that you have a rowan growing here - I'd already live here."

"And here am I, an old fool plotting dates to win your interest," Price chuckles croaky and takes a pair of berries from the mug. He never actually tried a rowan berry before - always considered it non-edible. And when their viscous and unbearably bitter juice filled his mouth - Price coughs.

Your laughter echoes in every corner of the kitchen, it tickles something deep inside him. John used to suppress the feeling for years, but now, after years of denying the obvious, all the dancing around and a few innocent dates, he finally does it.

"Stop laughing, or I'm giving you a taste of your own medicine." He moves closer, completely ignoring your attempts to pull the mug away from him. Price doesn't need it - only your face not moving away, not leaning back.

Your first kiss tastes like smoke and rowan berries.

***

John presses himself to your back, warming you, his touch still sending shivers down to your core, even after these years you spent together.

"You like it here, love?" His velvety voice resonates deep inside your chest, making you melt in his hands.

You nod, not stopping washing the berries. Pale pink droplets glisten on the edges of the sink.

"Good... That's good." His beard lightly brushes against the back of your neck as Price leaves a trail of feather-light kisses. He pauses over your ear. "Because I want you to have this place, if anything happens to me."

You freeze. Of course, you know, what John's line of work looks like, what are his chances to not make it even till fifty. But what he is proposing right now is too much. It hurts even to think of such a perspective.

"No."

"Wait." Price makes you turn from the kitchen counter to him. He starts explaining, but you can't make out any sense of the words leaving his mouth. It some rubbish about you having to move on after he's gone, having this place to enjoy life, having to find someone to build a happy future with. The words stick together into a disgusting, meaningless mush, merging with the growing noise in your ears. You manage to grab onto one word. "Replaceable"

"John, stop!" You cup his face and bring it closer to yours. "Who said, you were 'replaceable'? Who said, I could ever let go of what we have, of what I feel, when I see you, or even just hear your voice. It took us both so much time to figure out our own feelings. And you say, I can replace it?"

He sighs deeply, ducks his head, hiding his face from you. The thought, John suppressed so hard, reemerging once again. For once, he wants, he needs to be a person that isn't so easily replaced. He wants to be your only one, your priority for life. He is afraid to let himself that... but he wants to be a person, you are scared to lose. This is so selfish, so ugly, he is ashamed to confess to you, that he actually has this wish.

Your lips, still cold after you came from the outside, are pressing against his forehead. Price freezes. This feels like a touch of a shooting star, crashing against his skin. One moment your lips feel chilly, the very next second his skin is burning under your touch. Maybe it's a shame, that made him blush. He doesn't care. All that's important to John now is you, crowning him with your kiss, letting him be your only one. Your irreplaceable person.

[mwahmimi]

I don't want to bother you, but can you please do one for Eddie where reader is really clumsy? Like, she trips on her on foot, loses balance and falls even when just standing still, always has bruises all over her body because she is simply an air-head and ends up hitting her face on a closed door, her knee on the corner of the table and falling in all the stupidest ways possible.

Bambi. Clumsy!Reader x Eddie Munson. Fluff. Blurb.

(You’re never bothering me. I love writing your requests! I hope this is okay!<3)

“You okay there Bambi? You’re walking like you’re on wheels, need a hand?” Eddie teases, chuckling as you clasp your arm around his. He’s not the strongest of guys but his arm does offer you support. You’re clumsy, always have been. Your dad used to say you ran before you learnt how to walk, that you’d never really been able to stand upright on your own two feet without wobbling. He wasn’t wrong. Your parents had gotten you tested for dyspraxia, but the test results came back negative. Put simply, you were just a klutz, in medical terms? You’re just a little unbalanced.

“I know, I know.” You sigh, lifting your pants up to your thighs, letting the air brush against your shins. “Look at my legs Teddy, three new ones and a grazed knee” Muttering the last of your words under your breath, ‘three new ones’ refers to the three bruises scattered across your right shin. Eddie has a tendency to draw lines around your bruised skin and make the blue-yellowish stains look like Saturn, sometimes drawing smiley faces of the Nirvana logo.

He peered down, analysing the new shiners. “Seriously, you gotta be more careful. We’ve spoken about this before, eyes where you’re going, not where you were.” He exaggerated, speaking in a sing-song tone as he chuckles again. “Remember that time you ran face first into the glass door when we were kids? You split your lip and I cried because you were bleeding. Wayne had to deal with you bleeding on carpet and I was in hysterics because I was so sure you were gonna die. From a split lip no less.” Eddie’s mouth twitches up into a smirk as he begins to let out a full belly laugh. He screws his face up, as bubbly giggles escape him lips from reminiscing, “yeah, Wayne said you felt the pain for me cus I didn’t shed a single tear.” You confessed, joining Eddie in the melody of laughter.

“What can I say? I’m weak for a damsel in distress.” Eddie tilts his head and bows theatrically, standing up and opening the top cupboard. He places his box full of first aid supplies from the medicine cupboard onto the floor, opening up the first aid kit. “Let’s get this graze cleaned up shall we? Can’t leave it, will get infected and puss will spurt out. Will be so gross.” He speaks, pouring antiseptic liquid onto a clean rag. “Okay! Okay, I know.” You chime in, clearly disturbed by the imagery. “Just be gentle Eds, please.” You pout a little, hiding behind your hands.

“You know me Bambi, I have magic hands. I’m practically your personal nurse.” Eddie joked, gently patting the rag over your grazed skin being sure to wipe out any dirt and debris. “Hands of an old woman more like.” You tease, stifling your giggles from behind your hands, not wanting to see your wound.

“If you say so, but so you know. I’ll always be here to patch you up. Our little klutz.” He smiles, beaming from ear to ear. Choosing to ignore your cheeky comment, because “you’ve been in the wars.” He gently slaps a band aid over your kneecap and rubs his palm over it to make sure it sticks to you properly. Eddie leans over and pries your hands apart so he can see your face properly. “All done. You’re all fixed up.” He sighs, rubbing his hand over your cheek.

“Thanks Eds, good time to mention I’ve decided to take up ice skating?” You giggle, watching his face drop into the most shocked expression you’ve ever seen. “Kidding!” You tease, throwing yourself at his chest and starting to wrestle each other on Wayne’s living room floor. You are always gonna be looked after by Eddie, your chosen big brother.

[xcherryerim]

Strange Fascination

Part two: The Shadow Under the Bed

part one

Stalker Mike x gn!reader

“And your dreams, Won't you say that in there I'm yours and keep you safe? Say you're mine. I'll always be there.” — Monster Under the Bed by Emily Mei

Warning: obsession/ stalking | mentions of over-usage (with sleeping pills but yk) | Breaking in readers house | masturbation | light toy usage | under the influence sex | penetration | unprotected sex | Mike praising reader and being a possessive fuck | soft!dom Mike | stealing readers underwear | No specific readers genitalia

Notes: I would recommend reading the first part, as it explains Mike’s obsession and stalking behavior, but in summary, After not seeing you to pick up your brother he panics and goes around the area where you live to see the reason of your absence. At night, he decides to break into your place.

Also idk if it’s obvious but Mike is too high and sleepy that he thinks he’s having a sex/wet dream but he isn’t. If you wanna skip to the smut part look for the “❥”

"Not feeling like going to school today, bud?" You asked gently, settling onto Gregory's bed. Placing your hand on his forehead, you winced at the heat radiating from his skin. Sickness was a rarity in your family, making it all the more frightening when it struck.

He shook his head weakly, a small cough escaping him. His pale face was marred with beads of sweat, his eyes brimming with pain, looking like a Victorian man on his deathbed.

…

Despite your brother's reluctance to eat, you managed to coax him into trying a few bites of his favorite meal - mac and cheese. The comforting aroma filled the room, mingling with the laughter from the TV as you played his favorite show, South Park.

You chose the most lighthearted episodes, hoping to distract him from his discomfort. The colorful animation flickered across the screen, punctuated by the show's signature humor. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Can we get pizza later?" Gregory pleaded, those puppy dog eyes working their magic. You rolled your eyes. Sometimes, it was impossible not to cave in.

"You're pushing it," you responded, but even as you spoke, you knew you were losing the battle. His eyes held a pleading look, a silent promise that maybe, just maybe, he would start feeling better soon.

"Please," he begged, and there it was - that hint of vulnerability that got you every time. You exhale, relenting.

"Fine, for dinner, we can get pizza."

Gregory's face broke into a grin, the first genuine smile you'd seen today. Relief washed over you, knowing that you'd made him happy, even in this small way.

As you sat next to your brother, watching him slowly pick at his food, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. You remembered how it felt to be sick, how even the simplest tasks seemed impossible. But you also remembered how comforting it was to have someone there for you, offering support and understanding.

So, you continued to sit with him, occasionally laughing at the absurdity unfolding on the screen. And as the hours passed, you hoped that your presence, along with the familiarity of his favorite things, would help him feel just a little bit better.

….

After tucking Gregory in, you wished him a good night, feeling a sense of happiness wash over you.

❥ Despite everything, tonight had been a relatively normal evening. Yet, as you settled into bed, your exhaustion refused to cooperate. Sleep evaded you, a cruel tease dancing just beyond reach.

Frustrated, you stood up, making your way to the medicine cabinet. Melatonin pills, their potential untapped. With a sigh, you popped a few, waiting impatiently for the promised drowsiness, To no avail.

Instead, you found yourself pouring a generous portion of liquid sleeping aid down your throat, mimicking the carefree college days of the past.

“This is ridiculous,” you thought, tossing and turning under your covers.

However, the combination of pills and syrup began to take effect, lulling you into slumber. But as the night wore on, you found yourself awake once more. Tired of fighting, you clicked on the lamp beside your bed, casting a warm glow across the room.

Walking to the window, you gazed upon the waning crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Something was comforting about its steady presence, a constant among the chaos of life. A yawn escaped you, and with it, a realization. Perhaps your sleeplessness stemmed from worry. Worrying about Gregory, about the future, about everything in between.

With a deep breath, you decided to address the root of your restlessness. Stepping out of your room, you headed towards the kitchen, determined to make yourself a calming cup of tea.

Once you returned, clutching the steaming cup of tea, you paused near the window. In your haste, the cup tilted slightly, spilling hot liquid onto your leg. A sharp yelp, almost a full-on scream escaped your lips, but you stifled it immediately, not wanting to disturb Gregory.

At the sudden scream, Mike’s panic gnawed at his insides, threatening to consume him whole. He had pushed his luck too far, he thought. Invading personal space without consideration. Now, he waited, trembling and exposed, anticipating the inevitable confrontation.

Hot tendrils of pain radiated from the spot, but you forced yourself to focus on your breath. Slow, deep inhales and exhales carried you through the discomfort, easing the sting. Soon enough, the heat subsided, leaving behind a dull ache.

When you achieved a semblance of peace, you pulled out your sage green journal. Flipping to a blank page. Chronicles of your day poured onto the paper, each sentence capturing the highs and lows of your day. It was therapeutic, a way to process the chaos of life.

And then, there it was - mention of Mike. Your words were casual, almost carefree. “I didn't get to see Mike today though, hopefully, I can tomorrow.” You mumbled just two sentences, but they carried weight. You remembered his name, and you wanted to see him again.

Underneath the bed, Mike's body stiffened. How had you retained his name after such brief encounters? The thought filled him with equal parts pride and embarrassment. You, who knew him so little, desired more interaction. This revelation shook him to his core, Was he just a stranger in your eyes, or did you hold a place for him in your heart?

"Mike, Mike, Mike." Your voice was soft, laced with a mix of exhaustion and longing. As you reached for the nightstand, your hands quivered with anticipation. Mike watched from his hiding place, his heart pounding in his chest.

The moment you pulled out your toy, his eyes widened in shock. This was not what he had expected but, as you began to use it, your body writhing with delight, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

The combination of drowsiness from the pills and syrup, along with the physical release, created a heady mixture of sensations. You moaned softly, your voice ringing through the room. Each sound was like a siren's call, drawing him closer to the edge of his sanity.

His adrenaline surged, his body tense with anticipation. As you repeated his name, his heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite name. It was a strange mix of pride, longing, and something else entirely - something dangerous.

He felt himself leaking precum, the mere sound of your voice driving him to the brink. Disbelief washed over him; you were thinking of him during your moments of intimacy. He was grateful - no, relieved - that he wasn't alone in this longing.

Without another thought, Mike unzipped his pants, lowering both trousers and boxers just enough to free his aching erection. Semi-naked to the cool night air, his need pulsed with every beat of his heart. Every whimper you uttered drew him closer, matching the rhythm with feverish intensity.

As if entranced, he stroked himself with fervor, mirroring your satisfaction. The air was thick with appetite, heavy with the scent of forbidden lust and connection. Your cries grew louder, almost like you were urging him on, and he responded in kind, matching your pace with increasing fervor.

The boundary between fantasy and reality danced a tantalizing waltz within him, as though the sleeping pills had crafted a mesmerizing dreamscape. His frenzied strokes built the tension to a fever pitch, and as his name echoed through the night, Mike emerged from his hiding spot. A predatory grin graced his lips, and ragged gasps betrayed the satisfaction coursing through him.

"Mike?!" you stammered, your eyes locked onto the object of your fantasies. The man standing before you proudly displayed his erection, taunting yet gratifying.

"My sweet, sweet angel," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he closed the distance between you. "I knew you wanted me."

His fingertips danced delicately across your features, like an artist carefully sculpting his next piece. "You've been thinking of me, haven't you?" The question hung in the air, a declaration that shattered the façade of secrecy. No longer was he a stranger observing you; instead, you were two souls entangled in a passionate embrace.

"I've waited so long for this moment," Mike confessed, his breath warm against your skin. "To have you all to myself... to hear you call my name like that." Hunger glinted in his eyes, a testament to his craving.

With a sudden, possessive hold, Mike clutched your chin, demanding eye contact. "But now that I have it... I'll never let you go." His words carried a weighted promise, a tether connecting you both in a web of his obsession and yearning.

“Mike what are you—“ you began, but before you could utter another word, Mike silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips firm yet tender. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, igniting a firestorm of sensations within you.

"Shh," he whispered, breaking away from the kiss just enough to speak. "No more questions. Tonight, we belong to each other, and nothing else matters."

His skilled hands traced every curve and contour of your body, exploring with a purposeful tenderness that left you breathless. "Tell me... do you know how long I've dreamed of this?" he asked, "To have you, all to myself, like this..."

Mike claimed his position above you, his throbbing length pressing insistently against your outer thigh. The mere touch sent ripples of desire coursing through him, and he started to slightly hump.

"You've consumed my every waking thought," Mike’s breath hitched, the weight of his obsession finally surfacing. As months of longing and secrecy culminated in this single moment, Mike's need became palpable. His breath hitched with each ragged exhale, proof of his pent-up desperation.

“I've waited for this, dreamt of this," he added, his voice low and husky.

For a moment, the outside world ceased to exist. You and Mike were entwined in a dance of eagerness and confusion, lost in the euphoria of the moment. The distinction between reality and fantasy didn't matter; it was irrelevant in the face of your connection.

Fixating on the silhouette of your body, he noticed your hand wrapped around the toy. Acting on instinct, Mike adjusted the device gently, synchronizing its rhythm with yours. His arousal surged at the sight, causing a low, guttural groan to escape him.

"You look so good like this, darling," Mike whispered, his warm breath dancing across your skin. "I've wanted this for so long... to touch you, to be with you..."

With delicate precision, Mike brushed your most sensitive spot with his thumb, earning a sharp gasp from you. "I know you feel it too..." he whispered, his words laced with raw truth.

The coolness from his hand traced up your thigh, causing your body to shiver involuntarily.

"Let me pleasure you, the way you deserve," Mike whispered, his fingers moving with slow, calculated strokes. He increased the pressure, his thumb tracing the throbbing between your legs. Drawing closer still, he left a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline, nipping gently at the delicate skin of your neck. His other hand explored your curves, mapping them with meticulous care.

"You're perfect... I want to worship every inch of you," he murmured, his breath hitching as your responses to his touch grew more pronounced.

"Tell me what you need," he urged, his gaze locked firmly on yours. "I'll give you anything you want, just say the word."

"Fuck me, please," you whined, the vibrating toy making it difficult to talk.

Mike's eyes flashed with raw hunger at your impassioned plea. Leaning in, his warm breath hit your skin, and a low, rumbling growl escaped his chest. "As you wish."

In a deliberate movement, he removed the toy from your trembling body. "I'll give you everything you crave."

With a grace born of fervor, Mike positioned himself between your quivering thighs. He gently lifted your legs, granting access to your awaiting entrance. The head of his cock pressed insistently against you, demanding entry.

Savoring the exquisite tension, Mike paused for a fleeting moment before burying himself deeply into you. A rough groan escaped him. The sensation was indescribable – a potent mix of pain and pleasure that stole your breath. His pace was both fierce and controlled, striking a delicate balance between his untamed passion and your comfort.

"I'm going to make you scream my name," he warned. A promise hung heavy in the air, fueling the flames of passion between you both.

Gripping your hips, his fingers bit into your skin as his pace quickened. In a display of brutal possession, he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy.

"You're mine," he proclaimed, the words laden with ownership. His eyes bore into yours, leaving no doubt about his claim.

you clutched his shirt desperately, searching for something solid amidst the tempest of sensations. "All yours," you whimpered, your body responding to his rhythm, yearning for more.

"All mine..." Mike answered possessively, digging his fingertips into your hips.

Driven by your need and his unquenchable thirst, he sinks into you with unbridled intensity. The sensation was a revelation - an exquisite fit, an intimate conquest. Your bodies merged, creating a symphony of gratification.

"You feel so good around me like you were fucking made just for me," Short of breath, his hips snapping forward in relentless pursuit of bliss. Each stroke brought him closer to the pinnacle, fueled by your mutual hunger.

"Oh god..." you cried out, clutching at him even tighter as the pleasure built within you.

Panting heavily, Mike's voice transformed into a guttural growl as he neared the precipice. "I'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine," he promised menacingly. Bending his head, he grazed your neck with his teeth in a primal claim of possession.

His grip on your hips tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust deeper inside you. "Take all of me, baby. Let me claim every part of you," he commanded, his eyes locked onto yours.

With each powerful thrust, both edging closer to orgasm, the tension coiling ever tighter. It was as though no other concerns existed – no consequences, no worries, only the two of them, entangled in a web of unrelenting carnal nature.

You cried, your nails raking down his back, clawing at his slick skin for stability. Your bodies moved as one, driven by an irresistible force that defied logic and reason. The scent of vigor filled the air, mingling with the sound of their labored breaths.

As the final moments stretched out before them, Mike's drive grew frantic, his eyes locked on yours in a hypnotic dance. Your cries grew louder, each one a plea for release, for the sweet relief that lay just beyond reach. And then, with a sudden jolt, you peaked, your body convulsing around him, a triumphant cry escaping your lips.

Mike's eyes widened as he felt your body twitch, his name echoing through the room. Unable to resist any longer, he followed suit, burying himself deep within you as he found his release. His world narrowed to the feel of you surrounding him, the sweet embrace of your warmth.

Yet, his need for you remained insatiable. Collapsing on top of you, he embraced you possessively, your bodies sliding against each other, chasing every tremor of your shared climax.

His movements were ragged and sloppy. "Mine... you're mine!" he whined and groaned your name against your lips, capturing you in a deep, fiery kiss. Overstimulation faded into the background, swallowed by the heady rush of their union.

This was a dream, wasn't it? A dream world where you belonged to him and him alone.

Huffing and puffing, Mike whispered, "I love you," his voice laced with genuine emotion. Nuzzling against your neck, he claimed your lips once more in a searing kiss, his words a confession born of obsession and desire. All those hours spent observing you, planning this moment... they were finally rewarded.

His heart beat wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of yours. You both lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the afterglow of devoting love and possession.

…..

Mike woke up to the warm glow of sunlight filtering through an unfamiliar window. Confusion furrowed his brow as he shifted his body to the side, revealing your sleeping form next to him.

Panic welled up inside him, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of last night. Had everything that transpired between you truly happened, or was it all a dream fueled by his overuse of sleeping pills? Deciding there was no time to waste, He carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving with the silence of a thief. Gathering his belongings, he paused to steal one last, longing glance at your peaceful face.

In a sudden burst of impulse, he approached your dresser, quietly opening a drawer and snatching a pair of your underwear. A gleam lit his eyes as he slipped them into his pocket. Then, without another word, he climbed out the window and melted into the morning shadows.

As he disappeared from view, doubt lingered in the air. Was it real or merely a product of his overactive imagination? Regardless, the daylight served as a harsh reminder of the risk he had taken, the line he had crossed.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the window closing. A coy smile spread across your lips as you watched Mike's retreating form, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

"So predictable, my dear Mike..." you murmured to yourself.

You knew full well that he was oblivious to the security camera discreetly positioned just outside. The unlocked window - an open invitation he simply couldn't resist - had been your doing. And, as expected, he had fallen right into your trap.

Shifting onto your side, you let your fingers trail across the rumpled sheets, still warm from his embrace. A contented sigh escaped you as you nestled back into the pillows. You reveled in the knowledge that Mike was utterly ensnared in your web. And with a devious glint in your eye, you vowed to keep him there, anticipating your next encounter with eager delight.

After all, you had no intention of letting him go.

Thank you so much for reading! should I make a part 3?

Originally it was going to be two parts but if you guys liked it I can make another part (mainly smut). If you have any questions don’t be afraid to ask them since i know the story might be confusing.

If you guys like the story and want to be added to the possible part 3 let me know so I can add you to my taglist!

taglist 🍒: @lile6969 @fatinhadesiners06 @jhutchismyl0verb0y @lefteagleblizzard @freak-accident419 @joshhutchersonsgf @valreanakuroo @jhutch-bf @cassiecasluciluce

[vulnonapixes-dc-corner]

Remember when I told you all about the "Damian & Tim bonding fic, where Damian gets turned into a cat?"?

Well, I do.

I have two wips! One for a fic and the other is a small art sketch

"It's OK! You are OK! With me, you are safe!"

Tim hummed, as he gently rubbed the little fluff ball dry, making sure to clean its eyes and ears out in the process.

He had found it in a trashcan on patrol, all alone, shivering and seemingly abandoned.

The teen couldn't get himself to leave it there.

After all, he wasn't that cruel, and Damian would probably break his back again if he found out that he let an innocent animal die.

It meowed weakly, as he used two of his fingers to gently massage its stomach. He couldn't feel any swellings and injuries, so it should be fine. Hopefully.

"Hey, it's alright! We'll get some food into you and then you'll feel better."

The kitten looked too young to stomach solid food, so milk was it.

He knew that cowmilk was bad for cats, but almond milk should be fine, at least till he could get some special cat milk and wet food to ween the little one out.

After making sure that it was warm and comfortable on his couch, he made his way to his kitchen.

The search for some almond milk and a saucer to fill it in took him some minutes and when he returned to his living room, the cat was gone.

Gone was probably a harsh word, considering that he could hear some really pissed off growls from beneath his bookshelf.

It was quite impressive, considering that the animal making those sounds was barley bigger than his hand.

"Poor little baby, this situation must be quite scary for you."

He pushed the makeshift bowl next to the furniture, avoiding the sweep of tiny claws, before he all but collapsed on his couch.

Then he quietly cursed himself.

In the trouble of making sure that the kitty was alright, he had utterly forgotten about his own needs.

"I am such an idiot."

The vigilante forced himself back on his feet, as he glared at the couch.

Who knows what kind of toxins and germs he had gotten onto it now.

"You know, this totally ruins my whole week. I usually deepclean my furniture every Monday. But with all the blood and shit on my suit this can't wait."

He smiled gently towards the kittens direction, who had stopped growing when he started speaking.

"I will take a short shower, before cleaning the couch and taking my meds. Please try to drink a bit of the milk, alright?"

The teen was aware that the cat couldn't understand or answer him, but he wanted it to get comfortable with his voice

Soaking his suit in disinfectant, showering, checking his body for small injuries, going through his skincare routine, throwing his suit into the washing machine, getting a clean suit ready for the next patrol and starting up his textile-deep-cleaning routine took him nearly an hour.

It left him utterly exhausted and wanting to sleep.

But he still had to finish the cleaning, drink that disgusting, nutrien rich smoothie, take his meds and work on that case Duke asked him about.

His eyes wandered to the kittens hiding place and a smile appeared on his lips as he looked at the empty saucer.

"Good work! Eat a lot and grow stronger. "

The tiny head of the kitten popped out and Tim had to stifle his laughter at the animals unimpressed expression.

"Oh, Damian will absolutely adore you."

It meowed as Tim concentrated back on cleaning the couch.

"He is my little brother and he adores animals. I am planning to give you to him when the weekend comes around."

This was the safest course of actions for him and the one thing will guarantee a happy life for it.

The kittens eyes were watching him clean the couch, as he explained every step to it.

" Now we are just going to let the disinfectant soak in and let it dry. I'll take my medicine and then we'll try to get some more food into you! "

It actually came out of its hiding place when he brought out his yellow pill bottle.

Somehow, it looked as if he had offended it, as it meowed loudly at him to get his attention.

"This is just the medicine that I spoke about. I am sick, you know. A year ago, I lost my spleen due to an injury. I had a flare up a few days ago, since Steph decided to drop in unannounced. Its fine now though."

Steph had been hurt and he was the closest, so he was glad that she came to him instead of bleeding out somewhere.

But the fever he got afterwards was not so nice.

The kitty meowed, as it clawed at his leg, what was suprisingly painful.

"Whats the matter?! This hurts, you know?"

Tim picked the small animal up, as it growled angrily at him.

"You know. You kinda remind me of my little brother right now."

It had the same green eyes as him.

"You are even behaving like him right now!"

He smiled as it spitted in his direction, Biting and clawing at his hand.

Getting the hint, he gently placed it back onto the ground, where it quickly went back to his hiding place.

Tim couldn't help himself as he sighted, as he saw the blood running down his hand.

He needed to disinfect and bandage ut up as quickly as possible now.

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

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

"Jason, calm down-, i cant understand what you are saying if you scream like this!"

Damian glared at the teen from bellow his hiding spot, as he placed back and forth in his living room, his elder brothers voice screaming through the speaker of the phone.

It was pathetic.

No Vigilante, especially one that studied under his father, should allow someone to yell at them.

[sgtcosmo]

under the weather - 141 headcanons

cw: none, just pure (established relationship) fluff <3 only pronoun used for reader is 'you'

a/n: i'm sick as shit rn and i've been laying in bed all day thinking about how the 141 would care for gn!reader while they're sick, so this is a lil bit self-indulgent hehe!! also, thank you for the love on my first drabble that i posted a couple days ago, it makes me so happy :') enjoy these!

gaz:

-he's an absolute sweetheart all the time already, but when you're sick? oh my god

-checking in on you every 10 minutes, even if it annoys you. he has to know that you're doing okay!!

-i hc him as being a great cook, so he definitely makes you some good ass homemade soups

-THIS ONE MADE MY HEART MELT WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT but he would absolutely read to you. it'd either be wherever he left off in the most recent book he's reading on his own, or he'd grab one of your favourites from the shelf and start from the beginning

-lets you use his lap as a pillow while he reads to you, holding the book with one hand and playing with your hair with the other

-rubs your back soothingly when you're having one of those god awful coughing fits

-when he goes to the store to get you medicine and such, he'll facetime you the whole time. he'll show you the medicine and snacks/drinks at the store and let you pick which ones you want (he also wants to make sure that you're alright while he's gone <3)

-gives you his warmest and nicest sweaters to wear, doesn't care if they get dirty

ghost:

-runs you a bath and lets you soak in the warm water while he washes your hair

-will absolutely make you a hot cup of tea with honey to soothe your sore throat

-canned soup kinda guy. he'd still try his best to make it as appetizing as possible though, adding in extra bits that he knows you like

-you're not lifting a finger once he finds out you're sick. your household chores? they're his now. those errands you were supposed to run today? oops, he's already got his shoes on and keys in hand

-will not let you out of his sight. always keeps a watchful eye on you, no matter what. he took over your duty of washing the dishes? he's bundling you up in 10 blankets on the couch in the living room so he can turn around every 30 seconds and silently check on you

-would probably set reminders on his phone so you take your medicine exactly when you're supposed to, even if it's 3 am. he's up and fetching everything you need before you can even complain about the reminder going off and waking you up

-picks you up and carries you around the house so you don't have to walk

soap:

-still cuddles and kisses you, despite your attempts to push him away to prevent him from also getting sick. he doesn't give a shit

-plays video games with you, or watches you play. i feel like he'd be a try-hard at games and wouldn't take losing lightly, but he'd let you win just because you're sick. if you call him out for it, then he'd probably just make some half-assed excuse and say he must be having an 'off day'

-i feel like he's a canned soup-er, like ghost. will make a bowl for himself as well though so he can eat it with you

-pillow fort? pillow fort. makes a huge one in the living room with a big nest of blankets in it for you both to cuddle in. he even makes a little window through the pillows so you can see the tv and watch your favourite movies

-will order your favourite take-out for you once you feel well enough to eat something other than soup

-would make you laugh so much that it sends you into coughing fits (laughter is the best medicine, after all ;))

price:

-much like ghost, he'd keep a very watchful eye on you and check in on you often

-definitely a homemade soup guy. if there's a specific canned soup that you want, he'll make it exactly how it is, but better

-cuddles with you under a pile of blankets as you watch shitty rom-coms together

-lets you lay on him while you sleep, even if it's for hours at a time. he'd keep his arms wrapped securely around you and kiss the top of your head occasionally

-is willing to do anything and everything you need in order to get you back to good health as quickly as possible. just say the word and he's got it

-would buy medicine in every flavour it comes in just so you can try them all and see what one tastes best so taking it isn't such a miserable experience (i feel like soap would probably do this too? but he'd treat it more as a fun taste test ranking kind of thing)

-will go on short walks outside with you in hopes that the fresh air will make you feel better. he's bundling you up like nobody's business if it's cold outside, though

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Riddle, Rook: By Order of the Queen

I wrote this one during a very busy time for me irl so I apologize if I didn’t end off the Platinum Jacket line of imagines strongly 🙇‍♀️

A Tale as Old as Time.

A young girl, an older man, and an odd hare shared the same table. The latter two were sitting upon it, propping their feet on the cloth.

Pots of tea—each of a different design—did not match the cups. A mouse poked its head out of one, curiously staring at the girl. Bent spoons sat beside the saucers, gigantic sugar cubes floating in pools of tea.

Riddle stared at the painting intensely, picking apart the details, the rules being skirted or blatantly violated. The man and the hare are not in chairs, there’s far too much sugar in their drinks, and is there even jam properly smeared on that dormouse?

“Roi des Roses, what about this painting has captured your gaze so?”

He startled at the deep timbre at his ear, jolting back. His shoulders relaxed when he met a familiar face. His heart, still racing, was unable to be wrested under control.

Devious, tumultuous thing, the heart.

Riddle cleared his throat. “A roundabout way of asking for my opinion on this work, Rook-senpai.”

The grin the Pomefiore student wore stretched, reminding Riddle of his childhood days. Cheshire smiles and sugar-coated memories, tasting far sweeter than the hours he toiled at a desk.

“Ah, do forgive me for the sudden request! As an avid fan of art, I love to hear different interpretations of the same piece,” Rook rambled excitedly. “A painting that invokes joy in myself, for example, may bring about despair for you, or vice versa! The wellspring of human emotion, expression, and experience is just that vast.”

With an exasperated expression, Riddle folded his arms. “… Well, I was just thinking that I would never allow for this sort of behavior at an unbirthday party. It would be an affront to the spirit of Heartslabyul.”

And yet…

His chest ached so longing when he looked at the illustration. A taste that remained long after he tried to wash it down. It drew a word out of him, pulled thin.

“However… I must admit, I feel a little envious of their quaint little tea party. It looks…” He grasped for the correct adjective. “… fun.”

Rook’s brows sprung up. “Fun!”

“You disagree? Or does it perhaps surprise you that the rose-red tyrant would make such a remark?”

I know what they say about me. The thought was tinged bitter like medicine as he swallowed.

“Non, non.” Rook wagged a finger, his eyes half-lidded. “You are correct in every way!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Pomefiore vice dorm leader placed a hand on his chest. “My immediate family is quite large and likes to keep busy. Those few precious times when we are able to steal away and sit down for a meal with one another… Those are the most magical of all.”

“We each fall into our seats and—like a match struck, the moment comes alive. Words and laughter flow like fine wine, enhancing the flavor of the food that touches our lips. The weariness of study and work melts away in the dishes and drinks, replaced with good company in a safe, warm haven.

Riddle squinted at his senior. Suspicious. “… What is it that your family does for a living again?” When met with Rook’s still dubious smile, he sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s fine so long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

“Fufufu. Roi des Roses, I see that you’ve considerably lightened your evaluation of the rules.”

Riddle made a pensive sound, not confirming nor denying. “Mmm. Lately I’ve come to a realization.”

“And what might that be?”

He hesitated. ��That perhaps the world as I saw it is not as it truly is.”

It feels like waking up from a dream. Tendrils of it still clinging to him as he made to rub them from his eyes.

Rook silently nodded, watching him. Not the huntsman stalking his mark, but a silent observer.

“I wonder for just how long I’ve been living in that false reality. Seeing the tea party and thinking it a disgrace…”

Something slovenly. In need of fixing. Out of line.

Wrong.

“Ah, but—” Rook raised a finger, “what matters now is that the veil has lifted. The line between truth and lies is that much clearer to you. That is the first step to any story: the beginning.”

Then his hand fell and grasped Riddle’s.

“R-Rook-senpai…?!”

The man practically glowed, his grip firm. “Now the decision to stay on the path or to stray from it is yours.”

To renounce the party or to join it, given the invitationz

Riddle pulled himself away with a frown. “Of course, within the limits of what is acceptable,” he lectured. “A minimum level of decorum is expected, even at the most ‘fun’ of festivities. Should anyone cause a disturbance in the peace—”

He raised his arm, slashing at the air once, delivering a strong blow to an invisible victim. Riddle, in his element, brimmed with smugness, arrogant as an unchallenged queen.

“—it will be off with their head!”

Without an ounce of fear, Rook laughed and bowed his head. “As the queen commands, so shall I heed her orders,” he drawled. A tilt of the head, then came a suggestion. “And if I were to drop by an unbirthday party to observe?”

“Because you asked politely, I may consider it—but see to it that you attend as your normal self,” Riddle warned. “That means I expect you to be on time, your behind planted in a seat at the table. There will be no hiding out in the bushes, no watching us from a distance. You are to stay and engage in all manner of merrymaking with us.”

“Oh la la!” Rook feigned surprise, throwing both hands up in an exaggerated act. “Is that a rule?”

“No, but they are orders,” Riddle clarified with an all-knowing smirk. “After all, it would be a shame if you disobeyed and missed out on all the fun we shall have.”

[kimaixun]

[It is what it is] - [SKZ Bang Chan X M!Reader]

‼️Trigger Warning: Depression, Rape‼️

It is what it is - The art of Acceptance

“Hi, you’re F/N M/N right?”

M/N stared at the red headed standing in front of him. He was a head shorter than him yet he could see the muscular build of the latter. He was smiling, widely may you add, enhancing his dimples. Cute. He was dressed in a simple black jeans and white pullover, the black backpack sling on his right shoulder. “I am. Do I know you?”

“Name is Christopher Bang, you can call me Bang Chan or just, Chan.” The latter holds up his hand.

Hesitantly, M/N took his hand giving it a firm shake, “so, do i know you?”

“Oh, sorry.” Bang Chan chuckled, “I’m your new roommate. I think our dorm leader, Lee Know should’ve mentioned about me.”

Oh. Roommate. M/N hasn’t had any roommate since he lived in the dormitory, or he did, twice but both of them declared M/N was a horrible roommate.

“I hope we get along and I’ll see you tonight back at the dorms. Gotta catch up with my friends.” Bang Chan flashed a genuine smile to the latter and M/N couldn’t help but stare at the retreating man as he walks away.

That was the first time M/N met Bang Chan.

“M/N! I got yo—WOAH,”

BUMP

M/N’s mouth twitched and a heart filled laughter echoed within the four walls of their room. Bang Chan had came running into the room with a piece of cake, excitedly may he add to which he didn’t realise the duffle bag in the middle of the entrance (Bang Chan left it there). The red headed had tripped over it, stumbling into the room, falling flat on his face with the cake smashed into his face. The moment Bang Chan lifted his face, M/N couldn’t help but laugh his heart out.

He wasn’t sure if it was the spur of the moment but, Bang Chan felt heat rushing to his cheeks. His heart thumped, skipping a beat looking at M/N’s widen smile and the sound of his laughter. It was unique. It’s been two months they’ve been roommates and Bang Chan still wondered why M/N was declared a horrible roommate. The latter did almost nothing but, study and sleep in their shared room. Bang Chan did most of the talking considering M/N was a much more introverted person than he was. They chat, at times but, just a short and simple one. It was just a hi-bye relationship you see.

That was the first time, M/N had laugh his heart out and the first time Bang Chan felt his heart flutter.

“I told you the temperature will drop today.” M/N scolded as he tugs Bang Chan into his bed.

It had been cold recently and M/N never failed to remind his roommate to dress up warmly on a daily basis. Bang Chan was a little hard headed thus when he caught a cold, there exactly isn’t anyone he could blame. M/N had voluntarily stepped in to nurse the latter. Bang Chan let out another sneeze, snots dripping down his nose. M/N grimaced looking at the disgusting green snot but, he cleaned it up nonetheless. Bang Chan felt himself drifting in and out of slumber, M/N sat just beside him, on the floor, his back leaning against Bang Chan’s bed frame. M/N accompanied him throughout the night. It was in bits and pieces but, Bang Chan knew M/N fed him medicine every 4 hours as the instruction directed. Bang Chan knew M/N helped him out of his sweaty clothes into something clean and warm. Bang Chan knew M/N complied on whatever he had whined.

That was the first time Bang Chan realise M/N was finally warming up to him.

“How are you good at everything?” Bang Chan whined as he walked alongside M/N.

They had spent the day out together since the school announced an urgent closure for the day. Initially, M/N, of course, refused but after Bang Chan continuously gave him the ‘puppy eyes and pouty lips’, M/N gave in and let the latter drag him everywhere. They ended up going to a nearby mall. Bang Chan dragged M/N into the arcade, challenging him to all the games that existed. Unfortunately for Bang Chan, he had lost against M/N on all the games. Bang Chan refuse to accept his lost and so, he dragged M/N to the ice skating rink. Bang Chan expected M/N to fall on his butt on first try but, no. As graceful as a swan, M/N skated across the rink and Bang Chan felt his heart flutter again. Of course, yet again, Bang Chan was not going to admit defeat. He dragged M/N out of the mall, this time to a basketball court just 5 minutes away from the mall. They played against each other with M/N winning effortlessly. Slouching, Bang Chan finally admit defeat.

“I’m not good at everything. I have flaws too.” M/N replied, “how about i treat you dinner so you can stop pouting like a baby?”

“I don’t pout like a baby!” The red headed denied, face turning red within seconds.

“Sure Channie. Sure.” M/N chuckled as they walk into the restaurant.

That was the first time M/N called him by a nickname.

They lay on the picnic mat (Bang Chan stole it from economy class) beside each other looking into the night sky. The night sky. A vast, endless, and unknown universe beyond the human eye. A whole new world. Bang Chan and M/N has been getting closer as the day goes by and in a blink of an eye, it had been a year since they met each other, became roommate, developing a whole new level of friendship. Bang Chan knows M/N was comfortable with him and he knows M/N likes him. Even if he didn’t say it, M/N was so obvious in showing his act of love to him.

“Hey Channie?” M/N softly calls out. Bang Chan hummed in response, “thank you for existing. Thank you for being my roommate. Thank you for being my friend. Ever since you suddenly emerge into my life, it feels like i can breathe again, i can see colours, i can live. You saved me from myself.”

Bang Chan could feel his heart skipped a beat on the latter confession, he tilted his body towards M/N seeing the flushed cheeks despite the darkness, “You’re most welcome M/N.”

“I….I like you Channie.” M/N confessed, “you…you don’t have to like me back or reply to me. I….I just needed to get it o—,” M/N was cut off when Bang Chan pulled him into a gentle yet heated kiss. Their lips moulded perfectly against each other, tongues tangled in their locked mouths, battling madly for dominance. They finally parted lips to catch their breath and at the moment of time, The love they shared was beyond explanation.

That was the first time M/N realise he had fallen for Bang Chan, hard.

F/N M/N, to sum it up, he wasn’t really looking for anything in life. He didn’t have a goal, an ambition or even a will to live. He was just an empty shell wishing to shatter away from the world. That was until he met Bang Chan. The excitement he felt waking up to seeing his roommate snoring away, oblivious of the rising sun, was just indescribable. The fluttering heart every time Bang Chan would simply smile or just, talk to him was absurd. No words can explain how he was feeling towards the latter or how he was developing a sense of will to live, for him, for Bang Chan.

He didn’t come from a good background to begin with. He didn’t know who his parents were, only knowing that someone left him by the trash can, bloodied, only wrapped in a ruined piece of clothes, he was only an hour old. Growing up in an orphanage, M/N wasn’t a bright kid. Whilst kids his age play together, enjoying the sunshine, M/N stayed in the room, simply reading. He was at the age of twelve when the caretaker told him that he was getting adopted. M/N thought perhaps there was going to be a change in his life but, reality was cruel. His adoptive parents were criminals. M/N was forced to sell his body to whoever his parents sent him to. He became a sex slave for his adoptive parents for a consecutive of three years.

At the age of fifteen, M/N have had enough. He was numb. He lost everything, he lost himself. He stood, towering over the bodies that lay in front of him lifeless, a gun in his trembling hands, naked. Everything was a daze. M/N couldn’t feel anything but, numbness. He couldn’t feel the throbbing sensation from the beating he had gotten earlier. He couldn’t feel the gushing blood that flowed out of his lower region from being forced to take in three men simultaneously. He couldn’t feel the tears that stream down his face drastically. He was just numb. That was the last thing M/N remembered before hearing sirens and authorities came running into the house and falling into a deep slumber.

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes were the clouds painted on the room ceiling. He was in the hospital. Someone came into the room but, M/N refuses to look at the person. He couldn’t find himself to. Surprisingly, the person didnt make an attempt to talk to him, he just sat on the chair beside the bed, silent while he reads a book. It went on for a week, M/N counted the days.

“It is what it is.” The person said, surprising M/N.

That was the first time M/N finally looked at the person.

Hwang HyunJin. That was his name. He was 7 years older than M/N, a police officer who happened to be the one who responded to his case. HyunJin had took him in after his discharge from the hospital. HyunJin wasn’t much of a talker like M/N so there were barely any words shared amongst them but, what M/N knew indefinitely was that HyunJin became the reason for him to have a will of life. HyunJin cared for him deeply even if it was not verbalised, his actions said otherwise. Those times M/N would just have nightmares, he would always wake up to HyunJin sitting on the floor just by his bed, their hands intertwined. Those times when M/N would just hide away in his room, staring out of the window lifeless, HyunJin was there sitting beside him, accompanying him despite having said no words. Those times, M/N didn’t know what he was feeling but, tears kept escaping his eyes yet no sound was heard, HyunJin was there embracing him tightly. It took a year when M/N gradually open up to HyunJin. It took HyunJin by surprise when he came home one day, M/N came out his room upon hearing the doors.

“W…welcome back.” M/N shyly said before going back into the room. HyunJin still stunned, smiled widely.

That was the first time M/N realise HyunJin was his will to live.

Their relationships grew stronger than ever. Two birds of a feather. Almost inseparable. M/N finally felt as if he was himself for the first time in forever. He went back to school, made friends, lived his life as should a ‘normal’ seventeen year old. Everything was okay. Everything was perfect but, oh was he wrong. He was at home, waiting for HyunJin to come home after being promised that they were going to have a movie night. He had popcorns, soda and a various of movie cds readied. All that was left was Hwang HyunJin. He could hear the front door unlocking and opening, M/N excitedly got up from the couch, running over to the entrance and he froze. Hwang HyunJin stumbled into their house with not one, but, two gun shot wounds. He was pale, trembling as he struggled to take a step forward. M/N catches his frail before he could drop to the floor.

“M/N,” HyunJin breathed, “I…. I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay with you long enough. I need you to promise me something. I want you to live your life as you are now just, without me in it. I need you to accept the reality of life. It is what it is.”

M/N trembled as he held HyunJin’s frail tightly, his eyes clouded with tears that threatened to fall any time soon. HyunJin’s hand that once caressed his cheeks dropped lifelessly. HyunJin’s eyes fluttered as he heaves his last breath. As if M/N’s soul could bleed an ocean through the eyes, that was the enormity of his sobbing.

That was the first time M/N cried his heart out.

“Agh…. M/N….agh, i’m cu…mming,” Bang Chan moaned as his body reach its high. His legs spasming as it was wrapped around M/N’s waist. M/N let out a sinful moan as he came into Bang Chan, falling into the red headed embrace after. Their bodies tangled in between the sheet of their combined bed as they calm themselves down. “That was…. Wonderful. You’re so good in bed.”

A chuckle left M/N’s lips as he nuzzled his head into the red headed chest, “Channie.”

“Yes baby?”

“I love you.”

Bang Chan felt his heart thumped as his cheeks grew hot. Cupping M/N’s face, he softly plants a kiss on his lips. “I love you more M/N. W—-wait, why are you crying? D…don’t cry, baby.”

M/N sniffled as he giggles, “I’m just so happy. I love you Channie. I really do love you.”

There were no words that could describe how euphorically beautiful the moment was.

That was the first time they made love.

“I’ll be back a little late tonight. I’m going to get some drinks with my friends at the restaurant just across the street.” Bang Chan said as he puts on his jacket, “I’ll text you when I’m done baby.” M/N nodded as he plants a kiss to Bang Chan’s forehead, hugging the latter goodbye.

It was a Saturday. Bang Chan and M/N had spent the day cooped in their room, tangled in bed watching Netflix, ordering take-outs and just, spending the day together, enjoying each other company. It was just an hour ago when Bang Chan’s friend had invited him to get a drink. Initially, he didn’t want to go up but, M/N reasoned that he should since they had been spending so much time together that his friends may think that Bang Chan might have thrown them away. Not like M/N didn’t enjoy his time with Bang Chan but, he didn’t want to seem to be so possessive. They were in a relationship, yes but, it was okay to have some alone time still.

It was 15 minute after Bang Chan had left when M/N realise that the latter had left his phone on the study table. M/N chuckle at how forgetful his cute boyfriend could be. He got himself dressed, grabbing Bang Chan’s phone and left. M/N intended to drop his phone over at the restaurant and probably stop by the convenience store to get some snacks along the way. That seems like a plan. He walked into the restaurant, eyes scanning through to find Bang Chan and there he sat, his back facing him, happily chatting with his group of friends.

“I told you i could win the bet! Come on!”

M/N stopped on his tracks just a few feet away from when Bang Chan sat.

“Seriously how?!” One of his friends whined, handing over a few hundred of dollars to Bang Chan. M/N knew him. It was Seo ChangBin, one of his classmate. “The first two who i gave a bet couldn’t even stay in the same room as him!”

“It was easy.” Bang Chan shrugged, slipping the money into his jacket, “it was so fucking easy to get him to fall in love with me. It just took patience.”

“Bet you can’t get him to fuck you.” ChangBin challenged.

“Already did!” Bang Chan smirked, “he wasn’t even that good and oh, he cries right after it. He was all ‘I love you’ here and there then cried like a fucking baby.”

M/N felt his heart throbbed as if someone had stabbed him right where it was. A bet. A fucking bet, that was what it was all along.

“Can you believe it that there was once when he said that i save his life? I almost laughed so hard. I mean, what? Is he depressed or some kind of emo kid or just a fucking weirdo? It’s not like life is so hard to go through. It’s life. It’s pretty much normal yet he made it sound as if he’s living a horrible life. That’s so pathetic. It is what is it.” Bang Chan ranted as he pours himself a drink. He looked up wondering why ChangBin was silent and looked as if he had seen a ghost. It was then a phone, his phone was placed on the table side.

Bang Chan turned to see M/N. His eyes widened. Did M/N heard what he said?

“You left your phone, thought you might need it.” M/N monotonously said and he turns to leave.

Bang Chan quickly got up, grabbing his hand, “Wait M/N! I can explain.”

“No need.” M/N smiles as he tugs his hand out of the grasp, “It is what it is.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Author’s Note: it’s pretty lengthy but, anyways, I might write a part two where Chan chases M/N. Should I?

[em-harlsnow]

i was just watching a new trend that's going on rn that people tell their partners "i wasn't satisfied with your performance last night" and it reminded me of you it'd be so funny if mickey tell ian that lol

Okau so i looked for this one everywhere, but i couldn’t find a good example so i’ll have to make it up as i go!

So Mickey starts getting annoyed. ian’s just constantly having this little laugh to himself about these stupid toktik clock trends, and mickey’s sick of it.

he thinks for a while about how to get ian back, and decides that the best way would be to give him a taste of his own medicine.

by downloading toktik, which is apparently tiktok.

at first it’s very weird, and it takes a while for him to understand how the app works. when he does, he searches ‘couple prank’ into the search bar, remembering the point of this whole thing.

the second one he sees is interesting, so he resolves to try it.

they’re eating breakfast, ian absentmindedly typing on his phone. he’s probably looking for more ways to confuse mickey with those stupid trends.

he swallows the food in his mouth.

“you know last night?” mickey says.

“yeahh” ian responds, only looking up from his phone to smirk.

“yeah, i wasn’t really satisfied with your performance, man.” he tells him, then gets up and puts his plate in the sink.

it takes a moment to register, but when it does it’s exactly what mickey expected.

“what?” ian whips around.

mickey just shrugs.

“what do you mean you weren’t satisfied? i was great!” he rises from the table, waving his arms around.

mickey tries to contain his laughter. “i dunno about that. i think you’re losing your touch.”

ian gapes like a fish out of water. “losing my- no! no i’m fucking not!”

“uhuh, sure.”

“what the fuck, mickey! do you even remember last night?”

“‘course i do. which is why im saying this.”

ian presses closer, squinting at him to see if he’s lying. “last night was good.”

“sure it was tough guy.”

mickey can see ian’s brows furrow as he gets more and more annoyed. last night was good, which is probably why he’s so confused.

“well, what was wrong with it? i’m sure i can improve.” ian tells him, immediately switching to horny and annoyed instead of just annoyed.

“you didn’t last very long.”

“what?! were you even there last night?!” he rages, taking his hands off of mickey.

in response, mickey just laughs.

“please, i killed you in two seconds.”

“you- wait, what?” ian stutters, suddenly even more confused.

“i said i killed you in two seconds. you’re shitty at video games.”

ian blinks a few times, putting two and two together. “you weren’t satisfied with my performance last night in liam’s shitty fortnight game?” he says, outraged.

“yeah. what’d you think i was talking about?” he asks, playing dumb.

ian seems to catch on. “you’re such an ass.”

“dunno what you’re talking about.” mickey shrugs, barely containing his laughter.

when ian grabs him again and places him on the counter roughly, he’s not exactly surprised.

<3

hope it lived up to expectations!

—-> send me tiktok trends and i’ll write a fic!