#truly thank you to all the people for the support though <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunboki · 5 months

Text

— 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 ©

544 notes · View notes

ham1lton · 6 months

Text

my favourite interviewer.

pairings: lando norris x fellow driver’s sister/reader

warnings: jokes about adoption. mentions of bigotry but in reference to o/s’s experiences.

summary: the one where you interview your sister and your boyfriend. also part of the nepo!sister universe.

author’s note: i love nepo!sis/y/n. expect to see her more. also these interviews are quite short so imagine they’re longer and these are snippets. y/n is a better interviewer than i made her out to be 😔💔

————————————————————————

liked by vogue, yourusername and 1,827,668 others.

oldersister: check out my photoshoot for vogue! and my following interview with my younger sister yourusername. it was definitely… interesting. link in bio <3.

view all comments

user1: my favourite sisters made another appearance again!!

yourusername: DON’T! work with o/s! such a DIVA! rude as hell…..

-> oldersister: is this because i said pink wasn’t your colour?

-> yourusername: ALL COLOURS ARE MY COLOUR !! 😡

user2: y/n is so funny throughout this entire interview. a natural comedian.

user5: o/s saying that people don’t take her seriously as a driver is crazy!! she’s a two time champion!! what more does she need to do?

-> user6: it’s nothing that she needs to do. there really isn’t anything she can do to change their minds. it’s bigotry.

user3: o/s is so pretty. full time f1 driver and part-time model.

-> user4: one thing about her, lewis and zhou is that they’re all gonna serve looks and face. holy trinity.

————————————————————————

liked by yourusername, gq and 1,223,378 others.

landonorris: thank u gq for letting me cover ur magazine and thank u to my gorgeous interviewer for taking the time out of her day to interview me. btw… are you single 😍

view all comments

user5: this was so cute!! i love their dynamic.

yourusername: no i’m not single. i have a bf. be professional please.

-> landonorris: ain’t nobody care about him queen. i bet you i could beat his ass 😍

-> user1: i wish i had this confidence.

-> landonorris: leave me alone 😭😭🖕🏼

-> user2: poor lando. getting dragged by his fans, his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s fans and his girlfriend’s sister’s fans😭😭 rip bro 💔😔

-> yourusername: he’s fine y’all. please don’t call paw patrol.

user3: lando saying y/n was his favourite person regardless of what she does 🥺🥺

-> user4: when he cussed out y/n for calling herself boring 😭 he said that’s my gf don’t be disrespectful.

user7: y/n finessing a free lunch and dinner out of her boyfriend and her sister was my favourite part. yass queen 😍 take from the rich.

*liked by yourusername*

————————————————————————

MY NIGHT WITH O/S L/N.

by y/n l/n.

It’s the end of O/S’s Vogue’s shoot. She’s dressed in a black form-fitting silk suit with a pair of pale pink heels. I always knew that my sister was famous but seeing her in the middle of such magnitude truly reinforces that she is not just my older sister anymore. She’s bigger than that. We decide to duck behind the busy shoot into a side room to start our interview.

THURSDAY, PARIS, 11:34PM.

Y/N: Did you expect that I’d be the one interviewing you?

O/S L/N: Honestly? No! I’m happy though to see a familiar face. Pleasant surprise.

Y/N: I’m not gonna hold back on the questions though just because you’re my sister. I need you to know that.

O/S: Wouldn’t expect you to.

Y/N: Just for the record, she’s wearing my lipstick. I told her she’d look cute in it and she refused to listen to me.

O/S: I didn’t expect it to look so cute on me. I don’t wear super bright lipsticks, it’s a orangey-red shade for the people who can’t see it. I got the makeup team to source it for me and tried it on and perhaps… you were right. It’s grown on me.

Y/N: I’m always right.

O/S: Always is an understatement but … you have your moments.

Y/N: So, what would you say it’s like being the only female F1 driver?

O/S: A very unique position to be in. I’m lucky to have such a good support system in place. Y’know? Mom, Dad, my team and you.

Y/N: It’s a lot of pressure isn’t it?

O/S: Yes. As any high profile job is.

Y/N: How do you find the pressure when it comes to being a role model for younger girls?

O/S: It’s a responsibility I take very seriously. I think it’s so important to encourage young children, especially girls, to follow their dreams and help to provide avenues to make them accessible. I would love to see younger generations of drivers that come from a diverse array of backgrounds be in Formula One.

Y/N: Remember when you were younger and you’d go go-karting?

O/S: Yes.

Y/N: Dad would always make me come and watch you. It was so boring but he’d always get us ice cream afterwards if you’d won. That’s why I always rooted for you.

O/S: Says it all really.

Y/N: I was always a tennis fan. Maybe a little basketball or football. Dad used to joke that maybe you were the adopted one because no one else in the family knew about motorsports before you.

O/S: He still does! I found out about F1 at my school library at the age of like nine and begged Dad to take me. I’m very lucky that not only did we have the funds at the time but parents that supported us. He used to drive me everywhere. He still does drive me to the Grand Prix sometimes.

Y/N: Funny how little traditions stick with us, huh? Remember when you started making real money and would take us out for dinner after every win?

O/S: I was so excited that I had the money to treat you all.

Y/N: Definitely. What was the biggest challenge you’ve faced so far in your career?

O/S: It’ll sound trivial but… probably being taken seriously.

Y/N: What do you mean by that?

O/S: As a lot of women in male-dominated spaces might face, it’s hard to overcome the biases against my abilities. People said for a long time that I was only here because of diversity quotas.

Y/N: Even when you won?

O/S: Especially when I won. I like to prove people wrong. I’ve spent my whole career doing just that. I just wish it wasn’t so constant and tiring. I’m just doing my job but because of my womanhood and my blackness, it is immediately viewed as political. Overcoming the preconceptions has become a huge part of my journey.

Y/N: That’s annoying as fuck. I’ve seen it first hand too. You’re an incredible driver. I know I joke around with you and take the piss out of you but genuinely you do inspire me. I might not be racing cars anytime soon but I’ll always be your biggest fan.

O/S: Thanks Y/N. That means so much to me.

Y/N: Now onto the juicier stories. Who are you dating? For the readers who mightn’t know your personal life, I’ll spell it oit for them.

O/S: Oh No…

Y/N: You started off by dating your childhood sweetheart, Clark Jones, and then dated actor Paul Elordi.

O/S: I did. I am single now, as you’re aware.

Y/N: And she won’t let me set her up with anyone!

O/S: Just because you’re happy in monogamous bliss doesn’t mean the rest of us wanna be.

Y/N: Thanks for letting me interview you today O/S, it was definitely the best part of my day.

O/S: You were very good. I enjoyed the questions. Five stars.

Y/N: Wanna go out to eat? Your treat.

O/S: Of course, let me change into something more comfortable. These heels are gorgeous but they are killing me.

END OF INTERVIEW.

————————————————————————

MY MORNING WITH LANDO NORRIS.

by y/n l/n.

TUESDAY, LONDON, 10:34AM.

I was told to pretend to be professional and that I didn’t spend the night with my boyfriend so I left the room at around 7am just so that I could knock on the door again later in my interviewer mode. It’s the night after his photoshoot for an energy drink. Lando opens the door in a plain black tee, a hoodie wrapped around his waist and tracksuit bottoms. He isn’t wearing shoes. He lets me in and I sit on the sofa. We start the interview.

Y/N: Good Morning. Should we start the interview?

LANDO NORRIS: I’m ready whenever you are.

Y/N: I told O/S this but just because we know each other, don’t expect me to hold back on the questions. Don’t expect any special treatment just because I am your girlfriend.

LANDO: Wouldn’t dream of it.

Y/N: Alright, let’s get started. How did you feel about yesterday’s photoshoot?

LANDO: Tried something new and I think it turned out well. Got some cool shots. The energy was great and the team was incredible. It was a fun shoot. Couldn’t complain.

Y/N: Do you think you’re a better racer or model?

LANDO: I’d like to say model but I’d have to say racer.

Y/N: I think you could be a model.

LANDO: Even though you’re biased. I’ll accept that.

Y/N: Not biased at all actually. I’m here as Interviewer Y/N, not as your girlfriend Y/N.

LANDO: Wait. Can I flirt with Interviewer Y/N?

Y/N: No.

LANDO: Boooo!

Y/N: Let’s switch gears, what do you like to do when you’re unwinding?

LANDO: Well, Usually I’d say spending time with you but you’re not my girlfriend soo… I’m going to say streaming with my friends and playing video games. Also watching my girlfriend’s favourite reality shows.

Y/N: You’re a Teen Mom UK fan? And a Real Housewives fan? I thought you didn’t to like them.

LANDO: It’s part of the boyfriend playbook. Pretend you’re bored with those sorts of shows but secretly, you’re incredibly into it. I have to keep up with your interests somehow and I picked the most interesting ones.

Y/N: I don’t blame you. Alright, one more question before I go back to being boring girlfriend Y/N and I have to give back this super cool voice recorder.

LANDO: Girlfriend Y/N isn’t boring to me. She’s actually my favourite person. Don’t talk shit about my girl.

Y/N: Fine. She’s not boring. She’s just less of a technophile.

LANDO: I’ll accept that.

Y/N: My last question is what’s your favourite thing about driving for Formula One?

LANDO: Besides the thrill of racing? And the part where I’m living my childhood dream? Definitely the fans. Their support and energy help fuel me on the track. Plus, I get to travel the world while doing what I love. I think that’s the ideal world for a lot of people. I’m very lucky.

Y/N: I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for letting me ask you those questions. Now, time for me to go back to the girlfriend version of me.

LANDO: Don’t sell yourself short. You’re always my favourite person regardless of what version you are.

Y/N: Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it?

LANDO: Hey! It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.

Y/N: Guess you’re not just a pretty face huh. Don’t worry, I’ll keep our reality television show marathons a secret between me, you and all the millions of GQ magazine readers.

LANDO: You’re an angel. Lunch?

Y/N: Only if you’re paying.

LANDO: Always.

END OF INTERVIEW.

————————————————————————

981 notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 3 months

Text

Digging A Deeper Hole || MLB ||

Prompt: Harry is going through a rough adjustment to his new life. At twenty-one, he was the face of a massive franchise, a father, and a husband with millions watching his every mood. He starts to feel it. Word Count: 7.8k Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Angst - please keep in mind H is young here so he’s a bit more immature than one shots where he’s older. He’s still figuring stuff out

AUTHORS NOTES:

There is 5 more part to this up on patreon (17k words, a 25.1k fic overall)

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days (usually two) consistently// currently updating abo!roommates

All writings are accurately and always added to the organized folders in the collections feature

There are currently 300 + pieces available to read

It only cost $3USD —— thanks for any support and check me out here!

========================= Harry had the weight on the world on his shoulders.

The past year had been the best but most stressful time that he has ever had in his life.

He hadn’t had a break, it was go, go, go.

At the age of twenty-one, it felt like he had responsibilities that most people never had this amount of.

He had expectations from every side, especially from work, though it sounded like a dream to be the new face of Major League Baseball, to be the highest paid rookie to start, or the fact that he was a projected to be one of the best players of all time.

It came at a cost.

A really fucking big cost.

It took Harry a while to realize that he was experiencing some depression, the pressure of his coaches, the team, the public, and on top of that, he was navigating being newly married with a baby.

”Styles, get off the phone!” His assistant coach shouted from the field, he should be jogging onto the mound because practice was nearly over, and everyone was ready to head back to the hotels.

“Hold the fuck on!” Harry shouts back without looking up, waiting for the FaceTime call to connect, he had thought he had more time before they started up again.

Harry’s heart leaps when it connects, his perfect baby in the camera view, blowing raspberries between chewing on teether that looked like car keys, “Say ‘hi’ to your daddy!”

Easton is too little to quite comprehend the phone but he blinks in confusion at the screen before blowing another wet raspberry towards his father.

”Hi East, look at how handsome you look,” Harry croons, trying to memorize every little feature because he’s only going to be this small for a little while, “Your daddy misses you so much.”

YN pulls the phone to her face for a moment, “I took him on a walk around Central Park earlier today and he saw a group of pigeons. He squealed so loudly that they all flew away in a flock and he started giggling. I wish I would have gotten it on video.”

”He really does love the pigeons-“ Harry begins but is cut off.

”Styles, final warning. Get off your phone or I’m locking it up! Now,” The other coach yells, starting to actually get pissed, and Harry has to resist the urge to flip them off.

”H,” YN says knowingly, it was pretty common that he was getting yelled at, “Go practice.”

“I want to be home with you,” Harry frowns, he truly means it.

”I know,” YN agrees with kind understanding on her face, “Go kick some ass for us.”

He didn’t get to spend the time he wanted at home with his family, the away games caused him to panic, and he was starting to have anxiety attacks as he steps onto the private jet.

Harry was blowing YN’s phone up at any free moment he got, asking to FaceTime to see her and Easton, and YN had noticed how much more he was asking for reassurance, it was frequent.

”He’s sleepy. He just fed for almost an hour,” YN murmurs, tired herself and her eyes were heavy, it was undeniable that she had a lot on her plate with taking care of Easton by herself.

YN did see Anne once or twice a week but she was adamant that she did not need help raising her own baby, that she was fully capable of taking care of Easton by herself when Harry wasn’t home.

Easton was ten-months at this point, splayed on his mother’s chest with a milk-drunk little smile as he laid his small fist on her neck, easily starting to drift to sleep.

Harry feels a pang of disgusting, gnarly guilt and disappointment that he’s not there to lay in bed with them, and he felt like a piece of shit for sitting in this swanky hotel room by himself.

”Harry?” YN asks after he doesn’t respond, he was just watching the screen as his wife ran her fingers through Easton’s soft baby curls, silky smooth.

Harry swallows harshly to avoid the tears prickling, “I love you so much. You know that?”

YN smiles at him, soft and warm, “We love you so much. We miss you and cannot wait for you to get home. We both want so many cuddles with you.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, scrunching his nose, and feel the pit in his stomach get deeper, darker, rawer, and it felt overwhelming as he sat alone with his family on the other side of the country.

It felt suffocating that he wanted to go home but he couldn’t because he had a contract, a job, he had to provide, and he worked his whole life to be where he’s at.

He’s in a position that billions would want to be in but all he can think about is being with his family, he would give up everything he’d ever accomplished to cuddle with them every night.

But he couldn’t, deep down, he knew that it was his emotions getting the best of him, and it’s disappointing that he’s not enjoying baseball like he thought he would right now.

“I…I’m sorry,” Harry sniffles, rubbing his eye roughly to catch the tears before they fall any further.

YN’s smile falls which makes him feel even worse, “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you apologizing?”

”I’m not there to help you,” Harry presses his face into his forearm to try to stop the tears, “I’m just sittin’ here in a hotel room, I’m fuckin’ useless to you.”

”Hey,” YN says firmly, lips going into a straight line, “Harry, you are not useless. How could you think that? You’re providing for us. You make it possible for me to stay at home, in this beautiful home, with everything we’d ever need, and spend every moment with Easton. That’s because of you.”

It makes Harry feel a bit better, that perspective on the situation because he hadn’t looked at it like that, “I’ll always provide for you two.”

”You’re the best provider. We love you so much. We are so proud of you. Easton is going to be so so proud of his daddy and what a good man you are to us,” YN tells him confidently, thter’s no wavering in her voice as she watches Harry’s reaction.

Harry hangs his head, done trying to stop the tears, he didn’t feel good.

He had felt depression a few times in his life, the most when he was going through his struggles with his sexuality, and it was starting to feel like that again.

”Harry,” YN’s voice is soft, careful, “Are you okay, baby? What made you so upset?”

Harry wipes his face with the back of his hand, he didn’t want to worry YN.

She had so much on her plate right now that the last thing she needed to worry about was his mental health because he needed to pull it together and stop being so emotional.

”I just miss you,” Harry tells her, it wasn’t a lie but it really wasn’t the full truth, there was so much more to it than what he was letting on but he could handle it on his own.

Lord knows he had enough time while he was sitting in this hotel room alone or had a flight on the private jet.

Harry felt like a car ran him over, twice, and then backed up over him.

He did as good as everyone expected him to do during the games in San Diego, he won all three of the games with too many strikeouts to count, and two home runs to get them scores.

Harry was able to shut his mind off during the games, all he was thinking about was his job, and what he needed to do to make sure that they won the games - that was it.

Afterwards, the creeping feelings that had been haunting him especially hard this past month or so wouldn’t wait very long to pop up again after the games.

He started demanding a flight home the night of the last game, everyone else always waited until the next day because traveling right after playing was near torture with the exhaustion.

Harry felt like death as he landed in New York City, his bones were heavy as if they weighed a thousand pounds each, his arm was sore from how many pitches he had to throw, and he hadn’t been sleeping well when he was away from YN and the baby.

His heart was a bit lighter as he opened the front door to their home, the smell of his favorite brownies hitting his nose, and a peel of bubbly, angelic baby giggles echoed through the hallway.

Harry needed to see them, he dropped his bag and didn’t care that his cologne bottle most likely just shattered inside because of how careless he was being.

No, he was making his way toward the smell and sounds, and when he found what he waas looking for - his stomach untwisted just the slightest and everything didn’t seem so bleak for a moment.

YN turns around, having been alerted to his entrance by his bag dropping, Easton was on her hip and had a spatula in his hand, gnawing on it happily.

”Who is that, East?” YN bounces him up and down, “Is that your daddy?”

Harry wants to cry tears of relief when Easton drops the spatula, letting it clatter onto the tile, and starts to cry.

He was the cutest little thing.

Whenever Harry got home from work, Easton would start to cry because he wanted him, and was sad like he just realized that he had been missing him all day and he was finally home with him.

”Oh my goodness,” YN hums as Easton wiggles, starting to reach out for him with grabbing hands, dramatic tears running down his face as his pouty bottom lip wobbles.

”No tears, bub,” Harry coos as he steps forward, taking Easton out of her arms, and giving him the biggest hug he can manage as he presses kisses to the side of his face, his hair, his nose, “I missed you so much. I hate being away from you, East, miss you every moment.”

YN is watching with a content smile, patiently waiting her turn as he blinks over at her, his voice still soft and raspy, “Hi mama.”

”Hi H,” YN whispers back, stepping forward to cup his jaw and bring their lips together in a kiss, her thumb rubbing the stubble of his jawline and her other squeezing his hip, “I missed you.”

Harry hates that he feels the lump in his throat, “I fuckin’ missed you so much. I can’t explain how much I hate being away from you and him. I am so grateful that you’re so good to me and East. You know that?”

One of YN’s love languages was definitely words of affirmation so to hear such nice compliments really did mean a lot to her because she didn’t always feel the most secure either.

It was a lot to have her husband traveling all the time, where if he wanted, there would be unlimited opportunities for him to make bad choices because there was not a shortage of men and women who would bed him without a second thought.

YN had complete and utter trust in him.

It wasn’t ever a real concern but when Harry was as gorgeous as he was, it was hard not to feel a bit of insecurity when people often let it be known how much they found him attractive.

”Thank you, H,” YN brings him in for another kiss, “Dinner is almost ready. Brownies are also baking in the oven. Easton was my little helper but was trying to get his chunky fingers in the raw batter which he had an attitude about when I told him ‘no’.”

”You better listen to your mama,” Harry hums at his son, munching at his neck until Easton is giggling and pulling at his curls to keep him close, he loved his father so much, “Be nice to mama, Easton Robin.”

YN reaches forward, “Go get a shower. Settle in a little bit.”

Harry passes Easton back but frowns, “Darling, I can take him and manage. You have had him for the last week.”

YN waves him off, “I got him for a few minutes longer. Get showered, dressed, then we can eat dinner, and cuddle. Okay?”

”Sounds like a dream,” Harry replies because it really does, all that he wants is to be able to hold them in his arms, and start filling this hole that starts to eat away at him every time he has to leave.`

After Harry showers, he tugs on his briefs, and sits on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t know how he fell asleep like that but it seemed to happen nearly as soon as he plopped down on the plush of their bed because he hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours, after an exhausting game and seven hours of travel.

The next time he wakes up, it’s completely dark in the bedroom, and he blinks his eyes open to see the alarm clock reading that it was three in the morning.

YN was fast asleep on her side of the bed, baby monitor on the side table, and Easton was sleeping in his nursery on his back with a binky halfway out of his mouth.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, putting his fists to them for a moment as he grits his teeth, “Fuck fuck fuck.”

He gets out of bed, not wanting to disturb YN, she looked so fucking pretty while she slept and Harry was in disbelief of what a fucking idiot he was.

YN not only watched Easton for the past week, she managed everything else for their household, made Harry dinner and dessert, all for him to fall asleep.

She needs a break from the baby, YN should have gotten one last night after all her hard work, and Harry just went and fell asleep like a bloody teenager with no responsibilities.

He grabs the baby monitor so that YN won’t be woken up, hoping that she will sleep in for as long as possible in the morning, and Harry can take on baby duties.

Harry’s plan was to clean the house, the least he could do as an apology but everything was near spotless thanks to his wife, and when he went into the kitchen to clean the dishes from dinner.

There were none, YN had put all the leftovers away, wrapped the brownies, and cleaned all the pots and pans - as well as all of Easton’s bottles.

”Fuck me,” Harry grunts as he resists the urge to hit something, instead slamming his fists on the countertop, and staring at nothing as he feels the deep hole become bigger, “Such a fuck-up.”

Harry doesn’t even know what he can do to repay her, to make it up to her, and the mixture of his anxiety and depression had to be the gnarliest combination because they were kicking his ass.

His anxiety starts taking over and an intrusive thought starts to pop into his brain and he can’t shake it.

What if she leaves you?

What if she doesn’t think you’re a good enough father?

She does all this for you and you treat her like shit the moment you come home?

You don’t deserve her.

Harry’s throat tightens up, it feels hard to breathe for a few minutes as he tries taking slow, deep inhales before repeating the process to help try to regulate his breathing.

He had to make this up to her.

Harry manages Easton by himself, that wasn’t an issue, and he was even able to run out to grab YN’s favorite donuts from a few blocks down before she was up.

Harry was currently in the living room, laying on the floor with Easton as he played with these soft, big blocks, and smiled at his father with only two little teeth showing on his bottom gums.

”Morning, well afternoon,” YN laughs as she looks at the clock on the wall, it was nearly twelve and she was able to catch up on all the sleep she desperately needs, “You didn’t need to let me sleep for that long, H. I appreciate it though, felt super nice to be able to get re-energized.”

”It’s the least I could do,” Harry replies, the enthusiasm that was usually in his voice was missing, and he struggled to meet her eye because he was embarassed.

YN knows something is off as she sits down next to them, scooping Easton up and tucking him under her big shirt where he can excitedly start to nurse - he very begrudgingly used a bottle but it was always a bit more difficult to get him to eat with one.

”Are you sure you’re okay?” YN frowns as she rubs his knee, “You seem down. Did something happen?”

”I’m a piece of shit,” Harry chuckles without humor, throwing his hands up, “Isn’t it obvious? I leave you at home with the baby and then the minute I get home, I fall asleep and don’t do shit to help you. On top of that, you made dinner and I didn’t even eat it.”

YN’s frown turns into more of a scowl, “Harry, what has you talking like this? Did someone say something to you? I don’t like when you talk like that. You were exhausted! You were just away for a week, training and playing, and have so much other than that going on. Do you really think that I’m mad about that?”

“I’m mad about how I acted because it effects you,” Harry grits back, his anxiety and depression had a tendency to make him cranky in a way that he normally wouldn’t be, “It’s no excuse. You get no excuses. I need to do better.”

”You need to stop talking like that,” YN retorts as she stares back at him with a twitch of her brow, “Everything is fine. We are fine. Nothing is wrong. This is how our life looks sometimes and that’s okay. You are doing this to take care of us.”

“It feels pretty fuckin’ selfish right now,” Harry shakes his head, standing up and trying to hide the wince from how achey his muscles were, he should do a cold plunge but he’s not going to take anymore time for himself - he dosn’t deserve it.

“How is it selfish?” YN is getting frustrated, her leg shaking slightly but then she stops when she realizes that it’s jostling Easton and he whines in displeasure.

”I get to get a full night’s sleep in a luxury hotel room, you’re here.”

YN scoffs, licking over her teeth, “Yeah, Harry. It’s a massive hardship, living in a three million dollar home in the middle of the Upper East Side. I think I’ll survive.”

“That’s not the fuckin’ point,” Harry cracks his neck, his anxiety made his heart rate feel like he was constantly running a marathon, it was hard for him to keep his composure.

”Don’t talk to me like that,” YN raises her voice, moving to get up with Easton still suckling away, “This isn’t how you show appreciation, Harry. I’m just trying to have a conversation and you have an attitude.”

Harry knows that he’s just going to continue to dig himself a deeper pit than he’s already in if he keeps talking.

Most of the time, he did not feel like like a twenty-one year old despite his boyish looks but right now, he felt like he was acting his age and it wasn’t a good thing.

”Why don’t you take Easton and see your mom today,” YN offers, her voice is still tight but trying to keep it cordial as she brings Easton out from under her shirt.

He was blinking languidly, his lips smacking in satisfaction as his belly was full, and YN hands him over to Harry to take, “Yeah, I’ll get him ready and go.”

It was a good opportunity to give YN a break but he was honestly a bit surprised that she took him up on it or that she didn’t want to come with because when Harry came home, they tried to stay together as much as possible.

He does know that he’s acting like a complete dickhead which makes sense why she wasn’t dying to spend time with him right night, still it was just odd because it’s unlike her.

”Sounds good,” YN pulls out her phone, looking down and fingers flitting across the screen which was also a bit odd, how she was a distracted by it because it was unlike her just like her letting him go alone.

God, Harry was making a fucking mess, wasn’t he? +++++++++++++++++

It stuck out like a sore thumb when Harry was off.

Normally, he was the most easy-going, bubbly, funny person who stole most of the attention when he wasn’t even trying.

It was how he captured everyone’s interest whether it was his big grin that had his dimples showing deep in the pockets of his cheeks, the way he threw his head back and let out these low raspy chuckles, or just how he nodded attentively when someone else was talking.

So when he wasn’t feeling like himself, all those things that lit up rooms disappeared, and it was hard for him to socialize.

Harry was still beating himself up the entire ride outside of the city to his mother’s house, Easton was napping in the back and this would be a nice sleep before the excitement of Nana’s house.

Harry was replaying everything with YN, from the way he was sharp with her to get short with her when she did absolutely nothing to deserve that from him because she was so fucking good to him - all the time.

YN never complained about anything.

She never complained about being at home with the baby alone.

YN never tied to guilt Harry because he was away during the season so much.

It makes it so much worse that he’s not able to hold his shit together even just for YN, he didn’t want her to worry about his mental health, that’s the last thing she needed on her plate.

He was going to figure this out himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like he couldn’t talk to her, it was more that he knew she cares so much that it might upset her or make her worry when he’s on the road, all he wants for her is to focus on Easton and herself.

Harry normally loves going up to his mom’s, a little lake house that he had bought her with one of his first paychecks, despite how much she huffed and puffed, he knew that it was a dream of hers to live on the water.

It was the least he could do after she did so much to make his dreams come true.

However, despite Harry getting a decent amount of sleep, he felt bone tired and just drained was the best way to explain it - he felt like all the energy that he normally feels has been sucked clean out of him.

He wanted to turn the car around, go home, crawl into bed with YN and Easton, and not have to interact with anyone else for at least a week but that wasn’t possible with his schedule.

Harry should be enjoying his time right now.

They have an off week which meant that he had nearly two and a half weeks at home because the following week were games at their home stadium so he could be home every night.

Harry just couldn’t wait for this season to be over.

And that thought alone alarmed him because he fucking loved baseball, he loved being the best of the best, he loved all the recognition he got but right now his desire was lower than it’s been in a really long time.

When he pulls down the long driveway, a house sat back off the residential road where she had neighbors but there was a good amount of distance between the them to give privacy and seclusion.

He sees that there are multiple cars in the driveway which makes Harry groan because he didn’t realize that his mom was going to call over friends and family since he was coming to visit.

Anne did that sometimes, when Harry called saying that he’d be up, she would call aunts, uncles, relatives, and close friends to come for a barbecue, and it was the last thing he wanted right now.

He was already a bit peeved that his mother didn’t ask him first because he would have very clearly told her that he wasn’t in the mood to entertain people, to answer questions, and talk about baseball for a good five hours.

When Harry opens the back door, Easton’s already awake and smiling at his father with a gummy smile, his two bottom baby teeth made him look so adorable but he knew that more were going to popping through soon.

”Hi, sweetheart,” Harry hums softly as he unbuckles his baby, bringing him up into his arms and into a hug, kissing his temple, “I love you so much, you know that? M’only away so that you have everythin’ you’d ever want. Miss you every second-“

A smack comes heartily on his back, right on his throwing shoulder where the soreness is radiating like a motherfucker, and he has to grit his teeth to not curse and startle Easton.

”Buddy, how much did this ride cost ya?” His Uncle Chuck, his mom’s brother asks obnoxiously, “Saw these things were going for a hundred and some change?”

Harry takes a deep breath, his patience was wearing thin, and he had barely made it out of the car, “I don’t remember how much it cost.”

“That’s what being rich gets you, huh? Twenty-one with a fat bank account and no responsibilities. I would have loved to have a life like yours,” Chuck chortles as he leans up against said expensive SUV, beer in his hand.

“I have plenty of fuckin’ responsibilities,” Harry bites back, scolding himself for cursing in from of Easton, even if he was too young to understand, he tried not to make it a habit.

“Sure you do, bud,” His uncle laughs, clearly not catching onto Harry’s mood, “Last thing I’d want is a baby with everything that you have going on. Growing up too fast.”

“Luckily, it’s not your life,” Harry brushes him off, picking up Easton’s diaper bag on his free shoulder and hikes him up, “We’ll be in soon. Give us a minute.”

His uncle shrugs before staggering off, a drunken sway in his step as he stumbles back towards the house.

Harry buries his nose in Easton’s downy, fresh smelling wispy curls to steady his breathing, he feels a bit emotional as he talks to his son.

“M’sorry, East. Daddy doesn’t feel good right now,” Harry swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut, “I just have to pull it together. God, I love you. My baby.”

Harry gives himself another minute of grounding before taking a deep exhale and shutting the door, walking towards the house.

Everyone was on the back patio, sipping on drinks, and cheering when they saw him.

Dread settles heavy in Harry’s stomach as his family members as they start asking him about his games, wanting to recap every play he’s made, his sponsorships and his much he’s getting paid.

Harry’s trying to keep up the conversation but all he can think about is how much he didn’t want to be there, and he should have just taken Easton to the park or something more low-key.

When he bumps into his mom in the kitchen, Anne is prepping a salad and smiles back at her son - unaware of his mood.

“Isn’t this fun, hun?” Anne asks happily, sprinkling in some spices as she hums.

“Why couldn’t it have just been us? I have to be around people all the time and I thought it was just going to be you. Now I have to entertain all of them,” Harry’s tone definitely takes her aback as she puts down the tongs she was using.

“Usually you love when everyone’s here, I don’t understand,” Anne’s smile drops, wiping her hands on the dishrag.

“Does anybody ever consider that I don’t love talking about baseball every second of the day or how much money is in my bank account?” Harry’s tone is venomous and resentful, unfairly harsh on his mom when she hadn’t tried to upset him.

“Harr-“ Anne begins to apologize, albeit, a bit confused.

“Easton’s almost ready for a nap,” He cuts her off as he checks his watch, it didn’t really matter what time it was, he was done.

“My bedroom-“

“No, I’m going home,” Harry shakes his head, turning on his heel. He has the decency to look back and say, “Sorry, mom. I just can’t be here.”

Easton was currently being held by his Aunt Jane, he was starting to fuss because he had a bottle not too long ago and he was starting to get cranky.

“Alright, we’re going to head out. East needs his nap,” Harry announces, hiking on the diaper bag, and starting to walk over.

“Oh, we barely see him! Just a few more minutes with this little one. You can hold off his nap for a little!” His Aunt Jane jokingly holds him tighter for a minute and nothing right now is funny to Harry.

Harry doesn’t get loud but his voice gets steely as he reaches down and scoops Easton up from her lap, “Don’t tell me how to take care of my baby, understood?”

His poor aunt is taken aback, just like his mom, and nods.

Harry storms out without another glance back, ignoring the whispers about how odd he was acting and rude.

When he straps Easton in, the dark bubble in belly subsides for a moment- like sun breaking through storm clouds.

“Daaa,” Easton coos, happy but tired, tucking his binky back between his lips.

“Good job, baby,” Harry sniffles, blinking up towards the sky to keep the tears away, “Fuck, get it together.”

Harry had to pepper at least ten kisses on Easton’s warm, sleepy face before he’s able to close the door and get in the driver’s seat.

Harry presses on the console touch screen, calling YN, and he frowns when it goes straight to voicemail which was very unlike her.

He tries again.

Voicemail.

He pulls out his phone, trying to check her location, and it hasn’t updated in the past hour - it was just unusual for her phone to die, always on standby but he tries not to worry.

YN was probably still very pissed off at him, if he was to bet, she put her phone on ‘do not disturb’ so that she could take a well deserved nap and not be bothered.

Harry squeezes the steering wheel, reminding himself once again, “Pull yourself together.”

But in the back of his mind, an anxious thought pops in, well multiple.

What is YN is leaving you?

What if she’s sick of not having you around as much as other wives have their husbands?

First time you see her in a week and you treat her like shit. You really think she’ll stay?

Harry has never once thought like that, even when they’ve gotten in serious fights but god damn, he couldn’t stop his mind from going a million miles a minute, and it felt like shit.

Nothing was wrong.

Everything felt like it’s crumbling.

#ano #harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #update #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

374 notes · View notes

mymelloii · 6 months

Text

Random Ren/Redacted HCs

---Minors/Ageless blogs DNI---

CW: Mentions of gore and stalking

_____

Ren has his eyes and mind on you 24/7, on the days you stay home so does he. Whenever you go out, whether it's with friends or to run errands he's always trailing close behind; far enough not to be noticed, but close enough to protect his angel.

-If you ever have the misfortune of coming across a creep during one of your walks, he'll promptly drag them into an ally way and give them the ass whopping of a lifetime before they can do any harm towards you. Typically he wouldn't even allow those types of people to approach you, let alone gaze at you, but on the rare occasion that someone does cat call you or even tries to touch you he'll bash their head into some good ol' concrete; without you noticing of course.

On the days you stay home are probably his favourites, he gets to watch you all day, doing your morning routine, while you busy yourself with your hobbies, or better yet watch tv/your preferred streaming service. As you lounge on your couch Ren is watches you through the camera he installed in your living room. Meticulously watching each and everyone of your reactions. Whenever you laugh so does he, if you start to cry or tear up, so will he. His emotions are practically interconnected with yours.

-His PC setup isn't anything notable, despite the fact he has 3 monitors, the first one capturing you, the one next to it being all open tabs of all your social media accounts, and the last one being work related or his screen saver of you. He has a simple wooden desk with a gaming chair, no RGB- though, he might have one of those mouse pads with a character that eerily resembles you.

Whenever he works, he loves having you on his main monitor; it truly makes him feel like your there with him. If he's alone, which is most of the time he is, he'll find himself talking to himself. Each topic of conversation is always about you, he's either commenting about how amazing you look today, or praising you for the littlest things. In his eyes everything you do is nothing less than perfection.

-Although he has a playlist of his own he loves listening to any and all of your favourite songs, doesn't matter what genre it may be he's all up on that shi. Extra points if it's romantic. He'll go on a daydream about you, imaging you, how whenever you listen to the song you can't help but to think about him and how your chest tightens up at the mere thought of him; as he feels with you. He knows every song in your playlist and all the lyrics to your favourite songs. Maybe one day you'll notice him and make a playlist just for him.

This one is less serious but as mentioned before on the 14DaysWithYou blog Ren had a red room phase. Though it was short lived I like to image that while he was selling the parts he obtained totally humanely that he often added a thank you note and one of those cute freebies you get whenever you buy from an Etsy shop. The note reading "Thank you for supporting my small business. Your patronage means everything to me! (*^_^*)" ITS SO DUMB DJKSDUVI

-In canon, he is extremely apathetic towards everyone with the exception of you. Which also makes him extremely accommodating towards your needs, he knows all your struggles even if you haven't voiced them to him yet. He accepts you and your struggles, no matter how big they may be; he'll always find a way to help you. This could be helping you with work, making or ordering special meals for you or simply listening to you vent. Whether it's mental or physical to him your health and happiness is his main priority.

Which leads me to that while he may be exceptionally caring, he's also remarkably jealous, towards everyone and everything that catches your attention. Now, he would never do anything that will harm you, but he's not above harming or black mailing others that get closer than he's comfortable with. Could be a coworker or a friend that is getting a bit too friendly with you which will enable him to scour every crevice of the internet to find any dubious rumors or photos including them. He'll also hack into their phone and go through their internet history and photos for more evidence against them. He'll then DM them through one of his burner accounts and present everything he found and threaten to leak all their information on multiple threads. Moth watch out 😨

-If the subject of your affection happens to be an animal or a stuffed animal he obviously can't go through those lengths. Although he would get jealous if he sees you cuddling with your pet instead of him he knows that the affection you feel is different and will opt to plopping himself next to you and proceed to get extremely clingy. He doesn't mind sharing you with any of your non-human companions as long as he stays yours.

_____

I haven't wrote in a while so srry if there's any run-on sentences + it's late so SPARE ME. Again these are all headcanons and if you wish to find canon content of 14DYW visit here, as well as to remember and respect the creators wishes and boundaries ^^

Side note I plan on writing more so if you have any suggestions please let me know! I haven't made a list of my do's and don'ts but please don't get offended if I don't take your suggestion!

#14dwy ren #14dwy #14 days with you #14 days with you ren #14dwy redacted #ren 14 days with you #14 days with you fanfiction #14dwy x reader #yandere #yandere visual novel #please dont flop

448 notes · View notes

p1utofairy · 7 months

Text

pick a card.

★ what makes you different from your person’s ex?

NOTE: hiii <3 i know it’s been a while since i’ve done pacs, but i just needed some time for myself and to balance my energy. i’ve missed you all so much and i understand that some of you really want personal readings for me (and soon i want to provide that for you) but in the meantime doing these pick-a-card readings is serving as practice for me – they help me get more comfortable with my intuition and enhance my tarot reading abilities/knowledge. i want to give y'all the most accurate and insightful guidance/advice 1 on 1 when i feel more prepared and have the time to do it. i hope you all can understand 🤗 your patience and support seriously means a lot to me. for now, i’ll catch up on some of the pac requests that have been sent to me. thanks for requesting this anon. 💌 enjoy!

PILE 1.

what makes you different from your partner’s ex is the fact that you are extremely dedicated to your craft and your own personal goals. right now you might be really yearning for a relationship or just craving some type of romantic spark in your life, but nonetheless you’ve been pushing through and staying focused on building yourself up and putting yourself on the right path. you have set standards, expectations and boundaries that you will not fold on - and your person will LOVE this about you. you’re no pushover. if something isn’t sitting right with you or someone isn’t willing to do/give you what you deserve, you know how to respectfully move on and find someone else that will; no matter how long it takes. you’d rather be single than to have someone by your side that you know isn’t truly fulfilling you and your needs. genie in a bottle by christina aguilera is coming to mind – “if you wanna be with me, baby there’s a price to pay! i’m a genie in a bottle, you gotta rub me the right way.” yeah trust me when i say that your person will go extra lengths to impress you and show you how serious they are about this relationship. i think that their previous relationship lacked the spark that you two share.

it also lacked the security, discipline and stability that you bring to the table; they’re willing to put the effort into this relationship. if i’m being quite honest their previous relationship seems like a non-factor, because in their eyes it could never hold a candlelight to what you two share. that one part in after hours by the weeknd just came to me, “cause this house is not a home…without my baby, where are you now when i need you most?” LOL they’re so devoted to you pile 1. the energy is kind of reminding me of allie and noah from ‘the notebook,’ one of the most iconic romance films of all time. don’t get me wrong, allie and noah’s love was far from perfect; it was messy, painful, and at times very selfish. however, it was THEIR love. it was full of passion and intensity and that’s the type of energy i pick up between you two. they would build a house for you with their own bare hands, like noah if you truly wanted them to. you bring out a side of them that their previous partner could never unlock.

you make them work for it and whew does it get them going lol they love the chase. if you teasingly tell them “no.” just to get a reaction out of them, they’ll be like “what can i do to change your mind?” and do the most seductive shit possible to get you all riled up and ready to pounce on them. you balance each other out very well and they’re different from the other types of people that have tried to pursue you before - it's gonna be refreshing. you might be a little hesitant to jump into this relationship because of your own doubts and anxiety around relationships (i’m hearing trust issues? daddy issues?) and this might cause you to keep this person at arms length even though you know you want to get closer to them. they’ll be respectful of you and your space, but just know that they won’t take advantage of your situation; if anything they want to help you work through it and be a supportive partner.

PILE 2.

the energy feels like something out of a whimsical fairytale, pile 2. you might’ve been split between choosing this pile and pile 1 (check that pile as well if you felt drawn to it) but wow your person feels like you came into their life at the perfect time. i’m not sure if either of you expected to come across each other in such a way that left you both feeling lovestruck! what makes you different from their previous partner is how much of a REAL lover you are. there’s a huge amount of optimism and a lust for life that you bring to this connection, which doesn’t quite compare to what they were used to. your love is purposeful and genuine – i’m picking up that some of you might have virgo/6H placements. just like magic by ariana grande just started playing, “just like magic, i’m attractive. i get everything i want cause i attract it.” you definitely manifested this relationship, pile 2. UGH YOUR MIND. it may have taken longer than you expected to come to fruition, but wow was it worth the wait.

they have this playfulness to them that you’ll really adore, it’s like they’re always trying to make you laugh and smile. their last relationship seemed like a bit of a burden on them. it caused them to turn inward and focus on themselves, however, their inner-child really thrives whenever they’re in your presence lol it’s so cute. it’s the little things like tickling your sides, kissing your neck/cheek and telling you silly jokes just to make you feel better and help ease any doubts and anxiety you’re feeling. you ground them in a lot of ways. you might be more mature than them, or they could be younger than you, but regardless, your energy feels more grounded and responsible. they might have felt powerless and restricted in their last relationship, feeling like they couldn’t really express themselves or be vulnerable for fear of judgment.

their ex might’ve involved their friends in a lot of their relationship drama which caused too much outside opinions to interfere with their relationship. that's one of the things that they appreciate about you: you don’t need outside opinions or validation to know what you want or how to manage this relationship. if there’s ever an issue, you will take the initiative to have a conversation with them and work it out; communication will be key in this relationship. their previous relationship lacked a safe space for them to express their emotions, but you are willing to communicate and ensure both of your feelings are taken into account within this connection. also, this person might have some sort of fame/social-standing/platform. it sort of feels like people keep tabs on who they’re currently dating/talking to. i will say that your person definitely values privacy and will try to keep as many people out of the mix as possible. this may not resonate for all, but don’t tell your friends everything about this relationship because some of them might be secretly thirsting over your person. they’ll be smiling in your face but behind the scenes wondering what it would be like to be with them, oof. some things are best kept private. remember that, okay!

PILE 3.

i feel a bit of a push and pull in this connection, pile 3. there’s friction here but it’s fiery and hot. your stubbornness is what makes you different from their previous partner lol they’re used to people falling for their charm and submitting to them – but not you. there seems to be a little bit of a romeo and juliet vibe here, like you two come from different backgrounds and technically y’all shouldn’t work but y’all just do. something clicks in you both whenever you’re around each other, and you spark a deep curiosity within each other. their last relationship was a “pain in the ass” i’m hearing lol wow. no matter what they did it was never good enough for their ex, they always found something to nitpick. i’m picking up that they argued a lot about finances in their previous relationship, your person may not have been in the financial position that they had hoped to be in but nonetheless they were working very hard towards their goals. this relationship with you is like a total reset.

ok so why did climax by usher just come on, “we’re together, now we’re undone. won’t commit, so we choose to run away. do we separate?” hm. for some of you, this might actually be an ex, but if that doesn’t resonate, i think there’s some sort of hesitation to commit here. emotionally and spiritually, you two just get each other, but when it comes to physically getting together and being an actual couple, you or this person finds a reason to cop out. there’s some sort of blockage from the past that’s keeping you from just saying, 'fuck it! let’s do it.' you've got to work through this, pile 3 (at your own pace, of course), because this person truly loves you. at times, you might feel a bit confused and unsure about their true intentions, but deep down, you know that this could work and they’re not as bad as you thought they were. some of this feels like it all could be cleared up with some good ol’ ✨communication✨ because you both have a lot in common, but you avoid talking to them about certain things.

someone in this pile could’ve recently just watched or is thinking of watching ‘anyone but you’ with sydney sweeney and glen powell lol cause the energy kinda feels reminiscent to their dynamic in that movie. you two could connect through friends and/or at a party. i can see either you or them overthinking this connection and creating unnecessary drama when all you both needed was a heart-to-heart conversation. drunk texting by chris brown ft. jhené aiko just came to mind, “got me feelin some type of way - told you i hate you, i don’t mean it. and the only thing that i got, is the pain that you been feeding.” ugh this person really wants to make you theirs pile 3 but the ball is in your court; they genuinely are trying to win you over.

PILE 4.

your person’s previous relationship did not end on the greatest of terms, oof. they’re still in the process of working through it, but they’ll never forget whatever it is that their ex did to make them call it quits. their ex might’ve cheated on them? idk they feel very betrayed and this energy of “ugh i can’t believe they did that” is heavy on them. their relationship with their ex was veryyy toxic and at the time of the breakup they might not have seen it this way, but it was definitely a blessing in disguise. love by keyshia cole just came to mind…damn. “i used to think that i wasn’t fine enough, and i used to think that i wasn’t wild enough.” their ex really had them second-guessing themselves. out of all the other piles, this one doesn’t feel quite healed from their past relationship. it’s not that they’re so much hung up on the person, it’s the situation that left a bad taste in their mouth. i keep hearing “how could you?” ugh poor baby. anyways, what makes you different from their previous partner is how genuine and attentive you are.

you may have just gotten out of a toxic situation yourself, and i see this relationship coming in at a time where you feel free from any negativity, burdens or worries someone (either romantically or platonically) was trying to place on you. this relationship is a fresh start for you and your partner. your person is very emotionally mature and super chill - it’s very hard to get them angry or riled up to the point that they’re screaming & yelling. that’s just not them, i’m hearing. some people might complain that they’re too nonchalant or dismissive, but that’s far from the case. your person is just aware that not everything deserves a reaction. you two will probably start off as friends first and then it’ll turn into a romantic relationship.

it’s interesting because your partner literally submerges themselves deep into their emotions, and you’re more of a ‘mind over matter’ type of person. you deal with things more logically and i think that’s one of the many things that they’ll admire about you; how you let things roll off your back and keep it moving. you give yourself time to process, understand and deal with your feelings, but then once you do, you’re right back to the grind. the dynamic between you and this person is reminding me of the movie ‘friends with benefits’ with mila kunis and justin timberlake. you both will click really fast! also, i’m picking up that you two might share a mutual friend and that might be how you two meet.

you give them hope and reassurance that love, GENUINE love, still exists. they might be a bit hard on themselves in the beginning of the relationship, but you will reassure them that they are more than enough and deserving of the love that you two share. loveeeeeeee song by rihanna ft. future just started playing, “and i hope i’m not sounding too desperate, i need love and affection.” whew! they’re gonna love them some you, pile 4. in their heart and in their eyes, nothing or no one will ever compare to you and the way that you love.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pac #pac reading #tarot reading #p1utofairy

552 notes · View notes

lady-pug · 26 days

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter III - Parallel Lines Intertwined

Summary: You are now betrothed to Aemond, with the promise of being crowned together when time comes, your family no longer headed unquestionably on warpath, but now you can’t help but wonder if this is truly what he wants, if he’s as happy as you are with this arrangement.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,6k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), nudity, making out, allusions to sex, canon-typical misogyny regarding sex and female virginity, some steaminess (but nothing more than that really)

Notes: Another chapter is here! Yay!

I’m tagging this as mature because there’s some steaminess in it but not full blown smut (yet).

I’ve accidentally fallen in love with these two and cannot stop thinking about them, I have so many installments planned out you guys have no idea.

I decided to use some High Valyrian as I had mentioned before Aemond and reader are used to speaking it with one another (does it break consistency, as I haven’t used it until now? yes, but better late than never). For this I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

The steaming water was doing wonders for your sore muscles. You hadn’t realized how tense you had been until you had reached your chambers and felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, your shoulders slumping with the force of everything falling into place. No sooner had you stepped foot inside your room you requested that the maids fix you a bath, the water steaming hot. Now, with your body submerged and the steam clouding your thoughts, you felt like you could finally breathe properly.

It had worked. Your mad, crazy, stupid idea had worked. At least as well as one could expect. Alicent and Otto, of all people, had agreed to it, and now it seemed like there would no longer be a war inside House Targaryen. The promise of their blood eventually occupying the Iron Throne seemed to appease them enough to, most likely, support your mother’s claim as King Viserys’ heir, apparently no longer questioning her legitimacy as ruler just because she was not a man.

But now, alone in your chambers, you were no longer sure of yourself. While, yes, this idea could just fix things within your shattered family, you weren’t exactly sure if everyone involved was on-board with it.

After your dance with Aemond was cut short due to the King feeling unwell and needing to be escorted back to his chambers, to which Alicent nudged Rhaenyra to follow and spend some moments with him (something that lit a flicker of hope in your chest that things could indeed be mended), you hadn’t managed to speak to him for the rest of the night. Once you returned to the table, you caught Luke giggling under his breath, and when you realized what exactly he was laughing at you were quick to pull him from his seat and request a dance. You swiftly poked Helaena on your way to the open area of the room, who in turn pulled Aemond for a dance before he could notice, signaling her mother to alert the servants to move the offending dish to the middle of the table and away from his seat.

The night ended not long after, Baela and Rhaena keeping you company, the three of you giggling like little girls at the thought of your respective betrothals. However, once you were all excused by the Queen, you didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of Aemond, who was whisked away by his grandsire with his mother following behind them.

And here you were. Although you had no doubt this plan of yours was the right thing to do, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was what he wanted. Even though you knew this was the right thing for the realm, for your family even, was it the right thing for the two of you? As you stared at your face reflected upon the surface of the water, dark thoughts simmered in your mind. Perhaps you had been blinded by his words regarding his mother’s wishes to find him a wife, or by the resentment he felt towards the treatment his brother received. What if he wanted nothing to do with you? What if he wanted to ascend to the Throne of his own accord, or what if he wanted to be wed to someone else, one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters, maybe?

At least there's no doubt about the purity of their blood.

He could have any woman on the realm if he wished. He was just so regal, all sharp edges and cunning eye, and you were merely… you, your mind tried to convince you.

Would you give up your freedom and be trapped in a loveless marriage just for the sake of your family and the realm?

Not loveless, that nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke out of turn again, just unrequited.

The answer was most definitely yes. You’d rather have him, even if not the whole of his being, than not have him at all. And if you could prevent the realm, and your own family, to succumb into flames and ashes in the process? All the more reason to do so.

Lost in your thoughts you barely heard the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone, as the wall suddenly pulled back to reveal the man in question.

“A-Aemond?” you stammered, sliding further into the water in order to preserve some shred of your dignity “What are you doing here?”

A deep, low hum was his only response as he stepped further into the room and closed the secret door behind him. The soft patter against the stone cold floor indicated that he was barefoot; that, along with the white linen shirt and soft looking breeches he was wearing, meant he was just about to go to bed before he decided to come visit you, for whatever reason.

“Qȳbor…” you bristled when he refused to elaborate.

“Can I not visit my future wife’s chambers to check on her well-being, mandianna?” he spoke lowly, his eye never leaving your frame.

“We are not yet married.” you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze “This hardly seems proper.”

He again only hummed, eye flitting around the room, before pulling his shirt over his head.

A sudden heat rushed to your cheeks as you stared at him. Much like you had noticed before, he was slim, his form lithe and elongated, making him appear even taller now that he wasn’t covered in green leather. His muscles, on the other hand, were well defined, taunt under his skin as if sculpted in the finest of marbles, his years of training with a sword under Ser Criston Cole reflected on his flesh.

His lips pulled in a smirk as you basked in his image, swiftly untying and pulling down his breeches as well. That caused you to avert your eyes immediately, going as far as to hide your peripheral vision behind your hand.

“What are you doing?!” you squealed in surprise, not at all expecting him of all people to pull a stunt like this. Aegon? Sure, but him?

“You once told me it was nothing you hadn’t seen before.” he spoke, amusement dripping from his tone as he walked closer to the tub.

“Yes, when we were children. Not like this.”

You felt the ripples of warm water beating against your skin as he joined you in the bath, leaning back against the side of the wooden tub with his legs extended in front of him, only slightly bent at the knees as they brushed softly against your own. You quickly pulled your knees to your chest, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Why do you hide from me?” he asked, his lips curling in a smirk “You are to be my lady wife, we ought to see each other like this on many occasions.”

“Like I said” you hissed, crossing your arms over your breasts and straightening your spine, his eye following your every move “we are not married yet.”

He hummed in response, pursing his lips as if annoyed with your resistance, but you could see the mirth swimming in his eye. He extended his arms over the rim of the tub on either side of his body, and when your eyes involuntarily followed his movement, retaining your gaze on his chest for a tad too long, he smirked. Heat burned your cheeks as you averted your eyes, realizing that he enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Why are you here?” you questioned, annoyance simmering in your voice.

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was assessing you, searching for something, but what you couldn’t tell.

“I wanted to see you.” he spoke before glancing away from you, his once jesting tone having turned soft, betraying his sincerity.

That statement had you feeling all your annoyance dissolving, your body uncurling and legs extending closer to him. If you were to be honest with yourself you wanted to see him too, you desperately wished to know what was going through his mind during supper and after. You wished to know what he thought about you.

His mind seemed far away for a moment as he chewed on his lip before his gaze fell on you once more.

“My grandsire had interesting things to say about your proposal.” the corner of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly “More so than my mother.”

That caught your attention.

“What did he say?”

“She was, albeit vexed by your choice of timing for the delivery of said proposal, delighted.” he completely ignored your question, choosing instead to talk about Alicent Hightower instead of Otto “Like I mentioned earlier, she’s been nagging me to find a wife, and now you’ve just delivered the solution on a silver platter for her.” his smile softened “She wished to know if I was happy with this arrangement.”

“And what did you say?” your throat felt as dry as the Dornish desert, and you wondered if he could hear you swallow nervously. But from the way his grin turned again into a smirk you knew you wouldn’t get the answers you craved for.

“My grandsire on the other hand was perfectly satisfied.” he shrugged, as if Otto Hightower’s opinion didn’t truly matter to him “He believes the Seven have answered mother’s prayers of having one of us be crowned king, and that this gives us the perfect opportunity to seize the throne for ourselves.”

“What?” you physically recoiled, shoulders curling into yourself once more, as if you were physically struck by his words.

“He told me” he continued, either not noticing your reaction or wanting to push forward regardless “that when time came for us to be crowned, you and I, I was to usurp you of your ‘birthright’ and be crowned the sole King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You let your arms drop from their position over your chest, not even being able to revel in the way pink dusted Aemond’s cheeks as his eye followed down our body to your now exposed breasts, so much was your shock. You felt so stupid, so humiliatingly naive in having believed such a ridiculous idea could ever work. Otto Hightower would never respect you, or your mother, or any possible daughters you came to have simply because you were all women. Just remembering the way you stood before him, before your entire family, before Aemond himself and said those foolish and rehearsed words, dragged yourself practically as low as the streets at Flea Bottom, made your eyes sting in embarrassment.

You were so caught up in your own swirling thoughts you barely noticed Aemond’s smirk slipping from his face, a frown now adorning his features.

“You cannot possibly believe I would do such a thing.” he let his own arms fall back into the water, his back straightening as he looked at you almost… hurt? “Do you truly think so lowly of me?”

You couldn’t hold his stare any longer, shame clawing at your chest and climbing up your throat. The truth was you didn’t know him. It’s been six long years since you’d last spoken, you couldn’t possibly know who he was anymore. Had he turned out like Aegon? Or had his grandsire shaped him in his image, a mere puppet for him to manipulate and do his bidding for him?

His stare hardened, a resigned exhale leaving him as extended a hand in your direction.

“Come here.”

You didn’t dare move a muscle, too scared to embarrass yourself even further. That wouldn’t do it for him tho, if the annoyance that took over his features was anything to go by, and his hand found your ankle underwater and tugged. Hard. Unexpectedly you found yourself almost on top of him, holding onto his naked shoulders for balance as the contents of the tub sloshed around the two of you and over onto the ground.

“Aemond-!” you chastised him, trying to pull away but one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you firmly in place. Something about the whole situation, the way his eye was locked on yours, as if studying you, felt strangely intimate, making your heart skip a beat.

Then, with the lightest of touches, he grabbed one of your hands almost reverently, removing it from its place on his shoulder and holding it in his own, the back of your hand against his palm so your own was facing up. He brought it closer to his face, examining it closely, his thumb caressing your skin in slow movements. Where his palms were calloused, you noticed, his fingers were silkily soft, the gentleness in his touch making shivers run down your spine and goosebumps prickle your skin all the way up your arm.

“Your line of life is quite long, thankfully.” he hummed, not taking his eye off your palm, so he didn’t notice the confusion brimming in your eyes “And your line of heart not only tilts upwards, but it is also incredibly long, almost touching the place where your palm meets your fingers, right here.”

“And what does that mean?” you whispered, not daring to speak any louder for it might break the spell that befell upon the two of you.

“You will be the most beloved woman in the entire realm.” he whispered back, his eye finally meeting yours, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over in the form of unshed tears “Your lord husband would burn the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile.”

Wetness dripped down your cheeks but you could no longer distinguish between tears and the lukewarm water from the bath. Your heart clenched and twisted painfully in your chest as his gaze turned to your palm once more.

“And would you look at that,” Aemond gently turned your palm towards you, pointer finger tapping against a faint line near your wrist “it’s the line of the king. Or should I say queen.” he glanced at you once more, a soft smile growing on his lips “You once told me it only appeared on the hands of those destined to rule over the realm.”

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, a choked sob threatening to escape, desperately clinging to his every word.

“I may not be like my sister, for the future eludes me.” the arm around your waist tightened its grip, bringing you even closer to him as he rested his forehead against your own, bringing your intertwined hands close to his chest “But if there is one thing I can promise you is that you will be queen.” his next breath came out of his lips trembling with barely contained emotion “And I’ll be right by your side when that happens.”

The sound that left your lips was a perfect blend of a laugh and a sob, your lips quivering as you tried so very hard not to collapse into his arms as all your previous worries vanished. His own face lit up in a genuine, full blown smile that brightened his face; you couldn’t even remember when the last time he allowed himself to smile as brightly as he was now. It suited him.

Warmth filled your chest, quickly climbing up to your face, as he nuzzled his nose against yours, but one detail made you pull back. His face twisted in confusion, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his scar.

“I wish to see all of you.” you spoke softly.

“You already have me bare before you, woman. What more could you possibly want?” Aemond tried jesting but you could notice the way his entire body tensed against your touch.

“I want to see all of you.” you whispered, thumb catching against the edge of his eyepatch.

Before you could lift it, though, his hand shot out unexpectedly, halting your movements by encircling your wrist. His fingers were firm against your skin, but his touch didn’t hurt; you didn’t think he ever could, not again. You didn’t press any further, nor did you retreat, waiting for him to either give you permission to continue or push you away. He did neither. Instead, his other hand reached up and removed the eyepatch from his face, throwing it somewhere around the room.

You didn’t truly know what exactly you were expecting but were surprised all the same. Where you believed you’d find an empty socket lay a small round sapphire, hidden from the world beneath his eyepatch most of the time. It was alluring, glimmering under the light emitted from the candles, contributing to his mystifying nature. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you took this as an opportunity to cradle his jaw, tilting his head to be able to see his eye from different angles. The gem suited him, the deep blue contrasting with the violet of his other eye.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” you breathed out.

“Not a single soul.” he shook his head, his own breath coming out trembled.

“Well, then, they are utterly blind, the lot of them.” you caressed the corner of his mouth, bringing your own lips impossibly closer to his “You are beautiful, Aemond.”

Something shifted in him, the last of his restrain melting away under your touch, as he leaned forward and closed the gap between your lips, sealing them in a tentative kiss. His lips were a contradiction on their own. For a man so taunt and sharp and strong, his lips were incredibly soft, akin to his voice, as strange as the comparison sounded. He kissed you unhurriedly, almost chastely, his hands finding hold in your waist. You pulled back for a moment and his lips chased your own, unwilling to part from you just yet.

His mouth then started tracing a path of lazy kisses down your body, first against your jaw, then slowly down your neck. It was when his grip on your waist tightened, trying to bring your hips closer to his own, that you pulled back, a hand against his chest.

“We can’t.” you mumbled regretfully. He tried sitting up again, get closer to you once more, but you pushed him back gently, cupping his face in both your hands “Aemond, please.”

“Why must you deprive me of what I long for so desperately?” he whined against your lips.

“I cannot risk losing you…” you exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

It was his turn to pull back, eyebrows curling in confusion, and you knew he wouldn’t let you go without an explanation.

“When I was close to reaching marrying age, mother pulled me aside to explain some of the more… intricate details of what goes on between a husband and a wife.” you shrugged, the same embarrassment you felt back then flooding you now, before you sighed “She also told me what befell her before she married my father.”

Realization dawned upon him, remembering all the times his mother uttered words unbefitting of a queen to address not only her successor, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but also a former dear friend. Words more suited to the women who worked on the Street of Silk. From what he had gathered over the years this was the very last nail on the coffin of their friendship.

“I will not allow the same to happen to me.” your tone and your eyes alike hardened, fingers grasping his face more firmly as you forced his gaze to remain on you. Not that he could look at anything else with the way you spoke with such determination “I will not allow my virtue to be made a spectacle of, I will not give the opportunity for some lesser man from a little house to question it, to question me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but swallow thickly, the fierceness in your voice doing humorous things to his heart.

“If I was born a man this wouldn’t be a concern, but alas I was not.” something in you softened, fingers letting go of his cheeks and sliding softly to cradle the place where his jaw met his ears “If your mother so much as hears word of any misdemeanor, at least in her eyes, on my part she will tear us apart. Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla gūrogon ao hen nyke.”

I will not let her take you from me.

When questioned later, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what came over him, but something inside his very soul snapped as he surged forward, claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved against yours with the intensity of a man starved, like he was overcome in a thirst only your mouth could quench. It was passionate, it was harsh, it was… honestly kind of clumsy, all tongue and clashing teeth, like he didn’t truly know what he was doing. Huh. You would store this information away for later.

He pulled back with the last bit of self control he had, practically whimpering when your lips parted, resting his head on the crook of your neck.

“Kesan umbagon.” his breath was labored as he spoke, placing a tiny kiss on your shoulder before raising his head to look at you “I will always wait for you, ābrazȳrys.”

Your heart soared at the term, but when he went to gently move you away from him so he could stand up you gripped his hand to stop him.

“Stay.” you pleaded “Just a little while longer, please.”

Aemond smiled lovingly, helping maneuver you so you were sat between his legs, with your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. His arms wrapped protectively around you, his fingers absently drawing patterns against the skin of your arm. The water from the tub had since run cold but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you were in his arms.

Aōha valzȳrys. Aōha dārys.

High Valyrian translations: - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - kesan umbagon - I will wait - ābrazȳrys - wife - aōha valzȳrys - your husband - aōha dārys - your king

Also, this two were getting quite steamy while Viserys was literally dying in the other room. At least this time Rhaenyra was the one with him so, you know, no mixing up names this time (I stand by my argument that if Alicent’s eldest son was called Godofredo none of this would have happened, but the Targaryens were not known for their creativity when naming their children).

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

166 notes · View notes

siriusly-parker · 9 months

Text

—more. [isaac garcia, mlwtwb]

“Lowly knights and mighty kings, they all want more”

tags. [fluff, angst, bonfire party, childhood best friends to lovers, jealousy, drunken confessions]

author’s note. [thank you for all of the requests!! i got a TON, so i tried to mix a few ideas into one fic, so i could get it out to you guys as fast as possible! ꩜ i siriusly love you <3]

wc. [4k]

—fic under the cut!

‧˚ʚ ⋆ ꜝꜞ

Aside from her predicament with the Walter boys, Y/n did really like Jackie. Who she didn’t get along with where her newfound friendships. Skyler and Grace where gossipers. Y/n knew they just enjoyed being close to the center of it all. Skyler was just annoying, and she didn’t enjoy the way he treated Nathan at all, but she could get past that and tolerate his presence. Grace though… she was just a bitch. She hated Grace, “Gracie” as she used to call her. They actually used to be good friends, until high school made the girl even more of a newsmonger. The slight whiff of a scandal and she’d come running like a dog, even to the detriment of the people around her. She gets carried away, forgets it’s real people and not a movie. Maybe she gets a high out of the attention she gets from sharing the information she dishonestly collects. People only come to see her to know all about other’s lives. Gracie’s own is incredibly boring, she’s sheltered. So, gossiping is her only way of living some sort of excitement, through others, of course. Y/n pities her, in a way. But she mostly, mostly hates her guts.

At the annual bonfire party, after an insane amount of begging from her best friend, Y/n took a ride with the Walter’s. Cole got them there, but Danny was, as per usual, the designated driver. Y/n didn’t enjoy drinking either, but she didn’t have her permit yet, postponing her lessons every chance she got. She liked driving with the boys, she even had her own designated seat. Being their neighbour meant they’d get her to school too, and that Isaac would practice his own driving on his uncle’s truck with her. He was good, she felt safe.

When they got there, Jackie immediately jumped to Gracie, while Nathan ran to see Skyler, who didn’t truly seem to be as excited. Y/n rolled her eyes so hard, she’d probably get a headache from it. “Careful, you’ll get stuck like that.” Laughed Cole as he closed the door and threw the keys to his twin brother. “I can’t help myself!” She pleads in annoyance as she turns to her best friend for support. When she looks at Isaac, he’s looking over at the fire, not listening to their conversation at all.

He had been mostly quiet the whole ride, which she didn’t necessarily mind. They're used to comfortable silence, understanding each other beyond words. Even before him and Lee went to live with their cousins, they often came to visit. Y/n came to know that truck by heart, always sneakily asking her parents if she could go play with the neighbour boys when she saw it drive past.

Isaac actually had a stutter as a child. He wasn’t always as confident as he seemed now. Ashamed, he often stayed quiet. At first, Lee talked for him most of the time, but as their friendship grew, they learned to communicate without much words early on. The banter came later, when puberty hit and he became popular with the ladies. Sometimes though, when they’re alone, his quiet side shines through. Maybe tonight he just didn’t feel like talking much. That would be fine, but she knew there was something more.

“Hey,” It’s spoken softly. Hearing her voice, he shook himself out of his trance and noticed everyone was gone to exactly where he was looking. He was too bewitched by the fire to notice the people around it. “you’re quiet.” She chuckles. She says it as a fact, as something she noticed, but he knows she means it as a question that needed answering. He rubs the back of his neck, not sure of what to say. “Oh… uh~ yeah.” A giggle escapes her lips at that. “Recompose yourself, Garcia. You have a reputation to uphold.” He knows she’s teasing, but before he can answer, her hand leaves his forearm and she’s headed towards the party, like everyone else.

People wave at her, Cole screams something, Danny laughs. All he sees is fire. As if she’s walking right into it. She looks beautiful. The lack of her touch is more noticeable now. It feels wrong. He didn’t even notice she was touching him. It’s not unusual per say, but you’d think he would notice. Maybe it wasn’t her voice that drew his attention, maybe it was the familiarity of her touch. She knew that sometimes he was so inside his head that only a gentle squeeze could do the job that words couldn’t. But the fact she kept it, and he allowed it, like it didn’t matter, was what perplexed him. He’d usually be thrilled, but he was too tense to even feel it. Maybe that’s what made him stutter again. She had that effect on him, even though she helped him through it the most. He couldn’t get the idea of her out of his head, but he didn’t know how to tell her.

“Buddy, c’mon.” Danny’s voice pulled him out of his haze. “It’ll just come out naturally when you talk to her, don’t stress about it.” It comes out so casual, as if it was obvious between the two boys. “What are you talking about, dude? I’m just kinda tired. Didn’t even wanna come to this trash party.” He scoffs unconvincingly to his older cousin. “Yeah okay. You were the most excited. You dragged Y/n here, when you know she doesn’t even like parties. Look, if you have something to say to her, just do. It doesn’t have to be special, or a big deal, or even tonight. Now let’s go. She’s all alone in a party she didn’t wanna go to, with people she can’t stand.” Isaac laughs at that, knowing she’s probably poking at Cole’s last nerves or teasing Alex and Lee. He also knew that, sadly, the company of her friends didn’t compensate for breathing the same air as some deeply annoying people. “Well, to be fair, Gracie is a pain in the ass. Girl can’t mind her own business.” Danny pushes his back harder as he holds his shoulders, guiding him towards their friends. “You know she likes you right?” Danny questions, but Isaac just rolls his eyes. “Right, she likes anything that looks in her direction.” The Walter boy nods enthusiastically, as if it was all evident. “Right, yeah. And, you don’t care—obviously- cause you like Y/n, anyway!” Isaac’s head turns sharp at that, but he relaxes at Danny’s unconcerned smirk. He couldn’t get anything past the boy. His feelings were hiding behind a glass window to everyone, but her. Finally giving up the act, he shakes Danny’s hands off him and walks the final few steps towards the crowd on his own. “Shut up…”

When Isaac finally joins the party, he’s immediately swarmed by a raid of girls. Y/n watched from far away, lightly laughing at the absurdity of it all. But, a part of her is jealous. She doesn’t want him to spend time with these girls, he’s supposed to be her best friend. She’s the one supposed to have all of his attention… and more. Before she can shut down that too recurring thought, she feels someone walk up beside her.

“Isaac Garcia, honorary Walter, and breaker of hearts! Why don’t you join the fan club?” The boy teases in a theatrical manner. She recognized him, Matthew, from the football team. “I didn’t have time to sign up, sadly. But I don’t think there’s any more place to join, now.” She mimicked his dramaturgic expression. “King Garcia has a big heart, thou shall not worry! The more the merrier.” She laughs at that. He’s being ridiculous, but it’s getting a reaction out of her. Matthew did not mind being ridiculed if it meant she would be the one laughing. After the laughter quieted down, she answered honestly. “Not for me, I don’t think so.” But she kept their act going, finding it fun. “I have come to accept this sad reality a long time ago, My Knight! When I was still only a small peasant girl.” He smiles, before dropping the Shakespearean accent. “I am glad.” “You are?” She suspiciously questions. “Of course. That means you can join my club. As the face of it, of course. The Y/n appreciation club.” The play is back on, and so are the theatrics. “Oh, I’d be delighted, My Knight. Not many members I suppose?” “Only me, for now, My Queen. But not by lack of trying from others. It’s just that…” His face drops forward comically, pressing her to ask, “That what, My Kight?” Dramatically, he sighs. “They have to fight to the death to join… and I’m a very good duelist. Very motivated… to be the sole member of this club.” “How so?” She truly wonders. “It would mean that I would have your undivided attention, My Queen. That would be a great prize, indeed.” He says, slowly coming back to his true self. Y/n actually didn’t expect that. Most boys don’t give her the time of day, let alone display their affection so clearly. “Oh…” “Oh.” He teases, and she giggles at the realization.

Through the sea of undesirable faces surrounding him, Isaac sees the interaction. Why is she laughing? What could he be saying that’s so incredibly funny? He should be the one making her laugh like that. But, that’s not really fair, though, is it? He didn’t even come up to her since he left the side of the car. She’d be alone if it wasn’t for the footballer. He’s glad she has company, he just wishes it was him instead. Not keeping his eyes off the girl, he distractedly excuses himself from the herd. Slightly pushing people out of his way, he goes directly towards the new pair of friends. Y/n is laughing and twirling her hair. She never twirls her hair. Her dress is pretty. Short. She was wearing a dress? Is it new? He’s never seen it before. Did she wear it for him? For Matthew? Did they talk before tonight? Why is he so pressed about this? Why does he care so badly? Heart beating louder than the music, his hands reach to another random drink. Suddenly, his legs start to walk on their own towards the girl he can’t help but love.

As he comes up behind her, Y/n sees Matthew’s expression change. “Well, time is up, My Lady.” He theatrically bows down to her as Isaac puts his arms around her shoulders. Y/n’s confused at his sudden change of behaviour. “I’ll see you later, Princess.” He winks and walks away while Isaac stands confused. Did he just call her Princess? What a player… What even was their dynamic? He didn’t actually plan on interrupting anything, but now that he did, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Lost in thought again, he only notices her expression when she yells out the other boy’s name and moves towards him, making Isaac’s drunken arm drop. Matthew turns around and softly smiles at her. He motions for her to come closer and whispers something in her ear. That secret makes her blush, and Isaac is furious, not knowing what was said. Why did he have that effect on her? As Matthew leaves Y/n with a pat on the head, she sheepishly comes back to where her best friend was standing. The closer she got, the warmer he cheeks felt, and apparently looked. Isaac noticed, but didn’t truly understand he was the source of it.

“So? What did cocky all-American football star Matthew want to do with you?” Isaac says matter-of-factly. His words start to slur. Nothing makes much sense, except the thought that she may be in love with someone else. She takes a step back. He suddenly went from quiet to mean. What happened in that pit of girls? Was he tired of breaking hearts? Was yours the only one left? “He’s not cocky, he’s actually very nice…” She tries to add, but it comes out hushed, shy. The words hurt more than she cared to admit. Her biggest insecurities highlighted by the one she cared for most. “And- I’m sorry if it’s too hard for you to imagine… that someone could actually like… me,” It comes out slow, as if she was carefully choosing her words and not only trying not to cry. “but there’s no need to be so rude…” Her last words are barely louder than a whisper. With the ringing in his ear and the loud music, he’s scared he simply imagined it. But her eyes tell him that even if she didn’t say it, that’s how she felt. He was deliberately rude and knowingly mean and he felt absolutely awful.

“Y/n… you know that’s not what I meant…” “I don’t know that…” She avoids his gaze, kicking the sand beneath her feet. “I just-” “You what?” “He’s a jock! He must have bad intentions!” She scoffs at that. “Or maybe! Just maybe! Someone likes me! Crazy, I know! But not that impossible…” “I don’t doubt that anyone could like you, Y/n. You’re-” When she finally looks at him, demanding an explanation, his mind goes silent. How could he tell her how deeply amazing he truly thought she was? “It’s just that- He’s a football star! They’re dicks!” That’s the excuse he comes up with. “Ok? Cole was a football star?” “And he’s a dick! I love him… but look at Erin…” She nods sarcastically. “Well, I’m glad you’re concerned, but I won’t follow him around like a puppy, waiting for attention. I’ve done that enough actually…” She mumbles, but he hears. He always hears her. “Y/n…” She dismisses him with a wave. “Go back to your little fan club, Isaac…” As Y/n walks away she blinks back a few tears that were threatening to spill. Isaac watched her sit down by the fire besides Matthew, hugging her knees. He’s making her laugh, and everything gets more real. He was the asshole, and he hated himself for it. Before going to apologize, he just needed another drink.

As he turns his back to the fire, he bumps into Grace, who didn’t seem this shocked. “God! I didn’t see you!” She feigns innocence, as she offers him a new red plastic cup. Isaac takes it without much thought, constantly looking back at where Y/n and Matthew were sitting. He’s too distracted to care about Grace and too buzzed to even understand what she’s saying. He nods at whatever she’s saying before noticing her hand on his shoulder. “Ew, get off, Grace.” The intoxication in his voice is clear, but he’ll never be wasted enough to want her, or anyone other than the girl he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. Gracie doesn’t seem to take a hint, putting her other hand on his free shoulder. By the time Isaac turns back to look at her, Y/n is already on her feet marching towards them. “Oh no… she’s coming to ruin our fun…” Grace pouts, but Isaac doesn’t hear, too mesmerized by the girl stomping her way to them. “Get off, Grace.” Y/n pushes her off and instinctively checks on Isaac. Taking his drink from him and buttoning his jacket back on, she says, “Ok, it’s time to go, pretty boy.” She softly smiles at him, knowing he doesn’t need a lecture right now. After she puts his hair back into place, she turns to a whining Grace and tells her matter-of-factly, “Also.. Gracie… eat shit and die.” She scoffs and flips her hair like in the movies. At least, that’s how Isaac sees it. His savior in slow motion, he thinks and laughs. He looks stupid and drunk, and so so so in love with her. It’s time to go home.

“Y/n, that was not nice…” Jackie comes up to her, but Y/n ignores her, fully knowing the point of her words were to be mean. She could be the devil when she wanted. And Grace was always a free pass for being bitchy. The amount of times that Y/n had to defend Isaac as a child, she knew how to take care of the boy. This came naturally to her.

“You do not want to feel the wrath of the neighbor girl, Jackie.” Cole laughs as he pats her shoulders and goes past her towards the car. Danny joins him, keys in hand. “She’s his fiercest defender, don’t try her. She’d burn the world for him, I’m pretty sure.” He warns, mumbling the last part. “Walter family! In the car! Now!” Y/n demands, holding Isaac up. “Yes ma’am!” Cole winks at Jackie, who’s slowly understing the dynamics of the family. “No one is safe if he’s the one in danger. No matter how much you think she loves you, there’s no one on earth she cares more about than him.” He whispers in her ear as he sits down considerably close to her. “She’s crazy mad, guys! Get in the car!” Danny yells for the others to come. Lee and Nathan run up to the car, fully knowing who’s boss.

When they finally get home, Y/n walks right past everyone with Isaac to put him to bed. No one says a word, knowing it’d be better not to test her in times like these.

Isaac starts laughing when they go past his door. “Y/n! Are you crazy?” She shushes him for being too loud. “Are you crazyyy?” He tries again in a loud whisper. “What are you talking about?” She can’t help but laugh a little too. “You can’t come into my roooooooom. Not at this hour! No girls over. Aunt Katherine is gonna be piiiiiiiissed.” “I’m just putting you to bed, Isaac. You’re drunk.” She chuckles, pushing him towards his bed so he can sit down. “Oh…” He’s quite obvious in his disappointment. As she chooses clothes for him to sleep in, she tries to reassure him. “Katherine said I could stay tonight, ok? Because of the party. I’ll sleep on the couch.” His excitement is brought back by that piece of information. “Oh! We can watch a movieeeeee, and-” “No, Isaac. We sleep. You don’t want to be visibly hangover in the morning. Then, Katherine would kill you.” She turns away from his dresser and puts his clothes beside him on the bed. “Here. Your pjs. Put them on, I’ll put mine on, and then we’ll go brush our teeth, ok?” “Ok…” His eyes wander to her dress. It’s pretty. It’s short. He wants to tell her it’s pretty. Instinctively, his hands wander to the hem of the dress. His thumb strokes the fabric, it's nice. There’s a silence between them. Y/n doesn’t actually leave the room, like she had planned. “Pretty… it’s-“ “Thanks.” She quickly interrupts. In his daze, his hands move from her skirt to her thigh. The touch is soft, feather-like. He’s scared she’ll break otherwise. Y/n holds her breath, but before she can say anything, he lifts his arms up. “Help.” He simply says like a child who can’t undress themselves. It takes a while for her to process his request, but she doesn’t decline.

When she first touches the bottom of his shirt, and her hand accidentally brushes over his skin, she can’t help but feel her heart skip. It’s not as if she had never seen him shirtless before. Countless summers at the Walter household gave her many opportunities to gawk. But this felt different. The two of them, alone in his room. It’s as if, in her anger at Grace, she had forgotten their own fight.

Matthew had abs too, even more, probably. A football star boyfriend would be great, she tried to convince herself. But the thought didn’t persuade her, as it didn’t give her the butterflies that Isaac’s simple smile easily could.

As she lifts his shirt up, she can’t help but think back at what Matthew whispered to her back at the bonfire party. “Go to your King. Do not settle for a lowly knight like me.” She later tried to explain to him she didn’t feel as though he was “lowly”, but he saw through her makeshift walls right to where she hid her feelings for the older Garcia boy. She didn’t know why he acted the way he did that night, so quiet, and then so rude, but she pushed it all away, they’d talk about it tomorrow.

When she finally took off his shirt, she couldn’t help but stare a little. She quickly shook it off and put his old band shirt on. There were a few holes in it, but with his grey hoodie on top, it didn’t really matter. Looking at his neatly folded red checkered pyjama pants, he got up and said, in the same way as before, “Help.” She chuckled, and turned away to leave. “You can do that part on your own, I’m sure.” She could feel his smirk burning at the back of her head.

In the bathroom, she put her own pyjama set on and started her nightly routine. Hearing a knock at the door, she swiftly opened, knowing it must be Isaac coming to brush his teeth.

They brush their teeth together and Isaac sits on top of the counter, waiting for her to finish taking off her makeup and doing all of her skincare. “You’re so pretty…” The sudden break in the comfortable silence shocks her. Of all the things he could’ve said, she didn’t expect this. Seeing she didn’t answer, he kept going. “And smart too. You’re more than your looks of course, but you are very pretty. I know I make fun of you for your thousand steps routine, but I actually do enjoy it. Gives me more time to just look at you…” “Isaac…” She tried to cut in on his rant. “And- And I didn’t mean that… At the bonfire. I know people like you. How could they not… I just- i just don’t want you to like them…” He was drunk, he’d regret it in the morning. She feels as though she’s reading someone’s secret diary. He’s drunk and an open book for her to skim through. “Isaac…” She warns again, but he shakes his head. “I guess I was just jealous… ‘cause you were laughing… so much with Matthew. What were you even laughing at? He can’t be that funny. I’m funny. I want you to like me…” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I do like you…” Y/n tries to reassure him. “Well then… I want you to love me.” She takes his hand, making him look at her fully. “I love you, Isaac. A lot.” He smiles. “You’re my best friend.” It drops. “No…” That was wrong. That’s not what he wanted. “No?” She questions. “I don’t want you to love me like a best friend… I want you to love me as… more.” “More?” “More.” He says it as a pledge. “Will your answer stay the same in the morning?” There’s a smile on her face. She can’t help but dwell on the possibility of what could be. “I promise.” He’s sure of himself. “Ok, then we’ll talk about it when you’re well-rested.” She laughs. “Now get down, sleepyhead. It’s time for bed.” Isaac didn’t argue, knowing full well that in the morning, he’d be telling her the same thing. Over and over again if that’s what she wished to hear.

ꕀ

‎𐦂 hope you enjoyed it!! comment what you think! and please don’t forget to reblog!!! ◡̈

ʚ masterlist + resquests!

taglist ; [making a taglist for my life with the walter boys! plz send an ask, comment, dm to be added!]

#isaac garcia #isaac garcia x reader #isaac walter #angst #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #x you #my life with the walter boys #isaac mlwtwb #mlwtwb #my life with the walter boys isaac

583 notes · View notes

moviecritc · 4 months

Note

Hi, so I've recently watched the Thanksgiving movie with Patrick Dempsey and it was sooo good. So I wanted to ask if you could please write something about Charles dating actress!reader who stars in a horror movie but even tho he is not a big fan of horror movies he agrees to watch it for her because he wants to be the best boyfriend so could you please write it with a mix of smau with nell verlaque as face claims 🫶🏻

supportive boyfriend ⋆ charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x actress!reader

word count: 601

warnings: mixed smau and writing

a/n: i, too, am not a huge fan of horror movies (i hate them actually), also this was quite short but i hope you like it <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by addisonrae, charlesleclerc and 34,120 others

yourusername some pics from the set 😚😚

view all comments

user1 the bond they all have >>>>

addisonrae ❤️👻

user2 i love her so so much

user3 omg i watched the movie and it was amazing!!

user4 y/n the new scream queen frr

user5 wait tf is charles leclerc doing in her likes

user6 girl they're dating u didn't know? she went to promote one her movies to the miami gp last year, they met, become really good friends and they started dating. it was like a rom com truly user5 that's so cute

user7 anyone expecting charles reaction for this new movie? we all know how fearful he is

user8 yess he's probably biting his nails trying to come up with ideas to not see it

And he was.

He was more than proud of his girlfriend and loved seeing her on screen. He always watched her latest movies on the plane when she wasn’t around. But this was the first horror movie she’d made, and the idea of watching it terrified him. He had always struggled with that genre; his two brothers loved horror movies and insisted on watching them when they were kids, which led to Charles having countless sleepless nights.

He had tried to convince Max or Arthur to watch it before him and tell him if it was too scary, but neither of them had time. He searched for summaries on YouTube, but it was still too early for people to have summarized it.

The only thing left was to mentally prepare himself. Be very aware that it was all fiction and that nothing would come after him once the movie ended.

He arrived at his girlfriend’s apartment, greeting her with a kiss and a box of her favorite sweets along with a rose.

“Aw, thanks, Charlie,” she hugged him and gave him a longer kiss. “Come on, I’ve got everything ready to watch it.”

Y/N was truly excited, and it showed on her face. She was very proud of this project and eager to show it to her biggest supporter at last. Charles knew this and had done everything possible to stay calm. But then he saw the setup: Y/N had turned down all the lights, leaving only a few candles lit, and the movie was already on the TV. The poster showed her covered in blood with a terrified expression.

“Are you ready?” Y/N said, sitting on the couch. Charles followed suit, and she snuggled up against his chest.

“Of course,” he said immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Y/N looked at him with a little smile and kissed his cheek before pressing play. The first fifteen minutes were fine; they were introducing the plot and the characters. But then the tone of the movie started to darken, and Charles shifted nervously in his seat. Y/N noticed and intertwined her hand with Charles’, placing it on her chest.

Y/N realized how Charles flinched several times during the next few minutes, so she sat up and paused the movie.

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked instantly, completely confused though secretly relieved to have a moment to rest.

“Charles, you know I won’t be mad if you’re scared to watch the movie, right?” Y/N spoke with a sweet smile.

Charles pressed his lips together and looked down, just enough for Y/N to widen her smile and kiss him, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “I’m not scared,” he said in the middle of the kiss. Y/N raised her eyebrows, said nothing, and exited the movie. “But don’t turn it off, I want to watch it, I swear!”

“Char…”

“No, let’s watch it, mon amour,” Charles insisted, taking control of the remote.

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption: guess who haven't slept a shit bc her bf is scared of his own hair]

replies

charlesleclerc IT WAS DARK AND I FELT SOMETHING IN MY FACE I WAS SCARED

246 notes · View notes

tojiwrd · 1 year

Text

6: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings mentions toxic family, mentions of forced marriage, emotional infidelity, lots of crying, drama drama drama, confrontation, lots of reminiscing. also not proofread so im sorry for any mistakes !!

word count 4k

a/n sorry for late update lomls my gojo fate is fickle ver. came back into my life after three years of silence so this is chapter is coming straight from my bones guysssss . also i am so so so grateful for the support on this fic, genuinely makes me so happy i love u guys sm thank you SO much !! <3 also credit to the person of the art!! i can't find their name so if anyone knows then lmk <3

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

Gojo Satoru didn’t get on one knee and ask to marry you. He did it when the two of you were in the apartment he bought just a few months prior, laying on the bed as the small opening of the curtains let a thin stream of silver streams in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared because when he slipped the question while the two of you were facing one another, a hint of sleep heavy on the eyes on his moon-kissed face, he backed it up with the ring he’d carefully tucked away in his sweatpants. You swore your cheeks were hinting a fresh glow for the next week.

Maybe it was dumb to think you and Satoru, only twenty-five, would’ve worked out when he proposed on a random Sunday in bed. It did seem dumb, though, while you sat across Hana who was relaying her own proposal story. You’d tuned it out, not wanting to hear her drone on about how it was the most perfect, breathtaking moment when he got on one knee at a rooftop restaurant. You didn’t want to be there, partially because you truly felt as though Hana was painting Satoru out into someone he wasn’t, and partially because you were human and humans tend to get jealous sometimes.

It was meant to be a simple brunch with ten people, friends of friends of friends. You had Reina right next to you, Reina, whose eyes were continuously twitching as Hana would relearn a new moment from that picture-perfect night and feel the need to share it with everyone on the table. You could also see some of your own friends who were aware of yours and Satoru’s relationship look at her, then you, with furrowed brows. Hers mostly out of confusion, and at you to ask why the fuck are you quiet?

“Ugh!” One of the girls, Jia, exclaimed as Hana finally seemed to get to the end of her engagement story. “I wish I had someone like Gojo Satoru; all these men are so unromantic and act like genuine children.”

Truthfully, if Satoru wasn’t your ex-fiancee, you would be on the same boat as the girls who were unaware of your past relationship. Hana’s story, from the pieces you forced yourself to hear, was dreamlike. A small part of you wanted to tell her that her romantic and unchildlike husband had proposed to her, too, right after he’d done some other things that would end that conversation immediately. But you didn’t because it wasn’t Hana’s fault, even though your mind kept putting some blame on her, that Satoru broke it off with you.

“I hope all of you find somebody like Satoru. He truly is the best,” Hana replied dreamily.

You clenched your fists. Reina slammed hers on the table.

“You’re so delusional, Hana, it’s concerning.” You wanted to raise your arms and pull Reina down and ask her to shut up. To not cause a scene. But Hana looked at Reina, a confused, concerningly kind expression covering her features and you realized there lived a monster in you that wanted to see Gojo Hana crumble. “Don’t look at me all coy, high, and mighty. You don’t know shit about your husband. Why don’t you skip over these semantics and really tell them the only reason the two of you got married was because your parents forced you to?”

You delighted in the flash of anger that slid across Hana’s face as she pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. You leaned back and stared, an uncharacteristically numb look covering your features. This, a part of you realized, might be detracking you from your healing process but it was fun.

Hana looked around the table and noticed how all eyes were fixed on her figure. If there was one thing you’d learned from girls' brunches, it was that everybody loved when it blew over and left one or many people scathed. She sputtered over her words, the tangle coming out completely incomprehensible and you almost felt bad. Almost felt bad because it wasn’t expected of her to admit to a whole group of socialites that the marriage to the Gojo heir wasn’t out of love, but out of an arrangement that went in their favor. If you were in her place, you, too, would’ve waxed poetic about your marriage because if the truth would bring the palpable exciting energy down, you would feel bad.

“Perhaps it was suggested by our parents,” she started, glaring at Reina with faux sweetness. “But it was only because our parents saw how in love we seemed with each other.”

You tried to hold yourself back but it was just so simple for you to scoff at her words. When Reina looked at you, a sheen of anger coating her eyes, you pushed yourself to talk. “It’s not love if he cheated on someone with you.”

You had thought about this moment before; you’d wondered if, were you to ever meet Hana again, you would drop the ticking time bomb in her presence that might either blow up her entire marriage or just cause a small blip in the working systems of it. But saying it now, after hearing her say all Satoru had said about you was that your fathers worked together, felt completely underwhelming. Though the shoe was dropped and it was clear everybody managed to get a small tatters of it to whisper about with other people, it felt wrong. Wrong because the way Hana looked at you, eyes brimmed with tears and brows coming together in sadness, you had most likely broken a piece of her.

She gulped then cleared her throat. “Can—Can we talk outside? Alone?” she asked and, without sparing a glance at anybody on the table except for you and Reina, she walked to the sliding doors of the restaurant and into the glaring sun above.

Reina placed her hand on your forearm and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was surprising to see a miniscule hint of guilt on her features, and you realized you had to have the conversation.

Hana had most likely heard the clicking of yours and Reina’s heels because she didn’t turn back to face the two of you. “I know you and Satoru had something going on.”

You froze, stunned and silent.

“I had heard from my mother that you both were in a relationship. He never mentioned it to me, though, and I didn’t mention it, either.” She turned around, eyes wide as she looked down and shuffled her feet in anxiousness. “I don’t know how it ended or when it ended, but I thought when he—he finally acknowledged there was something between us, the two of you were over. I didn’t want to know. We did get married because our fathers told us to, but I wasn’t lying when I said he was sweet and caring.” Her stare burned you like a billion matches. There was truth in her words, you knew—

“You homewrecking bitch!” Reina’s voice cut off your train of thought as she walked towards Hana, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. Once again, you didn’t stop her even though you probably should’ve. “If you knew he was in a relationship, how could you even think of flirting with him? They were engaged. God! I swear, both you and Gojo are two peas in the same pod. You deserve each other.” Her words were also ringing through your head and there was confusion bubbling up within the same pot as growing anger.

“Why’d you pretend not to know when we saw you at the club?” you asked, finding your voice again, in a calm tone that surprised you, too.

Hana shook her head. Her face had curled up into fury, and you wondered if her nice, docile, angel-sent-from-above personality was a card she held up her sleeve the entire time. “I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know because Satoru was mine—is mine. You weren’t a part of his life anymore, so I didn’t want to add any worries that were misplaced.”

You wondered if you should tell her that Satoru had tried reaching out to you at Suguru’s gallery.

“If he had told me he was with you, I wouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

You were sure you had moved past everything.

After more than a year of avoiding any fire from your past with Satoru, the past two weeks had been filled to the brim with situations revolving around him. It was easy to ignore what you had with Satoru when he seemed like a distant memory and then a mere ghost in your thoughts. But when he’s insistent on giving you answers you never asked for, answers you didn’t want to know, and his wife had made an appearance that caused your brain to run without stopping, it was difficult to treat him the way you had.

No matter how much you wanted to ignore everything and reset your brain back to its default settings, you couldn’t when the world was caving in on you and reality seeped through its cracks to light a bright, pertinent light in front of your eyes. You hated Gojo Satoru with every inch of your bones, but you were never truly able to forget just Satoru himself.

Your mind had an interesting way to deal with the pile of information dropped onto your shoulders. You should’ve been reliving how Satoru made your blood boil when he got engaged with Hana, how he carelessly broke your heart because he began falling for somebody else, somebody brand new while he was taking space on your bed every night. You should’ve been, but you weren’t.

‘A relationship broken is always a relationship that could’ve been,’ is what you’d read once graffitied onto a brick wall you were leaning against with Satoru once in the middle of the bustling city streets. You’d pointed it out, he’d agreed. He’d agreed. You wish he hadn’t because there was a fragment of you that wished he remembered those words now. The devilish part of you wished that’s what he remembered, recounted abruptly while he was sleeping next to his wife.

You wished he’d think of the could’ve been’s instead of the measly fears he told you about at the gallery.

You also wish you had those fears, too. You loved Satoru to a point that he was in everything you did; your clothes smelt like his detergent because you would always take your laundry to his house for the weekends. The lamp next to your bed had his bracelet wrapped around it because he thought it was too loose on his wrist and he’d lose it. You would always accidentally call him because his contact was on your home screen, causing you to press on it when you were scrolling (he always picked up and he always talked to you for hours after, making you forget why you had opened your phone in the first place). The tattoo, a small design of baby’s breaths, on your hip reminded you of how he had held your hand through the pain.

You knew Satoru’s dreams. You knew Satoru’s biggest fears. So, why did he never tell you the fears he had for the two of you?

As soon as the thought hit your mind, it was followed by you harshly reprimanding yourself by reminding you that it was because he was getting excited over someone else’s calls, someone else’s dreams.

“Y/N, honey.” You heard your mother’s voice call from your ajar bedroom door before she hesitantly stepped in, heel-clad feet grazing over the off-white floor with footsteps following behind her. “Your friend from the gallery here to see you.”

You knew exactly who she was talking about which is why you raised slightly from your bed, a panicked look in your eyes, and only began pleading with her to tell him you weren’t here. Before you could even utter a complete, coherent sentence, Suguru had walked in with his head down and your mother simply walked out of the door, sparing you a sad smile. She didn’t know any of what had happened, but she most likely sensed it wasn’t anything worth toasting to after seeing Suguru’s mood and your reaction.

“Please, Suguru.” Your voice wobbled, a slight hiccup in your words because this was too much. Even though Suguru was somewhere on the top of your least-favorite people list at the moment, he didn’t deserve to see you get angry at him without having control over your words. “Leave.”

“Listen, listen, Y/N. I just… I heard some stuff and I needed to check on you.” His words were hesitant, as if he’d rehearsed them but had changed the script at the last minute. He walked closer to your bed and you couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. “Hana told me—”

You snorted, cutting him off. “Hana told you what? That I ended her perfect, dreamy image of her marriage in public? Are you here to—what? Reprimand me? Tell me I was wrong—”

“Fuck, no. Stop, just for one second.”

You did stop because Suguru seemed more tense than you knew what to do with.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly addressed, his body finding its way to the edge of your bed. “I want to say I’m sorry, and you don’t have to accept it. I was wrong—I realize that now but… I was scared, Y/N.”

“Scared of what? I wouldn’t have been any worse if you’d just told me what you knew, Suguru. You hid it from me when you saw how I was going insane the month after the breakup.”

“I was scared of this. How you’ve been feeling since Satoru told you the truth himself.” You couldn’t reply to that. “But I want to tell you that even though I hadn’t told you about it, I did let Satoru know really well what he did was wrong. Not that it’s any better, but I never supported what he did. I—I couldn’t stop him from marrying her because… well, because he’s Satoru. I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay, especially not after finding out about Hana after three months. But I thought you were and—I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.

But I heard from Hana earlier today about what had happened at brunch. She said she was scared Satoru would find out what she said and I—I have no idea why she trusted me with that information. I’m not friends with her. I don’t know why she told me.”

You took in a deep breath processing all the information Suguru kept on dropping. “I’m not telling Satoru anything.”

“But she—”

“She nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Whatever she did, even if she actively tried to sabotage me and Satoru, it was on him that he let her.” Your phone lit up from beside you and you glanced at the time, internally thanking whoever controlled it for the real excuse to kick him out of your house. “I have plans with Kento. You need to leave now, actually.”

You didn’t miss the way Suguru’s face flashed with a hint of disappointment at your words.

Kento Nanami wasn’t understanding—not truly—which is why you were surprised that halfway through your date, when you told him you had to talk to Satoru, he understood. He walked you out of the restaurant, a calm, unwavering hand on your back and told you that no matter what happened, he’d be there by your side.

And though you knew you had people by your side, you really couldn’t remember who and felt a flutter in your chest.

By the time you reached Satoru’s (and Hana’s) apartment, the urge and confidence you felt when you came up with your plan ebbed away into pieces and left you lying there in a situation you weren’t sure you could face. You raised your hand up to press a finger against the doorbell regardless, trying to force away the thought that you would see the apartment you helped him move into and decorate. You briefly, for a second, wondered if he had changed it. You also wondered if it would hurt to see the small paintings you’d bought as a present for his new apartment not be in the spots of the wall Satoru put you on his shoulders to pin.

When the door opened, you were met with the same eyes that had haunted your dreams and nightmares. His mouth opened, wide enough for a fly to fly into, then he schooled his features into mere curiosity. You realized that you were the one that sought him out this time, you were the one who dropped in unannounced at his house, which meant you should speak.

“I need to talk to you.” And frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care if Hana was lurking behind him and able to hear you initiate a conversation with her husband. That was what he was: her husband before your ex-fiance.

He breathed out and shook his head as if willing himself to speak, too. “Yes. Yeah. Come in, Y/N.”

And you did. You saw the walls, the paintings, the small hearts on the corner of the dining table you drew with a sharpie, the couch you picked out, and even the necklace you had forgotten that peeked from under his coat on the coat hanger. You didn’t comment on it, though.

“Do you want water? Tea? Liquor?”

You almost laughed at the anxiousness in his voice. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

Satoru’s expression was what you could confidently call crestfallen, and he didn’t try to hide it this time. You forced yourself not to think about it. You merely went down to the couch in his living room that you picked out and placed yourself on the left corner because you always used to sit on the right. It helped you see the TV better.

“She isn’t home.” You knew who he meant by ‘she.’

“Goj—Satoru, I need you to do something,” you said, unsure of how to start it off. In all fairness, you hadn’t prepared what you were going to say, it was just a messed up, jumbled backbone of stuff that you knew you had to tell him.

His reply was instant. “Anything.”

“I need you to not feel guilty or—I don’t know, keep feeling guilty but just keep it to yourself, okay?” You sounded like you were talking like a preschooler, and it wasn’t much different because Satoru looked at you with the hopeful eyes a kid has before you reject their wishes. But Satoru wasn’t a kid, Satoru was a man who made poor choices and hurt someone by doing something unexcusable, and that made it okay to tell him to stop.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me. If we’re in the same place, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me not to hate you. Don’t tell me you regret what you did to me.”

It hurt to break your heart by your own words.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he trailed off, eyes wide and filled with fear now. “Please.”

“Stop.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears you weren’t going to shed. It was fine dealing with Satoru when he tried to talk to you, but doing it on your own terms gave you an inexplicable feeling of sadness you hadn’t expected. “You’re being selfish.”

“No. How…”

“You take when you want, Satoru. You know more than anybody else that I loved you and lost myself when I couldn’t. You were there that night in the car, holding me when I cried when you left me. You left me!” you exclaimed, pointing your index in his direction that would’ve jabbed him in the face if he wasn’t further away. “You were there even after you left me. You’re there now, making me all confused and angry, when you know you can’t give me anything. You don’t have any intention of being somebody I need in my life, so leave. Make this easier for me and leave. Let me live my life while you live yours.”

He had shifted down the couch, and though he was still not too close, it felt too close.

“Don’t—fuck, don’t say that, love. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You flailed your arms in the air, his words not helping your case at all. “You can be sorry a million times over, but what’s done is done. You can’t… Fuck, Satoru. You can’t do this.”

A moment passed. Then another. He placed his head in his hands, facing ahead while you faced his shaking body.

“I love you,” he said, and you were lost.

“Don’t do this to your wife, Satoru. You love her. You’re supposed to love her. Don’t do this to someone else.”

“I love you,” he repeated, his eyes now looking into yours with a familiar fire of determination. “You know that, right? You know that I love you?” His words broke out into a sob that ripped directly from his scratchy throat. “Tell me you know that.”

“Then please leave. Don’t show up. Stop showing up, and stop explaining something that can’t be understood.”

And when Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, you didn’t push it away because you saw that previous fire dwindle within a second. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned your warm face, your glassy eyes, and he noticed how you were shivering under his touch. You didn’t push it away because Satoru might’ve been selfish, but you were, too. And you would inhale the embers of him before they turned into ash.

“You want this?” he asked, but you could see he knew the answer. You didn’t reply. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. But—But I want you to know I wanted it to be you. When Hana walked down the aisle, I thought of you. I wish you’d come. I would’ve never said ‘I do.’ I swear. I’m sorry I fucked up—I fucked us up. I got carried away and…”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t do that to her. You have a chance at being happy, Satoru. Don’t ever do what you did to me again.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have that chance at being happy?”

You thought about the question and Kento’s name flashed in your mind. It might have been small compared to the colossal amounts of feelings you felt with Satoru back then, but it was something. Even though you didn’t shake under Kento’s touch or feel your stomach turning upside down everytime he smiled at you, you felt safe and you knew that if you could stay, Kento would stay, too.

“I do.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, a single tear falling from his eye. “Is it wrong that I still wish it was me?”

You wanted to say no, it isn’t because a part of me wishes it was you, too. You didn’t.

He continued, “I can’t let you go, Y/N.”

Another tear, then another, till they continued streaming down his face. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t react to them. Not even when he took his hand away from your face to messily wipe them away between sobs and hiccups.

“You said you didn’t deserve me, and you were right. Remember that.”

And even though a larger part of you didn’t want to leave, you left, afraid that you might end up entangling yourself in his arms to cry with him. To get one taste of his lips for the last time before deciding to fuck it all and make one kiss more. To hold onto him for longer, forever. You left because you weren’t sure you could tell Satoru to leave again. You thought you still loved Satoru just not in the way you used to. But when you saw him pleading for nothing because there was no good outcome for the two of you, you realized you might still love Satoru the way you used to, just less and concealed by the hurt. You would’ve chosen all the bad outcomes and then some more if you stayed a minute longer.

#gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

907 notes · View notes

aayakashii · 3 months

Note

The plushie headcanons are so cute! Mind if I send in a request for part 3 with Subaru, Alan, Sho, and Kaito? (I know damn well Kaito's gonna burst into tears at such a cute gift)

Thank you so much for enjoying them!! ｡ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ｡ ♡ Hope you guys like this one!!

How Tokyo Debunker boys react after receiving a cute little plushie from MC – Subaru, Alan, Sho and Kaito

Kagami Subaru – red crowned crane plushie

He apologizes for the fact that you went out of your way to make such a delicate and cute plushie for him

Then he apologizes because he doesn't have a gift to give you yet

Then he apologizes again because you told him he doesn't need to apologize

Please be a little patient with him! He's a bundle of nerves, and it makes it hard for him to express himself properly

He absolutely loved the little crane though!!!!

He is wondering how are you so creative, how did you make such a majestic animal become so cute and round as a plushie

Subaru manages to makeshift a little cushion for the plushie, and now it has its own spot at the tea table

Being such an anxiety-ridden guy, your gift to him also became a huge source of relief – he doesn't bring it with him anywhere, but it's like all his problems magically fade away once he sees it, it quickly became a source of comfort and emotional support

He doesn't really tell that to you or anyone, for that purpose, because he feels a little silly, but he absolutely cherishes his new friend and hopes to give you a gift that might mean as much to you as his little crane means to him!

Alan Mido – doberman plushie

Contrary to what people might think of him, Alan is a gentle giant

He's all soft eyes and little smiles to his underclassmen and Vagastrom students

Even if he's strict with them sometimes, it's all just his own form of tough love

So when you give him a doberman plushie, he can't help but smile and pat your head affectionately

The thought of you working so hard to make such a cute little thing for someone like him makes his chest all warm and fuzzy

He treats the plushie like a delicate trophy that could crumble into dust at any given moment

So he doesn't snuggle, nor squeeze it at all

He mostly just... Holds it. And stares at it, admiring your handiwork and thinking that it looks adorable.

And he also asks your opinion about everything plushie-related

"Do you think I should keep him in my room or at The Pit?"

"Why would you put him in The Pit?!"

"Maybe he could become a mascot..."

One day, he can't keep his curiosity at bay any longer and decides to finally ask you

"Why did you give me a doberman plushie? Specifically a doberman, I mean."

"Well, you are strong but also very gentle, just like a doberman can be protective and dangerous, but also sweet when it comes to its family"

Alan smiles and pats your head for the millionth time that day

He surely hopes he can keep being that to you.

Haizono Sho – raccoon plushie:

"I made this for you, an animal that reminds me of my cute kouhai"

"... senpai are you telling me I look like someone that eats trash"

"How the hell did you jump to this conclusion"

Don't worry about his reaction though, Sho absolutely loves it but he can't let any of his cuteness aggression show, to keep his bad boy image intact

Leo teases him over this gift, but every acid word just goes through one ear and out the other because Sho is over the moon, feeling like the most spoiled guy in the entire world

You see him through his rough image and have enough courage to give him such an adorable gift, you're truly something...

Oh, and the fact that you gave the raccoon a little apron to match his when he's working totally caused extreme mental damage over how cute it is

What if he also bought a leather jacket and a helmet to take him on his rides with Bonnie...

But will it be safe for it to ride Bonnie when it is so small and rotund and easy to slip away...

Please don't judge him, he's just a kid, he wasn't ready for parenthood

But since it has an apron, Sho will most definitely let it keep him company at the food truck

Maybe the little raccoon can be the cashier?

Sho will probably settle for this though

Fuji Kaito – penguin plushie:

Immediately screaming and gross sobbing

Cannot form a single coherent word once you give him his little chubby penguin

It looks so cute! It's so round and fluffy even though now it's a bit damp because of all his tears

A HUNDRED PERCENT takes this plushie everywhere

Kaito gives it a name, clothes, and accessories and creates an instagram account just to post photos of the penguin around the nicest spots jn Darkwick

Suddenly, Kaito becomes a photography pro since he just won't stop taking pictures of the little guy

Shows off to anyone that even points it out, ESPECIALLY if it's Luca

"MC made this FOR ME, which CLEARLY means I am their knight in shining armor and will protect both them and our child I mean our plushie with MY LIFE"

Totally misses the fact that Luca doesn't care

MC has to come to him and ask him pretty please to tone it down a bit because he is scaring the hoes everyone away

But how!!! He just loves (you) the plushie so much!! Let him show off, please? He's just a very excitable person!

He promises he'll chill out though, but before that, just one more photo for the plushie's instagram page...

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker subaru kagami #subaru kagami #tokyo debunker alan mido #alan mido #tokyo debunker sho haizono #sho haizono #tokyo debunker kaito fuji #kaito fuji #ask

210 notes · View notes

daisybianca · 1 year

Text

pairing: sebastian vettel x femalereader

summary: it's totally forbidden. he's older and your childhood and eternal crush, but there's more to that. his best friend--and your dad--is Michael Schumacher. one day, you're sick and stuck in your bed with a fever. he pays you a visit, and then the fever becomes even more brutal. HERE'S PART TWO.

warnings: sexual activities, jealousy, cursing words

(a/n): it's late at night, and I just wrote this, and I'm really, really sleepy. there might be multiple mistakes, grammar, and spelling, but HEY. the tension is still there! <3

IT HAD BEEN almost five days since everyone got informed that you were down with the flu. Michael Schumacher's beloved daughter was a concern about pretty much everyone in the paddock. Every single person cared deeply about you and Mick. Everybody knew that.

You got quite a few messages and texts from the drivers and team members in the past few days. You answered with polite, brief responses and made sure everyone knew you were just fine with the necessary drugs and medicine prescriptions.

The truth was that you had been feeling okay since a couple of days ago, but chose not to tell anyone. Rest on a bed all day was cool.

Opening your phone, you entered Instagram and wrote a brief thank you text to Daniel Ricciardo, who wished you a fast recovery. Scrolling through the app, you detected a post on your insta feed that was referring to Sebastian Vettell.

Oh, he was tour childhood crush.

Everybody freaking knew that.

You remembered that in an interview a few years ago with your father, a reporter had asked you whether or not you'd like to race for a F1 team and become a driver in the future. You response was fast and was definitely written in history. It almost immediately went viral, and people still talked about it on social media, leading to multiple fans shipping you and the famous world champion.

"No, I don't think I'm going to be a racing driver. But I'll marry one anyway, so it doesn't really matter." The spot played like a old cassette in your mind. A wide grin formed on your father's face and the reporter returned to you and lowered the microphone to reach your tiny height. You were barely 12 years old at that time.

"Who are you referring to? Lewis Hamilton? Do you like him, huh? British, humorous, handsome! He's totally so charming!"

"No, no, no, no!" Your father, Michael, bent over and picked you up in his strong arms. "I'm pretty sure the husband she's talking about is Vettell." He laughed again and you were so confused at the cameras and microphones and tons of people around you.

You were absolutely serious about craving to marry that man. He was something truly angelic to you, even though your innocent 12-year-old mind couldn't fathom how a real marriage worked.

"Oh, I get it! Blondes are better anyway!" The red-head reporter yelled and thanked you for the interview, before moving to the next driver.

You also remembered clearly the very first time you learned about Sebastian dating some girl.

A few of your dad's friends were gathered at your house, along with Sebastian. They talked about some weird strategies you couldn't analyze and had a great time together, but suddenly a question was fired at Sebastian, gaining your full attention.

"Seb, what's up with that blonde you've been going out with since last month?" A guy asked, and your gaze darkened. No one really noticed you eyeing the men behind the kitchen table. But that's what you wanted anyway.

"Who? Hannah? Oh, she seems okay, I guess." He took a sip from his bottle of beer and went on, his eyes lingering around the room. "She's hot, supportive and... not really smart but I don't mind, it's not like I'm going to marry her anyway."

They all laughed at Sebastian's words and you waited until most of the guys moved outside, near the pool in order to prepare the barbecue.

Approaching Sebastian, his eyes automatically landed up on you as he smiled.

"Hey, there, little one!" Sebastian greeted. You hated it when he called you little one. You were 17 at that time. In puberty and almost in adulthood.

"Don't call me that, Seb! I'm not 10 anymore!" You laughed and you got on your knees in front him, next to the couch.

He bent over and applied a peck on your forehead, just like he always adored to do. It was one of his special ways to show his platonic affection to you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He smiled and got up, walking to the kitchen. He came back a few moments later and handed you an orange juice.

"I'd prefer the beer you're holding, thank you very much." You pushed the plastic carton of juice away and got up to grab the beer from Seb's hands. He tossed it away immediately.

"Your father would kill me, love."

Oh, love.

What a word to hear from his beautiful, full lips.

You bite your lips. Hard.

Your female hormones had been raging since a couple of years ago due to puberty. And Sebastian Vettel was so not helping with that.

You formed a fake sad face, and he sat to the couch again.

You'd love to sit in his lap right now. You used to do that when you were a little. You would wrap your hands around his neck... and stare at his baby blue eyes forever.

If the desire to sit in Seb's lap was a drug, you were totally and undoubtedly a drug addict.

But you couldn't do it now. Sebastian wouldn't let something like that happen.

A few moments later, you were sat beside him on the couch, drinking enormous sips from the juice Seb had offered you.

"It's tasty." You told him after you caught his gaze upon you.

"Um... I guess so."

You blinked a couple of times.

"Soooo... you have a girlfriend?" Your voice was steadier than you thought it'd come out.

"I don't know." He thought for a second. "It's complicated."

You automatically dragged the thin material of your cozy dress lower on your thighs when you caught his eyes traveling their for a tiny, brief moment.

"Are you in love with her?" You asked without hesitating and ignoring the previous incident.

"In love?" He repeated. "Jesus, no. I don’t think I've ever been in love before."

You didn't know if the scorching burning in your chest was a good thing. You were glad he hadn't been in love with anyone before, but simultaneously you weren't.

"Have you?" Sebastian's question caught you off guard.

"Who? Me?" Yes, you wanted to yell at him. But didn't. "No. I'm almost 17 and barely had any experiences in my love life."

"That's not certainly a bad thing." He mumbled, drinking from his beer, his lips almost immediately absorbing the liquid.

Germans loved beers. Sebastian Vettel was no exception to that rule.

"What? Having zero experiences in that area?" You asked.

It wasn't like you hadn't been kissed before. You had. Twice. By two different boys. But nothing compared to the love life other teenagers had the chance of experiencing at your age.

"Yes. It's a good thing, to say at least." His eyes were so threatening. Like there was a hidden meaning behind them.

But maybe it was just something your mind created due to the fact that... this man... oh, Gosh... you had never desired anything or anyone like him.

"Why?" You looked at him and his gaze found yours.

"You should wait for the right one." He smiled simply.

You looked at him and wanted to say that he was all you wanted. But you fucking couldn't. And that was drowning your feelings for him in deep, dark oceans.

"The heart wants what it wants." You pronounced, and Seb didn't quite get your words.

He didn't want to anyway. He knew damn well that your feelings about him were intense since you were a little kid.

The obsessed, recless, lovesick teen. That's what you thought Seb would describe you as. Little did you know he had the exact opposite opinion of you.

Seb was your frustration.

He thought you were like a daughter to him at that time. Little did he know you'd do anything to keep your promise in the future.

Bottled-up feelings. Intense feelings, unexplained issues. He caused that to you. All of it. And he didn't even know.

°•°

You were almost 19 now.

Age was by your side and the age gap between you and Seb wasn't that intense. Only 11 years. You had met multiple couples before with even bigger age difference and they lived with it in happiness and with pride.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled a big breath.

You felt greedy, insatiable.

Seb continued being pretty much the number one reason why you still had a good opinion of the masculine sex but you were careful and avoided showing it to everyone anymore. Paparazzi and the media always tended to make things even bigger.

It was just a few minutes before noon when a knock on the door sounded like a thunderous lightning in your sensitive ears. You hadn't communicated with a singe soul in a couple of days because you wouldn't risk infecting anyone else with the virus, even though you already feeling extremely better.

Beforing bothering to hear you climbing out of the bed, a familiar figure of a male swung the door open and closed it sat afterwards, swaying the keys in his hands.

"Seb?" Your voice was weak as you got out of the coziness of your bed and approached the door. "How the hell do you have my keys?"

The German man turned to you and gestured to be sat on the bed once again, as if you were so fragile and threatened to break just because of a silly virus. Sebastian was so dramatic. But you didn't. complain as you gained your soft spot on the mattress again because his white button-up shirt blurt your thoughts and your vision. He had rolled the light fabric on his wrists, highlighting even more his rough hands.

"I asked Mick to lend them to me so I could pass by here and check up on my favorite girl."

His words buzzed in your ears.

What did he just say?

He used to call you random nicknames, some of them cute and others... kind of silly, but 'my favorite girl'?

That was too much for your complicated mind to analyze.

Sebastian sat down opposite of you.

As he faced you and said absolutely nothings, his state felt scorching. Like a burning flame, attempting to read your thoughts, which were too hard to be hidden between the curtains of your eyelashes.

You had always known he could read you like an open book. And you always hated that exceptional ability of his.

Sometimes, he could unearth thoughts in you that no one else could. Not even your father, nor your brother, and sometimes not even you...

"How are you feeling, (y/n)?" His soft smile faded, blue, intense eyes focused on you, eyeing you from head to toes as if he could detect any physical pain just by observing your body.

"How do I look?" You fired back, without hesitation.

You didn't mean to sound flirtatious at all. But... oh, well, the look on Sebastian's face read something entirely different...

You were kind of mad at him that he chose to pass by your apartment without calling or messaging you first. You tried to make him gather that without saying it, but your tone didn't come out the way that you wanted it to.

"If you ask me, you don't look ill at all." Sebastian crossed his arms, his veins popping out of the white fabric. "You look... I don't know..." He gave in, eyes traveling everywhere in the room but you.

You felt a warm wave of air coming your way from the opened windows, so you chose to unzip your thin cardigan a little bit more. Your grey sweatpants were too hot for you at the moment, but the idea of changing into something more loose didn't occur to you earlier.

"Sebastian, I look like a fucking sloth that's been eating leafy greens, rice and pasta for five days in a row!" You laughed but the blond man didn't seem to be amused by your humorous comment. When you faced his cold state, your expression transformed into something more serious. "Why didn't you call before visiting?"

"The answer is too simple and you're too smart to even ask." He shrugged, annoyed. "Because I know you wouldn't let me come."

You hadn't seen Sebastian like that never before. He seemed... different. He always used to laugh with you, enjoy some movies, play video games or boarding games with you for fun...

But now...

He looked so changed and you can't understand why.

"Why wouldn't I let you come, Seb?"

He took a deep, deep breath before answering. "Because you're just as stubborn as me. I wouldn't let you come and visit me while I'm sick either. Even though you--"

Your phone buzzed with a notification on the nightstand, causing Seb's speech to come to a hault.

Another notification popped up and the screen illuminated once again.

One more and then another one...

You stretched your whole body and grabbed your device. Glancing at the screen, you read five unanswered messages from Lando.

This guy tries to catch up with you always when the time isn't right.

Sebastian got up from the chair near your desk. "Who is it?" He asked, trying to keep the coolness in his tone.

"A friend."

"Is it Norris?" Seb snapped.

You instantly looked up from your screen. "How the hell do you know Norris texts me?"

Sebastian smirked and took a seat close to you on the bed. But he was still too far. You needed him closer to make you forget about your frustration with him.

"A spend three quarters of my day with your brother."

"Oh, Mick, you're such a traitor." You muttered to yourself as you shoved your phone under the sheets.

"He just cares about you. We all do." Seb seemed to hesitated for his upcoming words. "You'll always be our best girl."

Our?

Fuck. It felt like he tried so hard to hide his thoughts.

But they say that the eyes are the window to your soul.

"Seb, are you flirting with me?" You shot, keeping your voice calm and steady.

"You want me to stop?" His answer was instant, causing your entire body and face to redden.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You'd been waiting for this moment almost 20 years and now... that it was finally happening, you didn't know what to do.

"No," you muttered. "But I expected you to do something more than that. You were always the brave one, remember?"

Whatever it took to fulfill your eternal dream.

Seb stood up and did something you never expected him to do. Even though every part of you craved this moment to come in many dreams.

He kneeled in front you.

Fuck.

His blue eyes were the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. "Seb, what are you--"

"Open your legs for me, love." He murmured, looking up at you with his fingers genrly pressing on your bare thigh.

You felt your cheeks redden. Again.

It felt insane how instant your body's reaction was to his words and touch. As if it had a mind of its own.

Seb's voice forced you back to reality when you realized you stared at him speechless. "I won't repeat myself."

You shivered and opened up your legs for him, welcoming his warm and long fingers.

"You won't kiss me?" Your voice was barely audible.

"I'm not going to make it that easy for you, babe."

"W-what do you mean?"

A smirk appeared. "I suppose you'll have to beg for it."

♡♡♡

Part 2.

876 notes · View notes

firegirl888101 · 24 days

Note

Hi! I’ve been re-reading the insatiable madness series and can’t wait for the next chapter! I have a little thought though, what if reader cosplays a character the harbingers know? Like Raiden Ei or Zhongli? And then reader almost perfecting the makeup look and persona of that character that the harbingers think they are the character reader is cosplaying, really wanna see their reactions! Have a good day/afternoon/night! :))

- 🌮 anon

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Special Ask:

In the canon story I'm not going to include cosplay regarding clothes or wigs.

(this is because they're a college student with parents who barely support their genshin habit) 💀

Plus that shit is expensive, I think we all know Y/N doesn't have that type of money.

This question was asked by five different people funnily enough, and they were all within the same weekspan! Either the same person asked the same question but wrote it differently grammatically every single time, or that's one hell of a coincidence. Either way, I wanted to answer since it's a fun concept.

I did think about this when coming up with a plot - the Harbingers were first supposed to meet Y/N at a cosplay competition actually! But, I changed it since there would be way too many questions and too much chaos that I probably wouldn't be able to convey well :(

@fuhuaily you asked about this on the 30th of January, I've mentioned you since you didn't put on anon mode <3

Just wanted to warn people that I decided to choose Raiden Ei as the specific cosplay, which means there will be she/her usage when Y/N is wearing the cosplay. This is because Childe sees the cosplay as an entirely different person in his mind, thank you!

Childe was having a relatively normal morning.

Sure, he'd woken up with worst neck cramp he's ever experienced in his life, but he felt ready to take The Balladeer in another fight. To him, this means he's in tip-top form.

Well, he thought everything was normal until he realised that you were nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, has anyone seen Y/N this morning?" He questioned his insufferable comrades, rolling his eyes when seeing their exasperated faces when they turned to him.

"Probably sleeping in again." Scaramouche rolled his eyes in return. "That mortal sleeps later and later everyday."

"Hm. I thought they'd be crying." Dottore shrugged.

"Why?" Pierro mumbled worriedly, a sharp glare crossing his face and waiting for the doctor to explain himself.

"They had a tantrum due to their homework, not a big deal."

"They had a what!?" Pulcinella raised his voice, worry in his tone. "And you didn't tell a soul?"

"They were being a child. No, not like Childe. Ugh, that's besides the point. They were whining about biology, something about forgetting which parts of the heart were which." Dottore explained, an uninterested face present on his face.

"You ought to report these situations sooner, Dottore." Pierro scolded him.

"Why didn't you help them?"

"Jester, he did." Columbina smiled politely at her superior, a small wave gestured to get his attention. "The Decider didn't listen and ran off."

"Tartaglia, go see what they're up to. If they truly are in their room crying again it's best we force bring them downstairs for a chat." Pulcinella coughed into his hand.

"Who makes the orders, you or I?" Pierro turned to look at him.

"What are you going to do about it?" Scaramouche snickered into his hand. "According to Dottore, we're going to be stuck here. Can't tattle to the Tsaritsa now, can you?"

"Don't you start with me, puppet." Pierro glared at him, feeling all the other harbinger's gazes on the two.

"The minute we get back to the Zapolyarny Palace, I will make sure everyone is reminded why the rankings exist." He threatened.

"Ah, and the Tsaritsa will be informed of everything that takes place. I must remind you not to take things too far otherwise it will get worse for you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. If we get back home." Childe rolled his eyes, walking upstairs after loitering at the bottom to hear the drama.

"I heard that!" Pierro shouted from the bottom.

Childe sighed and walked up to your bedroom door, the nameplate crooked and slightly dusty. He knocked on the door three times. Actually, make it a fourth. For good measure, he reasoned with himself.

"Don't come in! Who is it, and what do you want?" He heard you call out from behind the door, your voice barely discernable.

"The boss man is wondering if you're alright. He's concerned about you crying or something." He answered.

"Whaaaat?" You sarcastically shouted at the door, already recognising Griffin Burn's voice shouting from the other side. "Noooo."

"You totally were."

"Was not. Anyway, I can't come out my room right now. I'm a little... occupied with something." You called out, hairspraying the blonde wig in front of you.

"Listen, as much as I care about you being busy and personally wanting to leave you to it, it's not up for discussion. Pierro and Pulcinella don't look pleased." He rubbed the back of his neck to soothe his cramp.

"When do they not look pleased? Sometimes it seems like simply being in their presence pisses them off." You sighed to yourself, foregoing the wig you were working on and taking pictures of yourself in the mirror.

"Well, I wouldn't say that's the reason... But the way you turn their mood upside down is always funny to watch." He chuckled to himself.

"Whatever, can you leave me alone now? Tell them I can't come down right now - I'll be there in half an hour at most."

Childe felt confused with this. What could you possibly be doing that causes you to be unable to come outside your room straight away? From what he knows, you don't have any evident hobbies. Throughout the days the Harbingers have stayed in your home, you're forced to spend time with them only and answer questions they have about this world.

This is the first time you've ever done something by yourself, and from the sound of your voice, you seem to like doing it too. So much to the point that you got irritated when he tried to make you come downstairs right away. Seeing you act independant for once is a big change he wasn't expecting this morning.

He also doesn't know why, but he doesn't like this change one bit.

Ideas cross Childe's mind as he tried to guess what you could be doing. Eventually... no. No, no, no, no, no. You couldn't possibly be... No, you can't be. An hour for doing that??? If that truly was the answer you must have some impeccable stamina! Maybe the urge to have a spar with you wasn't as outrageous as he thought.

"Hmm... Okay. But, I don't know what Pierro will say to this. If only you had a reliable man on the inside who could tell him to leave you alone for now. Oh wait, that's me." He slyly pushed an idea he thought of in his head.

"What's your point? I don't like that tone of voice you're using." You rolled your eyes at the door.

"Let me in and show me what you're doing! In return, I'll defend you when we go down in an hour or when another Harbinger comes up."

"Seriously? Are you actually blackmailing me right now?"

"Blackmail?" Childe feigned a shocked gasp. "Of course not, it's just a deal within both of our self-interests."

"Riiiiight. Your interest being what I'm doing, which is very nosy by the way. And my interest is not being in trouble with Pierro. For some reason, he's always the one turning my voice against me. Ugh, I hate my life, I've been reduced to a hormonal teenager who whines and complains all the time. Oh wait, that was me years ago."

"Just open the fucking door."

"Fine, but you have to promise not to tell anyone." You gave up, putting down your phone in your hand and tucking it under one of your pillows.

"No way, did you give up that quick?" Childe spluttered.

"Obviously not. I just figured that you'd go on and on and on about it. Plus, you'll probably find out eventually if you search through all my cupboards."

Childe put his hand on the doorknob, his fingers shaking in anticipation. He was going to be the first Harbinger to enter your room, and you had no problems with that? It seems his day really is going great today!

With a deep breath, he pushed through the door, anticipating your room to be neat and tidy. However, unlike your consistent checks to make sure the house was tidy, your bedroom unfortunately wasn't.

Looking in your direction, you were kneeling on the floor with a can of something he didn't recognise in your hands. Whatever you were looking at intently looked like it was about to fall over any second, the blonde hair being propped up by a cardboard box on your bed.

"Who...? Where's Y/N, and what are you doing with that hair in front of you!?" He exclaimed, not recognising the person in front of him.

Is Childe really this shallow to not recognise me when I don't look like myself? Maybe I can use this somehow... You thought to yourself, deciding to pull a small prank.

"Daring to enter my personal chambers without my permission..." You slowly turned around, trying your best to keep you movement rigid and stoic.

"You are aware it's not the most intelligent of ideas for lower lifeforms to anger their superiors, correct?"

Childe couldn't move, he didn't recognise the person in front of him. She had purple eyes and raven hair, her plait having the same shade of purple at the tips. She wore a stone cold glare on her face which gave no hint of mercy, he figured as much considering the tone of voice she used before. The thought of her not giving him any mercy made him feel excited, has he finally found a worthy opponent to spar with in this world?

"Well, will you at least give an excuse for your blatant blundering?" You narrowed your eyes with folded arms.

"I..." Childe's eyes shook, his dull eyes shining in adoration. "I want to fight you."

Hah? Even when Childe doesn't know it's actually me, he still wants to fight me? Of course he would...

You can't actually fight him. The safest option right now would be to break character. But, this is too fun. Let's keep going.

"You disturbed my peace within my own sanctuary, and now demand things of me?" You questioned him, taking a step closer.

"Do you really wish to taste the engulfing lightning laying dormant in my blade?"

"I do." Childe nodded, displaying his own hydro blades, their glow lighting up the room.

"Very well." You nodded, unsheathing the engulfing lightning polearm you made from its custom case.

"You're not going to take my request for battle seriously? Why fight with a weapon as shoddy as that?"

"Bitch!" You broke character.

"This was my first ever prop I made myself! Apologise right now or I'll kick you out of my house!"

"Wait, Y/N? That was you all along?" Childe cautiously stepped closer, his blades disappearing with his change of thought.

"You're really... them?" He eyed you up and down, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

"Yes, you prick!"

"How are you all purply? And the way you acted before, it was nothing like how you usually are!"

"I wanted to mess with you since you didn't recognise who I was. It's such a shame I was dressed as the Raiden Shogun, it would have been much easier if I wasn't cosplaying an archon."

"Raiden Shogun? As in the Electro Archon!?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot you didn't go to Inazuma. Well you do, but after the Traveller finishes their business there." You thought outloud. "But still, fuck you for calling my masterpiece 'shoddy'!"

"It's not even made out of metal! Good thing you'll never become a weaponsmith..." He laughed nervously, eyeing your angry strare growing by the second.

"Anyway, could you finally tell me what you're doing in here? It's not just pretending to be an Archon, right?"

"Of course not. Also I'm not 'pretending to be' anyone, I'm cosplaying." You explained, picking up your hairspray and continuing to spray the golden locks.

"...What the fuck is cosplaying?"

"It's a hobby of mine. To put it in simple terms for someone as uneducated as yourself, you dress up as fictio-- uh, people you admire."

"You seriously admire the Electro Archon? Scaramouche would have your head for that." Childe rolled his eyes, unable to hide a mocking grin.

"I don't admire her. In fact, my opinion of her is quite negative. I just find her beautiful, so, I wanted to cosplay as her." Yeah, that negative opinion of her is only due to the fact that now you have to deal with her prototype puppet bullying you both physically and mentally.

"How many of your wacky costumes do you even have?"

"Quite a lot. I recently sold a couple online because I don't wear them much anymore. I got a lot of money for it ya know?"

"Damn, so this is an actual business you've got going on then."

"Exactly. Anyway, can you get out now? I showed you what I was doing." You shooed him away with a hand gesture.

"Nuh-uh. What are you doing to that blonde hair on your bed?"

"Don't even get me started on this Navia wig. It's the last part of her outfit I need and the hairspray ISN'T STICKING. I have spent almost 15 minutes trying to still the curls and it isn't working. If I'm not careful I'll dry it out!" You complained, aggressively spraying the hair.

Childe just stared, feeling the hairspray shroud his lungs leading to him cough excessively.

"Can't you just, not do that? If it's not naturally meant to be that way why are you trying to force the hair to keep still?"

"Styling, my friend. It's because styling exists."

"Riiiiight..." Childe dragged out the vowel, accidentally mocking you from earlier.

"Wait, do you have Lord Capitano's outfit??" He asked suddenly, practically having stars in his eyes.

"Ah, no, I don't. I wouldn't be able to pull off a cosplay of him anyway. Hmm, I don't know about you, but I think he'd be overjoyed at the fact you can't cosplay as him." You answered, snickering into your hand.

"Why would I use one of your wacky costumes when I can get the real thing from the man himself?? I just have to fight him for it!" He excitedly proclaimed, running out of the room whilst shouting his name.

"Oh shit, CHILDE NO!"

Running down the stairs after him without thinking, you were greeted with the Harbingers looking exasperated at a very loud and excited Tartaglia trying to fight Capitano but just being dodged.

"This is why I keep my hobbies to myself.." You sighed into your hands, watching the scene unfold with the rest of the Harbingers.

"Decider, what did you feed him this ti--"

All the Harbingers turned to you with wide eyes, some looking confused and some (Scaramouche) enraged.

"What the fuck... do you think you're wearing?" He grumbled, voice gradually getting louder as his shock wore off into anger.

Uh oh. You forgot you were still in your full get-up... AND THE BALLADEER IS RIGHT THERE. THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED!

"Let's calm down, and-"

"I asked you a question, mortal." His teeth clenched, stepping dangerous steps closer towards you.

"WHY ARE YOU WEARING HER CLOTHES? You could probably fool an incel like Childe, but I would never be fooled by your appearance. What do you think you're doing, pretending to be that... that.... traitor...!"

"Well, I just thought-"

"You thought wrong." He snapped. "What would possess you to dress like someone I hate? Someone you know I despise."

"Listen, you have every right to feel frustrated with the character I decided to dress up as today. I don't fault you one bit for that. But you have to understand, this was just bad luck. Of all the days I decide to wear this cosplay..." You tried to reason with him, leading to his eyes snapping open.

"You mean to tell me you do this to others? And I thought I was evil." He scoffed.

"The only people who think of themselves as evil are people who are trying to be looked at that way." You winced at his accusation.

"Except Dottore, that man is vile in both personality and hygiene."

"Genuinely shut your mouth." Dottore scratched his ear, only proving your point and causing many Harbingers near him to scoot away.

"That has nothing to do with this." He folded his arms. "You know, I've been getting sick of your attitude as of late, aren't you the one who always makes me apologise when I do something wrong? Why don't you do that for a change?"

"Hah? But I already apologised?" You muttered.

"Don't make stupid excuses. All you did was take fake-pity as if you're a friend of mine. I want you on your knees with a heartfelt apology."

Fuck that. You're not apologising sincerely to this piece of shit. Yeah, you messed up and genuinely feel bad, but you'd never tell him that.

"Uh, no thank you." You waved him off. "I didn't even wear this to torment you, I was checking to make sure my stitching was stable enough."

"So you can wear it again?"

"Yeah, for a competition. The whole point of dressing like this is to compete with other cosplayers."

"Ohhh, so that's what you were doing!" Childe pitched in, seemingly giving up with his one-sided fight.

"These competitions you speak of," Sandrone coughed into her hand politely, gaining attention. "Do many compete?"

"Yes. You can dress up as whoever you like. I decided to dress up as the Raiden Shogun because she's beautiful. Also she's popular among competitors to cosplay as, so I like the amount of competition I get by dressing up as her."

"Interesting..." Pantalone mumbled. "And these clothes are expensive, no?"

"Definitely. They can cost over a hundred if you get the entire outfit - and I'm talking about the cheaper lower-quality ones. As for me, I buy the raw materials and sew the outfits myself."

"You... made this?" Signora gaped in awe, stepping closer and feeling the fabric.

"Yes, it has potential. Have you tried clothes which aren't Inazuman?"

"Of course, I dress up as all kinds of people. I'm currently working on Navia from Fontaine. She's--"

"The President of the Spina di Rosula." Arlecchino finished for you, sipping her cup of tea. "The children stationed in Fontaine told me."

"Right, Lyney and his siblings. Yes, I remember them."

"Hm? You know of them?"

"Something like that." You laughed nervously, creeping towards the stairs.

Let's not tell her they're framed for a murder trial and almost get wrongfully convicted...

"Anyway, I'm going to get changed as per request by Scarawoosy. I'll be upstairs, and may not come down. So uh, yeah. Have fun with whatever you wanted me to do before."

You quickly ran off after that, hearing Scaramouche's shouts for you to grovel growing fainter.

"You're just going to let them run off like that?" Scaramouche looked around him, only questioning the others when feeling Capitano's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Not necessarily." Pulcinella walked into the room, his cane supporting his slow movements. "It's an admirable skill to have, wouldn't you think so, Dottore? I'm aware you have a similar skill."

"Indeed." Dottore contemplated his words. "Although, it was only because we've lived for hundreds of years did we realise they were pretending to be the Electro Archon."

"Do not put me in the same league as Tartaglia." Arlecchino swirled her cup with a teaspoon. "I could easily tell they were pretending."

"No, you didn't see them." Childe argued. "The second I entered their room, they switched personalities and aura's quickly. Not to mention they agreed to fight me when we all know how much they hate any talk of that kind."

"So they're good onstage." Sandrone grinned to herself. "Perhaps if we asked too much of them regarding their ability they'd crack under pressure. It's certainly not perfection, but it's a close start I suppose."

"I'm very intrigued." Columbina announced, being strangely silent throughout the entire confrontation. "Although Childe is younger compared to us, we shouldn't doubt his words. He was named a Harbinger for a reason, maybe they were very convincing?"

"Ugh, out of all the people to defend me of course it's you." Childe shuddered slightly, staying quiet when noticing her intense gaze.

"My point is, we should test them and find out which people they specialise in. Heheh, I'm more focused on the amount and range of people they have in their wardrobe."

"You put forth a good point." Capitano nodded in agreeance. "Although, do you believe they perhaps have some outfits of us?"

"They better not." Scaramouche stated, walking back to the seat he once sat in moments ago. "If they had my outfit, I'd rip their hardwork to shreds." And perhaps, he'd give you the real outfit instead... after all, you still need a punishment for going behind his back and choosing her of all people to present yourself as.

"Well, if they had my dress I wouldn't be opposed. They'd finally be worthy of looking at in the eyes if so." Signora grinned wickedly.

"I want to see what else they have up there." She announced before also walking up the stairs.

"Wait for me!" Columbina giggled, running after her. "If they have my outfit, they have to put it on right away!"

"I better follow them, you know how those women get when intrigued. Besides, it will give me the opportunity to look inside their room." Pantalone pocketed his coins before also walking up the stairs, much calmer than the woman before him.

"Rooster, where is the Jester?" Sandrone spitefully asked him, a slight sickeningly amused tone in her voice.

"Working, as usual. He often tells me 'when we get back', but at this point that day might never come."

"It will come." Dottore silently warned him. "Despite what you've seen me do during the day, at night I work on a plan for the machine back. It would be oh so helpful if The Decider could help me, but why would they help me when that's practically planning their own death?"

"So, it will take longer without their help?" Capitano questioned him.

"Correct."

"Well then," Sandrone had an incredulous look on her face, not believing the stupidity of the men around her. "Why don't we just force them to help?"

"So we're not playing the 'nice guest' role anymore?" Scaramouche laughed, a laugh almost escaping his lips.

"No. I would say we can't afford that anymore." Pulcinella secretly winced, feeling his bones grow shakier every minute.

Extra:

I honestly see a Y/N who would keep up their cosplay hobby during captivity using it as a way to escape. They would dress up as other characters and imagine themselves to be them as they're not being held captive.

The Harbingers would also use this skill of yours on their enemies as bait. They'd have to assess and train you how to act like them, but eventually you'd be a spitting image of them and be the perfect trap for luring in potential assassins. Don't worry, they'd never let them actually hurt you. They've most likely shot the enemy down before you even realise the threat has turned violent.

Scaramouche, if he had no feelings for you, would definitely use the Raiden Cosplay against you. I feel he would tell you and lash out at you whilst saying everything he's always wanted her to hear but never heard him out for. It sucks for you, but it's a good stress-manager for him. As long as you play the part correctly, he won't get physically violent. Play the part poorly, and expect to become the punching-bag instead. In the little oneshot, Y/N is quite lucky it ended where it did. They should try to avoid dressing up as Archons going forward though.

113 notes · View notes