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jo-harrington · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine (Jo's Edition)

Summary: A romantic night in at the trailer. And a first date.

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: First Date, Fluff, First Kiss, Teasing, Banter, Geekery

Notes: My submission for @carolmunson's The Boy Is Mine Writing Excercise. This was a fun one, and I know the idea was for it not to be an AU...I guess technically it isn't (although I definitely thought of my STFF Eddie who...well...it's fanfiction *wink* especially since we're not gonna see their first date in the story). Thank you for putting together a fun game Carol.

Tagging a few friends who I think would have some great additions to this prompt: @eddiemunsonbignaturals @undead-supernova @storiesbyrhi

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Pizza? Delivered.

Twinkies? Vanilla frosting. Not Banana.

Trailer? Tidied.

Sheets? Changed.

There was a knock at the door and Eddie took a breath and held it as he stared at his bed.

"You're not gonna end up in here," he muttered to himself.

Ok but maybe you would. He could be hopeful. Maybe a kiss would lead to something else.

"No idiot. It's just a study date."

There was another knock and he turned on his heel and rushed for the door.

He paused at the last second--glanced around, ran his hands over the front of his t-shirt, and put the most casual smile on his face--before he opened the door.

And then there you were.

A backpack slung over your shoulder, 6-pack of Dr. Pepper hanging from your fingers, looking...hot effortlessly gorgeous...or at least he thought so.

"Hey," you greeted. "Sorry if I'm late."

"No," he shook his head quickly and shifted to the side to let you pass into the trailer. "Right on time sweetheart. Hope you like pepperoni."

Of course you did. It was your favorite.

"It's my favorite."

Eddie clenched his fist in victory as he shut the door and then stood back and watched indulgently as you took in the wonders of the place he called home. He committed it all to memory; the way your eyes lingered on Wayne's collection of mugs and hats from over the years, or your nose scrunched up cutely at the sight of family pictures on a shelf--

Please god, don't see the picture of him missing his two front teeth.

--or the way it scrunched further, more in annoyance than fondness, and your eyebrow quirked at the stack of video tapes beside the television.

Shit.

"Uh," he cleared his throat and swooped in, arm hovering around your shoulders as he led you to the couch where the pizza and his history homework waited. His hand drifted to yours so he could grab the sodas. "Lemme put this in the fridge so it gets cold. I have Mountain Dew...or beer, if you want one."

"Mountain Dew's fine."

"As you wish," he bowed and you giggled. He cursed himself as he headed to the kitchen.

What a fucking nerd--

"So you read the Princess Bride?" you called out to him.

"Y-yes."

"It's one of my favorite books! A story within a story and all of that. And it can be critical of itself. It's perfect!"

Eddie's heart soared.

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes discussing the merits of the book and the way it provided so much suspense and adventure and escapism; something it seemed, and Eddie wasn't surprised to find, you both had needed throughout your relatively-young lives.

Before long, he shuffled out of the kitchen with two cans and two solo cups to find you comfortably settled on the couch with your legs criss-crossed and a throw pillow settled in your lap. You looked right at home, at ease with him, and he had to say...he liked that sight quite a bit.

"I ran out of like, nice cups," he changed the subject so he wouldn't focus too much on how much he enjoyed the sight. "Hope this is okay."

"Ok, well what are the nice cups?" you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. "Because I see plenty of nice cups right in front of us, Mister."

You gestured at the shelves lined with mugs and Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at you.

"Those aren't nice cups Madam," he scoffed. "Those are family heirlooms. The nice cups are the Star Wars: Return of the Jedi glasses I got from Burger King. Obviously."

"Well excuse me," you straightened in your seat and rocked your shoulders back and forth haughtily. "The fine crystal."

"And don't you forget it."

"And here you are, presenting me with...plastic. Like a peasant."

"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

He held out the red solo cup filled with fluorescent green liquid and you snatched it from him with a quick flash of your tongue.

Then the two of you got right down to business: homework.

You pulled a small notebook from your backpack and then asked to see his notes from class so you could help him get a better idea of what was important for an upcoming quiz that he'd mentioned the day prior. He was ashamed to say he wasn't the best notetaker, but you pivoted easily as you flipped through a few pages and went from sparse notes about Civics and the US Constitution to long drawn out paragraphs about the Riders of Rohan and graphic descriptions of the Meduseld.

"Don't be like that," you scolded him. "That's not even true. What is this?"

"This?" He waved dismissively. "It's just...notes for Hellfire. Ahem...Hellfire Club...my Dungeons and Dragons club at school."

"Oh yeah?"

"Planning a one-shot for my buddy Jeff's birthday in a world where Theodred doesn't die and goes on to become...well...it's just nerd stuff."

Eddie sniffed and thought back to the many times that he'd been cut short trying to explain his ideas to others; even Ronnie got on his case when he got too into it.

How many times had she heard him get into an argument with himself over the benefits of Mithril vs. Adamantium?

"Excuse me," you looked at him expectantly, breaking through his thoughts. "Nerd stuff?"

"Yeah," he shrugged and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Nerd stuff. We're supposed to be focusing on History."

"Ok, yes but..." you reached out and poked him in the the dimple in his cheek. "You didn't say in a 'we should just focus on history instead' way. You said it in a 'you don't want to hear about this' way."

"Well do you? Do you actually like that?""

"Did I not just tell you that Inigo Montoya is the real hero of Princess Bride and not Westley or Buttercup not five minutes ago?"

Eddie stared at you like a deer in the headlights.

Ok. You got him there.

But...but...God...old habits died hard.

How many times had people not given him the time of day when it came to silly little stories and make believe worlds? How many times had the people closest to him not even taken the time to listen?

He'd already been sold on the fact that you weren't just a dream; how could you be real and actually be his dream girl too?

God, it was too good to be true.

Eddie swallowed hard and centered himself back in reality. He was gonna have to salvage this moment before he made a real fool out of himself and asked you to marry him or something. That would be a little too strong for a first date...and a study date, at that.

He grumbled something under his breath.

"'Scuse me? What was that?" you leaned in closer to him.

"It was 10 minutes ago," he spoke up, staring at you matter-of-factly, a fiery challenge in his eyes to hide the fact that he was actively falling for you. "Actually."

You threw your head back in a laugh and slapped the back of your hand against his shoulder.

"You shithead," you cackled. "Ok fine. 10 minutes. Now. How about we actually study for 10 more minutes, and then you can tell me about this...Dungeons and Dragons while we eat ok?"

He happily agreed.

Towards the end of the night, pizza and sodas had been devoured, homework demolished, and Eddie actually felt like he had a shot at getting a decent grade on his next History quiz.

"Alright," he sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. "I think we're done here. A success if I do say so myself. I guess I'll keep you around."

"Keep me?" you quirked an eyebrow at him. "Uh huh, more like, will you please come back and help me study again?"

"Are..." Eddie scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"You volunteered!"

"I volunteered for one study date."

"What, so a second one is out of the question?" he asked as he leaned forward and edged into your space.

"Well," you began with an expression that oozed contemplation in an exaggerated fashion. God, you were almost as dramatic as he was.

You were perfect.

"Well, if you're asking me for a second date, Edward? Then the answer is yes."

He clapped his hands together and laughed.

"Haha, see I knew that you couldn't get enough of--"

"But," you stopped him, and he stared, open-mouthed with words half-falling from his lips. "If you're asking me to come back to study? Well, then the second session is gonna cost you."

And he fell for it for a second. Just a split second. He thought that yeah it made sense if he wanted your help, he was gonna have to give something in return.

But then he saw the sly little smile that you were fighting to keep off your lips, saw the adorable little scrunch in your nose that he'd memorized earlier in the night, and the way your fingers fiddled on the couch cushion, as you slowly inched closer to him.

And he understood.

Oh...

"Oh yeah?" He narrowed his eyes at you in faux-suspicion. "Alright...name your price."

"It's not gonna be cheap," you insisted.

"I can pay anything."

"You sure about that?"

"Oh," he leaned closer to you now, volume and timber getting lower the closer he got. "I'm absolutely sure sweetheart."

You bit your lip slyly.

"I think fair market price...is a kiss."

"Just one?" he teased, lips absolutely within smooching distance from yours now.

"Maybe two."

You bit your lip to keep your smile at bay and Eddie had to stop himself from kissing you right then and there.

"Two?! Well," he sighed. "You drive a hard bargain. And who am I to pass up such a once-in-a-lifetime deal?"

"Just a nerd," you whispered against his lips.

"Just a nerd," he repeated, and then slotted his lips right against yours, ending your perfect first date with the perfect first kiss.

Just like on TV.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #prompt game #the boy is mine #stff updates #stranger than (fan)fiction #carol <3

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princessfbi · 3 days

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Hello :) From the Sic Fic Prompts. Either 1. Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, they're miserable, and they don't know what to do with themselves. or 8. Curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets. If either spark anything for you!

Buck had fallen asleep somewhere in the third hour of waiting and frankly, Tommy couldn't blame him. A long afternoon on shift not feeling well, a restless night that had him tossing and turning as a fever built up in pitch beneath his skin, and a 3 AM drive to the ER on a Saturday night would've worn out anyone.

The waiting room had been packed and considering Buck had walked in on his own two feet--- while listing against Tommy's side might he add--- that meant he'd been bumped down to the lower end of the priority list. That didn't make Buck feel any better and Tommy's patience was wearing thin.

The only reason Tommy's knee wasn't bouncing was because Buck was draped across his lap trying to get a little bit of rest and Tommy would've rather cut off his own leg than wake him. Tommy had cupped Buck's eyes to shield them from the fluorescents and frankly, Tommy didn't care if the old woman with the cut finger kept shooting them pointed looks because they were taking up three chairs. Buck's legs were long but even curled up as tight as he could meant that they were taking up more space than they normally would in a crowded room.

But in Tommy's opinion, bordering five hours of waiting meant they earned three chairs and he wasn't above hissing at little old ladies who tried to wake his boyfriend from the only sleep he'd managed to get in forty-eight hours.

Even in his sleep, Buck's fingers were tangled in a white knuckle grip around his shirt, giving away just how uncomfortable Buck was.

It had been a slow progression since he'd picked Buck up from the station looking like he was ready to drop. First it had been the hand, with Buck tangling their fingers together and curling around his wrist like he was afraid Tommy would take it away. Then it had been his side, his face ducking down to hide against Tommy's throat. Then it had been his waist as Tommy wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, wishing there was something more he could do to make him feel even slightly better. Even when they had checked in, Buck had been all but draped against him like Tommy and Tommy's arm was the only thing keeping him upright.

He'd been downright clingy. Which wasn't new for Buck. Now that Buck knew he could, he took as much as he liked. A hand, a kiss, a sip of his coffee, and a snuggle even when Tommy was trying to get some things done. But it was heavy and almost desperate in the way he was holding onto Tommy like he was afraid he'd blink and Tommy would disappear.

Tommy just held him back as tight as he could.

"Evan Buckley?" A nurse called and Tommy's head shot up so fast he went dizzy. He spotted her in the center of all the chaos, holding a tablet close to her chest, and Tommy almost knocked Buck off at the jolt that ran through him.

He lifted a hand before dropping his attention back down to Buck.

"Evan," Tommy said, sweeping his fingers through Buck's hair. "You gotta wake up,"

The noise Buck made was nothing short of miserable as his nose scrunched up. Tommy rubbed his back as he cupped a hand behind his head to keep him from rolling too fast. He didn't think they would skip him but the waiting room had been so packed that he didn't want to chance it either.

"Come on, baby. They're ready for you."

"Do you need help?" The nurse asked, her voice gentle and low and Tommy shot her a grateful look as he shook his head.

"I got him," he said as Buck burrowed his face into his stomach. "Come on sleepyhead. Let me help you."

Tommy didn't even think Buck opened his eyes as he let Tommy sit him upright. Buck simply hid his face back in Tommy's throat again and curled his arms around his waist, letting Tommy do most of the work.

The first step ripped a whimper from his lips that Tommy knew Buck would've rather kept to himself. It got buried in his skin where Tommy promised to keep it safe just for him.

"Okay," Tommy said, making a decision that would get Buck to the closest bed as fast as possible. He bent down and scooped up under Back's back and knees and lifted him, mindful of the twinge in his back as he carried him across the waiting room.

"You sure you don't want a wheelchair?" The nurse asked and Tommy shook his head.

Tired, heavy arms wrapped around his neck and stayed there like Buck was stuck to him with a magnet and Buck was all lead.

"No offense," Tommy said to her. "But I want him in a bed now. Just point me in the direction."

The nurse nodded once before she waved him on. "Follow me."

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #tevan #my fic writing #prompt game #theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming #royal decree

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thegnomelord · 5 months

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A mostly random combination of dialogue and action prompts to celebrate all of you bc, seriously, ya'll are amazing :),

Rules: Max 2 characters for a prompt but then it's gonna be poly, you can specify reader's gender/specific au/if characters are trans or cis. I'm only doing a prompt once. I tagged the characters I'm confident writing for but ya'll can ask for other ones :Dd. + indicates what's taken but i've yet to write.

Remaining free prompts: 21, 24, 27, 31

I only do Male/GN reader.

Game lasts until the 1st of December

"Do you-" "If you suggest I sit in your lap I'll kill you."

“That’s enough. Take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me. Don’t dress yourself. No drying off."

“Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

“You look like you want to devour them.” +

“My feelings aren’t real and my heart’s a fucking idiot.”

"This doesn't mean anything, right? We're just friends?" +

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”

"If this is a joke it isn't funny."

"You have a piercing where?"

“Bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?” +

“That could be us.” “That is us.” +

"What, did you think all those times I kissed you were for shits and giggles?" "Let's be real, you had a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public." +

"Get up." +

"I’m in a good mood today, you may choose your punishment this time but only if you ask for it politely." +

"Come here. Sit in my lap and tell me what you want." +

"What are you doing up so late?" +

Oral as punishment +

Sex after a near death experience +

Becoming self-conscious after the clothes come off +

Trusting enough to give up control

Discussing boundaries before doing something new in bed

Playing with their hand. +

Washing their hair

Trying to find those little souvenirs with your names on it

Drunk confessions

Pulling them closer by the back of the neck

Going to sleep after an argument

Forehead kisses

A hug from behind

Kissing scars

Somehow your training session turns into a tickle fight

Finding their OnlyFans account

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 1 year

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Can you do 32 from the 4th and 9 from the 3rd image? I’m thinking something with mafia Minho 🤔 Thank u babes if you do it

Skz Prompt Game

Prompts: "If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god."

"Can we just exchange three words without you pulling a gun on me?"

Member: Lee Minho

Relationship: Mafia!Family FemReader x Minho

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Warnings: Mentions of guns, weapons, mafia and illegal dealings, Miscarriage

You didn't show any emotion on your wedding day.

You wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

As the man who ruled the rival mafia-your future husband, Lee Minho-took your hand in his and slipped on a diamond the size of a small city in front of the priest and a few members of family, you remained stoic.

You knew this was coming.

Knew you'd be auctioned off as soon as you turned of age to the highest bidder, the rivals that had the most to offer your father in way of an alliance.

It just so happened that Lee Minho and his gang-known only as "The Kids" on the streets-happened to have all that and more.

And you were to pay the price.

********************************************************************************

"You really have to go yourself?" You ask once more, disappointment clear in your tone, as you watch your husband pack his suitcase from your perch on the edge of the bed.

Minho sighs, long and heavy, and gives you a regretful sort of look as he tucks another one of his highly expensive suits into the safety of the travel set.

"Yes. This is a huge deal that's going down, and I can't trust anyone else to handle it safely."

You groan and fall back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling through the thin gauze of the curtains that hang in elegant strips above the huge bed.

"I understand that. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

You hear him chuckle, and then the bed sinks beneath his weight as his knees come to rest on either side of your hips, his hands beside your head.

He stares down at you with a soft, slight smile as you hold his gaze with a half hearted glare.

"Baby." He soothes, reaching out to smooth the crinkle between your eyes, the frown on your lips. You can't help but lean into his touch. "I'll be back before you know it."

He leans over to press a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, and moves away again to resume packing.

"She's going to be incredibly disappointed you know." You try one last guilt tactic, sitting up and smoothing your dress as you glance over to Minho, who has paused to meet your gaze once more.

Something akin to regret washes across his pretty features as he sighs once more.

"I know. But it can't be helped." Zipping up the suitcase, he crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, and you relax against his warmth for a few blissful seconds while he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "I'll be back in time for the party. I promise."

********************************************************************************

"You won't be hurt." Minho murmurs beneath his breath, sitting beside you in the back of the expensive limousine, as you pull away from the chapel and toward his family estate.

You've only heard of its grandeur.

"I can't promise you affection, but you will be well taken care of."

You scoff and continue to stare out the window, because now that the wedding is over, you can feel the anger, the pain, threatening to well up and consume you.

"Exactly what a girl wants to hear from her new husband on her wedding day." You retort back sharply, and something in Minho's eyes flashes in response.

He takes in a deep, steeling breath and holds your angry gaze.

"It's all I can offer you." He says stiffly, turning from you finally to glance down at his phone, a clear dismissal. "And I would take it if I were you. You and I both know how dangerous this world can be."

********************************************************************************

"Mommy, look!" Your daughter bounds across the large back garden and shoves a flower into your palm, and you glance down at it with a smile.

"Oh, that's pretty!" You remark, reaching out to tousle her long, dark hair, the same color as Minho's. "Where did you get this?"

She motions over her shoulder with bright eyes and a grin. "Over in the flower bed! By the tree!"

You laugh and put a finger to your lips, carefully tucking the yellow flower behind her ear. "Let's keep that our little secret, hm? I don't think Uncle Felix will take well to us tearing up his carefully curated flowers. Not when it took him so long to convince daddy to let him plant them in the first place."

Your daughter nods seriously and sits down on the bench beside you, swinging her legs as she idly observes the garden.

"Where is Uncle Felix?"

"He had to go out of town with daddy." You remark absently, smoothing a hand over her long hair as you glance over to the tree line. "Where's SuSu?"

Your daughter instantly becomes alert, leaping up from the bench and running across the garden to where she was last playing, calling for the dog.

"Suwon! Suwon! Here boy! C'mere!"

You smile and shake your head as, after a brief second, the large dark doberman appears from the trees, bounding happily toward your daughter, nub of a tail wagging wildly.

He's a good guard dog, a great one even, but the moment you had had Yeong-Ja, he had become a softie for the little girl, sticking beside her like glue, keeping her safe, but playing with her when the times called for it.

You were grateful for the loyal dog whenever Minho had to be away.

Yeong-Ja runs back over once more, Suwon close on her heels, and you stroke the large dog's head when he rests it briefly in your lap, looking up at you with bright eyes, your fingers playing with the thick, spiked collar he wears around his neck.

"Well." You stand up, grabbing Yeong-Ja's hand. "Shall we go ask cook what's for dinner?"

She nods eagerly, and you laugh, tugging her toward the house with you, Suwon trotting happily along behind.

********************************************************************************

The floor creaks behind you and you whirl, gun pulled from the bedside drawer, cocked and ready, held in front of you.

Minho stands in the doorway, his hands in his suit pockets, a look of tired resignation on his face.

It takes you longer than you care to admit to lower the gun.

"Can we just exchange three words without you pulling a gun on me?" He asks with slight amusement, taking a step into the room as you eye him warily.

It's been three months-three months since your father had given you to Minho and his gang, three months since the emotionless wedding, three months since you moved into his ridiculously huge house.

Three months, and yet, you still felt your hackles instantly rise as soon as he enters the room.

You'd been adamant about having separate bedrooms, sleeping in separate beds, and up until this point, Minho had been compliant, but you didn't know how much longer that would last.

He was bound to snap and demand an heir soon-sooner rather than later.

"I have to go away." Minho remarks, staring out the window now, down onto the garden's below, his hands behind his back.

You watch him silently and he sighs, turning to glance back at you now.

"I'll leave someone here to keep you safe obviously, but I thought I owed you the courtesy of notifying you regardless."

"How kind of you." You spit out before you can stop yourself, and Minho's eyes narrow slightly.

He takes a step toward you.

"You don't have to like me, princess, but you do have to tolerate me. And when I return-"

"You'll want to share my bed." You finish for him, and something strange flashes across his expression before he gets it back under control.

"Yes."

You shrug and look away. "It doesn't matter to me. I knew the life I was chosen for long before it came to fruition."

Minho doesn't say anything else, and after a few moments, his footsteps leave the room.

********************************************************************************

"Good night, jagi." You kiss your daughter's forehead and tuck the blanket up around her chin, before you walk to the door and flick off the light.

"Good night, mommy." She whispers back sleepily, already closing her eyes, as Suwon sighs heavily and rests his large head on the little girl's chest.

You smile to yourself and tiptoe from the room, leaving the door cracked in case the dog wants to let himself out in the middle of the night.

Your foot has barely hit the first stair, when the sound of the front door opening hits your ears, and you freeze, hands going white on the banister.

You look to the clock.

It's nearly midnight. And Minho had told you not to expect him or any of the men back until at least tomorrow.

Which means someone is in the house, someone who isn't supposed to be.

Slipping down the stairs to the second floor, you silently find the gun that is kept in the side table on the landing-Minho insists on keeping one in every drawer on every floor-and creep down a few more stairs, your eyes peeled against the darkness of the house, looking for any sign of the intruder.

The sound of a footstep from the main floor, and you raise the gun, holding it steadily in front of you as you descend, listening for another sound.

Another creak, closer this time, as you reach the bottom step.

You take in a steadying breath and turn, cocking the gun as you do so.

The light goes on in the foyer, and Minho is standing there, eyebrows arched and hands up as he realizes you're holding a loaded and ready gun in his face.

"Hello, darling."

You let out the breath you'd been holding since you first heard the door open, and drop the gun, un-readying it and tossing it on top of the chest of drawers against the wall before you throw your arms around your husband.

He chuckles, chin resting on the top of your head, and his fingers move up to stroke through your hair. "I guess I should know better than to try and sneak in this late at night without giving you warning."

You pull back to look up at him, trying to manifest a glare, but too happy to see him to do much. "Yes, you should. I could've shot you!"

Minho smirks, leaning over to kiss you, before he whispers softly against your lips, "Mmm. I love it when you talk dirty, baby."

You shove against him weakly, but he just laughs and pecks your lips once more before he pulls back, moving to finish unloosening his tie.

You realize there's blood speckling the front of his white shirt, and he must notice your gaze, because he says before you can ask, "It's not mine."

You feel relief sag your shoulders.

Minho smiles again, tugging you back up the stairs, the way you had come.

"But I could do with a long, hot bath regardless."

********************************************************************************

"I'm not going to take something you're not willing to give."

You glance up from where you're lying in the huge king bed, picking at the expensive comforter, feeling more than a little exposed in the sleep set the maids had picked out before Minho arrived home.

It's little more than negligée.

He's staring at you, hands resting on the wooden footboard, knuckles white.

He's tense, cautious, unsure. You can read it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the flexing of his fingers against the wood.

You're surprised you know him well enough to pick all those signs out.

"Why?" You question back sharply, unable to control the slight anger in your tone, the confusion. "Others have."

Minho's eyes flash dangerously at your words, and you shrink, feeling sufficiently cowed.

But then his words drip from his lips laced in lethality, dangerous, and they're not directed at you.

"If you say the word, all you will have to do is tell me their names and I will hunt them all to the corners of the earth."

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape, and watch as he flexes and unflexes his fingers in harsh, angry movements.

Something inside of your chest picks up at his obvious fury over anyone mistreating you.

Without really thinking, you glance down at the blanket covering you, and then back up to Minho.

"Are you going to take your suit off?" You ask quietly, and it's as close to an acceptance invitation as you can get in the moment.

Minho stares at you for a second, and then slowly reaches up to unknot his tie.

********************************************************************************

"I'm glad you're back." You admit softly, playing with the rings on Minho's fingers beneath the warm surface of the water, admiring the way the opalescent sheen of the bath oils reflects off his tan, scarred skin.

"Mmm." He hums in agreement, nuzzling his nose against your damp hair, breathing you in. "Me too."

"Yeong-Ja will be thrilled." You remark, leaning your head back against his shoulder to study him, a soft smile on your lips. "We didn't expect you till tomorrow."

"I know." He glances down at you, his expression softening as his eyes meet your own, and he lets out a rueful little laugh. "I've gotten soft in my old age. I used to live for the thrill of taking care of things myself, but now I just count down the minutes till I can return home to the two of you."

"Careful, Boss Lee." You tease, reaching up to push damp hair off his brow, admiring the perfect slope of his nose. Yeong-Ja had gotten the same one. "Someone will hear you talking about being weak and scheme to take you out."

Minho leans over to press a kiss to your mouth. "Never." He growls playfully, and you laugh.

Sinking down beneath the warm water, you bask in his presence for a few minutes in silence, playing idly with his fingers where they rest on your thighs, and then you ask quietly, "Did everything go alright?"

Minho sighs and rests his chin heavily on top of your head. "As well as could be expected. We had to put a few of the transfer drivers back in line, but nothing we couldn't handle."

You snuggle closer to him, pressing a kiss to his arm. "Good. I'm glad."

Minho makes a noise of agreement in his throat and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Me too."

********************************************************************************

It's taken six months for Minho to finally trust you enough to let you be part of his meetings.

Six months, and you're now standing behind his chair silently, trying to keep track of all the plans, as the men at the large table in front of you argue over their next move.

"No way in hell that'll work." Changbin declares, crossing his broad arms over his chest and glaring Hyunjin down across the table. "It just won't."

"It's better than anything you've come up with." Hyunjin argues back, and Jisung rolls his eyes, sliding a map across the table to Seungmin.

"Min, try and decode where they're gonna buy next while these two dumbasses argue?"

Seungmin nods silently and begins to type away on his laptop.

"We don't know that they won't double back like they've done before-and then, if we're waiting on the route down-"

"That's dumb as fuck! Listen to yourself, man!"

"If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god."

"Okay, okay." Minho booms, and everyone goes silent, looking to their leader.

You have to give it to him. He knows how to command a room.

"We've got the beginnings of a solid plan." Your husband announces, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if he's fighting a headache. "Let's work from there and see where it takes us."

Everyone nods silently, and the men start to push back from the table, leaving the room.

Minho sighs, leaning his elbows on the large meeting table, and you try to resist the urge to go to him, to help, but your body doesn't listen to you, and you find yourself stepping forward, tentatively putting a hand on one of his shoulders.

"I'm sorry." You say quietly, and Minho turns to stare at you curiously.

"Whatever for, princess?"

You glance away, your cheeks red. "I'm sure you're stressed. My father is breathing down your neck, and now there's this problem with the shipments, and I haven't become pregnant-"

Minho's gaze hardens slightly. "You never need to apologize for things you can't control. Not to me."

You stare at him, mouth agape.

"I don't know if your father made you do that for him-knowing the bastard, I'm sure he did-but you don't ever have to grovel at my feet for mistakes that are not your own, princess."

Something warm and truthful settles over your body at his words.

Minho turns back to the plans laid across the table, a slight smile pulling at his lips now.

"But if you have any bright ideas for what the fuck I should do here, I'm all ears."

********************************************************************************

"Remember when you gave me Suwon for the first birthday of mine that we ever spent together?" You ask Minho, watching your daughter play happily in the garden with the dog in question and some of her new birthday gifts.

Minho chuckles, his arm around you, as he glances over at you with a smirk. "Of course I remember. I hated him for the first year and a half."

"You did not!" You protest, ribbing him in the side, even as he laughs and pins your hand between the two of you easily. "You just put up a front."

Minho rolls his eyes good naturedly. "That dog shit on our carpet and ruined more shoes than I could count."

"He was a puppy!" You complain, but you're biting back a smile.

"A very expensive puppy, who ruined very expensive shoes." Minho retorts right back, an amused look in his dark eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." You wave him away, sniffing and turning to watch Yeong-Ja put a sun hat on the long suffering dog trying to nap beside her in the shade. "But he's a good dog now. You have to admit."

"Maybe." Minho remarks idly, gaze going to your daughter and the dog beneath the tree. "Yeong-Ja loves the damn mutt, and that's good enough for me."

********************************************************************************

Felix finds you first after the maids had mentioned not seeing you all day, curled up in the middle of the bed, sobbing silently.

Minho had been away on some business, but the minute Felix called him, he made it home in record time.

When he bursts through the bedroom door not twenty minutes later, you can't even bring yourself to look at him, curled beneath the comforter, your arms wrapped around your middle.

Felix hadn't touched you, he hadn't dared, but he'd stayed at the side of the bed until Minho arrived.

"Don't touch her." Minho commands almost wildly and Felix steps back, holding his hands up in obvious compliance.

"Call a doctor." He barks out at the retreating man, and Felix leaves the room without another word.

The bed sinks under Minho's weight, and you shuffle further beneath the safety of the blankets.

"Princess. Look at me."

You hesitate, but do as he says, and Minho's feral expression of worry softens slightly as your teary gaze falls on his.

Immediately, the walls you've been building up crumble, and you're crying again.

"I'm so sorry, Minho. I don't know what happened-"

Minho doesn't even bother shucking off his shoes or his suit coat, he slides into the bed beside you, beneath the cover of the blankets, and tugs you into his arms, stroking your hair methodically as you continue to sob.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"But there's so much blood-" You whimper out, and you don't dare to look beneath the blanket for fear of what you'll see.

"I know." Minho soothes, brushing the hair back from your forehead, as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head. "But the doctor will be here soon."

"Minho, the baby, I swear I didn't know, I swear it-" You're hysterical now, and everything hurts-your body, your mind, your soul-and Minho is there, strong and steady, stroking your hair, tugging you against his chest, whispering reassurances.

"I know, baby. It's okay. It's going to be okay."

********************************************************************************

You're sitting in the kitchen, watching Minho help Yeong-Ja make pancakes, when it hits you.

This life is nothing like what you thought it'd be.

And yet, its more than perfect.

Yeong-Ja laughs as Minho swipes batter across the tip of her nose, and Suwon excitedly barks around their feet, begging for scraps and happy to be included.

Minho glances over to you across your daughter's head, and gives you a wink.

He was right. It all turned out okay.

And in this moment, you're thankful that nothing ever worked out as planned.

It's even better.

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wisteriagoesvroom · 12 days

Note

18 & 63 for the trope mashup please! <3

18. Circus AU and 63. Everybody knows, mistaken for a couple ^from the prompt mash ups game!

This is a Cirque du Soleil AU where Norris and Piastri are two trapeze artists who made huge names for themselves in their individual countries. They get paired up for new show, and it involves a really tricky sequence that people are convinced is not possible and has never been done before, let alone by two guys.

They have a couple of near misses on the attempts to nail the trick, and the whole gang is watching carefully from the safety nets. People are biting their nails, and george is totally double checking the insurance papers and trying not to freak out.

Anyway, Oscar hangs upside down on the bar, totally chill. on the platform, Lando shakes the last of his nerves from his fingers. he slides a firm grip down his own bar, the one place that’s been so familiar for so many years, and he takes a breath. It’s beyond conscious thought, it’s just muscle memory, stepping into the air. With faith that the other man will meet him, in that millisecond between complete connection and the plummet.

Hands. It’s all in the hands. Lando's own fingertips moulding to the floor the first time he nailed a handstand, someone else’s careful hands that taught him his first few balances and tucks. The way his hands bled bloody and blistered, until he worked up the requisite strength.

Now, Lando grips the bar steady with both hands. Now, the steady rhythm in the pit of his stomach. Once, three times, four — the pendulum hits the peak of the apex.

Lando jackknifes through the air, and he’s twisting, house lights blurring in his vision.

Oscar waits, hands outstretched.

Then, a firm clasp from a smaller hand. Callouses pressed against his own. Years of practice, leading up to this point of contact.

His body knows before his mind does. The snap of gravity into the right place, when moving object meets opposing force. It’s Oscar’s counter-rhythm that stops him falling, Oscar’s nimble strength that matches his own. The way they do this in silence, carefully cultivated trust. In that moment, their bodies are a marvel of physics.

Below, the cast erupts in whoops and cheers. Lando wants to run around, wants to scream, but in that moment there’s not really an option - he just clasps Oscar’s forearms, and lets himself be swung.

“Well.” Oscar says, wry. “That was easy.”

Lando looks up. “Yeah. Only took fifty four tries.”

Lando can tell Oscar’s trying not to laugh. Oscar's hands stay steady though.

Someone captures the footage and it takes a while to get going, but then they’re doing numbers on socials. Cirque marketing figures this could get momentum and gradually shares more behind the scenes footage of them both: heads bowed together to talk about the tricks, tightening their wrist wraps, dusting chalk off each other, and laughing as they sip their energy drinks. They even get a portmanteau: landoscar.

The final show is obviously a massive hit. Lando and Oscar’s segment ends up being a lyrical interpretation of the life of a papaya or something. It’s Seb Vettel’s show about the lifespan of plants and bees so they’re just rolling with the vision.

When Pride comes around, the two of them step out to get coffee and a snack at their regular spot. The barista waves at them and says: “a year's free coffee for the happy couple! thank you so much for repping queer excellence in the arts.”

And Oscar’s like, “oh, uh. I mean. I am. But we– we’re not…”

Then Lando turns to him. The morning light looks good on Oscar. Oscar who always lends him sports tape, always lets him order lunch first, and always, always leans forward to catch him. In or out of the ring, he is the partner Lando trusts more than anything in the world.

So Lando tugs on Oscar’s hoodie sleeve, and is like: “actually, I’d meant to ask you…”

#landoscar #oscar piastri #Lando Norris #op81 #ln4 #mctwinks #814 #twinklaren #814m #prompt game #yeeting this before i crash to sleep #thank you leaf for always sending such fun prompts for my silly bean brain #thank you for forgiving my bizzare capitalisation throughout btw cus i wrote this on a plane #wisteria HCs

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jyoongim · 11 days

Text

Jyoongim’s Horny Game

Hi everyone! I’m Jyoongim and WELCOME TO THE SHOW✨

GUYS 2K plus????? IM GONNA CRY!!!!

In response I would like to show my appreciation to all my followers for showing love and support my blog and writings by letting y’all run wild!

I saw @okay-babe do something like this and I thought it would be fun and give it a spin hehe!

✨INFORMATION✨

This is mainly for Alastor x reader requests but any HH character is welcomed (not Valentino he can choke or Husker just because I think of him as a tired uncle lol)

THERE WILL BE NO WORD COUNT - I am lazy sorry guys ;(

HERES MY MASTERLIST/TAGLIST comment here for future work postings📻❤️

————————————————————————

Here’s how to play!

SPIN THE WHEEL! This color coded wheel will decide the category of your prompt. (Color system is below as well to help)

2.) Select a prompt. SPIN THIS WHEEL! There are 4 prompt lists I have provided to pick from! Feel free to use the prompt list for inspiration MIX AND MATCH prompts if you like.

⚠️limit to mix/match is 2 per request⚠️

➡️Prompt #1

➡️Prompt #2

➡️Prompt #3

➡️Prompt #4

3.) Send in your request per inbox as usual. You can be anon or make yourself be known (your decision).

❗️use correct color when sending request❗️

▶️ I HAVE A COLOR SYSTEM TO HELP US WITH EXAMPLES⤵️

————————————————————————

Below is the color system and what it includes:

🟢: Fluff-sweet,cute, makes you cringe

cuddles, hand-holding, hugs, domestic, kisses, hugs, appreciation, romance, lovey-dovey shit

——————————————————————

🟡: Saucey-fluff but you felt something

Obvious feelings, mutual pining, admission of feelings, keep it cute

‘example: their hands brushed and they quickly pulled away blushing’

——————————————————————-

🟠: Flavor-you tease!

teasing, tension, banter, flirting, stealing glances

——————————————————————

🔴: Mild-its getting hot!

Sexual tension! high emotions, realization of feelings

——————————————————————

💥: Mild Spicy-oh you like that?

Plot! smut! Introduction of kinks!

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🟣: Spicy-give it to me good!

Usual smut with plot *sprinkle sprinkle*

——————————————————————-

🔵 : Extra Spicy- what did i just read?

smut and no plot

——————————————————————

⚫️: Uncharted-you need a therapist & God babe

Every single morally gray scenario & kink possible.

THE SKY IS THE LIMIT!!

(Kinks however ARE limited by writer’s discretion)

————————————————————————

I look forward to see what you guys requests and thank you again for all the love! Xoxo 😘

MASTER/TAG LIST IS LINKED!!!

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suugarbabe · 4 months

Note

Enzo + dance (and crush if I can get 2) pls? <3

Dance

- Enzo likes to pretend that he doesnt know how to dance

- but in reality that boy has rhythm

- something like the Yule ball he has no issues taking the lead, a hand on your hip, the other gently holding one of your own as he twirls you around the great hall with ease

- but at something like a Slytherin party, merlinnnnn

- that boy is nasty, like death grip on your hips, knee slotted between your thighs on the dance floor nasty

- get a few fire whiskeys in this man and he’s all about the bump and grind until he works himself up too much and drags your arse up to his dorm

Crush

- it’s hard for an outsider to know if Enzo has a crush on someone because he’s not like the other Slytherin boys

- whereas Theo or Mattheo are more outspoken, Enzo is more reserved

- he starts paying more attention to little details about the person he’s crushing on because he feels like that’s how you show someone love, noticing the little things

- he’s sitting with his friends at lunch and someone mentions a candy they want to get at Honey Dukes this weekend and without missing a beat he’s all “oh that’s y/n’s favorite”

- and all his friends just give him a look and the tops of his ears are turning pink

- he offers to carry your books for you, and who are you to deny someone like the Lorenzo Berkshire from doting on you

- after that trip to Honey Dukes he’d wrap the candy up and put a note with it, somehow slip it into your school bag or robe pocket after ‘accidentally’ knocking into you in the corridor

- so when you get to your seat and find the candy with the note that says something cheesy like “a sweet treat for the sweetest girl ;) ; from Enzo <3” on it

- it’s your ears that turn pink, turning around in your seat to find him at the back of the classroom already staring

#prompt game #Enzo Berkshire #Enzo Berkshire prompt #Enzo Berkshire x reader #Enzo Berkshire x you #Enzo Berkshire fluff

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sgtmickeyslaughter · 11 days

Note

#17 or #89 :)

this one was more fun than i thought it would be, I wanted Ian to cuss her out real housewives style, but i think he's learning to take the highroad

89. You’re not interested, are you? X 17. Good thing I didn’t ask for you opinion

Ian kept meeting up with Jill after they met for the first time at the pool, even though it seemed like her husband was steering clear of them after Mickey’s chair situation.

That was a couple weeks ago now, Mickey had chilled out slightly. After deciding that they would stay in the apartment he’d pulled out the wedding notebook, much to Ian’s horror, and switched the wedding magazines out for interior decoration. He was upstairs painting one of their bedroom walls as they sat out by the pool and Ian decompressed from the experience of picking paint with him.

If Ian was being entirely honest, Jill bugged the shit out of him. After getting his number, she was texting him to hang out all the time, and Ian didn’t know how to tell her no, even as it became clear they had nothing in common. The surest way he’d figured out to get her to fuck off was to say that Mickey would be coming, which usually got their plans canceled in about five minutes flat.

“What do you think of him?” Jill asked conspiratorially from her pool lounger.

“Who?” Ian asked, lifting his head up.

“Trey?” Jill said, like it was obvious.

Ian followed her gaze and finally saw the blonde guy from earlier getting out go the pool. It only took about 30 seconds of talking to him at the gym to realize he was a fucking asshole.

Still, Ian wasn’t going to tell her that. “He’s fine,” he responded noncommittally.

“You mean he’s fine” she laughed suggestively. “He just broke up with his ex-boyfriend Kris before you moved in, I could introduce you two properly if you want.”

“Thanks, but we’ve actually already met.”

“And you’re not interested, are you?” Jill asked disappointedly.

“I’m married,” Ian said confusedly. “You remember my husband, Mickey? He’s kind of hard to forget.”

“Obviously I remember your husband” Jill huffed out. “It’s just that- Ian, can I be frank with you?”

“Be my guest,” Ian responded, rolling his eyes.

“Just because we fall in love with someone while we’re stuck in” Jill held her breath as she searched for the right words, explaining to Ian like he was a child “a less than ideal place in life, doesn’t mean we need to stay with them forever. Your husband - Mickey, clearly doesn’t belong here and you do! Sorry but that’s just my opinion.”

“Well, Jill, it’s a good thing I didn't ask for your opinion” Ian said sarcastically. “In my opinion it’s weird that you want to spend every day with your new gay best friend and check out guys at the pool instead of hanging out with your husband, which is what I would rather be doing, by the way.”

Ian stood up and put his shirt back on, “and, if I belong here, then Mickey belongs here. Because I belong wherever the hell he is, and if you bothered to try to find someone you feel that way about instead of eyeing anyone who’s only personality is their six pack you might realize that love is all about finding someone you love at every place in life.”

He fumed all the way up to their apartment until he burst into their bedroom, where Mickey was shirtless, blasting music and methodically painting the wall a rich, royal blue. All the fight left Ian’s body as he appreciated the way the blue complimented the cool tones in Mickey’s hair and skin.

Instead of whipping him around and working all his anger out right there on the bedroom floor he slowly made his way over to the window and opened it, letting out some of the paint fumes. Mickey was working hard to make sure their bedroom was nice, so Ian could at least let him finish before they addressed his pent up energy. He lowered the music and collapsed on their air matress in the middle of the room, grabbing his book from the floor.

“What are you doing back so early?” Mickey said, in lieu of greeting. “I thought Miss Priss was stealing you away all afternoon.”

“Fuck her” Ian said with a grin, knowing Mickey would be thrilled to hear him say it. “I wanted to come up here and watch you instead, so get to work.”

hope you liked it!

Prompt game fun!

#shameless #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich fanfic #sgtmickeyslaughter #prompt game

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maybanksbabe · 11 months

Note

Oh em gee prompt 18 with JJ would be heavenly😩

YAAASSSS (you didn't specify if he was giving or receiving so I went with giving!)

Send me a [-ing] prompt!

18: [waking] them up with oral

You could feel the warmth of the intruding sunshine on your skin as you finally stirred awake. But there was something different about waking up this morning. Looking down through bleary eyes, you saw that familiar blonde head of hair between your thighs and that's when everything caught up to you.

"Mmm - fuck," you rasped as he curled his fingers upwards towards that spot he knew would drive you crazy. If JJ knew you were now awake, he didn't let it show as he continued to devour you, mouth around your clit, filling the room with obscene sounds whilst his tongue pressed and flicked at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"J..." You couldn't stop the cant of your hips against his face, fingers wound into his hair and tugged at the roots, urging him closer to your aching cunt. The hums of acknowledgement he offered made you dizzy as the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened, threatening to snap on the drop of a dime.

The combination of his mouth and fingers so early in the morning had you whining and whimpering in no time, coming undone on his tongue with soft, panted breaths and quiet whimpers.

"Please, J... Too much -" You gasped as he carried on, unrelenting in now making your head spin and your thighs clench around his head again, content to stay between them forever. There are certainly worse ways to start the morning...

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jj thots #prompt game #libra speaks

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princessfbi · 2 months

Note

“Tummy kisses” 🤲 ‼️

Tummy kisses

Eddie woke up over heated with a numb arm and cotton mouth which he only got when he mouth breathed in his sleep. Something that only happened when he was down and out in a deep sleep where you didn't move even if the earth was shaking and the house was on fire which, admittedly, was not something that happened to Eddie very often. Never say never but Eddie was used to be a light sleeper.

Eddie was always up and moving at the scent of coffee by the time he was sixteen and could drive his sisters wherever they needed to go. The resentment of having to be up before the sun was always tampered a little bit by the fact that his mom would let him have a cup even when his sisters always whined about it. He always drank it black back then even though he'd preferred it with a little bit of creamer because drinking it black was how "adults" drank it and Eddie had prided himself on being an "adult". Sleeping light had transferred into his years in the army and war then to fatherhood and firefighting. Now, knowing what he knew from therapy and all those self reflection exercises Frank made him do through eye rolls and gritted teeth, he could begrudgingly admit that maybe the underlining current of anxiety that skated up his spine might have something to do with the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he slept like a rock but whatever. That wasn't the point.

The point was that he'd been out like a fucking light and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

Hell, he couldn't even remember shutting his eyes.

But it all came back to him in fragments by the soft rise and fall of the body beneath him.

A soft snore whistled from above him and Eddie knew it was because Buck had somehow managed to fall asleep on his back again. He always preferred to sleep on his side for that very reason but the couch was too small for both of them stretched out like they were. And yet somehow they made it work.

That felt like a statement that could describe their entire relationship Eddie thought if he was being honest.

Buck had been stretched out on the couch watching some documentary he'd been so patiently saving for when he didn't have to stop and start because they had a shift or a school pick up or errands and work out to run to and from. For the first time in a long time, they had forty-eight hours just to themselves in Buck's loft where Eddie didn't have to pack a bag to stay over anymore because he had a space in the closet and spot on the sink with his normal toiletries.

Eddie had kissed Buck with the insistence that he go watch while he cleaned up dinner and for once Buck hadn't bothered to hide the excitement from his smile when he asked if Eddie was sure. Buck's affinity for documentaries was not something he shared but it had taken a lot of fumbled versions of the conversation for Eddie to vocalize that he didn't mind when Buck indulged in them while he was there. That he liked the quiet and getting to just spend time with Buck without having to carry on a conversation.

When the dishes had been cleaned, Buck's attention had been fully captured by the... whatever it was he'd been watching. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was just Buck had so many interests at one given time that if Eddie tried to keep up with all of them he was pretty sure his head would explode.

Besides, Buck was his boyfriend now which meant apparently, Eddie was allowed to want things without having to pay a price for them. Things like cuddling with his boyfriend on the couch after they'd had a delicious dinner while he watched a documentary about some castle or something.

He had crawled onto the couch and bullied his way into Buck's space without so much as a grunt of displeasure from said boyfriend. Buck had merely gotten comfortable before Eddie had settled his weight on top of him and wrapped his arms around Buck. Buck's fingers had eventually found his hair and it had been lights out for Eddie.

Apparently for Buck too since the TV had turned off but the lights to the kitchen and the soft glow from the loft above were still on.

Eddie wiggled his arm out from being pinned between Buck's hip and the couch and squinted at the time on the oven. They still had a few hours left and Eddie knew that a few hours would be enough to save them both from a backache they wouldn't be able to shake if they stayed there.

Eddie ducked down and pressed a kiss to the sliver of skin where Eddie's hand had shoved up under Buck's t-shirt in his sleep. Buck's stomach was soft beneath his lips and Eddie couldn't help but indulge in a few more kisses before he reached up and rubbed his palm to Buck's chest.

"Baby," Eddie said, his voice croaking from disuse.

Buck sighed in his sleep but refused to wake up and Eddie pressed a trail of kisses up from his stomach to his chest as he climbed up Buck's body. He didn't stop until he was up his throat and to his chin, sitting up so he could straddle Buck's hips and kiss his lips over and over again.

"Wake up, baby," Eddie said between kisses as Buck groaned. Blue eyes appeared from beneath tiny slits as Buck scrunched up his face and Eddie huffed out a laugh as he brushed a thumb over his birthmark. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs."

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #my fic writing #prompt game #bigfootsmom #911fic #royal decree

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ddagent · 2 months

Note

"Starmaker, this is Tadfield. Come in, Starmaker, this is Tadfield."

There was not a sound in the control room at Tadfield Space Centre. Eyes were fixed intensely upon monitors; fingers hesitating over switches. Barely a breath. And then there was the hiss of static, punctuated every now and again by Gabriel's drone as he called to the three astronauts who had made history today. For the right reasons, Aziraphale hoped to himself, biting back the tremble of his jaw and the first tear welling at the corner of his eye. Make it to Mars, Crowley. Make it. Make it.

"Starmaker, this is Tadfield. Come on, Starmaker."

Beside him, one of the technicians, Maggie, clutched his hand. Aziraphale clung back, needing something to ground him. Needed some concrete link rather than staring at the last image of the Starmaker shuttle before they had lost contact. It would be just like Crowley if he was to get himself blown up on this ridiculous mission. He had been so reckless during all those safety briefings - flirting with Aziraphale rather than paying attention to the risks involved in being the first humans to ever step foot on Mars.

Suddenly, Gabriel began shouting orders. The control room was forced into action; the quiet gone, now, replaced with beeps and bangs and whispered telephone calls. The livestream had been cut ten seconds before they had lost contact. Aziraphale was glad, for that. He did not think he could take his heartbroken expression streamed across the world. Or the joy in the ten seconds before as Crowley, seeing the stars up close for the very first time, told Aziraphale in front of millions of people that I wish you were here, Angel. I wish you were here with me.

Aziraphale could not imagine never hearing that voice again. And, as Gabriel behind him began working on damage control, Aziraphale knew that someone had to keep trying. He could not - would not - give up on Crowley so easily.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered into the microphone, his words barely registering among the din of the control room. "This is Aziraphale. Talk to me, please."

Nothing. Aziraphale slumped back in his seat. And then— "Angel? It's me. We're–we're okay. I'm okay."

Give me a number - that’s how many seconds I’ll spend thinking of an Aziraphale/Crowley AU to write for you in 200 words or more.

#aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens #dd: prompts #prompt game

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 1 year

Note

#72 #5

Minho or Hyunjin? Eheh 🤭

SKZ PROMPT GAME

Prompt: "Are those...bite marks?"

Member: Lee Minho

Relationship: Princess!Femreader x Royal Guard!Lee Minho

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut

"Fuck." Hyunjin grunts as the heavy hilt of your sword buries itself in his stomach.

He goes to his knees, dropping his own sword with a clatter, trying to catch his breath, and you circle him slowly, like a big cat waiting for the right moment to take down its fallen prey

You regard him with narrowed eyes and an air of annoyance.

"You're going easy on me. Stop it."

Hyunjin glances up at you, tracking you with his eyes, a few loose, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling over his brow, and he lets out a little humorless laugh at your words, throwing his hands out in an exasperated gesture.

"I swear to god, princess, if I went any harder on you, I'd collapse."

You stop, staring at him, trying to gauge the truthfulness in his statement.

He bows his head slightly to you, but not before you catch the hint of an amused grin on his full lips.

"I hate to admit it, but you've simply become better than me, princess." He glances off to your left, the grin growing slightly more cheeky now. "Isn't that right, Minho?"

You glance over your shoulder at your personal guard, leaning against the nearby wall, his usual, blank expression on his features, as unreadable and silent as ever.

He arches a brow at Hyunjin as the former scoops up his sword and bounds to his feet once more, headed for the weapons rack and the pail of water waiting beside it.

"I'm in no position to proclaim anything."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes good naturedly, sheathing his sword as he throws you a smirk over his shoulder, swiping hair back from the glistening skin of forehead.

"God, he's absolutely no fun, is he?"

"No." You shake your head, biting back your own grin now as you toss him your sword, which he catches easily, stowing it beside his own.

"I don't get paid to be fun." Minho deadpans, his eyes astutely scanning across the training courtyard in search of god knows what, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sheathed sword at his waist. "I get paid to protect the princess, and that's what I'm doing."

"All right, Sir Serious." Hyunjin taunts, rolling his eyes once more, just for good measure. "Whatever you say."

Minho pushes off the wall and strides toward you, light armor clanking, before he narrows his eyes and looks up to judge the position of the sun in the sky.

"We should be getting back, your highness."

You glance once more at Hyunjin, who grins at you, before turning away and starting to organize the racks of weapons.

You sigh and drop the light weight helmet you had been wearing during your spars to the ground at your feet, motioning with your head to the waiting guard and the palace seen in the distance.

"Fine. Lead the way."

As you trek silently after Minho-back through the royal gardens, down the path through the vineyard, into the main fountain courtyard-you can't help but think that your mother is going to be furious with you.

Minho tries to keep you on time to things, but you're head strong and stubborn, and chafe under the rules of being the crown princess, and judging by the dipping of the setting sun, you're late for dinner.

Not to mention, you'd snuck some old clothes from the stable boys to practice in-skirts and silks only serving to get in your way-and your mother was sure to have a conniption fit if she saw you dressed in the raggedy pants and overly large tunic you'd secured.

Minho had caught one sight of the outfit and you had seen the disapproval on his face.

"Your mother is going to be angry, you know." He remarks, not looking back at you, as if thinking about his obvious annoyance with your recreational activities has summoned it to the surface once more.

"What's new?" You huff back, stepping past him as he holds aside a low hanging shrub for you to pass, stomping your feet in their old boots just a little bit harder than necessary as you do. "She's always angry it seems."

Minho remains quiet, following you up to the servants' entrance of the ostentatious castle that leads to the kitchens, and ultimately, the back staircase that allows you to sneak in and out without catching your mother's-or the royal advisor's-watchful eyes.

Yanking open the heavy wooden door, you stomp up the staircase without so much as a backward glance in your personal guard's direction.

Let him be angry with you. Let them all be angry with you.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, and it would never matter, not when you were doomed to be held in a gilded cage for the rest of your life.

********************************************************************************

You keep your head down at dinner-only speaking when you're spoken to, though it chafes against every nature you have-and you mostly avoid your mother's ire by doing so.

Acting the dutiful princess has always put her off the war trail.

After dessert, you sneak out of the dining room as your mother takes her wealthy guests to the parlor for some after dinner brandy and betting games, probably a little political talk if you had to guess.

None of it matters to you. It doesn't have to, because eventually your mother will find you some boring old duke of a husband, and he'll rule the castle, because god forbid a woman do it on her own, and you'll be just as trapped as before.

Dashing up the stairs, skirts in your hands, gleeful and heady from getting out of entertaining without being caught, you stop on the landing and glance down into the foyer, just as Minho steps from the shadows.

You can tell he's irritated, even from here, and something about it makes you even more triumphant than before.

"You don't have to follow me." You call down to him, taking the second flight of stairs two at a time, even as he sighs and begins to descend the first.

"I do though."

"You really don't." You reply back, reaching the second landing, catching your breath.

Damn these heavy skirts and petticoats and this tightly drawn corset in which you can hardly breathe. You much prefer the tunics and trousers men are allowed to wear.

Minho reaches you as you're finding the last of your breath, and the look on his face is smooth once more, unreadable.

It's something you've never understood about him. How he manages to keep such a blank mask all the time. Doesn't he feel stifled? Doesn't he want more?

"It's my job, princess." He affirms in a serious, no argument tone, and you roll your eyes in response.

"Fine."

He follows you silently down the long corridor, but when you reach the large oaken doors of your room, you pause with a hand on the knob, glancing at him with a sort of smirk over your shoulder.

"You have to wait out here though. I'm going to change."

If Minho's caught off guard, he doesn't show it. He leans against the wall and his hand goes to the sword at his hip.

"I'm not allowed in your chambers regardless, your highness. Now is no different."

"God, you really are no fun." You complain, just to annoy him, and you push through the doors, shutting them in his face before he can say anything in response.

Deciding against calling for the help of one of your ladies maids, and risking a lecture, you slip out of the dozens of layers of gowns and petticoats yourself, but the corset cinched tightly around your waist proves a little more difficult.

No matter how much you twist and turn, you can't get ahold of the carefully placed laces to tug them loose.

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sweating slightly, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you ponder your options.

Finally, you come to the conclusion that there's no other way. It has to be done.

Waltzing to the door, you tug it open and peek your head out to see Minho right where you left him.

He slides his gaze to you with a questioning sort of look, and you clear your throat.

"I-need a little help."

He stares at you, and then his lips form a firm line. "Call for Celia."

"I can't." You explain with a huff, as if he thinks you're stupid and you feel the need to explain yourself. "She'll rat me out to mother and I'll get the lecture of a lifetime."

Minho just continues to stare, unyielding.

"Minho." You whine, stamping your foot, and he arches a brow. "You know I'm on thin fucking ice with her already."

"And you'd be on even thinner ice if she heard you using coarse language like that."

You don't give in. "Please?"

Minho sighs. "Fine."

You squeal and duck back into the room, and it's only when he steps through the door to join you, that you suddenly realize with certain clarity what you're asking of him.

You're standing in nothing but your shift and corset, and there's a man in your room, one you're not married to, and oh god-

Minho seems to realize all of this at the same time you do, and he freezes mid step as if he's been doused in cold water, and you shriek without thinking, darting behind the bed to hide behind the blanket.

"Close your eyes!" You hiss out, as you scrabble to cover yourself.

He does so, but a wash of frustration moves across his face as he snaps back, "How the hell am I supposed to unlace you if I can't see?"

"I don't know!" You blurt out, heart hammering against your chest with panic.

Minho takes a blind step in the direction of the door. "If you would just call your maid-"

"No!" You exclaim, a bit louder than intended, and Minho cracks open an eye as you slap your hand over your mouth.

"No." You repeat, quieter this time, and you straighten, steeling your nerve, glancing toward the closed door nervously. "Let's just do it quickly. I'll stay behind the blanket, and you have to promise your gaze will remain appropriate at all times-"

Minho snorts a humorless sounding chuckle, and you glare at him.

"Promise me, Minho!"

He sighs and stares upward at the ceiling for a moment, as if looking for something to give him strength.

"I promise."

"Okay, good." You say nervously, tucking the blanket more securely around you, until you're sure just the laces on the back of your corset are showing.

You waddle in Minho's direction, and if you didn't know him better, you'd think that was a flash of amusement in his eyes.

You turn toward him, baring your back and your shoulders, and hold your breath, staring straight ahead.

He doesn't touch you and you grow antsy in the silence.

"Minho!" You hiss, not daring to glance back at him. "Hurry!"

You hear him take a step forward, and then feel a brush of a finger along the bare skin of your shoulder as he reaches for the top laces.

You jolt, cheeks instantly aflame, and try to hold still as you feel him hesitantly pull the top lace through the eyelet.

You try to focus on anything but the feel of Minho's warm hands brushing your back through your thin shift as he works, quickly and quietly, and as the corset loosens and you can breathe again, your lungs tighten up for a whole different reason.

Minho is touching you.

And you don't hate it.

Minho pulls the last lace through and clears his throat, reaching around you to drop the discarded laces into your hands.

"There. All done."

He pulls his hand back, and as he does so, it brushes the bare skin of your shoulder.

You shiver, and it's not because you're cold.

Instantly, you whirl, tugging the blanket up and around you so you're completely covered now, and when you meet Minho's gaze, his mask is firmly in place, expression unreadable.

"Thank you." You manage to say, as Minho nods and backs toward the doors.

"I'll be waiting outside, your highness."

He disappears, and the doors click quietly shut behind him.

You stare down at the silk laces he had laid in your palm, and will your heart to stop thundering out of your chest.

********************************************************************************

"Do you think Lee Minho is actually cold, or do you think that's just what he wants people to see?" You ask one day, sitting in a field of wild flowers, watching the horses graze contentedly a few feet away.

Felix looks over at you in surprise, then glances in the direction of Minho, off a few hundred feet away making sure his mare drinks from a stream.

"Why are you asking?" He replies curiously, instead of giving you an answer, and you sigh, leaning back on your hands and hiking up your skirts to give your legs a little glimpse of the warm afternoon sun.

"I don't know." You shrug, considering, and lean over to pick an especially yellow daisy, twirling it between your fingers as you think. "I just think there's a side to him I don't really know."

Felix lounges back beside you, a blade of grass stuck between his lips, and stares up at the blue sky for several moments.

"I think there's a side to everyone that we don't really know."

You nod thoughtfully, and unwittingly, your gaze drifts to Minho, stroking the broad neck of his horse gently, whispering something to it in low tones that you can't catch.

"Yeah, I guess." You admit vaguely, staring off into the distance.

"Besides-" Felix leans over to nudge your side, giving you a bright grin that dimples his cheeks and scrunches his freckles. "-I wouldn't worry about him too much. I'm sure your mother has loads of eligible suitors lined up and waiting. You'll have no time to think of the mystery that is Lee Minho soon enough."

That sounds absolutely awful, but you don't say that out loud.

You simply give him a smile that you don't feel in return, playfully shove him, and stand up to ready for the ride back home.

********************************************************************************

"Minho." You call out, standing in the middle of the sparring ring, chest heaving, having bested Hyunjin once again.

Your guard glances up from his usual position on the wall.

"Spar with me." You command, motioning to the ring with the tip of your sword.

Minho stares.

"Minho." You repeat again, tone firmer and harder this time, because you know he's going to try to refuse, but you need this. Just to see. "That's an order from your princess."

You see his chest rise and fall beneath his armor with a breath, and then he pushes off the wall, accepting the training sword Hyunjin hands him wordlessly as he walks toward you.

He steps a boot over the red line of the training circle, and eyes you warily.

"Princess, I don't think-"

"Don't think." You snap back, readying your stance, adjusting your hold on the hilt, glaring at him. "And don't go easy on me."

Minho watches you, something flashing across his eyes that you can't quite read, and then he sighs and sinks down into a ready stance of his own.

Hyunjin steps up, glancing between the two of you carefully, before he drops his hands in between you to signal the start of the match.

You move without thinking, whirling around and using the heavy weight of your sword to propel you toward Minho, under his left arm and right toward his flank.

He leaps out of the way easily, and comes around your back, and you follow his every movement with narrowed eyes, trying to preemptively think of what he's going to do next.

He lunges for you suddenly, the tip of his sword headed for the juncture of your shoulder, and you drop and roll out of the way to the other side of the ring, avoiding him.

"Why are you holding back?" You ask furiously, swinging at him again, as he ducks and maneuvers out of your way.

"I'm not." He snaps right back, and with a cry, you leap at him again, aiming for his legs, hoping to take him down to the ground.

There is tension, as the two of you circle the training ring and each other like jungle cats, stalking each other's every moves, watching footwork and body language and any minute movements.

"You are." You insist, slightly out of breath, as you dodge another one of Minho's well timed attacks, barely missing nicking your arm on the edge of his training blade.

"I'm not going to hurt you, princess." Minho retorts, fire flaring in his eyes, as he scrapes past a swing of your own.

With a growl of frustration, you head for him again, and this time, he meets your blade head on, the swords creating sparks as they make contact, the two of you battling for dominance.

You're so close now that you can see the flecks of gold in Minho's dark brown eyes, the sweat shining on his upper lip, the slight wave of his hair now that it's damp.

"Fucking hurt me." You hiss back, holding against his insistent pressure, your arms beginning to ache with the strain. "It's the only thing I get to feel in this prison."

Minho's eyes flash dangerously, and he gains an inch over you, the blades sliding against one another as he pushes you a step back.

"You wanna know something, Minho?" You bite out, your muscles beginning to shake with exhaustion, your whole body tense. "Every day, I watch you. I watch you put on a mask, and go to work, and follow orders, and do it all again the next day-like some sort of cold, unfeeling, unyielding machine. Aren't you tired? Don't you get tired of just not feeling anything?"

Minho growls in his throat, and suddenly, he's heaving forward, sending your sword flying from your hands as you tumble to the ground, the wind knocked out of you as you land hard on the packed earth, flat on your back.

Before you can react, Minho is on you, sword at your throat, pinning your body down beneath his, chest heaving.

You stare up at him, shocked, and suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

He leans over you, face impossibly close to your own, and you catch a hint of his musk-something cedar and pine-before he grits out beneath his breath, "There. Happy now?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out, and he stares at you, hard, his breaths harsh, and you see something flicker across his gaze as he murmurs, "I feel things. But they're forbidden. And that's the way it has to be, princess."

He pulls the sword back from your throat and stands.

You lay there in the dirt, Hyunjin rushing to your side, as Minho tosses aside his sword and leaves without another backward glance.

********************************************************************************

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sitting on the edge of your ridiculously large bed, trying, and failing once more, to wrap your hand in the strips of linen you had stolen from the kitchen.

Glancing down at the small wound on the palm of your hand, you let yourself fall back heavily on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Fuck this." You announce, if only to yourself, and you stand determinedly, marching to the door of your room and yanking it open.

Minho glances at you from his usual post on the wall.

"I need your help." You say, with no preamble, and Minho arches a brow.

"Your highness, please say it has nothing to do with corset laces."

You pause, because that's probably the first time you've ever heard Minho make anything close to a joke, and then shake your head with a slightly rueful smile.

"It does not."

Minho inclines his head to your open door after looking down the hall to make sure you're alone. "Lead the way then."

You shut the door behind him, and return to the bed, sitting down on the edge as Minho stands like a statue in the doorway.

You heave a sigh and motion him forward with your hand. "Come over here. You can't help me from there."

He does so, albeit reluctantly, hand on the hilt of his sword, like always, and comes to stand awkwardly beside you.

You open your palm and he glances down, his expression going dark as he takes in the small, red wounds marring the flesh.

"Are those....bite marks?"

You shrug one shoulder and try not to let his sudden anger make your heart do weird things in your chest.

"Yes. I tried to befriend a stray in the village this afternoon." You remark, reaching for the discarded roll of linen. "Bastard apparently didn't like cook's egg tarts."

You hold out the linen to Minho with an expectant look, and he sighs heavily, before taking it from your outstretched hand and kneeling at your feet.

"Fine. Let me see."

You extend your hand another inch or so, suddenly unsure of what to do, and Minho glances up at you, amusement in the twitch of his lips, before he grasps your hand with his own and pulls it into his lap.

You bite back the gasp that threatens at the feel of his fingers on your won.

"Did you clean this?" Minho asks, studying the wound clinically, turning your palm all which ways to see it in the light.

"Yes." You nod, annoyance seeping into your tone. "I'm not daft."

"I didn't say you were." Minho remarks offhandedly, as, seemingly satisfied, he unrolls the linen and begins to carefully wind it around your palm.

You hiss a little as the coarse fabric scrapes the raw skin, but manage to hold still as Minho finishes the job and ties it off securely with a satisfied little nod and a hum in the back of his throat.

"There." He announces, glancing up at you, and you freeze, because, fuck, Minho is pretty, and how have you never noticed?

You stare openly, your eyes dragging down the sharp, well arched lines of his face, the slope of his nose, the full bow of his upper lip.

And with a start, you realize he's still holding your injured hand in his own.

Tugging out of his grasp, you stand, brushing off your skirts as if they're dirty, if only to direct attention away from your suddenly flaming cheeks.

You clear your throat. "Thank you. I-"

Minho stands now as well, echoing your throat clear. "Yes. If that'll be all-"

Something sinks heavy into the pit of your stomach at his obvious dismissal.

"Minho-" You start to say without really thinking where you're going, and he glances to you, expression shuttered. "I never got to apologize. For the other day."

He regards you with a cautious look, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, your highness."

"No, I mean-" You take a step forward, holding his gaze, and you feel the danger in this, the danger in him being here, in being alone, in your room. "-I didn't mean it. What I said about you being cold."

Minho studies you, his eyes dark in the flicker of the sconces. "But I am."

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

Minho sighs, reaching up to rake a hand through his thick hair, and you think it's the first human gesture you've ever seen out of him since you've known him.

"It's who I am. I have to be. It's part of my job, princess."

"Why?" You ask without thinking, and Minho's gaze grows pained, just for an instant, and then it's gone.

He shakes his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Please." You beg, taking another step toward him, and surprise even yourself when you clutch your hand in his.

Minho instantly freezes.

"Please. I want to understand. If you could just try to help me-"

"I-" Minho starts to say, eyes flicking down to yours.

"We're the same, Minho." You whisper desperately, squeezing his cold fingers. "Trapped, locked away. Maybe if I understood, we could help each other-"

Minho stiffens, and he tugs his hand from your own, and when you look at him again, he's closed off, face unreadable once more.

He backs toward the door, a flash of anger in his eyes before it's gone.

"We are not the same, princess. We will never be the same."

He turns on his heel and exits your room without another word.

********************************************************************************

You don't know if it's the way you left things with Minho the night before, or if it's the fact that your mother is waiting in the parlor with some suitable prince suitor, but you find yourself fleeing the castle on horseback at the first possible moment.

"Princess, wait-" Felix calls out, but you pay him no heed as you pull yourself up on your mare and kick her flanks, urging her into a fast gallop, leaving the stable and the palace and your mother and Minho all behind.

You ride and ride, not caring where you're headed, and it's only when the first rain drop hits your forehead, that you pull the horse to a slower canter, weaving her in and out of the forest trees, the sound of your own heartbeat and the hoofbeats on the ground the only thing filling your head.

The rain quickly becomes a downpour, and you tug the hood of your riding cape up around your head, cursing yourself for being stupid enough to leave without checking the weather first.

It mists your face in a chilled spray, and soon, your dress is drenched, heavy and wet, the horse's mane sticking to her soaked skin beneath your clenched fingers that hold the reigns.

You reach a stream, made into something closer to a roaring river by the storm, and the mare beneath you balks when you urge her to the edge, stomping her feet and shaking her head, snorting nervously.

"C'mon-" You urge, your teeth starting to chatter, and kick her flank once more, just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky and a boom of thunder sounds over head.

The horse rears, and with a startled shriek, you're thrown violently to the muddy forest ground.

Your mare thunders off wildly, and you're left alone, crumpled on the forest floor, your body aching and your heart pounding.

You push yourself up to a sitting position, slipping slightly in the mud, and wince, hissing through your teeth as you jostle your bruised ribs and very clearly sprained ankle.

Mud covers your palms as you take stock of yourself and any injuries sustained, and when you pull your fingers away from your forehead, they're red and sticky with blood.

Glancing around, you realize with a sharp pang of fear, that you have no idea where you are.

And no one knows how to find you.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to get to your feet, the roar of the river loud in your ears, but only succeeded in rising to your knees before you slide in the mud, your skirts-heavy with water-tangle around your legs, and your weakened body collapses back down.

You glance around for a stick, or a branch, or a tree to heave yourself up with, but you're dead weight, and there's nothing in sight.

Tears gather, hot and frustrated, and you scream into the clouds overhead, raging at the storm, at your stupidity, at this asinine life and role you've been thrust into.

You duck your head against the wind and rain, and stare at your muddied, bloodied hands and skirts, the tears starting to drip from your eyes without your permission.

It makes you even angrier.

"Fuck." You growl out, swiping at your cheeks, smearing the mud around along with the tears. You let your head fall back and scream louder once more, "Fuck!"

You don't know how long you sit there, defeated, in the mud beside the river, before you hear a faint sound in the distance that makes your ears perk.

It's the sound of hooves.

Without thinking, you cup your hands around your mouth and start to cry out, hoping it's a hunter or servant stumbling upon you in their trip through the woods, "Help! Someone please help!"

No one comes, and your pleas die in your throat, along with your hope.

Foolish. Stupid. It was probably just your abandoned mare passing by in her frenzy whipped up by the storm.

And then, a large dark horse-much too large to be your own-appears at the edge of the clearing, cantering toward you, and everything inside of you instantly grows warm with relief at the sight of the rider upon its back.

Minho leaps off the horse before it comes to a full stop, his boots sinking into the mud as he slides to a stop beside you, instantly dropping to his knees next to you, ignorant to the thick mud staining his breeches.

"Minho." His name comes out on a strained whisper, and you're crying again.

You expect to see anger on his face when he looks at you, the emotion he sports the most around you-irritation maybe, at your stupidity, at not telling him where you were going, at blowing off your mother-but instead, you're caught off guard by the sheer panic in his dark eyes, the relieved, almost scared, pull of his lips.

"Are you hurt?" He asks you instantly, voice hoarse and frantic, his eyes roving down the length of your body, as if to check your condition, and his hands clutch your upper arms, holding you in place, the strength of his fingers making you wince.

"Not vitally." You reply, and Minho's eyes flick back up to your face at that, and you remember the blood probably coating your skin.

"Your head-" He starts to say, reaching up to swipe a careful thumb across the gash that must be there, and you resist the urge to close your eyes, lean into the warm comfort of his touch.

"It barely hurts." You whisper back, and it's the truth. Your ribs and ankle are warring to take the place of highest ache currently. "My ankle though-"

Minho's gaze goes down to your ankle, buried in the deep mud, as if he can see what's ailing you through the layers of skirts tangled around your legs.

He seems to consider for a moment, and then he stands, and before you can protest, he pulls you up easily so you're cradled in his arms.

"Minho-" You gasp out fearfully, your arms going around his neck tightly in impulse.

"I won't drop you." He assures you, face serious, eyes dark. His gaze roves slowly across your face, as if searching for something. "Do you trust me?"

Without a second thought, you nod.

He almost smiles, but it's strained, and fraught with concern. "Good. There's a small, stocked hunting cabin nearby that the estate's game warden uses during the summer. We'll head there until we can wait out the storm."

He glances up at the tumultuous sky with narrowed eyes, the rain pelting his face, dripping off the heavy dark waves of his hair, and another round of lightning flashes overhead.

You bury into the safety of his chest without thinking, and Minho's arms tighten slightly around you.

You think he presses a barely noticeable kiss against your wet dirty hair, but it's probably just your imagination.

"Let's go." He murmurs, and heads off into the shelter of the quickly darkening trees, you still held carefully in his arms.

********************************************************************************

It doesn't take Minho long to get a small fire going in the hearth of the tiny cabin, and then he turns to you, face half in light, half in shadow, and motions to your drenched petticoats.

"You need to take those off. You'll get sick."

"I'm fine." You start to protest, but a violent shudder goes through you before you can finish, proving his point, and he stares at you pointedly.

Still, you return the look stubbornly, and finally, Minho lets out a long sigh, standing up from the fire and heading to a dresser in the corner.

He tosses a pair of breeches and a tunic into your lap without really looking, and says firmly, "I'll wait outside," before turning and leaving without another word.

You stare down at the dry clothes in your hands, debating on resisting, just to piss Minho off, but another shiver wracks through your body, and you decide in the moment, it's better off to be warm than stubborn.

Slipping out of your heavy, wet clothing, you slide the dry clothing on quickly, warm now from the fire, and immediately feel ten times better.

Minho was right, but you'll never admit it.

"I'm finished." You call out into the silence, and you don't know if he's heard you, but a minute later, he reappears through the front door, letting a burst of wind in with him, dripping rain onto the floor.

He crouches down beside the fire, warming his hands, and gives you a once over before glancing to your pile of wet clothing on the floor, already puddling.

Seeming satisfied, he turns back to the glowing fire.

"You didn't have to go outside." You mutter sullenly beneath your breath, curling your knees to your chest and scooting as close to the fire as you can allow. "Shutting your eyes would've sufficed. I know you don't think of me like that anyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho tenses, but it's gone so quickly that you think you've imagined it.

"Think of you like what?" He questions emotionlessly, eyes never leaving the flames.

You shrug. "A woman. An interest. Someone other than your job."

"Mm." Minho muses, oddly blank for the moment at hand, not even deigning to look at you. "And who told you that? Your mother perhaps? Or maybe one of your maids?"

You feel anger curl, hot and tight, in the pit of your stomach at his indifference.

"No one had to tell me. It's always on your face." You spit back, fire lacing your tone. "You've never treated me with anything other than irritation, or boredom, or apathy in all the time we've known each other, all the time you've been saddled with me."

Minho tongues his cheek, and his fists clench in his lap, and then he turns, staring at you hard, fire reflected in his own dark gaze now.

You note with a start that he's not wearing his usual armor. You don't think you've ever just seen him in a tunic and breeches in all the time you've known him. Your mother must have thrown an absolute fit about your disappearance to have him leaving the castle without so much as a chest plate.

"It's a mask." He remarks coldly, his words tight and low. "A necessary evil of the job, but a mask nonetheless."

You hold him, stare for stare, and refuse to back down, your own anger growing hotter and brighter by the second.

"I don't see why it's necessary to treat me with such disdain-" You start to retort back, but Minho cuts you off with a harsh wave of his hand and a flash of his eyes.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about, princess." His voice trembles with fury, and he forces a harsh breath out through his nose, as if he's willing himself to remain still and not wrap his hands around your throat. "That mask that I've worked so hard to curate? That you seem to harbor such hatred for? That mask protects us both."

He takes in another long breath, and unclenches his hands in his lap, but his gaze never leaves your face, and his expression is darkened in shadow as the flames flicker across his features.

When he speaks again, his voice is resigned, low, barely a frustrated murmur.

"If I were to allow myself to ever, ever explore the depths of my feelings for you, not only would I lose my job and most likely my head, but I would ruin you."

You stare at him, anger slowly fading, as you try to comprehend what he's telling you.

Outside, the wind rails against the small cabin and the rain thunders on the roof.

Minho sighs and glances away from you now, something sad flickering briefly across his dark eyes, no longer filled with fire.

"I will not do that to you. I would never risk it." A muscle ticks in his jaw. "But I also feel I owe it to you to be honest, and as much as I'd like to stay safely behind the mask, it's also not very conducive to vulnerability."

The fire crackles in the tense silence between the two of you, and you finally let out the breath you've been holding, confusion and exhaustion quickly replacing the anger, dampening and heavying your bones.

"I don't understand." You whisper out, because your heart is going a million miles a minute, and you're trying very hard not to focus on the soft curl of Minho's hair now that he's growing dry beside the fire.

Minho shifts slightly, and suddenly, his thigh is brushing against yours, warm and solid through the thin cotton of the pants you wear.

Everything inside of your body tightens.

"(Y/N)-" Minho says softly, gently, reaching out to take your chin in his fingers, and you resist the urge to pull away, avoiding his gaze instead.

You don't think you've ever heard him call you by your given name. Or speak so gently before.

"Don't say my name like that." You whisper out, voice hoarse, and try to ignore the way Minho's skin feels against your own, giving you butterflies.

He regards you seriously, tilting his head slightly to pin you beneath his intent gaze.

"Like what?" He questions back, just as soft, and his fingers curl against your skin, tugging your chin up to finally make you look him in the eye.

"Like you'd willingly cross oceans and tear nations apart just to keep me safe." You whisper in response, voice growing hoarse and dry in your throat, your stomach fluttering pleasantly now that is gaze is directly on you, roving your face.

He lets his hand drop slowly from your face, but his eyes never leave your own.

His mouth softens, and something goes weirdly warm in the depths of his dark eyes as he continues to stare at you.

"Don't look at me like that." You demand quietly, voice growing in confidence, as you stare him back down, your chin trembling a bit and the fight not to drop your eyes to the full curve of his lips growing harder by the second.

"Like what?" He questions again, voice rough and soft, caressing your skin as if he had reached out and touched you.

You take in a shuddering breath, and press a hand to your wildly pounding heart just beneath your sternum, as if you can will it to quiet just by your touch.

"Like you lov-" You start to say, but Minho cuts you off as his mouth covers your own.

You gasp, but it's lost in the kiss, and you're so caught off guard, your mind goes blank for a moment, but Minho is patient and cautious, and soon, you respond to him in kind, growing used to the feel of his impossibly soft mouth moving in time with your own.

You've never kissed anyone-not like this.

You weren't allowed to even be alone with a man, let alone experience anything that Minho's offering you now.

But suddenly, you find that you're starving for more.

You part your lips experimentally beneath his, and Minho responds with a low hum in his throat, his fingers tangling into your damp hair, his tongue slipping in to the gap you've created, prodding, exploring, but never pushing.

Gods, you feel like you're on fire. Is it possible to catch fire just from someone's touch?

You don't know, but you hope it never stops.

Minho pulls back from you, his lips red and slick, his eyes dark and blown, and he stares at you for a moment, as if you're the most precious, pretty thing he's ever seen, even though you're sure you look a mess.

Your hair is nothing more than a rat's nest from the rain, and you're wearing the games keeper's old clothes, skin still covered in mud from your fall earlier, but Minho regards you in this moment like you're the moon goddess hanging the stars in the sky.

Minho heaves in a laborious breath, and then another.

"Tell me to stop."

You stare back at him, studying the sharp lines of his face, the way his lips are pinker than before, flushed and rosy, the tanned, sharp lines of his collar bone and upper chest where it dips into the deep v of his shirt.

Do you want him to stop? You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"Tell me to stop." Minho repeats, slower this time, his hands finding yours where they rest in your lap. He leans down to meet your gaze. "And I will. We'll never speak of this again."

Do you want that? Do you want to go back to cold looks and apathetic glances and masks? Or do you want this? Do you want warm fires and hands on your skin and Minho?

In a bold move that surprises even yourself, you lean forward and press your lips to his.

He palms the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, almost in his lap, and your whole body tingles at the feeling.

You part just enough to catch your breath and get your words out.

"Don't stop."

Minho's eyes flash and then he's smashing his lips against yours once more, devouring you fully, and you can't help the slight mewl that escapes into his open mouth as his tongue dances with your own.

He tugs you down beside him onto the rug that lies in front of the fire, and doesn't stop kissing you.

You feel his hand slip beneath the loose material of the large tunic you wear, and you whimper as his fingers stroke your skin, along the curve of your hip, across your ribs, until he can palm your breast.

"Fuck." Minho swears as you gasp and arch up into him at the foreign contact, and you're not really sure what you're doing, but it feels right.

He puts his free hand beside your head, propping himself above you, and his gaze roams hungrily down the lines of your body, before he seems to shake himself and drag his eyes back up to your own.

"Are you sure?" He questions softly, and his hand stops its exploratory motions, and you have to bite your tongue so you don't beg him to continue.

"Yes." You nod, ignoring the breathless catch to your voice, and reach up to run your fingers through his hair.

It's so soft. You've always wondered what it felt like

"I'm sure."

Something resolute flashes across his gaze, and he leans back over to kiss you, but it's short and sweet and gentle this time, before he pulls back and moves to the pants currently bunched around your waist, his fingers settling there as he once again gives you another questioning look.

You bite your lip and nod, and he tugs the thin material down your body and tosses it aside.

You're wearing nothing now but the large tunic, and you fight the urge to squirm or try to cover up as Minho returns, staring down at you, his eyes roving your newly bared skin as if he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

"Fuck-" He repeats again, leaning over to press kisses to the now bare curvature of your hip, down across your lower belly, dangerously close to where you suddenly feel very hot in a strange, but altogether pleasant way. "-you're so beautiful."

"Minho." You whimper out, as his slides a large, warm palm up your bare thigh, and his fingers tease where his mouth just was only seconds before.

Is it supposed to feel like this? Is this why they'd been keeping it from you? Because it's so damn good?

"Easy, love." Minho murmurs against your stomach, as he inches his fingers lower and lower, until they touch the strange warmth, sending an electric jolt through your body that has you shuddering and crying out.

He flicks his gaze to yours, and something serious resides there.

"It might hurt the first time." He cautions gently, and you nod dazedly, because you don't really know, but you'd heard whisperings from the castle staff, the maids, that told as much. "I'm going to prep you, okay? But tell me if you want me to stop and I will."

You take in a deep steadying breath, and your hands clench into the fabric of the rug on either side of you. "Okay."

Minho presses another kiss to your lower stomach, and carefully slides a finger in.

You gasp, because it feels like an intrusion, and it stings, just a bit, your body tensing, muscles fighting, but Minho is there, leaning up to press tender kisses to your lips, along with low, flowing praises in your ear.

"Try to relax." He murmurs, and you force yourself to listen to him, slowly loosening every muscle in your body one by one.

Minho's dark eyes flicker with something akin to warm pride at your obedience. "Good girl, love." He eases another finger into you, and you fight the urge to tense up again. "That's it."

It's oddly intimate, Minho talking you through it, and when you finally feel like you've reached a space of comfort, and maybe even pleasure, writhing beneath him with each exploratory, careful probe of his fingers, you find yourself begging for more.

"Please, Minho-" You whine out, and it feels sinful to experience this much pleasure just at the hands of another.

And then, he disrobes, between your legs, and you feel everything inside of you tense up again at the sight of him.

You've never been with a man. Are they always that large? And hard? And intimidating?

Fear crawls up your throat, alongside a small flare of curiosity, and you find yourself reminding yourself to breathe.

Minho must sense your sudden panic, because he leans over you once more, and you try to force yourself to focus on the lines of his chest, the scars that mark the tan skin there.

"Do you trust me?" He asks suddenly, and you snap your gaze back up to his, the fear melting away at the reassuring look in his eyes, the soft lines around his mouth.

"Yes." You whisper back, nodding without even having to think, and Minho leans forward to press his lips to yours once more.

When he presses into you, you gasp, and your body goes tight once more at the bigger intrusion, and it's painful, sharp and foreign.

You start to feel the panic swell in your throat once more, gasping against Minho's lips, but then he's right there, murmuring comfort low in your ear, his hands stroking up your sides even as he pauses, just letting you be for a minute.

"You're doing so well, love." He breathes, and you force another muscle to relax, one by one, as he slips in a bit further. "So perfect for me."

You whimper as you feel him, all of him, but then most of the pain is gone, and suddenly, your entire body feels light and limp with pleasure.

"Minho-" You gasp out, body aligning with his, thoughts suddenly hazy and far away.

He grunts, low in the back of his throat, and the sound makes your legs feel like jelly. "Fucking perfect."

You shift slightly beneath him, and he groans in response, hands going down hard on either side of your head to support his weight, his muscles trembling.

"Fuck, don't-" He starts to say, his words bitten off by another low growl rumbling in his chest.

He glances up at you from beneath the dark wave of his hair, his chest heaving with breaths, lips parted.

"Don't move like that, love, unless you really want me to cross a line."

He rubs against you, and the friction has you mewling and arching up into the strong warmth of his body.

You grab his head and force his lips back down to yours.

"Cross all the lines, Minho."

********************************************************************************

You're lying beside the warmth of the fire, your head on Minho's chest, a fur throw thrown over both your naked bodies, the rain slowly dying to a light mist outside.

You don't know what time it is, you don't know if your mother has sent others out looking for the two of you, but with your hands idly combing across Minho's broad chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, your entire body achy and satiated, you find you don't really care.

"What's this one from?" You ask in a sleepy whisper, running your fingers along another of Minho's scars-this one a faded, shiny white line along the edge of his breastbone.

"You probably don't remember." He muses, as you cuddle closer to him, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You were barely five or six at the time."

"Which would make you not much older." You quip back teasingly.

"Yeah, a few years. I was probably ten?" Minho remembers, staring up at the ceiling, as he cards his fingers through your hair distractedly, remembering. "You had wandered away from your governess in the gardens. She was absolutely frantic. I found you at the edge of the woods, playing in the mud beside a stream."

You smile at the thought, because that does sound like you.

Minho chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest, and you turn your head to press a kiss to his bare pec as it flexes as he tightens his arms around you.

"You were buried in some pretty thick brambles, but you hadn't a care in the world. Completely oblivious to the angry, large thorns you had climbed through, surprisingly unscathed, to reach the mud patch. Offered me a mud pie, if I remember correctly."

You laugh and Minho shakes his head ruefully. "I climbed in and carried you out on my back. Sported a pretty nasty gash for a couple of days from one of the more vicious thorns."

He rubs absentmindedly at the small scar, and you cover his fingers with yours.

"Thank you." You murmur under the crackle of the fire, and Minho glances down at you.

"You don't have to thank me. It's always been my job to protect you."

You push yourself up on an elbow to stare down at him seriously. "I know. I'm not thanking you for that."

His brow arches in surprise. "Then what?"

You idly trail a finger down his cheekbone, studying the way the shifting firelight makes him look even more beautiful than before if that's possible.

"Thank you for keeping me safe. And for looking out for me. And showing me that there's more to life than just being stuck in a fancy cage."

Minho's eyes soften, and you lean over to kiss him sweetly.

He pulls you back down to his side, and you tuck yourself willingly against him, curling your body against his.

"Thank you, love, for never giving up on the person you knew I was behind the mask."

"You didn't make it easy." You tease sleepily, nuzzling against him.

Minho chuckles softly. "I know."

You close your eyes, the exhaustion making your body heavy, your mind blissfully quiet.

Tomorrow, you'll have to return and face your mother, and your gilded cage, and whatever else will be waiting for you back at the palace.

But tonight, you're content to enjoy all of this.

And tomorrow, no matter what, you'll face everything with Minho by your side.

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