Show Me | Older!Eddie x F!Virgin Reader
Anonymous asked: I loved your post about Eddie x virgin!reader so much💞Do you think you could write older!Eddie x virgin reader?
Anonymous asked: Inexperienced!reader giving Eddie a handjob and a blowjob for the first time?
Cw: ten-year age gap, sex toys, female masturbation, the reader is kinda a perv (oops), Eddie is also kinda a perv (oops), reader first time giving oral, reader first time having sex, pet names.
CW: 7.1k It's long again, I'm sorry! idk how to do short
Moving trucks have been parked in your neighbour's driveway for about two days. You had always liked the Kaminskys, but they were older and now moving to a retirement community. This is the second day of moving trucks, and the new owners are moving in today. You have yet to receive much information from the realtor regarding the new neighbours, but you hope they'll be pleasant. You had already baked something to welcome them to the neighbourhood, in hopes that it could be a younger family or couple. Perhaps someone closer to your age?
You moved to this town around three years back when you received your first job offer after completing your college degree. You had saved up enough money to buy a one-bedroom house for a very affordable price. Although it required some repairs, you were happy with it because it allowed you to decorate it according to your liking. You loved the neighbourhood even if you were the only twenty-five-year-old on the block.
As you looked out from behind your front rooms curtains, you could see the movers unloading a big moving truck. There was one person among them who really caught your attention. You had never seen him before. It was a small town and you lived in a quiet suburb by the water in the south of Michigan. Everyone knew everyone, and you hadn’t seen this man before.
He appeared to be in his mind to late 30s and had a muscular build. His brown wavy hair was tied back in a low bun that connected with the five o clock shadow in his face. He was wearing a tight black ribbed tank top that showcased the tattoos covering both his arms and hands. He was hot... Way too hot not to have not ever been seen or talked about in your small lakefront town. Upon further observation, it became apparent that he was not wearing the attire of a mover.
Oh my god. He must be the new neighbour.
“Please be single, please be single, please be single,” you chanted as you hastily went to your closet in search of an outfit that looked cute so that you could introduce yourself.
You took your time getting ready; he obviously needed time to unload, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him…. And whoever else might be moving in.
God, you hoped he didn’t have a wife or whatever.
You shook your head to get rid of your rambling internal thoughts. You took a deep breath and told yourself to chill the fuck out. You could do this. You’ll go over in your sweet little sundress, introduce yourself, and offer him the chocolate cake you baked…
You weren't as excited as you were last night while baking it, now you were just nervous. You imagined a sweet family moving in with a newborn - a couple your age with whom you could become really close friends. But now, you are faced with a hot and sexy bad boy neighbour who may or may not have a wife and kids. Maybe he wasn’t into women at all?! That would suck. This situation is making you feel extremely anxious and overwhelmed due to your lack of interactions with the opposite sex.
To say you haven’t had a lot of experience was an understatement. You went through high school without a boyfriend. You went through college without a boyfriend. You weren’t into drunken hookups with random strangers for your first sexual experience. You went on many first dates, but nothing ever came of those many first dates. So you waited. And waited.
You thought that maybe you would meet somebody through work and then it would happen, but you’ve been so caught up with working and renovating your house your social life has taken a step back.
Of course, you wanted to find someone. To finally be with someone in a sexual way. To give yourself wholly to someone. Nothing ever went past kissing and or being felt up. But that was the extent of your sexual experience with another person.
Your sexual experience with yourself, on the other hand, was pretty standard. You've got your toys to get by. The first time you gave yourself a real orgasm from the vibrator you bought, it changed your world. Slowly, you worked your way up to toys you could insert once you got a little braver. So technically, yes, you hadn't slept with another person, but now you were more than ready to explore and get out there. You wanted that connection with someone.
So, about half an hour after the moving truck left, you worked up the courage to walk over and knock on the front door. You gave yourself a once-over before leaving. You wore a white sundress with tiny red cherries that fell mid-thigh, your hair was pulled back with a matching red hairband, and you had a fresh, subtle makeup look.
With a deep breath, you held that cake with all your might to ensure you didn't drop it and you simply knocked on the door.
"Just a second," You heard a deep voice call out. A few long seconds later, the door opens, and you're face to face with a wet, shirtless man in just a towel. As you suspected, it was the man you saw unloading the boxes.Fucking hell, He was attractive, with a toned body covered in tattoos. Your gaze drifted to his towel hanging low on his hips. -"Oh shit, sorry, let me just uh- I'll be right back," He sputtered as he realized he was basically naked in front of a young woman, most likely his neighbour.
"Sorry, I can come back later!" to try to fight off the blood rushing to your face.
"No- no, just, uh-hang on!' You hear him yell from inside the house. He came back out wearing black sweatpants which he had cut himself to make into shorts and a plain black tee shirt.
"Hi." He smiles as he walks back onto the front porch where you stood.
"Hi, I'm sorry. I should have waited a little longer to come introduce myself." You laugh uncomfortably.
"Nah, it's okay; not every day I'm greeted by a pretty girl with a cake." He smirks.
"What? Oh yea, I uh- just wanted to welcome you and uh your...wife?"
He shakes his head no.
"Your partner?"
Another no.
"Kid?" you try one last time. And he smiles with a chuckle.
"Anyway, I baked a cake just to say welcome." You shoved the plate into his chest, almost smushing it into his shirt.
"Thank you, that's very kind."
"You're welcome. So, um, I guess I'll get going; leave you to it." You turn to walk down the steps.
"Wait! What's your name?" you wince. You're so nervous you didn't even introduce yourself.
"I'm sorry." You giggled uncomfortably.
"I'm Eddie Munson," he smiled. His smile was infectious; you smiled back and gave him your name.
"Pretty name for a pretty girl."
"Um- thanks." You shy into yourself.
"So you said you live next door?"
"Yeah, uh, I'm just over at forty-four." You motion over your shoulder to your house.
"You live there with your folks?" He cocks his head.
"No, Mr. Munson. It's all mine, mine alone." You giggle.
"You don't look old enough," he squints suspiciously.
"I would like to have you know I am twenty-five." You say proudly.
"Oh well, pardon me." He smiled. This made Eddie feel much better about being so attracted to you. God forbid you were still living at home with your parents. He would feel like a total creep.
"Anyways, I uh should get going," you point over your shoulder.
"Oh, ok, well, um, once I'm done setting up, please stop by whenever. I could use a familiar face around... being new to town and all."
"Sure thing, it was nice meeting you. Mr. Munson." you smile.
"Please call me Eddie!" He called as you walked back over to your house,
"Enjoy the cake!" You give a small wave.
"Oh, I will." Before you turn back, you watch as he takes a finger, dips it in the icing, and puts it in his mouth without breaking eye contact... you hadn't witnessed anything so sensual. You almost trip over your sandals as you scurry back into your house.
All of your interactions with Eddie over the next week were flirtatious. He managed to make your heart beat faster than any man had before.
After a week and a half, Eddie finally organized the house. His furniture was set up, and most of the moving boxes had been emptied. He would see you when you came home from work in the evenings as he sat on his porch with a cigarette.
"Hey, Eddie," You would blush,
"Hey, sweetheart" He would smile back without fail.
If anyone else were to call you that, you'd want to clock them; however, coming out of Eddie's mouth? Somehow, it made you swoon.
"Hey, um, you don't have to, but would you want to join me for dinner? Tonight? I am sure you're exhausted from unpacking, and I'm a pretty good cook... unless you hated my cake so feel free to say no.-" You rambled on.
"I'd love to join you for dinner. That's very sweet of you to offer." This was so new for Eddie. Neighbours being neighbourly. He was always the outcast in his town growing up. Now, at thirty-five, he is finally saved up enough to get out of town, start fresh, and open his own autobody shop. Have an actual house of his own, not that he wasn't grateful for his uncle and the trailer park.
Here, he could be anyone he wanted to be. He met some of the townspeople, and they seemed nice enough when he told them he would be taking over for Mr. Sanders's mechanic shop.
"Okay, great! I'm just going to get changed, I'll leave the door open; feel free to come in and make yourself at home whenever you're ready." You motioned to him and his cigarette."
"Thanks, Sunshine." He smiled that smile you couldn't overcome, and you rushed inside to find a n outfit that didn’t scream ‘I work for corporate America.’
You made your way up to your loft, which doubled as your bedroom that overlooked the living area and kitchen. You were in the middle of stripping when you heard the front door open; only then did you realize that when you told him to make himself at home, you had forgotten the minor detail that he would be able to see you changing. You scurried into your walk-in closet with a squeak so he wouldn't have dinner and a show.
"Sunshine?" He asked, walking into your home.
"I'll be down in a minute!" You yell as you scramble to find your jean shorts.
"Take your time." He walks around your home, observing your picture gallery.
"Help yourself to a beer or whatever you want in the fridge."
"Thanks."
As you walk back down your stairs, you see Eddie sitting on your couch, beer in hand. Man-spread with an arm around the top of the sofa. You wished you could be by his side, arm around you instead.
"Good, you made yourself at home."
"Well, Sweets, I am a good listener." He tilted his head back, taking a swig from the bottle. You watched his Adam's apple bob in his long throat, and you thought about what it would feel like to kiss it.
"Any dietary restrictions?" You ask, shaking yourself from your dirty thoughts.
"Nah..." He shakes his head. "So, how did you swing a place like this at your age?"
It felt like a dig; maybe he just saw you as a kid... you would change his mind on that.
"Um, well, I got it on foreclosure; you should have seen it; it was a mess, and everyone wanted to tear it down, but I had a vision. It took a few years, but it's finally finished. I had some help from my grandmother's inheritance, but it wasn't much. So I worked my ass off, and here we are" you spoke as you got together the pots and ingredients.
"Looks like you're doing well for yourself" He smiled as he watched you bend over, unintentionally showing off your cute plump ass.
"Yeah, I guess. So what do you do?" you turn and catch him staring at your behind.
"Well, I just bought the auto shop off Mr. Sander's, so if you're ever in any car trouble, I'm your guy." He smiles.
"Good to know; I know nothing when it comes to my Ruby."
"Ruby?"
"Yeah, my car, she's red, so I named her Ruby."
"That's cute; it suits you."
You don't say much after you start cooking; you are in the zone, ensuring everything is perfect.
"So, what's a girl like you do around here for fun?"
"A girl like me?"
"Yeah, young, beautiful." He takes a bite like what he said was obvious.
"Umm well... work mostly. We have block parties, it is all families around here; my friends all live in the city." You take a sip of beer to settle your nerves.
"This is really good." He motions to the plate of food in front of him.
"You know what? We are having our town's Fourth of July party on Saturday. Everyone goes, you should come! I can show you around more, introduce you to more people, and you can spread the word about your new business opening up next week."
"Yeah, I'd really like that."
After Eddie had thanked you for the meal, he stayed a few more hours; you enjoyed his company. He respectfully kissed you on the cheek goodnight, and you made your way straight up to your room with your toys because you couldn't stand it any longer.
Eddie made you feel like your body was on fire. When he would lightly graze his fingertips along your bare arm or when he would compliment you. His voice alone made your lower tummy tingle.
You pulled out your trusty rabbit that never failed you. You felt dirty, but Eddie had you so worked up you needed relief.
As you lay on your bed, you strip yourself down to nothing. You think about how Eddie’s big, strong hands would tease your body. Working yourself up in your mind. You got wetter by the second.
You imagined how his voice would sound as you imagined the filthy words that would come out of that perfectly plump mouth. That mouth you wanted all over your body.
You imagined, pictured, and played a movie of Eddie and you in your head until you got so worked up that you couldn’t take it anymore. Your clit was screaming at you to be touched. You turned on the toy, it came to life, and your body quivered with anticipation. Your body sprang to life as you slowly worked the toy around your wet hole and then plunged in the dildo. You went deeper and deeper until the little vibrator at the top of the toy hit your clit.
Your body arched up as you felt the waves of pleasure wash through your veins. You pumped the toy in and out of your wet pussy, thinking about your older neighbour. How hot he looked in nothing but that towel when you first met. How your pussy clenched at the sight of his happy trail. How his muscles formed a V travelling right to where you wanted most. You could see his bulge under the white fluffy bath towel wrapped around his waist. You thought about how good his flesh would feel against yours as he pumped his cock inside of you like how you were with your toy.
“Oh, Eddie!” You moaned, forgetting your window was open for the summer breeze you loved to feel in the night.
Your free hand travels to your breast; you tweak your sensitive nipple and moan out again. Your white transparent curtains fluttered with the wind, but you were too wrapped up in your fantasy to notice.
When Eddie got home he went straight into his new bedroom and opened his window because the evening breeze was blowing. He then got ready for bed and was reading when he heard his name. His head shot up, thinking he was hearing things. Then, he listened to another sultry moan. He took off his reading glasses and got up to investigate. His eyes shot wide open as he saw your silhouette through your curtains. He saw your the outline of your body, how your hand worked where he wanted to put his cock the most.
It was wrong, it was so wrong, but now Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of the image in front of him. He tried walking away, and he almost did, but when he heard your sweet voice moan his name again, his feet were planted on the ground. This only confirmed that you were as attracted to him as he was to you. He had thought so tonight at dinner but now he would dare to go for it. Ask you out for real.
Your body felt like it was on fire the way the toy vibrated throughout your body. The pressure kept building and building until you were on the brink. Your body seized as your pussy clamped down on the dildo inside of you. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the waves of pleasure washed over your entirety. You caught your breath and knew that Eddie was the one you wanted to be with. He was the one; if he could make you feel this good in your fantasies, you can only imagine how it would be for real.
Eddie was nervous, even though you had confirmed, unintentionally, that you were attracted to him; it had been a while since he asked out about a girl he liked, especially when he was about to ask out one who was ten years younger.
Saturday couldn't come soon enough. You had asked Eddie as a friend, but Eddie would treat it as a date, and he would make sure you knew it was a date. You were excited to spend time with Eddie again after your dinner. It had only been four days, but the anticipation was creeping in. You were so surprised when he showed up at your door with flowers.
"Eddie, you didn't have to do this, but thank you!" you smiled as you sniffed the daisies.
"Of course I did; what kind of date would I be if I showed up empty-handed?" He smirked as he stepped into your house as you went to get a vase for your flowers.
“A date, huh?” You smirked over your shoulder.
“Yes. A date”
“Okay,” you smile as you take his hand in yours and lock up your house.
Eddie was smitten; he had you on his arm, and he felt like the king of the world. You were also smitten. Finally, you were on a date with someone who you were very interested in.
Eddie was funny and charming, and you found out he was really nerdy, but it was only much more endearing. You learned how he played guitar and was in a high school garage band that landed a few gigs at the local bar. The more you got to know him, the more you wanted to be with him.
Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off you as the night went on, and you enjoyed it. When he wasn't holding your hand, he was holding your waist; if he wasn't holding your waist, his arm was draped over your shoulder.
When the fireworks started, you gazed up at the sky together, wrapped up in one another warmth as the cool breeze of the lake came through. Halfway through the show, he went to kiss the top of your head but you had moved to look up at him, and you caught his lips with yours. Just like the fireworks in the sky, there were fireworks between the both of you. When you both pulled back, you could see in his eyes that he felt it, too.
You finished off the night hand in hand as he walked you home. He kissed you good night like a perfect gentleman, and you bid one another a goodnight.
You were so giddy and excited about Eddie. The more you went out, the more time you wanted to spend with him. You were finishing your third official date when you asked him to join you inside your place for a nightcap.
Things moved quickly once you settled inside. Your drinks were hardly touched. Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off you.m as you made out like a couple of horny teenagers in the couch.
Your mind was racing. Why hadn’t you told him you’re a virgin? You invited him in. He’s probably expecting sex… oh god, what if he’s turned off by the fact that you’re not experienced?
“We can slow down if you want.” he pulled away; he had sensed something was off. You became stiff and seemed like you weren't into the makeout anymore.
“I’m sorry. I’m just a bit nervous… I’m -uh just out of practice…” you shied.
“That’s okay we can take it slow.” He stroked your cheek.
“Are you sure?” You twiddled with his fingers that are resting on your thigh.
“Of course. We can go at your speed.”
“I need to tell you something.” You looked down at the floor. He nodded his head but then spoke because you weren’t looking at him.
“I’ve never… I uh. Shit. I’ve never been with anyone before.”
“What?” Eddie was dumbfounded. How? There was no way he heard you correctly.
“I’m a virgin.” You pull away, but Eddie reaches for you.
“oh wow. I wasn't expecting that... uh- but that’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” he comforts you.
“But I do want to,” you rush out. “It’s not like I’m waiting for marriage; it just hasn’t happened…”
“We will go at your pace” Eddie smiled.
“Thank you”
You shift closer to him, wanting to kiss him again, especially after being so cool with everything.
You leaned in to kiss him again, but he was hesitant.
“You sure, sunshine?”
“Yea” you sigh into his mouth.
Eddie grabs the back of your head so he can pull you in closer.
Your hand rested on his knee. As you continued to kiss him your hand bravely traveled up his thigh.
“Woah, hold on, sunshine.” He rested his hand on yours to stop moving.
Oh my gosh, this is it. He had come to his senses. He’s rejecting you.
"You sure you want to go there? Because if we keep going, I will want to do things to you, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable if you're not ready."
"I promise. I've waited so long for the right guy, and I'm ready, trust me." If he only knew about your little collection of toys upstairs.
"We don't have to go all the way tonight okay?"
"Yeah, okay." You nodded your head with anticipation. Okay, this was good. He accepted you, and he still wanted to fool around.
You returned to making out on your couch, and the heavy petting ensued. This time, Eddie didn't stop your advances as your hand travelled up his thigh to the crease of his leg and up his crotch. Your hand felt around his bulge through his jeans. There was no denying that he was turned on. The way his cock strained against the thick black fabric should have been illegal. It must have been uncomfortable for him. You just had to let it spring free.
You shifted your weight forward to get closer to him. To feel him. His thighs were thick and defined. You could also feel how hard they were. Your mind wandered to how they would feel to sit on.
Before you knew it, your body was moving before your brain could catch up. One leg draped over his, and you were mounted on Eddie's leg. His deliciously thick leg. You just did what felt right; as you sat down on Eddie, the pressure situated onto your pussy felt so delicious. Your hips started rocking back and forth, building up a rhythm.
You heard and felt Eddie moan in your mouth, and this only enticed you on to keep going, your body driven by pleasure.
"That feel good, baby?" He cooed in your ear before he started kissing down your neck.
"Mmmmhmmm." You nodded frantically, eyes shut, not daring to look at him.
"Good girl, keep going." You felt his big hands grip the top of your ass as he helped you rock your hips against his jeans. The pressure in your lower stomach was building and building; you could feel your orgasm as close.
“Fuck that’s it, use me”
Fuck, you haven't gotten off by dry-humping something in years. Not since you found your first vibrator.
"You close, baby girl?" He whispered against your lips as you kept kissing him. A muffled yes was said, and before you could continue to speak, waves of pleasure washed over your whole body. It stared from your clit and radiated up like it travelled through your bloodstream straight to your head.
Your movements slowed, and you managed to catch your breath; Eddie was still hard as a rock under his jeans, and there was no way you weren't going to help out with that.
You mimicked the way Eddie kissed your neck on Eddie. Your tongue moved the way he moved on your neck. Your hands worked in tandem with your mouth. Your fingers worked to open his jeans as you kept kissing on sucking on Eddie's long tattooed neck.
"You don't have to, Sugar," he panted, but you could hear in his tone that he was excited. He wanted this as much as you did... maybe even more.
"But I want to, Eddie." You batted your eyelashes, and you pulled away to let him see your playful pout.
You've watched enough porn and heard enough of your friend's stories to know what you're doing. Sure, the first and only time you saw a dick in real life was in your third year at uni when you tried to go down on the guy you were out with but then got scared, and he walked you home... but you got this! You're an adult woman who knows what she wants, and what she wants is right at her fingertips.
Your little pep talk in your head must have been evident on your face because Eddie started speaking again.
"You done this before?" He asks gently, not judgingly. You shake your head slightly in return.
"You want me to guide you?"
You nodded your head yes. You wanted to be good and do it right.
"Kay," He smiled.
Eddie told you how to work your hands slowly, teasingly at first, not too much but not too little. And no sudden sharp yanking movements at first... You listened, and when you were ready, you moved his boxers down, and his cock was released. It was so big, so much bigger than you thought it would be. The one you saw was a least half the size of Eddie's.
"Oh my god," You gasped.
"It's okay, sugar; he won't bite." Eddie kissed you to make you feel more comfortable. Your hand travelled back to his cock so you could grip it in your hand, not too hard, but not too gently like Eddie had said. The tip produced a bead of precum that was already leaking out, which was a good sign. Your fingers brushed over the head, and Eddie sucked in a breath.
"Did I hurt you?" you dropped his cock from your release.
"No, quite the opposite, baby."
"Oh," you giggled. You picked up where you left off, stroking his cock in your grip, teasing it and feeling it. You were surprised by how velvety the skin felt.
As you continued to make up with Eddie, cock in hand. You suddenly felt braver, and the need to have him in your mouth grew stronger. You slinked your way off the couch so you were sat in front of him on your knees, eyes and mouth level with his behemoth that he calls his cock.
“You sure, little one?" He asked, and you nodded your head with a smile. You moved before your surge of confidence broke.
You sat up a little more and moved his cock towards you, and tentatively licked the tip. You continued your kitten licks a few more times before enveloping his tip in your warm, wet mouth. You peered up at Eddie through your long lashes; he looked like he was enjoying himself, so you must have been doing something right? You swirled your tongue along the tip before dipping you're head down lower to take more of him. Eddie let out a moan, and this made you smile. Yes, you were doing something right. So you continued, lower and lower.
You'd be lying if you didn't say you've tested your gag reflex on one of the dildos you own; where is the fun in that? But now that it was a real mans cock in your mouth, you understood the hype about giving head. You genuinely liked it so far, but that's probably due to Eddie and how comfortable he makes you feel.
"You sure you've never done this before?" He managed to get out.
"uhhhhuuhhhhhh" You moned against his cock and that only jerked Eddie's hip up into you.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that just felt really good, baby" He stroked your head before gripping the back of your hair like he was resisting to push you further down.
"Fuck baby, you're way too good at this to be a virgin."
"You calling me a Liar, Mr. Munson?" You popped off his cock and started jerking him off with your hand again.
"No, no, baby, shit, I mean, ohhh, fuck you're very good for this being your first time."
"Thank you" You put the tip back in your mouth as you sucked on it, but your hands continued to work the shaft.
Eddie didn't last much longer; he told you to take your mouth off but continue with your hands, not wanting to ruin his chance of being with you again if you tasted cum for the first time and you were disgusted. So you listened, wanting to please him; you watched as the white liquid spurted from his shaft and ran down your hands. It was warm and all you could picture was what it would look like leaking out of your pussy.
"Let me get you a towel" You got up when his cock finally stopped spazming.
You walked back over with a warm wet dishtowel, but not before you took his softening cock in your mouth to wipe up the access.
"Jesus Christ," Eddie wasn't expecting that. It was like he had awoken something inside you.
"I wanted to know what you tasted like," you surged before you handed him the towel.
"You, little minx, are going to be the death of me."
Eddie and you had been going out for two months since he moved in, and it had been a week since you gave Eddie your first blow job. It's been on your mind for the majority of the week. So when he asked you out again on a fourth date, you were very excited to see how that one would end. What more would the two of you explore?
Eddie cooked for you; he had a nice romantic dinner in his kitchen. His place was finally fully unpacked, and he gave you a grand official tour of his house afterward.
"You going to show me your bedroom?" You teased.
"You would love that, wouldn't you?" He teased back.
You headed up to his room. You walk inside, and it's pretty spacious; he has a small window off to the side that looks into your house. You stroll around the beige-carpeted floors to see if your suspicions are correct. He does, in fact, have a direct view of your bedroom.
"Ever spy on me, Mr. Munson?"
"mmmmm once or twice." He chuckles as his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body.
"Really?" You got a bit nervous; what had he seen?
"Well, a man can't help his curiosity when he hears a sweet voice moaning his name in the middle of the night."
This makes you gasp. He had to be joking! But then again, your windows are close together, and you love leaving them open...
"Don't worry, sweetheart." He turned you to face him, but you buried yourself into his chest, too embarrassed to look at him. "It's flattering.”
"Eddie" you moaned into his chest."
"I'm serious, knowing you want an old guy like me?"
"You're not even that old," you mumbled.
"Please look at me, Sunshine." He tilted your head up so he could gaze into your eyes. You tried to fight it, but you ultimately gave in.
"I'm embarrassed," You pout.
"Don't be; you don't even need to be embarrassed about your fantasies with me. Understood?"
"Okay." You shy away meekly.
“You want to tell me your fantasies? What you were thinking about when you touched yourself all alone in that bed of yours?”
“I-i-want…“
“It’s okay. I know you’re nervous, sweetheart. You can tell me.”
You paused, took a deep breath and closed your eyes.
“I want to be taken care of,” you whispered.
“And”
“I want you to be the one to do it…”
"We can definitely arrange that," he said before taking your lips. His tongue parted your lips, making its way into your mouth. He was an excellent kisser. You were getting wet just by his kisses alone.
Eddie backs you up and leads you toward the king-size bed. Your knees give out when they hit the soft mattress, and you fall back, dragging Eddie down with you.
"You gonna let me take care of you, baby?"
"Please?"
"That's my girl." He smiled into the kiss before getting up so you could shimmy back onto the bed so you could rest on the pillows.
Eddie's mouth found yours again as his hands travelled up your body, feeling every inch of your skin. You felt like your body was on fire; the heat radiating between the two of you was evident.
"Can I take this off?" He played with the hem of your sundress.
"You can do whatever you want"
"That's a big promise, little one, gotta be careful with making promises like that." he cocks his head.
"I just want you." You go to take off your dress, but Eddie stops you so he can do it himself. You came prepared; you wore the nicest bra and panty set you owned. A pink lace and satin set. It made your boobs look out of this world the way the fabric cupped you just right. Accentuating every curve.
"All this f'me?"
You didn't answer. You just needed to kiss him again; your bodies melded together as he pressed you further into the mattress. His hands cupped your breasts, moulding and kneading them, and your sensitive nipples began to perk up at his rough touch.
"You're perfect," Eddie sighed as his mouth detached from yours and moved down to your neck. Your body tingled as his soft lips explored the exposed skin.
"Eddie," you moaned out in pleasure. Your hips started to grind up onto Eddie's calf, and he knew he had you right where he wanted.
His hands moved lower, cupping your lace covered heat. His fingers felt so good above the lace that separated the two of you; you couldn't wait to see what they felt like skin to skin.
"You mind if I?"
"Yes!" you said, a little too excited. But Eddie didn't mind. He thought it was so cute the way you were eager to let him explore your body.
"You know how often I've pictured you on this bed?" You shake your head, not biting your lip.
"Oh well, I would picture you like this... no, wait. There would be much less clothing." He wraps his arms around his body to take off his shirt, and he throws it across the room; next to go were his pants. You giggled at his antics. "Much better."
You could feel his cock press against your stomach as he pounced back down onto you. He continued where he had left off, his hand exploring your clothed cunt again, circling your clit above your panties, making you let out a sweet moan. He moved his hands further up until he made his way underneath your panties.
Your hips automatically moved as Eddie's hands explored your wet folds. His free hand pressed your hip, silently telling you not to move, that he will do this for you. You no longer had to be the only one to make yourself feel good. He was here to take care of you.
His thick finger slipped past your folds and up into your tight cunt.
"Oh!" You called out as his fingers broke past the barrier. They were much bigger than you're used to; your hands could never do the same as he was doing now.
"You're ok, baby," he cooed. He worked his hands inside of you, hitting a spot you'd never located before. That made your mind go numb and all fuzzy.
Eddie pulled out of you, and you whimpered in protest but quickly understood he was only taking off your panties for you. You lifted your legs, you helped him out, and he kissed down your leg until he reached your centre.
"May I?" He asked.
"Yes." You sigh.
Eddie waisted not a moment longer. His lips attached themselves to your lower ones. You’d never felt anything like it. The way his soft mouth moved around your clit, kissing and sucking on your swollen bud. You thought I couldn’t get any better than this. Until his tongue made its way onto your body and you cried out in pleasure. Too consumed by Eddie to be embarrassed by how loud you were being.
“Eddie! Oh god, yes, fuck right there!”
“You taste so sweet, even better than I imaged.” Eddie hummed into your cunt mimicking the vibrations your so use to with your vibrating toys. You body was quivering underneath him within minutes. He was way too good at this.
“Please, I’m coming, oh god I’m cuming!” You try to catch your breath with every world but it wa s no use. Eddie didn’t let up until your body was spent.
You watched Eddie sit up, your liquids covering his chin. He smiled as he spoke.
“We are only just getting started baby”
Another whimper left your throat as he pulled down his boxers to reveal his hard cock. It bobbed as it was released from its confines and you wanted nothing more than to feel it in your mouth again.
“I know what you’re thinking, baby. But no, not tonight. I need to feel you.” He went to the nightstand and opened the drawer. You watched as he pulled out the condom from its foil wrappings. Your legs clenched in anticipation.
"I'm going to take real good care of you, Sunshine." he rolled it into himself before crawling back over your body.
"Okay, Eddie. I trust you."
Eddie's heart fluttered as you spoke. He was so honoured that you chose him to be your first. He would make you see what you had missed this whole time.
"You ready?" He asked.
"Yes, I think so." You nod.
Eddie hovered over you as he took your lips into his once more. You could taste yourself in his mouth and he slowly worked the tip along your slit collecting your natural lube so he could slip himself easily inside.
"Oh my god!' Eddie was thick, so much thicker than you were used to with your silicone boyfriend you had hidden in the drawer. Thank god you were at least used to that because you didn't know how you would have handled this otherwise.
"You're doing so well for me, Sunshine." he praised as his cock dove deeper into you. Your tight cunt felt like paradise.
You told Eddie he could start moving once you were comfortable and adjusted to his size.
You saw starts as his cock plunged in and out of you; it felt so fucking good. You couldn't keep in your pleasure. Moan after moan was music to Eddie's ears. Why had you waited this long to feel something so good?
"So good, fuck, you're so fucking tight." His strokes never let up. He kept the same tempo as his hips snapped into you. Your mouths hardly disconnect unless you need to come up for air. His hands explored under your bra as he pulled a cup down to free your nipple. He moved from your mouth down to take your breast into his mouth, curling your peaked bud just like he did your clit minutes before.
Your body was lit up again; the heat between you both was one thousand degrees. Eddie, was your everything at this moment. You didn't, nor couldn't think of anything but the pleasure he was feeding you.
"More, more, more," You chant as Eddie's cock pounds into you, filling you more than you had ever felt before.
Eddie listened and moved his hands to your clit. Sparking an electrical bolt through your entire body. Your already sensitive clit was pulsing with desire as Eddie continued to pleasure you. With each stroke of his cock and hand, your body couldn't take it anymore, and you began to convulse under him.
"Shit fuck, you're squeezing me so tight," Eddie spoke before he realized that he was making you cum undone beneath him.
"Oh, yes! Eddie!"
"That's it, such a good girl, taking me so well. God your pussy is made for me." he spoke as he still used your body for his own pleasure. He didn't take much after your cunt latched down on him like a vice that he was coming right after you. A loud grunt left his lips as he felt a wave of please come over his body. His sensitive cock spurted its hot while cum into the condom that was still inside you.
"Wow," Was all you managed to say. Your brain was mush, but it was the best way possible.
"Yeah, wow," Eddie chuckled as he rolled off of you, out of breath but feeling blissful nonetheless.
"Is it always like that?" You mindlessly asked.
"With me, baby girl? Yeah." He chuckled.
"Wow," You repeated. Your brain is still not fully back down to earth.
"You wanna be my girl Sunshine?"
This snapped you back into reality.
"What? Really?" You turn your head to look at him.
"Yeah, baby girl," He cupped your face, waiting for your answer.
"Yes, Eddie, I'll be your girl"
Part 2
Tag list: @starksbabie @skyline4446 @bl00d-puppy @xxhellfirebunnyxx @amira0303 @ali-r3n @lavendermunson @fairykissesaresweet @minorlystuck13 @feral-pumpkin-energy @asimpforthe80s @flawiette @munsoneightysixx @localemofreak @babybimbo777 @elegantkolalapaper @stayonmars @harringtonxkeery @hellfiremunsonn @eddiestans-blog @sp1dyb0y1008 @nailbatanddungeon @munsonology @shadyhologrambanana
3K notes
·
View notes
— THE ALCHEMIST. a Lee Minho fiction
Lee Minho x f. reader
TROPE. historical! au, set in 1940’s Korea, alchemist! au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst
WARNINGS. abusive behavior toward women, impoverished communities, overall sexist beliefs of the time, reader dresses as a man, mentions of death & disease, smoking (not reader or minho), war conflict, making out??
WORD COUNT. 9.6k words
AUG'S NOTES. although it was a bit out of the blue, i had such a great time writing and shaping this universe, thank you to all the love and support thus far<3 also, huge thanks to @comet-falls for instilling the peaky blinders/historical! minho vision in my head with how incredible tooth and claw was, i truly owe it to you :)
SYNOPSIS. Cities stricken with poverty, the lack of male presence in your home while surviving in a male-dominated society leaves meager food on the table and a piling debt. Left no choice but to make a risky decision, you decide that, if biology wanted to fail you, you’d simply try another approach.
alternatively :
In which deception introduces you into an entirely new reality, and The Alchemist.
It’s one thing surviving with the knowledge you can change something, whatever it may be that’s wrong.
It’s another when that problem isn’t merely changeable, but biological.
Your problem? You’re a woman.
Not as easy to fix, right?
.
.
.
With your father lost in the war, fruitlessly straining to support a family of girls, the household is left helpless.
Representation is nonexistent, and merely walking outside frets harassment and laughter struck in your face at the mention of working.
A woman, working? Hilarious.
Or, apparently to the men in pubs it certainly is.
Some things you can’t change, yes, but there are always alternatives. And as for now, you’re helplessly searching high and low for that alternative, whatever it may be.
Selling yourself is possible, though the inability to remain connected to your family eliminates that option.
When you get so desperate, there’s no incentive in guarding your pride. Because being called derogatory names isn’t as bad as losing them, the people you call home.
October welcomes little warmth, biting your fingertips and sending a tremor of chills cascading down your spine. Minimal sunlight peers through dense clouds, shrouding the atmosphere in a depressing haze.
You’re on your way to the apothecary, but not to purchase anything. The pennies in your pocket won’t amount to anything in the face of medicinal prices, which happens to be one of your many alternatives.
Since day one, you’ve had a rock to rely on.
Medicine.
Lack of money meant improper living conditions, entailing sickness.
Constantly.
Whether it was your mother, your younger sister, yourself, an infection of some sort occupied your respiratory system, wreaking havoc for wallets and mental health altogether.
Purchasing necessary medication became impossible the further you drowned in your debt, to the point drastic measures needed to be taken in order to prevent death from infesting itself in the household as well.
Then came the question. If you couldn’t purchase the medicine itself, why not collect the ingredients?
Alternatives.
Behind the apothecary you discovered mint hedges that, if mixed with wormwood and balm, could aid in curing Sun-ja’s current sickness, colic.
Although, you’d have to be swift in your efforts, ensuring the shop owner didn’t notice your presence.
Too many times had you nearly been caught, risking a good beating from the red-haired, burly man regarded as Mr. Myeong.
Fiery red hair complimented an equally unruly personality you aimed not to cross by. Ever.
Yet, unlike Mr. Myeong, his wife was the polar opposite, an ideal magnet. She was petite and soft-spoken, but out of her appealing traits, you found her resilience to be most attractive.
Mrs. Myeong is stubborn. She’s strong in what she believes, sporting an unquestionably vocal opinion that can’t be quenched.
The woman is, likely, the only woman capable of sealing her husband’s mouth shut.
Hidden between thorn ridden weeds sits your desired leaves, abundant in supply.
You clutch your satchel closer, plucking as quickly as possible whilst crouched to the ground, maneuvering through tickling grasses and itchy reeds.
Your mission remains successful, until the wretched sound of a doorknob rips your head upward, the red-haired man in question standing nonplussed, arms crossed.
He wears a cocked brow, examining what you’re desperately trying to veil away.
Your heart leaps into your throat.
“Stealing, are we?” Black boot clad frame thumping closer, you immediately prepare to run, hair standing on end like an agitated feline.
Instead, his huge hand swoops down to grab your collar, other evidently ready to land a harsh slap to your face.
Instinctively cringing, you brace for the stinging impact.
That is, before a saccharine, lullaby-worthy voice rings from the cracked doorway, belonging to none other than Mrs. Myeong.
“Honey! Have you seen the new envelope that came in?”
Heels clicking whilst padding over cobblestone to where you two stand, her husband fixates you with a stern, threatening glare.
Finally dropping your frame to the ground, you slump forward, pulse pounding loud enough you fear your chest may implode.
Mrs. Myeong, though wearing a taut expression, ushers him off, delivering a curt nod your way, intentional brows furrowed in place.
‘Thank you’ You wish to say, but hold your tongue, watching them disappear inside.
Another time.
Walking home was rather uneventful (much to your delight), left to enjoy the crisp, cool air sifting through your lungs in steady rhythm, the lazy billows of cigar smoke dwindling from gaping doorways.
Calm.
Nothing calm ever lasts long.
Stashing the house key back into your decrepit leather draw bag, your footsteps still upon entering, struck terror-filled.
Your mother, strawn across the floor, hacks amongst her rampant coughs, body convulsing in desperate shivers, skin drenched a ghastly blue.
Sprinting to her side, you kneel down, rolling the woman over to find her face utterly battered, new black eye beginning to swell, cheek bruised a mawkish purple against hollowed cheekbones.
Sharks.
To your left Sun-ja hides in the corner, rags for a blanket pulled to her chest, shielded between the wall and a tipped cabinet.
Over and over they’ve begun visiting, to the point your mother became recognizable by her continuous black eye, her torn clothing and stooped posture.
Exhausted, she was exhausted.
Yet, she took the beatings. The torturous punches. Jarring slaps, traumatic insults, tarnishing. Your mother took it so you wouldn’t, so you and Sun-ja could live.
And it’s at that moment you make up your mind, discover this occasion’s alternative.
“Cut it off.”
“Cut.. Cut it off?” Hyunjin gapes, fingers stalling their descent down a strand of your hair.
You smile, grimacing the longer consideration poises.
No point in thinking too much.
“Yep. Give me the most boy-ish haircut you can.” You emphasize, gesturing toward his scissors expectantly.
Hyunjin, your personally appointed hairstylist, doesn’t seem too convinced. He’s debating, expertly reading your features.
Currently, you’re holed up in his room, a miniature apartment located near the furthest section of town, close to the coast.
In wee hours of morning you boarded the train here, inhaling salty, ocean-smelling breeze. Back in your old residence you met him, your neighbor Hwang Hyunjin. It’s a miracle you still stayed in contact, bond aging like the finest of wines over countless years.
Enough to where you trusted him to help you enact this alternative of yours.
Starting with a haircut.
The man stares at you through the mirror, dark, inky hair matting the longer he runs his hands through it.
Thoughtfully trying to figure out your reasoning, he evidently catches on the moment you witness his eyes roll, releasing a heaving sigh.
“You cannot be serious.”
A torrential truth keeps you from responding, gaze directed at your feet.
“Y/n,” He uttered, eyes filling with a concern you avoid meeting, avoid regarding in a whole. “You don’t have to do this, the war is going to end soon and your father will come ba—“
“He’s dead.”
Silence engulfs the room.
Collecting yourself, you scorn his frown.
“He’s dead and gone. Now I need to protect them, provide for them.“
You deny the shakiness of your voice.
“So, Hyunjin. Cut off my hair.”
Accordingly, he does without another word. Snip by snip, tress by tress falling below, scattering the tile floor in endless strands.
By the time you see yourself, it’s hard to recognize the person in the reflection. Never had you considered your hair a viable source of identity, but now that it’s so sparse, the effect is eminent.
Failing to see yourself in your own reflection beckons a different kind of sadness. For the person you’ve introduced yourself as reigns no more. She’s been replaced.
Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, embrace just as comforting as you remembered. His hand reaches to caress your cropped hair, rocking back and forth on his heels, chin resting on your head.
“Be careful, okay?”
Nodding into his shoulder, you wipe salty streaks from your cheeks.
Hurts.
“And if you need a place to take shelter, I’ll be here.”
Steadying in his hug again, you pull back, cherishing his kindness with a chaste kiss to the cheek.
“Thank you, really.”
Shaking his head at your gratitude, urging you out and lingering by the doorway till your figure retreats in the distance.
Next stop, Mrs. Myeong.
If anyone has any idea how to source the clothing you’re needing, your best chance would be thanks to her.
An hour later you arrive in familiar avenues, creeping out of sight into the apothecary in hopes the woman you’re looking for is working the counter.
Much to your pleasure, after a few unsuccessful attempts do you grasp her attention, edging forward under the guise of a regular hoping to converse.
“I need your help.”
Initially, she carries that sternness, wordlessly lifting your hooded head a bit to notice the latest adjustment. Shock written over her face, Mrs. Myeong drags you along with her, closing the door to a back room.
“My child, what is going on?” She whispers, tone urgent. You can’t help but feel fond of the affectionate nickname.
“I need male clothing and,” You hesitate, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “something to bind my chest with.”
Similar to Hyunjin, she steps back, assessing the situation at hand. Spending a brief few seconds roaming your figure, the woman works hastily toward fetching a petticoat, meticulously fitting each article atop your stock-still frame.
“You’re conceited,” she grumbles. “And foolish.” Carefully peeling off your upper-wear, she’s managed to cut a piece of thick cloth to use as a make-shift binder, assembling the fabric over your breast.
The experience, although strange, wasn’t as painful as anticipated.
“But be careful, and stay in contact.”
Your response is hushed.
“Breathe in,” The older woman instructs, securing her creation with a threaded pin before moving onto other aspects, like a proper coat and pants.
Mr. Myeong’s trousers, though having to be sewn to fit, make do, and you’re reminded to return tomorrow for shoes. Otherwise, the attire is completed, paired with a curved hat to finish.
Sure, the entire male concept is foreign, but given time, you’ll gradually acclimate.
Oh, right.
Your alternative?
Since medicine is what you know, you’ll stick with that. Difference being medicine is a men’s occupation, and so, if you can’t be a female working in the field, why not become male?
Well, somewhat become male.
It’s a risky wager, easily placing your life on the line in the process.
For your mother and Sun-ja, however, it’s your turn to take the beating. Your turn to endure.
Observation is a virtue. It can save and preserve, heed to oncoming danger, and simultaneously (and discreetly) supply useful information.
Today, seated on a bench in Daegu Station, your first observation is the abundance of people scurrying like mice.
Some tall, some short. Distinct moles, eyes. Upturned and downturned lips. Mustaches, beards. Much to see.
Your legs cross and uncross, Mr. Myeong’s oversized heeled shoes beginning to sink at your ankles. Hat strung low enough to peer out without attracting attention, your gaze is magnetically drawn to a magazine held on the adjacent side of the train tracks, title on display.
Prized Alchemist Lee Minho suspected of being the lone survivor of the Red Plagu—
Ignorant to your surroundings, your senses posed numb to the incoming train, blocking off the last few words of the title from view the moment it soars past—nearly sweeping the fedora off your head.
By the time the last few train cars passed, the man honing said magazine had disappeared, and you were left wondering if the experience was merely a figment of your imagination.
Although, you did have one lead. A name.
Lee Minho.
Where you’d find him remained unknown, deciding to rely on a magazine parlor first and foremost for more intel.
To no surprise, nearly every magazine rack lay lined with haughty opinions regarding the war and its evident cruelty.
Many onlookers of both Americans, Koreans, and foreigners alike chatter amongst themselves about their own take between gossiping hands and fumes of tobacco.
In this town, located far off in the business district by a ship port, people are everywhere.
Wives of sailors, families of soldiers off at war. Women honing gleaning parasols and ivory gloves reaching to their elbows.
Languages you’ve never heard before utter their enunciated syllables, vocabulary petulant with accent—all shrouded in dismay.
Roaming the store endlessly to no avail, you prepare to adventure back through dusty streets and battered wooden stall-shops before a peculiar name pauses your footsteps.
His name, The Alchemist, Lee Minho.
“Bring ‘em home I tell ‘ya,” An aged man by the deepened grooves of his face, hollow cheekbones and bunched wrinkles grumbles.
A fat cigar hangs loosely from thin lips, pale baker boy cap adorning a bald head.
Some sentences estranged, you identify his sentences as French, heavy in dialect, throaty and broad.
And although your fluency stay patchy, exposure from French immigrants who’ve relocated near home allow minimal understanding as to what they’re talking about.
“Say, did you hear that Lee Minho chap was a Red Plague?” His counterpart offered past his own leering cigar, foot tapping incessantly.
The other hacks his bewilderment, feeble fist pounding on an equally feeble chest.
“The Alchemist?”
The man’s astonishment returned with a nod, you lean closer, pretending to be consumed in an article.
“Said he was only nineteen when it happened. Shipped ‘em off only for disease to kill them all. One survived, now people are speculatin’ it’s him.”
Either of them sigh out long drags.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Is all the other huffs in disbelief, and upon recognizing the conversation approaching an end, you stir to action, willing your voice to deepen an octave.
Attempting to appeal in your broken French, you stall the two, cautiously claiming you’re in need of his whereabouts for an esteemed business transaction to which, through confused stares, you’re given loose directions.
Loose, but feasible.
80 Kent Avenue, dark blue doors.
Directions that, according to the sudden blank of streetlights, would have to wait until tomorrow. As for now, the world beckoned you to rest, and any progress would prove futile and rather impossible in the dark.
Luckily, a run-down Inn gifted good few hours of shut-eye before dawn peered through the windowsills and you were begrudgingly forced to your feet.
Fitting the binder snug across your body and fastening your trench coat through minuscule belt loops, you’re taught with much haste the stark difference of men’s prestige entitlement.
First access to everything, the ability to have their way with a woman whether she willingly obliges or not, and just about ten billion other things someone of your hidden status couldn’t fathom.
A man’s world is a world only possible through disguise. Yours just happens to be a last resort.
Charming the mistress at the front desk was unexpectedly effortless, not to mention how easily she spilled the details as to where Kent Avenue would be located.
Another noticeable attribute of your new appearance, no one asked as to where you were going nor your intentions, they merely dipped their heads and wished you off.
Adjustments.
Adjustments that, if you’d been born different, would be normal.
Kent Avenue lay twisted in shadows. The surrounding area brims in barely flickering labels and creaking doorways leading to who knows where. Quaint isn’t the word for it. More ancient, all-knowing.
This place has been here for centuries with many stories to tell, most just haven’t heard them yet.
Significantly dark blue doors make the Alchemist’s residence easily noticeable, starkly contrasting with wooded architecture. Massive doorknobs engraved with lions, windows shielded by moth-eaten curtains. Grand, in its own form.
You swore each door stood eight feet tall, the left in particular left slightly ajar.
Wait, ajar?
Doing a double take to ensure your vision wasn’t playing tricks on you, you inch forward, widening the dark gap exponentially until all you faced was a black abyss—apart from the miniature lamp beaming yellow light in a far corner.
Carefully tiptoeing into said black abyss, the further you explore, the greater the visibility increases. Leather cushioned furniture, clean, polished desks. The desk the lone lamp rests upon is a chestnut wooden, ink feathers residing in the upper corner.
Somehow, the matter grants envy, resentment grating your nerves. This man lives comfortably while other’s are beaten for possessing nothing. Maybe it’s a petty, unnecessary thought; and maybe you’re foolish, but all odds are against you, your disposition seems righteous.
Getting too lost in your head turned out foolish as well.
“What’s this?” A voice behind you whispers, voice ghosting chills tickling your neck at an alarming pace.
Whipping around, eyes struck wide in shock, the person responsible for the remark comes into view, his stature opposing the tone muttered in your ear seconds ago.
Not a plump business man like you imagined, not adorning a spectacle, no pipe in sight. Instead, one lone button right below the chest fits snug white sleeves cuffed by his elbows, black vest hugging a slim torso.
Conniving, cat-like eyes analyze your expressions while dark brown hair parts to the side, loose strands covering his right eyebrow. And when he reaches up to brush a few frayed tresses to the side you note sleek gloves covering long, pale fingers.
If anything, this man is more similar to a Vampire.
“Trespassing, are we?”
Collect yourself. This is your opportunity.
Swiftly brushing off your clothes, you clear your throat.
“I have an offer.”
“An offer?” A smile belonging to that of a Cheshire cat adorns his lips, one leg propping itself over the other, fingers intertwining in front of him.
Ensuring your voice is clear and concise (while keeping the deeper, male-ish tone), you state your claim, despising how utterly debilitating it feels being caught under his observative stare.
Like he sees through you.
“I would be a valuable asset to your studies in alchemy. I know about herbs and their uses better than anyone else, and where they’re located.”
Sure, the bargain might’ve sounded arrogant, but you were technically cosplaying as a man when most men of your time couldn’t shut up about themselves, arrogance was the least of your problems.
Gnawing at his cheek as you spoke, he pauses a moment, then laughs.
Amused.
Dark lashes dust above equally dark eyes, nearly black as they study you.
“You want to be my apprentice? Is that it?”
You remain close-lipped.
“I’ll tell you one thing, kid. This world is all about money,” He raises a cane from where he reclined, using the end to tip your chin up and meet his eyes.
“No?”
To which you simply stare back at him, refusing to avert eye-contact.
“I’m sure that’s what you’re here for anyways.” Rising from his place, he sighs heartily. “But see, I’m a greedy man, not a good man.”
Abruptly, his countenance falls flat.
“And my job isn’t fun, so you’re out of luck.”
Immediately, you’re frantic, trying your hardest to ignore his obvious statement to leave. The last thing you need is to run out of luck, run out of options.
And so, you hastily wrack your mind for a solution, an excuse, whatever keeps you in this dimly lit room.
“You- You were part of the Red Plague, weren’t you?” Spitting out words from the depths of your racing mind, The Alchemist stops, fixing you with an unreadable look.
Red Plague as in, the group of young men enlisted during the war that all died of a deadly disease but one. One who, many speculate is the man before you.
Breathe in.
“I may not know much about you, but I know what it’s like to want to save somebody.”
Breathe out.
Now it was his turn to stand there, and for a second you swore you saw a flash of sympathy cross his face.
You wet your lips. “I’ll run your errands and wash your clothing, I’ll clean this place spotless. Plus, it’s not like I’m a woman asking for a job, so please, give me a chance.”
Slowly, The Alchemist raises a brow, laugh disbelieving.
“Since when did being a woman have anything to do with this?”
Huh?
How.. odd.
If anything, the majority would wholeheartedly agree, likely hiring you on the spot with how impalpable such a jest seemed.
He would’ve laughed, maybe slapped your back. Would’ve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, proclaimed you his friend.
Yet, you almost feel flattered. Flattered in a strange, unrealistic manner.
Basking in a deplorable quietness, The Alchemist sighs, combing a gloved hand through silken strands.
“I have a spare room around that corner.” He points, leather gloves narrowly highlighted by orange lighting. “Make yourself useful, hm?”
And like that, even if it was a long shot, you landed it. More specifically, landed a job.
How preposterous.
How exciting.
Yet, it began hesitantly. As if he was initially testing your usefulness. Sending you on runs to the nearby gardens, having you make sure a concoction didn’t derange itself while he fetched better flasks. Easy things.
However, you didn’t complain. A boring job was better than no job, and as long as a few coins were emptied into your pocket afterward, you’d continue to work without whining.
Burdock, oregano. Motherwort that would erupt billows of chemically-infused air when added to oils or sugars.
Then you noticed The Alchemist. His quirks, his characteristics.
He shifts between a long trench coat or tight vests, his hair is always styled a certain way, though some days, when he just wakes up, he has this tiny bird nest of hair atop his head, it’s charming.
He yawns a lot.
He wears heeled shoes, maybe from his shorter height, maybe preference.
And rather peculiarly, the longer you stay in his lair, the greater you notice the many scars littering his forearms, collarbones. Miniature cuts and imprints left on porcelain skin.
Those observations, conjoined with his reactions, make for a truly interesting character.
Reactions being his dislike toward loud noises, the matter in which his shoulders scrunch at a loud clap outside, eyes blown wide, fearful.
The longer you stay in his lair, the more you notice him, nonetheless his fears. Whether suspicion clarifies anything in specific, there’s no denying he’s a man of war.
Lee Minho has secrets, and as badly as your nosiness itches to uncover them, you, as you had promised earlier, will keep your lips sealed.
And it makes you wonder, what’s life like on your side of the street? What throng of unfairness left you awash, left you both suffering?
You wonder about your oppositions and similarities in different points of each other’s lives. Minutes, decades before you ever met.
Certain stones shall stay unturned, but you hope, maybe one day, those questions will be answered.
Interestingly enough, he never asked about your name; not even when you gingerly introduced yourself as your last name, a rather awkward fit.
Likewise, you don’t complain. There’s only two of you in the house after all.
A week in, you’re finally introduced to something new.
The Alchemist plans to have you tag along with him to Port Nova, a docking station located on the outskirts of Busan.
Business thrives in ship ports, the sole source of connectivity for a growing country like Korea. Each day, millions of shipments come in from countries you can’t name, so you’re not surprised in the slightest he’s headed there for a transaction.
You are surprised he decided to have you tag along.
Even more so that, as you hop off the transit, hurriedly tailing his left, he veers off a sharp turn, approaching a worn Burlesque Club, glittering sign halfway dangling from its perch on a scarlet red awning.
English letters spell out Nova Burlesque, a few missing letters left astray to the side, electrical bulbs spasming with sporadic lighting on the dusty ground below.
In the daylight, the place appears ordinary, blending in with its crumbling, desolate surroundings.
Although, you have no doubt this place utterly delights in the eve, pink-neon inviting enough to lure unaware foreigners upon first arrival.
“Mr. Lee,” You utter, returned with a short scoff from the man who insisted you refer to him by his name, Minho.
“Where are we going?”
It’s hesitant, unsure of whether to intervene, but Minho only smirks, whispering a not-very-assuring “You’ll see” you begrudgingly go along with.
Inside is the last of what you anticipated.
Oh dear.
You’ve only been to minimal Burlesque Clubs, but the ornery perspective of faux jewelry, a glittery, hallucinatory stage, and the constant rendition of Why Don’t You Do Right whirling on scratchy records isn’t present here.
Alternatively, there’s stools scattered around a marginally illuminated clearing, some upturned, others occupied by burly men with equally burly beards.
And in the middle, a boxing ring is situated. The stench of sweat and blood soaks the air in a metallic, pungent aroma.
A brisk realization crosses your mind, a conclusion of a sort.
Play a fool’s game, earn a fool’s reward.
Only you, Hyunjin, and Ms. Myeong know the lengths you’re willing to go to secure your family's well-being, and now, at odds you can’t compromise, you have to do everything in your power to maintain your act.
This is a test.
Sifting behind you, he murmurs a hushed: “Cover your ears.” That you begrudgingly oblige to, cupping either hand over your ears as Minho clutches his leather holster, concealed within the confines of a frequently worn coat.
In a split second, a gunshot is fired to the ceiling, the bullet's shell casing dropping atop the welt of his pointed shoe.
Stunned silence ensues.
Arm still extending the revolver in the air, you haphazardly remove your hands, dragging the hat further over your face as more eyes focus on the both of you.
“I’m looking for Reiner and Manfred.”
The longer the tension rises, the further you grow self conscious.
“Already?” A man bellows from inside the ring, breaking the awestruck spell whilst gripping his opponent by the collar, fist poised and ready to strike.
Unusually, they seem to know each other.
Minho merely exhales a loud sigh through his nose, practically two times smaller than his apparent acquaintance.
Said acquaintances grumbles.
“Leave it to our champion to interrupt the show.”
And with that, he hooks the contender in the jaw, sending him pummeling down to the tarnished mat where hoards either cheer or groan, hustling money left and right over the victor.
Champion of the show? You’re adding that to your collection of never ending questions that’ll likely stay unanswered.
From the crowd arises two men. The victor from the ring and another from the crowd, dressed lavishly opposed to his white tank top-wearing counterpart.
Reiner and Manfred, you assume.
Serving as a mere shadow in The Alchemist’s wake, the four of you hustle outside, met with a nonplussed Minho and two, mildly confused (and enormously tall) men.
Foreigners, certainly.
“..Care to introduce the pipsqueak?” Reiner presumably more talkative, piques, beady eyes scouring your figure enough to where you scorn the beads of sweat collecting upon your temple.
Pipsqueak my foot.
You stave down the retort, inhabiting Minho’s shadow as the three discuss matters of a hospital transaction. Almost like you weren’t there at all, as it’s always been.
If it weren’t for the technicalities, you would’ve interjected, made your presence known. Except, other than herbal instances, you’re a novice in the business department. You’ll leave that up to your current mentor to arrange.
Again, lips sealed.
Minho, ignorant to the previous victor’s question, continues to sign legal documents supplied by the calmer individual, Manfred. You internally thank the gesture.
Well, before Reiner’s sordid gaze becomes too stifling to brush off.
“I’m Mr. Lee’s apprentice, L/N. Nice to meet you,” You initiate, fearlessly reaching out a hand he heartily shakes, features graced with amusement, massive hand practically engulfing yours.
Pardoning a gruff “Likewise”, he nearly sends you flying from the timbre of his voice alone.
“Say,” Reiner mutters, finally completing the last of the package transfers. “Don’t you think this one seems a bit feminine?”
Your jaw ticks, nervousness shrouding your being like an unrelenting fog. Minho’s fingers close around your elbow, pulling you closer, brows knit.
“Perhaps you need your eyes checked, Reiner,” He offers, tone nonchalant opposed to the vice-like grip latched to your arm.
Heftily chortling, the man only pats your back, causing your entire body to surge forward upon impact.
“Well regardless, it’s a cute little thing ain’t it?”
Manfred simply grunts his acknowledgment while you bite your tongue, coveting your retaliation when he referred to you as “it”.
No use growing angered. The feeling is futile.
Luckily, your irritable arrangement comes to a hasty close, more than gleeful to have an understandably annoyed Minho steer you from Port Nova onto a short train back to Kent Avenue, to your newly established home.
A home, but not really a home. Semi-permanent, unofficial.
Either way, you wouldn’t complain. Despite the constant efforts in diminishing your past identity, you didn’t feel as conscious when around Minho.
Safer.
As if, in an alternative reality, you could tell him. Your truths, your burdens.
No. You won’t jeopardize this opportunity. You can’t.
At least, not yet.
“I’ll be back Mr. Lee!” You shout, wielding a briefcase bag to your person, nudging the ghoulish door open using your hip.
As usual, you’re headed off on a restocking trip.
Except on this occasion, the restocking consists of hunting down a peculiar herb: Chinese Chrysanthemum. It’s an appealing plant with fluorescent leaves and a constant need for sunlight.
It’s no surprise he’s sent you to fetch such goods. After two months, you soared in and out of the residence routinely, scouring Korea while Minho hunched over a wildly diverse array of vials and flasks, glasses propped on his slightly hooked nose, hands firmly resting on a wooden exam table.
Studious. He is very studious.
However, a catch diverts itself from eye view. A catch you hadn’t considered until your two feet stepped from squealing train tracks.
Somehow, although unusually intentional, you wound up in a rather peculiar area. An area you never imagined paying a visit to in your wildest dreams.
In the midst of economic outrage and warring circumstances, you’re standing in one of Korea’s most unstable, informal districts. A place that, according to your overhearing ear, was where your precious Chrysanthemum lodged.
This district had an infamous name.
The Den.
A fitting name in actuality, where a person didn’t realize they were stuck till it was too late, unable to see where they’re going, living in belief there’s an incentive to the finish line in a race run in circles.
Also, a place the Sharks who torment your family report to.
You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears, nearly ricocheting out of your chest with its horrid cacophony.
Calm down.
Calm down. Think of the goal.
All you have to do is find a flower.
Grounding yourself, you pinpoint some viable resources.
Fertile soil, maybe even sandy, likely in the inner portion of The Den.
Plus, you’re dressed as a man, you might as well act outrageously boisterous.
But you’re not, you’re afraid. Perhaps not external, but inside, your lungs feel as if they’re being violently crushed, sinking deeper in an unsteady submersible to the very bottom of the ocean. And for a second, you truly contemplate going back, telling Minho you’re incapable of the task.
Yet, what would you say? You’re haunted by a vision that hasn’t happened? Fearful for a future event with no guarantee? If you had ever done something so horrid, they would’ve found you ages ago.
This time, you’re in their domain, invading what’s theirs as they’ve done to you.
Greater. You aren’t who you used to be, in more ways than one.
Genuinely, what is there to lose?
That’s it. You’ll complete the mission and return. No run-ins, no fear barricading your job.
In and out.
Initially, you scout out your surroundings, regarding the faint sound of voices funneling in the distance, the smell of mixtures you hate being able to identify, far off machinery croaking before smoke spurs from rusted screws and bolts.
Amongst the chatter of street vendors and the many, notorious gang members patrolling in and out of abandoned shops, you roam avidly, keeping as low a profile as possible.
Number one priority is to not be noticed. Drawing attention to yourself is a one way ticket to failure, and the last thing you need is to arrive back to Minho empty-handed.
However, through the blinding clouds of smoke billowing from exhaust pipes, a specific building, shrouded in the shadows of charcoal residue, douses your peripheral.
A Greenhouse.
Bingo.
Quickly looking around, you shrink low to the ground, racing forward to carefully creak open glass double doors and slip inside.
It feels as if you’re enclosed in a furnace. Mere seconds in and sweat already begins gathering upon your temples.
Though that becomes the least of your concerns after assessing what lies inside.
Hundreds, maybe even thousands of flowers and herbs. Rare species, some critically endangered, just sitting here.
It’s strange.
Why would, in the case such an abundance existed, not be used? Why hadn’t this Greenhouse been raptured from the inside out for such valuable items?
It’s not until a commotion stirs ahead of you that you understand the answer to the question.
With about five plucked Chinese Chrysanthemums expertly sealed into their coordinating bags, a piercing hiss followed by multiple shouts and hollers cause you to shrink back, gazing around haphazardly.
A hiss?
From your perspective nearly kissing the dirt, your vision allows a minuscule glimpse of multiple backs turned, boisterously amused men gathering around something in the front of the Greenhouse.
You feel the need to know more.
Inching forward tip-toe by tip-toe, amidst the roaring crowd, you spare a look between the sea of legs to find an utterly deplorable sight.
A cat.
No, not just a cat, cat fighting. They’re watching cats maul each other for the fun of it. As if they aren’t living creatures, but toys for their entertainment.
And perhaps it’s a foolish decision, perhaps laughable being worried, being angered, but you are and you refuse to leave knowing you could’ve done something to help them.
Hastily scouring the floors, a can of Spam discarded below Foxglove stems proves useful enough, tossing it as far as possible where it whacks against the glass wall, immediately averting their attention.
This is your chance.
As dark clouds and incoming rain thunder outside, you don’t waste the opportunity, sprinting forward while the men make toward the direction of the sound and hoisting the first cat you see into your arms.
Sprinting past narrow pathways and dimly lit streets, you force your eardrums numb to the threats they call after you, mind trained on one thing besides getting as far as possible from here.
To Minho to Minho to Minho.
A hand grabbing your shoulder causes you to shriek, swiftly dragged off where you swear your last breaths will be taken, the feline in your arms scrambling with panic.
“What are you doing?” Your captor furiously whispers, hidden in the low lighting of an apparent alleyway.
Wait. You recognize that voice.
“Hyunjin?”
How does he recognize you?
Just then does a breeze swipe past your head, sending chills trickling down your rain-soaked neck.
Your hat is gone. Must’ve fell off while you were running.
“Wh.. what are you doing?” Slipping from his grasp after the men’s hushed conversation becomes inaudible, you regard the man with an incredulous stare.
“Answer my question first,” He reprimands, and as the cat resounds a pained meow do you assess the dire nature of the situation.
You need to get this cat to Minho, and fast.
“Can’t- Can’t talk right now I’ve got to go—“
“Wait!”
Though, as your footsteps breach the security of the alley, the placating cry of crows mock your left, hurried footsteps belonging to those occupying the Greenhouse heading toward you in rampant haste.
Hyunjin’s hand holding your wrist, you grace a tight-lipped smile his way.
“Let’s not see each other like this again, okay?”
He returns a miniature grin, teeming with mischief.
“Agreed.”
Upon letting go, you race off, attempting to speedily navigate back to the train station whilst torrents of streaming droplets cascade down your face.
“Good luck!”
“Thanks, I’ll need it!” You respond back, voice permeated against the rain, eyes frantically searching for a place to evade.
Finally, a crowd appears, swarming amongst diners and flickering street lights.
Your perfect hideaway.
Swimming through the hive of people, you catapult yourself into the nearest phone booth in sight, fumbling through deep pockets before cashing a coin into the metal slot and jarring your index over slippery metal numbers.
Praying the combination is correct as you hold the wired telephone to your ear, you’re consumed with utmost relief upon hearing The Alchemist’s voice answer on the other side of the crackling line.
Amidst roaring rainfall drowning the booth, you differentiate shouting a ways off, likely belonging to the men from earlier.
“Mr- Mr. Lee?”
“Yes? Where are you?”
“Are you.. Are you allergic to cats?”
Never in your life did you think you would be so overjoyed seeing blue doors.
Clambering inside—the rather upset cat in your arms hissing their dismay—you’re overwhelmed with an unexplainable happiness seeing Minho’s face peer from the guest room.
Relief.
“L/N wha..”
Words dying in his throat as he gives you a speechless once over, your urge to hug him dissipates instantly, beckoning a new set of garments upon realizing how utterly drenched your precious disguise is.
Simultaneously shoving the cat his way before rushing to your room, you thankfully strip of your fretfully cold attire, welcomed in the comforting embrace of clean clothing.
A mere five minutes later you exit, greeted by Minho’s stockstill frame. Hand half-raised, evidently about to knock.
You forcefully clear your throat, praying the momentary awkward tension is alleviated.
Luckily, The Alchemist takes it upon himself to break the spell, eyes dancing across the floorboards in order to avoid your own.
“Well, she’s stable. Her vitals are fine, nothing too critical apart from a few cuts here and there. Just shaken up.”
Your stare of astonishment earns a confused tip of his head.
“That fast?”
Said (apparently female) cat rubbing her body along your calf with an obviously delighted purr, you appear nearly concussed, crouching down to pat the soft, striped fur lining her back.
Minho snorts.
“What can I say, I get work done.”
Maybe he is a vampire after all.
Mirroring your crouch, he watches your interaction, similarly feline-like inspection unnoticed till glancing up.
And for a swift moment, you swear he saw through you. Lips parted, eyes scrutinizing. Piecing together the building blocks to a wavering structure you’d strived so hard to build, to protect.
No. You’re overthinking. He couldn’t possibly know.
You failed to notice the forlorn look on his face, one that ushers to ask if you’re okay, fetch a hot beverage to warm your evidently cold hands.
“Might I ask how you ended up bringing this one home?”
Leave it to him to take the title as your greatest ally and worst enemy at the same time.
Ah. Right.
“Y’know I was about to get to that-”
You pause, deriding the high pitch of your voice into something more appropriate. He cocks a brow.
“As I was saying, it wasn’t my intention to bring her back, but the place she was trapped at, the place with the men- the plants..”
According to his expression, you’ve grown two heads.
…
“Go on.”
“Look, the place I found the Chrysanthemum was having cat fights. Do you remember hearing about the dog fights in Gangwon? It’s the same thing. We can’t just sit still while they’re torturing innocent animals.”
“I don’t know what you got yourself into, but I’m an Alchemist, not a hero,” He sighs, and your hand stalls its petting, face falling while the cat in your lap flicks her tail back and forth expectantly.
He has a point. You got yourself into this, you went into the Greenhouse. It’s not his duty to clean up after your messes, but perhaps you can convince him, even by a small margin.
Play a fools game, earn a fools reward.
You’ll mop the floor of your own mess.
“Minho, please. Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?”
Stifling silence making an additional appearance, you nervously await the verdict, perched rather hilariously outside of your bedroom door.
Chewing the skin of his cheek, he scolds himself for falling so susceptible to you, though you won’t ever know that.
“Fine, but you’d better have a plan.”
Ah. Great.
You don’t.
At dawn’s arrival you’re swept upward, fixing a hasty bout of tea and toast prior to dressing in the privacy of your appreciated quarters.
You don a much-needed hat, hopping aboard the first train of the day with a well-dressed Minho in tow.
Retracing your steps turns out easier than you anticipated, The Alchemist tailing you as you had done him at Port Nova.
Though, just when the task seemed a cake walk, you manage a meager detour, regarding your unimpressed mentor.
“From what I can remember, it’s around here somewhere. But I might be wrong, I stumbled upon it by accident and it looks a bit scary but I think—“
“Stop! Stop- Stop talking. Please.”
You quickly shut your mouth, allowing the man to lead instead till the sight of familiar landmarks becomes a gradual reassurance of your location.
Perhaps now it’s safe to talk.
“Mr. Lee, what did Reiner mean by calling you a champion-“
Shoved against the brick wall, your sentence dies instantly, panickedly glancing in all directions assessing the all too familiar pistol Minho‘s drawn, conspicuous in close proximity.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He enunciates, tone unusually gruff whilst scanning your surroundings.
Your face warms an involuntary pink you clamber to ward off, drawn to the sight of his tense jaw and the feather-like arrangement of long lashes, focused on something elsewhere.
Your retort dies not only from his beauty, but upon the familiar Greenhouse coming into view.
“Looks like we found where your little friends are playing.”
Though, as the man begins forward, you grab him by the sleeve.
“Wait! We can’t just waltz in.”
His hand, slipping from the warmth of his pocket, cups your chin, unbearably close to your face to the point you can feel his breath on your nose.
Curse the butterflies.
“Well there’s no need for an introduction, so let’s listen this time, shall we?”
Left at a loss for words either from your slack mouth or the concerning amount of sweat building upon your palms, you don’t argue back, lingering right outside the door, craning to hear voices.
By the sound of it, at least four people are inside at the moment, and the longer you stay out here, the more ample time becomes for additional threats to show up.
As if reading your mind, he slips through the rugged door, gesturing for you to follow while silently navigating through dense, humid underbrush and overgrown foliage.
However, your quiet voyage is quelled when a twig, unbeknownst to the two of you, cracks under the pressure of his foot.
“Shit,” He mutters, cringing back at the immediate quietness that ensued.
The Alchemist curses as well.
Interesting.
Amidst the men bearing closer, Minho turns to you, tone urgent.
“When I get up, you run and free the cats. Don’t look back, just go.”
Nodding hastily, you reacquaint yourself with the area, ensuring a dead set beeline to where the cats were held without interruptions.
Minho, a split second before you can ask a question, whips the gun from his coat pocket, the sound of bullets whipping through the air enough indication it’s time you go.
Finnicking hands make it hard to unscrew the wired cages, surges of adrenaline helping speed up the rescue as you double check every feline has escaped.
Heeding to instruction, you don’t look for The Alchemist, solely driven to freeing the cats and fleeing the scene. No more problems.
Almost an exact replica to your last visit here, a hand drags you off right as you exit the Greenhouse doors, back pressed against his (whom you realized was Minho, not Hyunjin, thanks to the leather gloves) front.
And perhaps from running, perhaps from something else, you can feel his heartbeat, oscillating in a nonstop orchestra that sends your own heart pounding from the confines of your rib cage.
Stifling a shaky inhale you’d held in as the last of the perpetrators scattered elsewhere, you instantly step back, denying every urge to coddle him like a child, fretfully check him for injury.
A certain fondness lay reserved for Lee Minho, a fondness you can’t discern of at the moment.
“C’mon, quick, Soonie might get scared if we’re gone for too long,” He ushers, crashing your tunneling train of thought right off its rails in the process.
“Yeah-“
You stop.
“Soonie?”
“Yeah, Soonie.”
“You named her?”
“..Yes.”
It’s a genuine struggle hiding your laugh.
“I didn’t find you the type to take in cats.”
“Today you’ve been proven wrong, apparently.”
A sort of giddiness you never experienced fills your chest, wishing nothing more than to look back at the man and swoon.
How could you not? He was very much dexterous, and attractive without a doubt, that much was known to anyone who laid eyes on The Alchemist.
Your trek home proved relatively easy, able to skillfully get to the station away from prying eyes and trod along a mixture of gravel and dusty roads without issue.
Silently celebrating your success, you nudge your counterpart's hip, the unimpressed side-eye he grants doing little to dull your happiness.
“Aren’t you an Alchemist? How come you’re oddly good with a gun?”
He clicks his tongue.
“Aren’t you my apprentice? How come you’re getting yourself into trouble when your only instruction was to fetch herbs?”
You conceal a smile he obviously catches, glare failing to quiet your bubbling laughter, his own lips tugging upward.
“It was necessary Mr. Lee! And you know you love Soonie.”
“Unfortunately.”
Nearly a month into her residence, and Soonie has become an effervescent force to be reckoned with. Although initially sassy and wary, she’s transformed into the most affectionate cat you’d ever met.
You have to give it to her, she’s grown on the both of you, a lot.
Plus, you might just have to thank her for unleashing Minho’s tender side, whether that’s the two of them cuddling on the couch while he naps or him picking her up and treating her like a baby while you watch from afar.
Over the course of the five months you’ve been here, you’ve sent countless checks back home—enough to where dues could finally be paid and the hope for a good life came into view.
Everything seems right, seems ideal.
But of course, on an equally ideal Thursday evening, a thousand pounds of bricks drops right on top of your head.
“How long were you planning to keep it from me?”
He, Lee Minho, The Alchemist, voices.
Simultaneously, your stomach plummets to your feet, peeking over your shoulder to find his back facing you, hunched over a straus flask.
Then the bomb drops.
“You being a woman, that is.”
Abruptly pausing, you don’t reply, worried you’d say the wrong thing, unintentionally summon the catalyst to this arising catastrophe.
Yet, you can’t stay quiet for too long. And a fear lingered inside, a fear that if he looked at you, you would break.
“Forever.”
Doing just what you dreaded, he turns to you, wearing a horribly serious expression.
You avoid eye-contact.
“Because you thought I would fire you?”
A nod.
“And that’s why you said that, when you first came to me? That you weren’t a woman asking for a job?”
Another nod.
He sighs, pulling glasses from atop a hooked nose. You remain staring at the floor.
“I don’t decide who to hire based on what they are. If you can do your job and do it well, you’re worthy enough to work.”
Minho spoke softly, the dim, orange lighting of his lamplight doing little to shake how overwhelming the occasion is, how it feels as if your disguise is wearing, thinning to an impossible degree.
Except, your world isn’t ending like you thought it would if someone found out, so why do you feel so heartbroken? So overstimulated with realization?
“How did you..” you trail off, raging tears longing to spill.
No, you can’t afford to cry now. You’ve held out so far, it will stay that way.
Should stay that way.
Minho dips his head lower in order to fully see you in all your lip-chewing, anxiety-ridden glory. The ghost of a smile rests upon his lips.
“It was impossible not to tell. You’re unusually tiny, those shoes are massive, and, um, I do the laundry.”
Watching his once bemused expression dissipate, you mark this as the first time you’ve ever seen him genuinely flustered—and, upon realizing he’d likely seen more than necessary as well, you’re also diminished to a bright red.
The room wilts in stillness before he exhales, stepping a bit closer to where you linger by the bookshelf, your heels tapping against the frame.
Tone minimizing itself terribly gentle, The Alchemist carefully collects your cheeks in his hands, urging you to see him, see those terribly thoughtful brown eyes granting a terribly kind disposition.
“It’s been scary, hasn’t it?”
Well, you had held out thus far.
Cracking into pieces, you melt like droplets of honey in his fingertips. He perfectly catches them in the jar.
Out of anyone in this world, you can’t help but be grateful he was the one who found out, found you.
Chest bubbling with breaking sobs, Minho’s thumbs caress your under eyes, swiping away the many salty droplets in their continuous descent.
Own hands shakily reaching up to hold his resting on your face, you stand there, soaking in his wooded, earthy scent and the soft hums he occasionally emits as if a reminder he’s still there, listening to your cries without intent to leave.
“Mr.. Mr. Lee… It was so scary, I’m so tired Mr. Lee,” You hiccup, mentally berating the endlessly freefalling tears, how your once staved emotions reduced your strong, dutiful voice into nothing but a stuttering mess.
Carefully swiping drool from your chin, he leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead.
“I don’t know why you did it, but I promise it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”
Then another kiss to your forehead, staying there until your sniffling and breathing calms.
Gathering yourself if only slightly, you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm hug he gradually accepts after a beat of shock.
“Thank you, Minho.”
And just when he thought the shock faded, he’s struck again from the sound of his name leaving your mouth.
Minho.
Mr. Lee had been charming, but Minho, it was different. A good kind of different.
He particularly favored the way it sounded falling off your lips, two syllables he’d replay over and over, savoring each a little bit more than the last.
More so, he wished to substitute his nagging thoughts with you, have you narrate the phrases bouncing inside his skull.
Perhaps then everything wouldn’t be so loud, if he had your voice to nullify the battlefield.
Unfortunately forced to separate, Minho adjusts his tie, clearing his throat in a manner you can’t help but feel nervous about.
You like this flustered Minho.
“I’ll.. I’ll run you a bath.”
You wince at the rawness of your skin when your face wrinkles in a chuckle.
“Do I smell?”
Minho, frantically scrambling for an excuse, rubs his temples, exasperation evident in the grooves of his face, the curve and dip of prominent cheekbones portraying a mature visage.
“No I-“ He grumbles. “It helps calm you down.”
Merely able to halfway staunch your irrevocable glee, you call his name as he begins stepping out, ears an adorable pink.
“Y/N. My name is Y/N. L/N is my last name.”
Not allowing you view of his front-side, you listen to his whispering with delight, testing the newly discovered title on his tongue as if to memorize it.
Ah, you’re falling in love.
Or maybe you’ve already fallen.
Hastily closing the door behind himself and letting you get situated in the bath, it’s not long into your relaxing that you notice a shadow seeping through the door’s crack, a figure standing there, debating.
“Minho?” You announce amusedly, watching the shadow jump and causing you to bite your frothing laugh whilst choosing what to say next.
“Would you like to join me?”
The Alchemist audibly chokes on his saliva outside the door.
Sparing a few seconds for him to collect his oxygen, you hadn’t been prepared for when he replies a quiet: “Another time”.
Your eyebrows shoot up with surprise.
Daring.
Then his shadow, after furious shuffling, disappears, serving as a reminder of your extended time spent bathing.
Assembling the copper drain and pulling foreign nightwear over dampened skin, opposed to your usual rush to your room, you allow the chilling air to grant its harsh greeting, leaving the steamy room in its wake.
No more secrets. What a breath of fresh air.
Minho, still cooped up at his desk like routine, barely moves when you place your hands on his shoulders, adorning those charismatic glasses, lips pursed thoughtfully.
“You should go get some rest Mr– Minho,” You beckon, response a sleepy blink of his eyes, obviously exhausted.
“...I really wanted to kiss you.”
The remark drifting off as a murmur, you crane to hear him, wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.
“Hm?” Humming, you lightly push his back toward his quarters, the man begrudgingly following your inaudible orders.
At least he’s cooperating.
Abruptly, he turns around, evading your hands that ease his back forward, sporting a pout adorable enough you might just lose your mind.
How unfair that someone could behave like this and expect you to not go insane.
“When you started crying.” His eyes flicker to your lips, if only for a moment. “I really wanted to kiss you.”
A portion of your stock-still frame wants to blame his tiredness, but another so badly wants it to be true, wants those words to be irrevocably real.
Fighting the urge to scream with how stupidly childish he’s making you feel, you reject every ounce of sensibility, looping one arm around his neck, using your other hand’s index to tug him closer by the belt loop.
Trust, the feeling is mutual.
Why waste the opportunity?
“What’s stopping you?”
The utterance barely graces air, and in milliseconds he’s crashing into your lips, a wordless confession it is real, not a mere figment of your imagination.
Stumbling to loosen his tie whilst keeping your faces impossibly connected, you fall deeper and deeper into the manner he tilts his head, expertly diminishing you into puddy in his touch.
Back and forth, memorizing your taste on his tongue.
Clumsy footsteps lead to his sofa, your fingers tangled in his dark strands, his kneading your waist.
And it’s not until your lungs cry for oxygen that you pull apart, Minho’s bottom lip tugged and bitten, yours swollen with his feverish kisses.
Both of you avidly messy, you can’t bring yourself to care, too busy enjoying the afterglow, his dazed smile.
“Whoever you want to save,” He starts, carefully smoothing over your skin with his thumb . “I will save them, deal?”
Returning that same lazy smile he directs at you, the both of you lean back on the couch, a twine of legs and limbs flailing in every direction.
Close, closer.
A part of you aches at the thought, blinking up at such a stunning tragedy. Aches knowing you can’t return the favor, can’t say the same, promise him that same promise.
Because according to the Red Plague, he’s lost that person, those people. So you remain silent, merely hoping one day they’ll receive proper eternal rest.
That's something you might be able to promise.
Tipping your chin up to where it sits right above his heart, those brilliant eyes of yours blinking up at him do little for his well-being.
Has anyone told you you’re beautiful? Because he thinks you are, he knows you are.
Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?
Minho grins deeper, brows creasing, expression doused in unadulterated adoration.
“And yet, you rope me into something else,” He whispers to himself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, let’s run another bath. I’ll join you this time, hm?”
FIC TAGLIST. @linocz @foxinnie8 @wonniesverse
sunboki, may 2022 ©
478 notes
·
View notes