#price is male wife
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Price is papa, yes. But he is also male wife
Before meeting Price, you were used to having to take care of yourself and doing all the cleaning and cooking around the house when you did live with other people. Upon meeting Price, you were fully prepared to do the same thing for him but mans surprises you.
When you go to do the laundry, you find the man already putting away and ironing clothes. Trying to cook dinner? Nope! That man is in the kitchen already or has ordered your favorite takeout.
At first, you thought it was him still trying to court you but now 4 years into your relationship, he was still doing all these things around the house.
He's in the military and you're not? Don't worry bout dinner honey cuz he made sure to have meal plans curated for short periods away or has takeout on its way every Friday night when he's gone for long periods of time. When he comes back, he is all over you and making sure you don't have to do a thing. He's cooking, cleaning, and cuddling.
You're both in the military? DO. NOT. DO. SHIT. And he means that in the most loving way possible. That man is doing anything and everything he can for you no matter if you can do it on your own or not.
141 will say he's whipped or a simp but John Price is completely ok with that. He loves his wonderful partner and would do anything for them.
And if ever there is a universe or timeline that you're in the military and he's not? He is on that shit night and day. Cooking, cleaning, and making sure that everything is done so that when you come home, there is nothing for you to worry about other than receiving all the love he has for you.
John Price is the dad of 141 but he is the wife of his significant other.
#cod task force 141#cod mw#cod mw22#cod#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty#call of duty price#mw2#mw2 2022#call of duty mw22#mw2022#modern warfare 2#john price#captain john price#price x reader#john price x reader#price is male wife#i love my military wife john price
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think about price who constantly refers to his lover as 'the wife' with lovesick eyes to 141
now imagine 141 loosing their SHIT on the inside when they first meet 'the wife' and she isn't some petite pretty little housewife like they imagined but instead a large ass man built like a fucking TANK and easily towers over Simon who is the tallest of the group. price still refers to him as 'the wife' with the dorkiest grin ever and 141 doesnt let him live it down, threatening him with telling 'the wife' whenever he doesnt let them do something stupid
(feral anon)
(i want to be 'the wife' so bad but sadly i am a short transmasc that doesn't look like a man at all)
(your posts cure my gender disphoria)
A/N: I loved this idea and I’ve been wanting to write a fluff piece for my old man so here u go, something very light hearted ! Excuse any mistakes I wrote it within an hour or so!
It’s no secret that Price likes to keep his private life and work life separated, not many people know he’s married and he likes to keep it that way.
However he has no qualms about 141 finding out about the person he loves so much, matter of fact Laswell was the first to know, all unplanned of course.
It all happened when the two of them snuck away from the rowdy group of men to smoke. Sitting inside would’ve been a better option. It was warm inside, they had decent lighting and were within hand’s distant to their drinks but that would also mean they were at risk of losing their hearing or getting elbowed in the stomach or face by the drunken men, so outside it is.
Price offers her his cigar, which she takes gracefully muttering something along the lines of “my wife doesn’t like it when I smoke” while taking a drag from the tobacco leaf.
“Neither does mine” he says with crows feet appearing around his eyes and lips curling up into a smile.
“You’re married?” Laswell says, only with a hint of surprise on her face as she hands the cigar back to him.
“Happily” he says smile still present as ever on his face before he takes a drag from the cigar as well “been that way for four years now”
She just nods in response before she takes the cigar back, and that’s pretty much how Laswell finds out about Price’s spouse.
The next person to find out about it is Gaz.
141 had been out on a mission that day, and Gaz had taken the impulsive decision to head straight into the fire in hopes of getting important intel. He’s managed to get it but not without getting scolded for his reckless behavior by Price. Hours later and the guilt is still eating at him so he decides to make his way over to Price’s office in an attempt to make amends with the older man.
Gaz takes a deep breath before he knocks on Price’s office door.
“Come on in” he hears the older man’s voice.
Gaz walks in only to be met with the sight of Price seated in his office chair, paper work scattered about on his desk and a cigar resting between his index and middle finger.
“Sir” Gaz says, awkwardly shuffling in place. “I’d like to apologize for earlier today”
“Already forgotten”
The surprise must’ve been clear on his face because the older man can’t help but chuckle.
“Sit down” Price says pointing at the chair opposite to him before taking another drag from the tobacco leaf.
Gaz swiftly takes a seat, hands resting on his knees, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.
There’s a moment of silence as Price rearranges the paper in a neat pile on his desk, pen carefully placed next to it before he speaks again.
“You got someone special waiting for you back home?”
Once again Gaz is surprised but this time the older man just looks at him and smiles.
“I do, sir”
“So do I” Price says smile getting bigger as he folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “Oh don’t look at me like that I’m not that old am I?”
“No - no sir” Gaz says, hands awkwardly flailing about and feeling his ears burn as he blurts out the words.
Price’s smile grows even bigger before he begins to explain “point is I’m sure that special someone wants you back home alive, if anything were to happen to me I’m sure the wife would find a way to haunt me in the after life”
Price’s gaze falls to his hands, fingers fidgeting with his wedding band.
Oh.
The wife.
The ring.
The captain is married.
“Sometimes we have to do things we rather not do to make sure we come back home to them, keep that in mind Garrick”
“Yes sir” Gaz says, mind still processing this new found information.
“Good, now if you excuse me I have someone to call,”
Gaz without thinking says “the wife?”
Price only chuckles but nods his head in confirmation “the wife”
Soap is the third person to find out and it happens while 141 are relaxing on base, playing cards and drinking beer.
Price walks in with black slacks and a white button, rolled all the way up to his elbows. On top of that there’s an invisible trail of cologne that seems to follow his form.
“Captain! Come join us” soap says not even looking up at the man but instead keeping laser focus on the cards in his hand.
“No can do boys I’m heading out with the wife”
Soap almost drops the cards in his hand, head turning so fast Price is surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “You’re married?”
“I am” Price says trying to suppress his chuckle when he sees Gaz peaking at Soap’s cards. “You weren’t planning on proposing were you soldier?” Price jokes which sends the rest of the group into a fit of laughter.
Soap physically recoils at that, head turning back to his cards and muttering a “to you captain? No thanks”
“Alright then, I’m heading out” Price says, choosing to ignore soaps comments, as he pulls on his jacket“don’t wait up!”
As Price makes his way over to the front door, he hears the group continuing to tease soap, can even hear the Scotsman accuse Gaz of looking at his cards, but he quickly forgets about everything as he sees you parked outside and waiting for him.
Ghost was very well aware of Price’s spouse, had even been the first person to know that Price was planning to propose.
The two of them had been in an entirely different squad, and less familiar with each other when they got sent out on a mission. A lot of things went wrong that day so much so Ghost and Price weren’t sure if the both of them would get back home alive. So Price had taken the opportunity to tell him about this special someone, how he was planning to propose to this person when they were scheduled to go back home, had even forced a wedding band in the palm of Ghost’s hand and told him to give it to the person if Price doesn’t make it out alive.
Luckily the both of them had managed to get out alive and Ghost had gotten the opportunity to watch Price put the ring on this person’s hand.
With that being said Ghost should be able to recognize this person if they were to appear in front of him but it’s been years so when he hears someone asking where Price is he doesn’t think twice about telling them, chalking it up to some poor lost recruit looking for the captain, while keeping his eyes on the weapon he’s cleaning.
However he doesn’t get to do much more before he hears another voice.
“Who’s the guy?” says soap, confusion clear in his tone.
Ghost turns to the other man and the annoyance must’ve been clear in his eyes because Soap raises his hands in an apologetic manner. “Oh sorry did i interrupt something important “ he says with a smile on his face.
“Anyway a tall really tall dude maybe taller than the ghost?” He pauses as if contemplating before he continues to explain “was looking for Price, really buff too…” he trails off while glancing down at his arms “hey you think I should work out more?”
Ghost just sighs before he returns to cleaning his weapon but he’s once again interrupted when Gaz walks in.
“Captain wants to see us in his office”
And that’s when he fully gives up on the task as he follows the two other men over to Price’s office, grumbling over why the captain was calling them over while putting up with the chatter from the Scotsman telling Gaz all about the giant that just passed him.
It doesn’t take much before they find themselves in front of Price’s office.
Through the door they can hear Price’s voice along with a much deeper voice, holding a conversation.
Soap is the first to knock on the door, while sharing confused glances with the two other men.
“Come in”
The three men enter the room only to be met with the sight of Price standing behind his office chair where a man is sitting in it, both of them sporting equally bright smiles on their faces.
“Boys” Price says, face ever so proud as he looks down at the man “meet the wife”
The man stands up, tall just like Soap had described him and when he reaches a hand out they see a wedding band that matches the one on Price’s hand.
“I’m the wife” you say with a big smile on your face.
#anonie me and u can still be /the wife/ fawk what everyone says 🤝#alec answers#john price#john price x reader#john price x male reader#call of duty#captain john price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#scribbles#feral anon
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I give you this idea…
Lawrence x Celia
Male wife and girl boss
she def pegs him
#btd2#btd#boyfriend to death lawrence#lawrence oleander#tpof celia#celia lede#the price of flesh#male wife
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oh my goodness. oh my goodness.
#barry sloane#my male wife#just ugh#captain price#cod price#it’s unbelievably how desperate he makes me
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Warnings: Papa Price is real, Male!Reader, Platonic Price x Reader, wife(not described in any way) x Male!reader, Reader has a Daughter, describtion of death, ptsd and survivor guilt. Not directly mentioned that Price is Readers Father
Summary: Johns Son, a soldier, is haunted by the memories of his fallen comrade and must come to terms with his survivor's guilt in order to move on.
A/n: this is fully inspiored by "No Time To Die" from Billie Eilish, had this idea while learning the song on the Piano💀
_________________________________________
I should've known
I'd leave alone
Just goes to show
That the blood you bleed
Is just the blood you owe
The soldier tossed and turned in his sleep, his face contorted in pain. He was reliving the horrors of war, the death and destruction that he had seen firsthand.
In his dreams, he heard the screams of his fallen comrades, felt the heat of the explosions, and smelled the acrid smoke of the battlefield. He was trapped in a nightmare that he couldn't escape.
August 14th 2021;
The soldier stood on the battlefield, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that he might not make it out alive, but he had a mission to complete. He had to protect his country and his fellow soldiers at all costs.
As he looked around at the chaos and destruction, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. He knew that he was up against a formidable enemy, one that was determined to destroy everything he held dear.
But he had no time to think about that now. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had to fight with all his might, to give it everything he had.
As he charged forward, gunfire ringing in his ears, he thought about all the people he loved back home. His family, his friends, his girlfriend, his soon to be born child. He wondered if he would ever see them again.
But he had no time to dwell on those thoughts. He had to keep moving, keep fighting. He had to be strong, for himself, for his comrades and everything he loved.
As the battle raged on, he felt his strength waning. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He wondered how much longer he could hold on.
But then he heard a voice, calling out to him. It was one of his fellow soldiers, one he has grown quite close with, wounded and in need of help.
We were a pair
But I saw you there
Too much to bear
You were my life
But life is far away from fair
The soldier's heart was pounding in his chest as he rushed to the side of his wounded comrade. He could see the pain etched on the other man's face, and he knew that time was running out.
Was I stupid to love you?
With trembling hands, he reached for his first aid kit, pulling out bandages and antiseptic. He worked quickly, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he tried to staunch the bleeding.
Was I reckless to help?
But it was no use. The wound was too severe, too deep. The soldier could feel his comrade slipping away, and he knew that he had to act fast.
Desperately, he searched through his kit, looking for something, anything that could save the other man's life. But he found nothing that could help.
The wounded soldier's breathing became shallow and labored. The other soldier could see the light fading from his comrade's eyes, and he knew that he was losing him.
With tears in his eyes, the soldier leaned down and whispered in his comrade's ear, telling him that he was not alone, that he would always be with him. He held the other man's hand, trying to give him comfort in his final moments.
Was it obvious to everybody else
That I'd fallen for a lie?
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?
Now you'll never see me cry
And then the wounded soldier's hand went limp, and his breathing stopped. The other soldier knew that he was gone.
There's just no time to die
He sat there for a long time, holding his comrade's hand, unable to move. He felt a deep sense of loss and grief, of anger and frustration. Why couldn't he save him? Why did he have to die?
I let it burn
You're no longer my concern
Faces from my past return
Another lesson yet to learn
In the end, the soldier knew that he had done everything he could. He had fought with honor, and he had tried to save his comrade's life. But sometimes, even the best efforts are not enough. Sometimes, death comes for us all.
With that he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He knew that he had to keep fighting, to keep pushing forward. He had no time to die, not yet.
That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?
Now you'll never see me cry
There's just no time to die
And so he fought on, with everything he had. He would not give up, he would not surrender. He would do whatever it took to protect his country and his fellow soldiers.
No time to die
No time to die
For he was a soldier, and this was his duty. And he would not rest until the battle was won.
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?
Now you'll never see me cry
_________________________________________
When he finally woke up, he was drenched in sweat, his heart racing. He sat up in bed, gasping for breath, trying to shake off the memories that haunted him.
But they wouldn't go away. The soldier was plagued by flashbacks, by the constant feeling of being on edge, of being in danger. He had nightmares every night, and he couldn't escape the guilt that he felt for surviving when so many of his comrades had died.
He felt like he had let them down, like he should have done more to save them. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow responsible for their deaths, that he could have done something to prevent them from happening.
The soldier tried to push these thoughts aside, to focus on the present, to live his life as best he could. But the memories and the guilt were always there, lurking in the back of his mind, waiting to surface at any moment.
He knew that he needed help, that he couldn't go on like this forever. But he was afraid to ask for it, afraid of being seen as weak, of being a burden on others.
In the end, the soldier knew that he had to face his demons head-on, that he had to confront his PTSD and survivor guilt if he ever wanted to find peace. And so he took the first step, reaching out for help, and hoping that it would be enough. So he went to the person he knew best.
_________________________________________
The soldier sat across from his father, his hands shaking, his eyes downcast. He had come to talk to him about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the guilt that he felt every day.
His father, a Soldier himself, knew all too well what his son was going through. He had seen the same horrors of war, had felt the same pain and loss.
"I don't know how to deal with it, Dad," the soldier said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't shake the feeling that I should have done more, that I could have saved them."
His father reached across the table and took his son's hand. "I know how you feel, son," he said. "I've been there. But you have to remember that you did everything you could. You fought for your country, for your brothers and sisters in arms. You did your duty, and you did it well."
The soldier shook his head. "But it wasn't enough," he said. "I couldn't save them. And now I'm the one who's left behind, who has to live with the guilt."
His father squeezed his hand. "You're not alone, son," he said. "You have your family, your friends, your fellow veterans. We're all here for you, to help you through this."
The soldier looked up at his father, tears in his eyes. "I don't know if I can do it," he said. "I don't know if I can face the memories, the nightmares, the guilt. It's too much."
His father leaned forward. "You can do it, son," he said. "You're strong, you're brave, you're a fighter. You've been through hell and back, and you've come out the other side. You can do this, too."
The soldier took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll try."
His father smiled, patting his hand. "That's all I can ask," he said. "Just remember, you're not alone. We're all in this together."
_________________________________________
May 25th 2023;
The soldier sat on the couch, his eyes bright and alert, his breathing steady. His daughter played with her toys on the floor beside him, while his wife sat next to him, her hand resting on his knee.
He had come home from the war a changed man, haunted by the memories of what he had seen and done. But with the help of his wife, his therapist, and his own determination, he had slowly begun to heal.
He still had bad days, of course. Days when the memories came flooding back, when he felt overwhelmed by the weight of what he had experienced. But those days were becoming fewer and farther between.
"Hey, honey," his wife said, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. "How was your day?"
He smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him. "It was good," he said. "I had a session with my therapist this morning, and we talked about some really helpful coping strategies."
His daughter crawled onto his lap, snuggling against him. "Daddy, can we play a game?" she asked.
He grinned, kissing her forehead. "Of course," he said. "What do you want to play?"
She thought for a moment, then grinned. "Hide and seek!" she said.
He laughed, feeling a lightness in his chest. "Okay," he said. "You go hide, and I'll come find you."
As she scampered off to hide, he turned to his wife, taking her hand. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. For sticking with me, for helping me through all of this."
She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "I love you," she said. "And I'm so proud of you."
He felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of peace and contentment that he hadn't felt in a long time. He had a family who loved him, who would stand by him no matter what.
And as he went off to find his daughter, he knew that he was going to be okay.
#male reader#cod modern warfare#male reader x wife#daughter#male reader x female#captain price#john price x reader platonic#platonic x john price#platonic#father character x son reader
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╰﹒ price's wife = the wife of 141
warnings/content: 18+! 141 x fem!reader. dubcon: sex under the influence of alcohol, unprotected sex, blowjobs, anal, mentions of cum and spit, male masturbation ??? just... everything, really. buckle up, besties. mdni!
being price's cute little tradwife would mean that he'd share you with the rest of 141, too. it wasn't his plan at first: he had never thought of it until he had seen the way that they had all looked at you.
gazes lingering on your frame for just a while too long. tongues wetting their lips as they towered over you, grinning as you laughed, soft and sweet, at something they'd said. your eyes sparkling, your glossed lips tugging into one of those smiles that filled the pit of price's stomach with butterflies each time he saw it on your features.
you knew how to make everyone around you feel special, no matter if you meant to do it or not. and slowly but surely, they all had begun to ask about you: about whether or not you'd be joining them for drinks that evening. about your plans for price's vacation.
"takin' our lass somewhere warm?" johnny grinned, wetting his lips. "send us boys a postcard or a picture of our bonnie layin' on the beach, will ye?"
where price had expected to feel a touch of jealousy, he instead found himself feeling something so much deeper. excitement; burn at the thought of them enjoying you just as much as he did.
you were good, and sweet, and kind.
your love was endless and unconditional: the type of love that healed wounds one didn't know they had in the first place. your lips soft, your eyes twinkling, your touch nothing short of damn heaven: a woman like you made to be loved by so much more than just a single man.
so why not four?
and after months of watching their need for you grow day by day, price gave in.
inviting you to dance with the boys in your living room. grinning, as he encouraged ghost to draw you into his lap: to let his fingers play with yours as you drank yourself silly, your husband handing you a new glass each time you downed the previous one.
price humming with warm agreement, as gaz pulled you to him and let his lips ghost a kiss on your forehead. so soft and gentle, careful to not scare you off.
though his permission for them to touch you had not been explicit, they'd all known: had seen it in the way that he had looked at you and them, brow raised in his amusement.
help yourself to her, lads.
and so, they did.
you were so drunk that your words were slightly slurring: eyes twinkling as the three men were suddenly all over you. his little wife so confused, yet so happy—you always were when you were drunk. so gullible, so easy to influence.
the drunken words of encouragement from their lips tangled together: their hands suddenly all over you, nearly impossible to keep track of.
it was ghost who called you our darlin', wasn't it?
soap who promised to be so gentle with you, not wanting to hurt their little lass. wanting to make sure that you could take it all.
gaz whose hands were kneading your hips, as his lips brushed against your earlobe. 'gonna fuck you so good, love.'
your gaze searched for that of price, yet all he did was raise an amused brow with a cigar hanging from his lips. lounging on the couch of your living room, cock pressing against the soft material of his pants.
be good, his eyes told you. make your husband proud, bunny.
and so you did. working so damn hard on your knees: the three greedy men taking their time with you as they fucked your throat in turns, grinning as they watched your mascara run down your pretty little cheeks. price's little wife exhausted yet glowing: eyes looking up at them as they slapped their cocks against your cheeks and watched you suck and lick on their balls, drops of precum messing up your pretty hair.
so fucking good for them, weren't you?
price's good little wife.
their sweet little slut.
though your thoughts were clouded from the alcohol rushing through your system, your body responded in all the ways that you knew made price proud of you. your thighs glimmering with your arousal, your lips parting in the warmest and softest of moans and gasps, as their hands palmed your throbbing cunt and tore off your panties and dress.
so greedy in the way that they forced your breasts on full display. mouths and hands attacking your sensitive nipples: low, rumbling laughs making you clench your thighs together, as you struggled to stay standing from the way that they were passing you between the three.
faster than you understood, you found yourself perched up on the coffee table. on your hands and knees, eyes aligned with those of price, as his hand moved to your lips.
"spit, sweetheart."
you did: your brows furrowing as price used your spit as lubricant, his hand moving to his cock as he laid back on the couch and touched himself.
touched himself to the sight of his squad mates going to fucking town with you. a cock—whose, you did not know nor did it matter—sliding into your drenched cunt, merciless in the way that it stretched you wide and open with a single snap of his hips. another one at your mouth, pressing against it: sliding in, impatient, as soon as you parted your lips. burying itself deep down your throat.
"keep your eyes open, bunny," price groaned, voice touched with dark amusement. "the boys wanna see you when they fuck you, don't they? wanna see what a damn good woman they've got."
the tip of johnny's cock pressed against your second hole, and your eyes widened from the realization.
"it's not her first time," price chuckled, eyes never leaving yours. "she's never taken one in each hole, but she can handle it. can't you, love?"
your brows knitting, you nodded your head. no use in trying to talk with gaz's cock pushing deeper down your throat—his fingers tangling in your hair, as johnny pushed in.
inch by inch as you focused on your breathing: your eyes locked with those of your husband. and you managed. of course you managed. you were price's good little wife, and his good little wife was made for taking three cocks simultaneously.
was made for pleasuring his friends, now fucking losing it on you. fucking into you as you moaned and mewled: as you came again and again, shaking and sobbing around them. covered in your own arousal and their cum, their spit, and your tears of sheer overwhelming pleasure.
and as they were finally done, it was clear to all five of you.
by then, you were no longer the wife of captain john price.
you were the sweet little wife of the entire 141.
masterlist | requests are open 💌
#what am I doing lmao? I'm logging off for the next three days. I'm off the hinges my loves. off the fucking hinges.#john price x reader#141 x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader
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~ MasterList/Taglist ~
Mostly hazbin hotel Alastor imagines!!!
you can find all writings for the Radio Demon❤️📻 under #jyoongim tag in posts for what’s not linked!
Please comment so you can be added to ever growing taglist🩷
Some have warnings and others don’t so read at your own risk!!!!
Key notes: I don’t not write male inserts
MINORS IF YOU ARE NOT 16+(I’m giving grace) DO NOT READ OR COMMENT!!!!!!!!
Fem!= female bodied reader
Yan!= yandere
NSFW = smut (sexual content) 18+
Fluff= fluff fic
Ch= chubby reader
DC= dubious content
NC= non-consent
Plat= platonic pair
I might post these to A03 so please be on the lookout for!!!!
✨Horny game✨
Alastor Requests
Acts of service
Cockwarming
Submissive Alastor
Jealous Alastor
A reminder to All
Pretty princess
Love language
Deal of a lifetime
Short fluff
Perfect wife
Retired pornstar
Run Darlin
Appetence
Ears
In the club
Nonbinary
More like a cat
Not so big and bad
Valentine special ❤️
Valentine special 2❤️
Cannibalism 1 / Cannibalism 2
Ruined Redemption
Bagged a baddie
We meet again
Mornings after
His sweet melody
Snatch & saved
Pretty lady
Friends
3 in 1
Jealous hubby
Behind Bars
Need someone older
Nine tails
Agape
Unwillingly Yours
Short Alastor series
A Deal With God
Price to Pay
Anyway you want me baby
Dangerously in love
Always a Radio Star
~BLOOD & BLISS~
A03 - in bio will link later
Love you all😩 happy reading!!!!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#jyoongim#alastor x y/n#alastor smut#alastor fluff#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel x reader#human alastor x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#alastor imagine#charlie morningstar#vox hazbin hotel#human alastor x wife reader#alastor fanfiction#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor x you#human alastor#alastor headcanons
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— 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 ©
#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#straykids x you#straykids x y/n#straykids x reader#lee minho x y/n#lee minho x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho fluff#leeknow x y/n#leeknow x you#leeknow x reader#leeknow fluff#lee know x y/n#lee know x you#lee know x reader#lee know fluff#lee know angst#leeknow angst#lee minho angst#skz angst#straykids angst#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#stray kids angst#straykids fluff
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Astrology observations 🌞🌞🌞
Credit @astroismypassion
🌞 Taurus Venus child in the family is known to be someone “you need a lot of money for”, they are the high maintenance of the family. They are also quite particular in how they want their things to be made, for example no homemade coffee, just Starbucks.
🌞 Aries Sun, Venus and Mars need their windows open for fresh air as often as possible. They feel as there constantly no air in the room.
🌞 Pisces Vesta women don’t compete with other women for male attention or approval ever. They also have a very “if you can steal him, then you can also have him” mentality.
🌞 Libra Vesta native has a lot of female friends.
🌞 There is a reason why Taurus Venus is actually really good at shopping (and it’s probably their favourite hobby as well). It’s because they find the best price.
🌞 I have not met a single Scorpio or Aries Moon that does not like rap, R’n’B or hip hop.
🌞 Aries Moon woman or man was often not picked as the crush or romantic interest when younger. That’s why some of them have player vibe around them when older. Because they want to know how does it feel to have options.
🌞 Also, for some reason Aries Moons often attract people that don’t want to commit or are scared of partnerships.
🌞 I noticed that Scorpio Venus often has very private partnership later with age. And the reason for this privacy was because when they were younger, their relationship was super public. Or other people got involved, had their opinions about the relationship.
🌞 I noticed Aquarius Suns really don’t have a lot committed partnerships when younger or may stay single in their younger years when their peers are dating.
🌞 Ceres being like a “second Moon sign” indicates also the traits of your own mother. But also how you might act as a parent yourself, most likely your parenting style.
🌞 Cancer Vesta is often found in a Natal chart of a native that is part of a family that has had daughters every family generation.
🌞 The beauty of having Scorpio Venus is absolutely transforming your lovers, but the downside is low self-worth and that’s when jealousy kicks in.
🌞 I think that the placement that often ends up thinking that they will stay forever alone is Aquarius Sun, Aquarius Jupiter, Sun Uranus aspects or Sun at an Aquarius degree, especially women. But the reason for this is often in younger years, they attract unserious people, that’s why they rather stay single. These people also have very high self-love! So it takes them a lot to enjoy someone else’s company.
🌞 Libra Ceres has a tendency for dramatic partnerships, they experience high highs and low lows.
🌞 Virgo or Gemini and Aquarius placement always find each other. Both live pondering on life. And often Aquarius Sun is found in a partnership with someone who has a Virgo or Gemini Moon I noticed. One celebrity example is Matthew McConaughey who has a Virgo Moon and his wife Camila who is an Aquarius Sun.
🌞 Sagittarius Mars women love a partner that is very very fun, but often end up attracting someone who doesn’t take life seriously.
🌞 I think Gemini and Virgo Venus, also Venus in the 6th house are the only people who get “impersonal” compliments, such as “I love how you take care of yourself” rather than relating something with their physical appearance, style.
🌞 Composite Capricorn Rising might experience either family supporting the connection or family being “open enemies” against the connection. Also, they deal with a lot of pregnancy scares.
🌞 I noticed Scorpio Moon or Moon in the 8th house and those with Moon Pluto aspects tend to develop feelings for whoever they spend the most time with! Because it takes them a long, long time to get truly comfortable with someone.
Credit @astroismypassion
#astrology#astroismypassion#astro notes#astroblr#astro community#astro note#astro observations#natal chart#astrology blog#chart reading#scorpio venus#aries moon
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More Lawrence and Celia art 😈 (they are so horrible for each other)
shes a bad influence
ignore the hand , i know
#btd2#btd#boyfriend to death lawrence#lawrence oleander#tpof celia#celia lede#the price of flesh#male wife
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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?????
#barry sloane#my male wife#ugh#he loves me#we’re married#happy we’re together#wifey type#cod price#captain price
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Fletcher and foxboy malewife are my favorite but what if.... fletcher and naga malewife? I think that'd be interesting
Yan Farmer Flemish Rabbit Hybrid + Naga Reader
[No pronouns used for Reader but they are referred to as wife and intended to be male]
-
"Give it back...... Give it back...."
A stalking plague falls upon the sleepy town. Residents of a once a bustling burrow of rabbits now lock their doors soon as the sun sets over the mountains in fear of the shadow lurking down every barren alleyway. Hunger pains, yet it does not seek the flesh of these creature. It hunts each night - a restless search for the item able to free it from this place. Anger and fear rule its mind, teeth flared at any and all who answer their pleas incorrectly. Confusion replaces the fear dread in the hearts of its victims at the accusations of theft. Regardless, the beast points their claws at whomever crosses their path til what they have lost is rightfully returned.
"Give it back...."
"This what you're lookin' for?"
A chain dangles freely from the rabbit's finger - moonlight bouncing off the blood red gem tailored to the sliver band attached to the end of the chain. There's something odd about this rabbit. Why does this one smell so... familiar?
The barn.
Your sanctuary from the raging storm has been the crux of all your troubles from the very beginning. This rabbit must be is caretaker then. You've seen him in passing, but had no interest in him besides his herd so you never paid much attention to the details. One that goes without saying is how large the man is. Your tail gives you leverage now, but if you don't get your ring back soon then surely-
"It's rude to keep what isn't yours. Give it to me."
"Hey, now- I found this on my property fair and square. I even waited the first couple of nights for you to come back, but you never showed. I was starting to worry I'd never see you again."
Does he enjoy the sound of his own voice? Something catches your eye over the rabbit's shoulder. A glimmer of yellow breaking over the horizon. Panic sets in as a tingle runs through the nerves of your tail. It won't be long now. You needed to act fast. The rabbit looked to be aware of your peril as he takes several steps back into the growing sunlight. Your hand recoils as it creeps towards you.
"Been watching you for a long time now. Long enough to know a small bit about this whole... situation you got going on. I'll give you this ring back - for a price.~"
He's stalling. Sunlight blinds your sight as that accursed ball of light peeks over the buildings. Your body slowly begins to shrink - tail splitting in two as you topple over from the sudden shift in your shape. You crash to the ground - the bulk of your scales receding into your all too human flesh as you land. The rabbit whistles, turning a bashful eye away from your nude figure.
"If humiliating me is what you wanted, I'd say you got what you wished. Can I have my ring back now?"
A curse passed down generation by generation. By night, you are your true self. By day, you are forced to walk this earth on two legs like the rest of animal kin. The disadvantage it puts you at is steep. Smaller, weaker, pitiful. That ring has the power to return you to your proper state even now. You have to get it back.
The rabbit appears offended by your words.
"Humiliate you? Now why on earth would I want to humiliate my wife? You'll get this ring back on our wedding day. I'd love to get you something flashy myself, but it's nicer to keep things in the family. Sooner we get married, sooner you get this back - got it?."
He.... can't be serious. You still return to your true form by sunset. You may be able to overpower him then. As things stood now, you had no chance. Not only was he bigger than you, but in the scarce chance you obtain the upper hand now the town's people are sure to come to his rescue before you can grab what's yours and flee.
"Alright. I will become your wife in exchange for what's mine."
The rabbit grins. "That's the spirit. Name's Fletcher by the way, but most folks call me Fetch. Thought you might like to know since we'll be stuck together from now on."
Fletcher pulls something from his shoulders as he approaches. A fuzzy blanket which he drapes around you as he lifts you off the cold ground. The bastard really has been watching you- Shuddering from the cold, you seek the warmth from his fur as you place your head to his chest - heart beat gone sporadic as you nestle your face deeper into the fluff. If you are to be stuck with him for now, it's better to play along than give away your true intentions so soon.
"Heh, let's get you home before you freeze out here. I'll make you something to eat and we'll get to know each other better before we start planning our special day."
That sounds.... pleasant. The food that is. You can't recall the last time you'd eaten. Hooking your arms around the rabbits neck, he carries you off in the direction of his home as the sleepy town you once terrorized wakes once more.
#Fletcher my oc#yandere x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere blurb#yandere insert#yandere#male yandere#yandere drabble#yandere farmer#yandere hybrid#yandere scenarios
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Cw: 18+, single dad Price, top Male reader, one night stand, age gap, widower! Price
Summary: In which Price happens to hook up with his son’s boyfriend
Thinking about single dad Price who’s been single for many years but gets encouraged by his friends to try the dating scene. After finding no luck on dating apps, he tries going to a gay bar.
At first it's the same old story, men who just want him for the night, not much different from the men from the dating apps and he’s just about to give up when you show up.
He hadn’t planned to talk to you at first and you hadn't even tried to approach him but you had gotten your drinks mixed up and thus a conversation started up.
From the low light of the bar he could see that you were much younger than him, and for a second Price thought about cutting this conversation short because Price knew boys like you, boys who thought they could take on the world boys who didn’t even know what they really want.
But he didn’t want to cut the conversation short, and found himself intrigued by you. Besides you’re the only normal person that approached him tonight so why not?
The two of you spoke about anything and everything under the sun. He had even let it slip that he was a single dad who hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while but you didn’t seem to mind it at all, only giving him a soft smile in response as you continued to listen to him.
But every word exchanged, every time your gazes met, every accidental graze and touch Price had realized you were just his type.
And suddenly Price wanted you in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone since his late wife passed.
But you didn’t seem that much interested in having sex, instead you continued to sit with him at the bar, and talk to him.
Price thought it must’ve been because of his age, why would you want to hook up with an old man anyway?
But if Price has learned anything from the dating scene it’s that sometimes you have to take the first step and see where it leads you.
So he downed his drink, cleared his throat, and asked you if you’d like to come home with him.
You’d been surprised at first not expecting those words and Price almost took your hesitance for rejection but you quickly spoke up again, ending any doubts in his head, and only asking if he’s sure about it
Price felt heat creeping up his neck, ears and cheeks but nodded eagerly, pants growing tighter as the two of you walked to his apartment.
When he first stepped foot inside he thought you’d push him up against the wall rip his clothes off and crash your lips onto his, truth be told if you were to do that he wouldn’t mind it but instead you hung your jacket up and put your shoes to the side and looked around the apartment , with a curious look in your eyes.
Price tried to scramble his brain for something to say. It had been so long since he brought someone home, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say anymore but all of sudden his thoughts are cut off by the sound of your voice “Is that a picture of you in the army?”
“Hm? Oh yeah” Price nodded in response as you inspected one of the pictures hung on the wall.
It had been one he’d taken with the rest of tf141, a keepsake for when he went into retirement.
“You were a captain?” You said, voice full of wonder as you continued to inspect the picture.
“Been plenty of things kid, I spent many years in the army” Price shrugged in response and walked closer to you, so that your shoulders were brushing up against each other.
“I always wanted to enlist but never passed the physical test,”
"Yeah?" Well it’s not all what it’s cut up to be, I got a bad knee and ptsd from the years spent serving”
“I’m sorry” you said, and turned to meet his gaze.
“Don’t be,”
Your gaze dropped down to his lips, as your arms snuk around his waist
“Price,”
“John” he corrected and leaned further into your embrace.
“John, can I kiss you?” You said, hand cupping his cheek and stroking flushed skin.
“Please” before he knew of it you crashed your lips onto his and he lost himself in the feeling of finally being kissed, in the way you tasted, the way your sweet cologne engulfed his senses, the way you licked into his mouth as if trying to memorize every nook and cranny.
It didn’t take much before you were stumbling into his dark bedroom, but instead of ripping the clothes off of his body you were gentle as ever as you slipped pieces of clothing off of him, all while trailing kisses all over his skin.
But it didn’t end there because you were gentle as ever as you pushed him onto the bed, and ever so careful as you crawled up the mattress and pinned him down under your weight and Price couldn’t help the butterflies that swarmed his stomach.
You spent the night taking him apart with your hands and mouth, having him perched on your lap as he worked himself up and down on your cock, or having him sobbing into the sheets as you fucked him into the bed that his wife and him used to sleep in, even having him screaming -crying enough to make him worry that the neighbors’ would complain in the morning.
When he woke up the next day you weren’t with him in bed but you had left a sticky note saying you had to rush home for whatever reason.
Luckily you had left your number on it but Price didn’t have the courage to call.
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and he’d forgotten about the young man that had given him the world in just one night until one day you showed up at his front door and introduced yourself as his son’s boyfriend.
#call of duty#john price x reader#john price x male reader#john price#captain john price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#dom male reader#top male reader#sub male character#bottom male character
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✦Incorrect C.O.D Quotes, since AO3 is down✦
Gaz: I wanna know what exactly your type is.
Y/N: I'm not just gonna give you more fodder to throw at me-
Gaz: I have an idea of it already, but I want details!
Y/N: No!
Gaz: Like- König! Would you-
Y/N: Of fuckin’ course I wanna fuck König! He’s huge, he could LITERALLY snap me in half and my dad didn’t love me, of course I want him to fuck me!
Soap: *does that weird inhale-choke-cough*
—
(Dick mention + a woman’s experience of a dude making gross comments. It’s funny I swear-)
Fem!medic!Y/N: most of the time, people are pretty nice and sometimes impressed when when I bring up I’m a medical professional. Other times…eh..
Soap: Eh?
Y/N: Sometimes you get conspiracy theorists.
Soap: Ohhhh…
Y/N: Some evangelists, gross dudes.
Gaz: Gross dudes? What’s the worst you’ve heard?
Ghost, sipping a whiskey: This outta be good.
Y/N: Uh, once I told this man hitting on me I was a field doctor? He said, and I quote. “Been awhile since my last check up, mind checking me for ball cancer.” And I-
Gaz: WHAT
Soap: YOU’RE KIDDING
Y/N: I am not. I just- I walked away.
Price: Fuckin’ hell.
Y/N: It’s fine. He got shot in the dick next mission, ended up with a male doctor.
Ghost: Karma at its best.
-
Graves: Oh FUCK YOU
Y/N: Tsk, oooo…you don’t have enough money for that.
Soap: HAHA!
-
Soap, drunk: Back Street’s back, alright! Do do do do-
Gaz, drunk on Price’ shoulders: Dodooodo-
Price: Simon, get your boy.
Ghost: *picking Soap up by his belt, carrying him like a bag* Yes sir.
-
Recruit: When you gonna stop giving me blue balls?
Gaz: Whoa hey!-
Y/N: Aight, I got my steel toes on. How bout we make’em black and blue?
Recruit: I-
Y/N: Shut the fuck up. I’ve already turned you down, get a hint. Word of advice? Rather than shoot for the stars, maybe shoot your shot in your lower bracket, yeah?
Recruit:
Gaz: Someone get a fire extinguisher, this dudes been burned.
Soap: On it. *sprays recruit with fire extinguisher*
-
Soap: Nice onesie, does it come in men’s?
Gaz, in his pyjamas: I think you cum enough in men for the all of us.
Soap: ACK-
Ghost: *slides out of the room*
-
Ghost: Have you ever considered, just once, using your brain first?
Soap: Now why would I do that?
-
(Insert random name I HC for Laswell’s wife)
Kate, after being in a bad explosion and ending up in this hospital: My wife, she’ll get upset if she sees you rubbing me like that on my chest.
Diana: I am your wife.
Kate ….
Diana: :)
Heart rate monitor: BEEPBEEPBEEPBE-
Kate Hi.
Diana: Hehe, hi.
Gaz, in the corner: Oh to be in love.
Soap: This is disgusting, why can’t I have this? >:,(
Gaz: Cause your type in men is awful.
Soap: Hey!
-
Y/N: *walks into common room* Hello, I am very upset. I feel a meltdown coming on and you are all buff men, so I would like to request being picked up and held like a baby for a short period of time, please.
Soap: Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?
Y/N: Nope.
König: ….*slowly approaches and picks Y/N up from under their arms*
Y/N, clinging to him like a koala and hiding in his shoulder: Thank you, I appreciate you.
König: *awkward back pat*
-
König: :)
Y/N: Bloopbloopbloopbloop-
Horagi: Y/N!
Y/N: What?
Horagi: Tha-That is our colo-that is a dangerous man!
Y/N: He’s not a dangerous man!
Horagi: What are y-
Y/N: We’re bloopin’! Bloopbloopbloop-
König: -w-
-
Price: Kid, I need you to-
Gaz & Y/N: *dancing like they don’t have jobs to do*
Gaz: Go stink!
Y/N: Fuck it up!
Gaz: Go stink!
Y/N: Fuck it up!
Gaz: Go stink!
Y/N: That’s what’s up!
Gaz: Go stink!
Y/N: I’m in love!
Price: AHEM
Gaz: Oh shit-
Y/N: HEEEYY captaaaaiinn, what’s uuupp ahaha…
Price: *sigh*
-
(Based on; Me if COD was real. Deadass. Full serious. I am not kidding)
Gaz: So have you met the Captain yet?
Y/N: No.
Gaz: Are you nervous?
Y/N: No no, I have a firm belief that they’re just people. Obviously I’ll respect him as a superior but that’s nnnnnnnnwho the hell is that?
Y/N: *fucking breaking their neck*
Gaz: Oh- Nope. No no, THAT is Captain. Don’t think about it.
Y/N: I’m thinking about it.
Gaz: That’s not allowed.
Y/N: Ive done worse for less, if he asks I’m sucking it, you can’t stop me.
Gaz: Jesus Bloody Christ-
Y/N: Tell him to call me when he’s on leave.
Gaz: Stop-
-
König: *walks in*
Ghost: ??
Soap: Oh, hey!
Gaz: Y’a need somethi-
König: *picks up Y/N under his arm while humming, leaving the room*
König: I love stealing, I love taking things!~
Ghost: What the f-
-
Colonel!König: I’m 42 so, I don’t-
Y/N: YOU’RE 42?!
Colonel!König: Yeah.
Y/N: …it’s okay no one has to know babygirl~
König: NEIN! Nein, don’t call me babygirl!-
-
(Based on this awful Gaz outfit I saw on Twitter)
MILF!Y/N: *doing paperwork*
Gaz: Would you date me?
Y/N: Baby we couldn’t even get a drink together. You can’t buy me nothin.
Gaz: What do you mean? :(
Y/N: Look at your outfit! What are you wearing?
Gaz: I think I look pretty fly.
Y/N: For who, your mom?
Gaz: :((
-
Gaz: STOP DATING MY CAPTAIN
Y/N: ….you know what, I’m gonna start dating him even harder.
Gaz: What’s that supposed to mean?
Y/N: You know what it means.
-
MILF!Y/N: *shoving apple juice into a cart* They gon’ need nutrition.
Laswell: How many kids do you have?
MILF!Y/N: Eleven!
Laswell: So I’m assuming your kids really like apple juice?
MILF!Y/N: No but they looove orange juice but they’ve been bad this week.
Laswell: What grade are your kids in?
MILF!Y/N: Sixteenth grade.
Laswell: PFFT Sixteenth- that’s not even a grade! So your kids graduated college?
MILF!Y/N: No they, they- …where are my kids?
-
(Her “kids” on the other side of the store)
Price: Boys please-
Gaz: I AM NOT LOSING!
Soap, in a fuckin’ headlock with him: Yes you fuckin’ are!!
Ghost: *slipping cookies under his mask, he did not pay for them*
König: *looking for a fruity snack*
Horagi: *grabbing as many packs of spicy chips as he can*
Alejandro: This is a disgrace. *holding up frozen burritos*
Rudy: These are worse. *motions to frozen tamales*
Alex: Did you know you can use coke as rust remover?
Farah: …and you want to drink it??
-
Y/N: So. Kyle.
Gaz, already afraid: …yes?
Y/N: I found some of your old playlists…
Gaz:
Y/N:
Gaz:
Y/N: You an emo?
Gaz: I was a SCENE as a teenager, get it right.
#call of duty mwii#call of duty x reader#john soap mactavish#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#cod konig#horangi call of duty#alex keller#farah karim#alejandro vargas#rodolfo rudy parra#kate laswell#call of duty incorrect quotes#modern warfare
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Randome TF141 headcanons
Some of them are weird. But I just know.
Price:
Never go to the toilet after him
has a hut in the forest for fishing but mostly ends up fucking a local in there
because this man is a whore
he is still the most loyal when he is in a relationship
his favorite food is Shepard's pie or red jelly but not the green one and no one understands why
has so hard Daddy issues that he fathers everyone
uses AXE dark temptation to get rid of the cigar smell in his house
smells like Tom Ford tobacco vanilla
his love language is gift - giving and acts of service
NSFW:
he is a munch everyone knows it but still he is the biggest munch
Breeding kink
He is a whore but just because he thinks he doesn't deserve more than a one nighstands , please give this man a soft wife to dot on - preferably me
he hates Anal sex but riming is okay in his cards
says he is straight but bottomed Simon and Johnny on many occasions and likes to get blowies from or favorite pretty boy :)
prefers hair down there
Ghost:
He only Shops at Lidl you will never see him at Tesco or Sainsbury, even with all the coupons and tricks Lidl is cheaper. You will never see him somewhere else.
He hates London with all his heart, if there were a hate page for London he would be the admin. Dirty tube, bad football, and too many tourists.
He has a deep hate against a parrot, if parrots have zero haters he is dead.
Read Jane Austin and enjoyed it.
Has a book of stupid jokes in his apartment and laughs about them
When he is in love he is the cutest man alive, but somehow still creepy, he knows your favorite things in everything even your favorite underwear company even tho you never told anyone.
uses 5 - 1 shampoo .... from Lidl (still very keen on hygiene)
NSFW
He watches stepsiblings' porn unapologetically
Has a mommy kink. I could go into heavy detail about it
He isn't a rough lover more of a service Dom
Doesn't care about hair down there
Soap:
He sometimes feels left out in his family, his siblings have children and "normal" jobs. His family doesn't see his lifestyle as something to be proud of
Except for his mom, he is such a momma boy but in a good way.
Was a sperm doner once (more than once) but only because he is a good guy with fertile genes
His mohawk was an accident, he decided it looked "fresh" so it stayed.
Watches DC instead of Marvel...... why?
Uses Hugo Boss, bottled Night, got it from his grandma, and never used anything else
NSFW:
Gaz was his BI awakening: after las Almas and the broken shoulder he couldn't wank himself properly, and he got so frustrated because he couldn't even sleep properly with a woman because of it, and he didn't just want to go to the Pub and say "Hey my shoulder is broken can you wank me". So in his half-drunk state, he asked Gaz. And after promising each other they would never talk about it, Kyle did help him. Johnny never cummed that fast. He isn't sure if it was because of Kyle's skilled hands, Kyle's fucking hot body, or that he didn't have a wank in two weeks. And when Kyle licked his cum that was his awakening that he likes men and Women. Of course, he returned the favor after he was healed:)
His favorite porn category is Woman Masturbating or Male Masturbating, everything that is solo is 100000 times better than "real porn".
He lost his Virginity very Young to an older Woman. Johnny always flexed about this, but this isn't a reason to flex.
When you sleep with him - you need to be on the pill because he is mister fucks so hard that every condom breaks.
He wears lingerie sometimes - he pulls it better off than some of us :(
cums way too fast but can last like 4-6 rounds
loves tit fucking
Gaz:
smells like Bleu de Chanel
had a more expensive skincare routine than you
he loves skincare
He grew up with two moms.
He loves listening to Taylor Swift. No one can convince me otherwise.
Is deeply in love with me
He played Rugby in school. If he hadn't joined the Military, he would be a professional Rugby player.
Kyle was still somehow that awkward kid in class. Even needed to change the school because he got bullied.
NSFW:
He was disappointed in Johnny's cock sucking skills, but Price is a different breed.
can pull anyone and is mister give everyone an orgasm, not once in his life did he let his lover unsatisfied
had a foursome once when he was like 23, with three girls who were obsessed with him, and who can judge them
he is a guy who doesn't kiss and tell
his fav porn category is Anal Sex
has a CNC kink but is afraid to ask
is shaven down there but doesn't care if you are or not.
I have so much more ahhhh
#cod mw2#cod x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#captain john price#john price#call of duty#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#cod#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz garrick#gaz x reader#gaz mw2#gaz cod#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#kyle x reader#soap mw2#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soapghost#soap x reader#soap x you#john mactavish x reader#captain john price smut#captain price#task force 141#tf141
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red team ftw no one else even stands a chance against the sheer levels of insanity these streamers are capable of, they don't know what's going to hit them. Never did I think I'd hear the day Jaiden Fucking Animations, the (up until recently) mostly family friendly animator and YouTuber scream KILL YOURSELF multiple times as she's killed in Minecraft hell by people she considered friends at one point in time, never did I think I'd hear the day Charlie Slimecicle makes coordinated attack plans as he makes bread for the rest of his team while calling himself a male wife and the team responds with Momcicle. This was the best possible outcome for the event no questions asked. Keep this group together or so help me lord I will fight quackity studios themselves until they are reunited. Let them go crazy. Let them go stupid. Chaos will rein and everyone will pay the price eventually
dear lord this is only the first day we have two weeks, five hours a day of this. That's 35 hours of this insanity. Can't wait to see the edits and memes this is gonna spawn, as well as fanart :)
#qsmp#jaiden animations#qsmp jaiden#foolish gamers#qsmp foolish#cellbit#qsmp cellbit#baghera jones#qsmp baghera jones#charlie slimecicle#qsmp charlie slimecicle#philza#qsmp philza
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