#just not by you in the manner that you are trying to

[viaisms]

twenty questions

summary: penelope accidentally mentions that someone has a crush on you, she can't say who it is but you make it into a game so she can :) warnings: spencer reid x bau!reader, gn reader, mentions of drinking wine, pg-13 language, talk of bugs?? its a nickname,,, lots of use of pet names lol, fluff, no mention of y/n yeehaw, pining, you're completely oblivious about how much spencer wants you, not proofread </3 authors note: first fic!! i haven't officially written a fic in. gosh, years?? since the pandemmy :( i really want to get back into writing, so have this little blurb that i thought of! by all means i am here for any constructive criticism you may have<3 wc: 2.7k

The clatter of fingertips tapping against a keyboard filled the dimly lit BAU office. You sit at your desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen as you scroll through reports, cross-referencing case files and taking notes. The quiet hum of the building has long since settled into a lull; you barely realize how deeply you've fallen into your work,

The distant ticking of a clock finally breaks your trance, but it wasn't until you feel the hairs arise on the back of your neck that you become fully aware. You slowly blink with a quiet groan, glancing at the time at the bottom of your screen.

10:58 PM. Shit.

You align your fingertips atop of your keyboard, the soft clatter filling the office once more before you hear the all-too familiar voice.

"Babes, what are you still doing here?!"

You turn and see nobody else but Garcia, finally emitting from her bat-cave. Her arms cross against her chest, a disappointed hum coming from her pressed lips. "You, my love, should be at home in a nice hot bath with a glass of wine."

Your lips splay a lazy smirk as you lean back in your chair, stretching your body with a quiet groan. "I was just about to wrap up, Pen, I promise..." You assure your colleague, feeling the strain of staring at a screen all day every time that you blink.

"Good deal my beautiful bug," Penelope chirps as her arms drop to her side. She's just as tired as you are, having spent all of her day digging through databases to find information on a potential UnSub. Her heals click as she goes to turn away, walking back towards her office.

"You know, you have to get your beauty sleep for your lover boy in the mor..." Her once confident words grow timid as she begins to trail off.

Penelope's breath catches in her throat as she realizes the words that so effortlessly flew off her tongue, her blood running cold at her grave error. Spencer is going to kill her.

"My what?" Your eyes narrow, scoffing in a confused manner.

She stills, yet she doesn't turn to you.

"Nothing! I... I didn't say anything..." She mutters with a nervous stammer of your name, the rhythmic clicking of her heels continuing as she speeds to her office.

You stand, the wheels of your office chair sliding out from under you as you feel a weakness in both of your legs. You stretch once more, trying to think of when the last time you even stood was.

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her hand is resting on the cold, slick material of the doorknob that has the potential to separate her from this deep abyss that she just dug herself into. Instead, she stills for another moment before turning to you once more.

Penelope has to think of a lie, and quick.

"Obviously... I was talking about Morgan!"

There is a reason why she does what she does for a living, and is rarely out on the field with the rest of the crew unless her technical skills are needed.

Your eyes squint with a tentative hum. You don't believe Garcia, not for a second.

"You do know I'm a profiler..." A grumble of amusement comes from your chest at Penelope's attempt.

"Right..." She murmurs, her voice quiet as she breaks your gaze. She's mentally kicking herself for blabbing, such a rookie mistake in the game of workplace gossip.

Your eyebrows raise as you await Garcia's confession. However, she stays strong, not uttering another peep from her velvet-painted lips.

"So...?" You sing after a beat of silence, stars of hope glistening in the pools of your eyes.

With a whine, Penelope's shoulders drop.

"Look... I love you, sweetness, I do..." Her lips droop into a frown. Penelope's eyes greet your own somberly with a shake of her own head. "But I promised I wouldn't tell..."

You feel a weight of disappointment on your chest, and with a sigh, you decide to drop it. Penelope sees the way the sparkle in your eye begins to dim, eliciting a whine from her barely audible to your own ears.

"But!" She chirps, trying to share some of her own light with you. Penelope shouldn't be doing this, and she knows it. However, she is far too nurturing to let a beautiful smile like yours falter for even a second. "If you guess it... it's not technically me telling you, right?"

"You know? I like the way your mind thinks," You hum, reveling in the fact that you got your way. "Twenty questions?" The cold sensation of the faux-leather hits you as you sit back in your chair.

The corner of Penelope's lips twitch upwards as a combination of guilt and excitement course through her veins. "You know I love a good game, hit me..." She murmurs, her voice self-assured as she pulls a chair from a nearby desk, her legs crossing as she sits next to you.

"Okay..." You mutter with a shaky sigh. The pounding of your heart fills your entire body, your stomach slightly cramping with nerves. "Is it someone I know?"

"Uh, duh?"

Your eyes flutter shut, raking through potential victims that fell for whatever love trap you didn't even intent on setting. "Male or female?"

"Acht! That's not part of the rules my curious friend and you know it," Her dark eyes narrow as she playfully scolds her colleague. "I'm totally counting it though, eighteen more questions..."

With pressed lips, you weigh out the obvious individuals who are least likely to be a contender. Penelope sees how deep you are in thought, and she can't help herself but quietly scoff.

How can you not know it's Spencer? She thinks to herself. Everyone around the office sees it -- everyone but you, apparently. As you think, her mind wanders to about two months prior, where Spencer came to her for love advice. Penelope, being herself, already knew he was fawning over you. She picked up on it the moment the genius somehow grew more awkward every time he were to speak to you.

However, also being herself, she refused to give him any sound advice until he spilled who the lucky contender was; which just so happened to be you.

The sound of your voice pulls her out of her own mind.

"Do I see them often?"

The corners of her lips prop upwards, almost tauntingly. "Very," she affirms.

Someone you see very often... you mentally walk through your day-to-day routine, retracing every step no matter how minuscule. You awake every morning to nobody in your apartment but your cat, besides the occasional sleepover with a friend every now and again. You ready yourself for work alone, your first stop in the morning being the local coffee shop down the street...

"Ooh! Is it someone from the coffee shop?" You chirp, your heart beginning to race at the idea of an unspoken stranger admiring your beauty from afar. Individuals you see there on a day-to-day basis flood your mind, although it completely falls empty for the exception of one person; a barista behind the counter, roughly your age who is not bad looking in the slightest.

"That would be a negative..." Her red-painted lips press together, a slight pang of disappointment hitting you in the gut that it wasn't the barista.

"Darn..." You tut, your mind trying to silently place the pieces of the puzzle together. Someone you know, someone you see often, not someone from the coffee shop...

Penelope can't believe how oblivious you are. How do you not pick up on the fact that Spencer follows you around the office like a lost puppy? Or the fact that when the two of you are on the field together, he insists you go with him or vice versa because he feels the need to protect you?

"No way that it's a colleague?" Your brows stitch together, your head slanting as you throw the inconceivable idea into the open.

Penelope's head slightly tilts downwards as she gazes at you through the top of her frames. She flashes you a sly, almost flirtatious grin at your not-so-far-fetched theory.

"And if it is?"

The feeling of your heart hammering in your heart is felt throughout your entire body, your cheeks warming as you feel blood rush to your brain.

"Who?!" You exclaim, completely forgoing the rules to the game. This narrows your options to about seven. Your hands fumble with the cotton on the hem of your shirt as you narrow your options down even further, a shuttering breath falling from your lips.

"How do you not know?!" Penelope is quick to match your energy, an actual pain shooting through her chest at your own naivety. Her brows raise as her eyes widen, her fists balling as she folds herself back from blurting it out.

Your lips part as you're about to exclaim something quick and witty back to your colleague when it hits you. Like a fish gulping for water, you feel the soft skin of your lips quickly snap shut.

The memories hit you all at once: the mornings you're in a rush and you forget your coffee - Reid excusing himself for a moment with a muttered excuse before returning with it minutes later, the nights you return home from a case and he offers to spend time with you because it pains you being alone after what you saw, the countless facts he will ramble to you on the plane because damn it, you're the only one that actually listens to him.

"Oh my god, Reid?" Your jaw drops as you gasp, your arms numbing as your nerves shoot past the roof and to the stratosphere.

With a relieved sigh, Penelope's palms slap against her thighs, planting her leg down onto the floor with her other one. "Finally!" She groans, almost feeling a sense of comfort that you know and the weird tension around the office while the two are around would soon come to an end.

"Since when?!" Your heart ticks against your chest so hard that you can hear it in your ears. Never in a million years would you assume it would be Spencer that would be silently pining over you. Reid?!

"Since like... forever, buttercup!" Penelope giggles. She can see the dots being connected in the pretty little brain of yours, and god, she loves it. Her voice softens, a warm, almost maternal intent behind them. "We really should be getting home..." She groans, her gaze flicking to the clock on the wall. "Since you two are totes madly in love already, let me know when one of you decides to make the move, okay?"

With a roll of your eyes, the back of your hand ever so gently strikes the side of Garcia's arm. She notices the way blush speckles across your face, a knowing grin playing against her own. You can't ignore the way your chest fuzzes over at the thought of Spencer feeling about you the way you feel about him, it makes your stomach ache with desire; you don't know if you love or hate the sensation.

"Goodnight, Garcia..." A mix between a chuckle and a sigh of contentment is emitted from you. She mumbles a quick 'good night' with a quick, playful wink before standing from her chair, returning it to its original home.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The next morning you're in a hurry to get to work, oversleeping by a long shot as it took you forever to wind down last night due to your wandering thoughts.

You get to your desk with merely minutes to spare, a tired, overwhelmed groan falling from your lips as you place your bag in your desk and splay your jacket against the back of your chair.

"Long night last night, agent?"

You don't even have to look up to know who it is... your body freezes for a moment, not sure if you're prepared to deal with this; not yet, anyways.

With a soft sigh, your gaze is lifted and immediately greeted with Spencer's. His large, curious and caring stare. His hazel eyes almost bare into your own, causing a tingle to run down your spine. You try to ignore the butterflies that patter within the walls of your stomach, yet they're hard to confine.

"Yeah... I'm fine, Reid," You nod, your lips tentatively pressing together. "Just didn't sleep worth the damn last night... just... thinking about the case..." You trail, the sound of your voice growing softer and quieter like a beautiful decrescendo.

His lips part for just a moment, an inaudible 'ah' coming from him before giving you an understanding nod.

"I figured... Garcia told me you were here late last night and I kind of... presumed this may happen," He muses with an awkward chuckle. "Which is why... I brought you this..."

Reid's tall frame trails away from your desk for a moment, which draws out a soft hum from you as you tap your fingertips against the smooth, cool material of your desk.

His long stride is quick to return, your heart almost leaping out of your throat as he sees what's within his long, slender fingers.

Your favorite coffee.

You accept the gesture, your stomach doing flips as you take the cup within the confines of your own grasp. You mumble something quick and playful, telling Spencer that he is your favorite person in the world right now for such a small action.

The feeling of someone else watching you is burned into the back of your skull, a sensation churning in your gut that you can't shake. Your gaze flicks over to the side, in which you're immediately greeted by Garcia.

She not-so-subtly flashes two thumbs up at you, her nails painted a shade of dark purple. "Go get 'em!" She mouths in approval, your gaze quickly turning over to the male in front of you in attempt to hide Penelope's matchmaking attempt.

"Hey... do you um... maybe want to get coffee at this place together sometime?" You attempt to thickly swallow down your nerves, trying to soothe the heartbeat creeping out of your chest.

Spencer is silent a moment, his lips twitching upwards in a sign of approval at your suggestion. You see the thoughts shifting through his mind, the rates of his blinks increasing in a sense of disbelief that you're actually asking him this.

"I-- um... yeah! Let's do tomorrow before work? If... you're okay getting up that early, if not we can totally do a different time, perhaps--"

"Tomorrow it is..." You cut him off, something you rarely do. He nods in agreement, a quiet 'tomorrow' mumbled from his lips as he attempts to conceal his excitement.

You’re not sure how to shake off the butterflies in your stomach, but Spencer’s shy smile is enough to make you feel warm all over. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment linger. Before you can say anything else, Garcia’s voice breaks through your thoughts, louder than life.

"You two better not cancel on me! I want details!" she teases from across the room, flashing a mischievous grin your way. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

Spencer, now fully aware of the matchmaker’s antics, lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair, looking even more flustered than before.

You meet his gaze again, a new kind of tension settling between you—a mix of nerves, excitement, and something deeper that you’re not ready to name just yet. You take a breath, feeling that the next chapter of whatever this is has already started, and it’s thrilling.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you murmur, unable to stop the grin that’s threatening to split your face. Spencer nods, his smile small but genuine, as he turns to head to his desk.

As he walks away, you catch a glimpse of Garcia again, this time with an exaggerated wink. You shake your head, but you can’t suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting, to say the least.

And maybe... just maybe, things are finally falling into place.

[sacredsorceress]

logan howlett x f!reader / inbox

there is just something about logan being a gentleman.

sure he's the definition of rough around the edges and his patience is very thin with most people, but i just know that when he found his woman, he'd be the definition of chivalrous. he's old school: opening the door for you, giving you his jacket when there's even a slight breeze... and he won't mention any of it. he'll do it all wordlessly as if its second nature. and if you do point it out to him he'll just make a snarky comment in return or say nothing, instead wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to his side because what is there to say? of course he takes care of you. he considers himself damn lucky to be the one to do so.

if some guy was rude to you, or god forbid, hit on you? he'd be on them in seconds, grabbing their shirt and asking them if that's how they think they should be treating a lady. (it's a rhetorical question and a warning. if they give the wrong answer? lets say you'll be cleaning blood off his shirt that night).

on nights where he drives the two of you home, he'll be constantly glancing at the passenger seat, rubbing circles onto your thighs. and if some asshole ran a red, forcing logan to slam on his breaks, his first instinct would be to fling his arm over you, holding you back against the seat. when you wake up from the commotion he'd just run his thumb against your temple and tell you in a hushed voice that "it was nothing, sweetheart. go back to sleep."

if someone on the team brought you up in a negative manner when you weren't there (rare, it would probably just be scott trying to get a rise out of logan) he'd turn red: "don't you talk about her" and "keep her name out of your goddamn mouth". because who the fuck thinks they can talk about his girl??

he's not big on PDA but that doesn't mean he's not touchy. anytime you'd walk up the stairs he'd let you use his arm as your own personal railing. before he left for work in the morning, no matter how late he was, he'd make sure to kiss you on the forehead before he left. and if he had a job where he'd have to wake up at the crack of dawn? he'd make sure to get out of bed as quietly as ever and if you so much as stirred, he'd brush your hair back with a "shhh" and a kiss before he got ready for his long day. but it would be okay because he could get through anything knowing he'd be coming home to you at the end of the day.

anyway as rough as logan can be, he's obsessed with his partner and wants to do nothing more than take care of them. and that my friends makes logan the ultimate gentleman.

a/n: just a little blurb because i am obsessed with this idea. my inbox is open if anyone wants to share more thoughts on logan cause ahhh!!

[onlyancunin]

Closeups of this portrait

Some people asked me about the hair - my advice would be to shade it like waves of water. Try shading it with lines at 45-90 deg angle to the direction the hair is going & add a few loose strokes here and there (with both pencil and rubber). Don't shade it with lines too close too each other, as hair tend to be highly reflective and look different at any given spot, they don't come in careful, consistent shading. Shading it with loose, parallel lines keep the "wavy" feeling while simulating the texture in a feasible manner (as trying to recreate every strand of hair is just impossible, we have to go for recreating the "feeling" of hair).

The results might surprise you 🌊

[onlygarden]

[quietly, baby] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: when you bring jungwon into the fitting room as you try on the lingerie he chose for you, he shows his appreciation through more than just words. jungwon x female reader, unprotected sex, public sex (but it's in a fitting room), dom jungwon, oral sex (male receiving), jungwon just can't wait

a/n: i've had this idea for a while and it's FINALLY come to fruition. i hope you all enjoy it just as much as i did while writing it (and imagining it lmao). at first, i planned to only do oral sex but i just couldn't resist adding more hehe. again, i hope this is an enjoyable read !!!

the delicate sound of the last of your clothing falling into a heap on the floor of the fitting room nearly escapes jungwon’s ears. every fragment of his focus was captivated by the event being painted before him. from his position, settled upon the small bench of the modestly confined space, it seemed as though he only just began to relax. the sight of you — bearing nothing aside from your undergarments, slipping sinfully into the black silk he chose for you — acted as his captor. any remnants of relaxation sailed helplessly away from his body; a certain tension now resides in each of his muscles, igniting his body with a need which can only be met by you. 

“how does this look, baby? do you like it?” you ask casually, a hopeful smile decorating your face. 

the question, seemingly simple enough, lingers in jungwon’s mind for a moment. he swallows, a desperate attempt to soothe the sudden spell of dryness in his throat. goodness, of course he likes it. no composition of words in all of existence can ever truly describe just how much he ‘likes’ it.  

he exhales softly, hoping to unwind his taut muscles even a fraction. “baby… you look fucking hot,” he tells you, freely betraying the indecency of his thoughts. 

“can i touch you?” he immediately follows up, hardly giving you enough time to react to the boldness of his first statement.   

an almost inaudible gasp drifts from your lips, and a pang of insistent arousal runs through your body from the sight of his desperation and shamelessness alone. 

much too impatient for a blatant answer, jungwon stands up, breaching the hardly acknowledgeable distance between the two of you. his fingers travel wispily along the curve of your waist, and settle in a hard, possessive grip on your hips. he pulls your body towards his, his hands now roaming the silk of your lingerie slip in a feverish manner.

“just remember baby… we’re in public,” you remind him, a breathless attempt to reign in his barely-contained desire. 

that’s right — public. in jungwon’s erotically corrupted mind, the two of you were concealed enough. surely, no one would happen to overhear if he decided to cage you against the wall and drive himself deep inside of you with feral intensity. surely, the both of you can maintain enough control to hold in any moans, gasps, or grunts. more importantly, however, jungwon didn’t even care. 

he leans down to kiss you without a moment of hesitation, his lips melding and dancing with yours in a flurry of silkiness and roughness. as you moan softly in response to the feeling of his lips and his body against yours, he walks you backwards until he’s pressing you against the wall. he’s surely got you now.

all of your adamant concerns with the risk of nearby shoppers or staff hearing the two of you seemed so trivial now — the way jungwon’s hands slid down your body to grope the soft flesh of your ass snatched any importance away from anything else. in this moment, all your mind could helplessly muster was a need for the delicious stretch that only jungwon could provide you with. you wanted to give your body to him in any manner you could to please him, too. 

“fuck, baby… you’re making me so hard,” he says, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks. 

god, his hard cock always felt so divine when his body was pressed up against yours. the sensation alone is more than enough to ignite your body with an undeniable impulse to urge streams of cum from him.

you wordlessly coerce him into changing positions with you, his body now pressed against the wall as your lips begin to place kisses down his neck. jungwon’s head tilts back in a subtle thud against the wall behind him as a quiet, throaty moan drifts past his lusciously plush lips. his hands squeeze your ass, his body subconsciously giving into all impulses and doing little to hide the desperate ache in his cock.  

your hands move to his pants, settling upon his belt and unbuckling it with haste. your eyes were hungrily fixed on the way his cock strained impatiently against the fabric. jungwon’s heavy eyes immediately widen as you fall to your knees in front of him, dragging his pants and boxers down in tandem. 

“baby, are you going to…?” his voice trails off in a sharp inhale as you wrap your hand around his cock and lick up his underside. 

“fuck, baby…” he breathes out quietly, a shudder running ruthlessly through his body. 

you lean up just enough to spit on his cock, beginning to stroke him languidly with the lubrication. as you envelop him in your mouth, jungwon’s hands rest tightly in your hair, his cock throbbing so delectably in the back of your throat as it constricts around him. 

“baby, oh god, so fucking good…” he moans softly, his hips thrusting subtly into your mouth. 

you begin to bob along his length, moving up and down so wickedly, your hand twisting around him in a dizzying combination. 

a low, narrowly restrained moan escapes his parted lips, his eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted in the heavenly pleasure your mouth is providing him with.

his chest heaves gently, his fingers massage your scalp eagerly, and his body can no longer brawl with the compulsion to thrust into your mouth once more. 

“baby… just like that,” he manages, his voice helplessly strained with pleasure. 

as your movements gain speed, and your free hand wanders up to fondle his balls, jungwon’s hips jerk forward in an irresistible itch for more. his cock throbs fervently against the wet silkiness of your tongue, and his stomach begins to ripple delicately as shivers of pleasure force through his body. 

“yes, oh god, yes…” he utters in a breathy, strangled moan. in hesitant defiance of the unspeakable bliss rising within him, he pulls your mouth from his length. jungwon would much prefer to plunge himself uninhibitedly within the silky, glossy, indescribably wet palace of your pussy. 

“stand up, baby. i wanna destroy your tight little pussy,” he throws at you. 

the raspy desperation and authority in his voice commands your body to oblige, and you rise to your feet. he pushes you toward the wall, pulling your hips back towards him just enough to allow him to enter you. he pulls your panties down with the same intentions — and the same haste — and he slides his hand under the silky fabric of your slip, effectively unveiling your glistening pussy. 

jungwon’s eyes darken to an intense shade at the sight of your pussy, soaking wet, begging to be stretched and obliterated. “god, baby… you’re so fucking wet,” he says lowly, his hand already wrapped around his shaft, sliding his cockhead teasingly between your folds. 

as you shiver pitifully at such a modest sensation, jungwon forces himself into you. he sinks rapidly into the slick, velvety confines and his cock demands you open as he buries himself to the hilt.

“mmm… fuck, baby. gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t see straight,” he mutters, his words laced with blinding pleasure. as his cock begins to pound you tenderly, assessing just how pronounced the sounds of your gasps and your pussy would be, his hand travels fiercely along the silk decorating your back, eventually settling in yet another harsh grip on your hip. 

a prominent smack echoes through the tight walls of the fitting room as jungwon’s hand meets the flesh of your ass. as rapidly as the sound reaches your ears, the pace of jungwon’s thrusts quicken with drastic measure, and he absolutely succumbs to the desire to pummel you into a daze. 

jungwon’s thrusts are erratic, his cock plowing in and out of you wildly, leaving your body feeble, staggered, and as good as helpless.

you try, god, you try to keep your moans breathy and suppressed, but the way jungwon’s cock mishandled and tortured your insides was much too sweet to rein in. your fervent, hardly controlled, and stuttered moans and whimpers chime lewdly within the confined space, resonating deeply in jungwon’s pistoning cock. he reluctantly stifles the sounds of your moans with his hand, hating to mute such an enthralling reaction to the way his cock tore through you.

“mmm, baby… you like that?” he asks crudely, knowing the answer all too familiarly.

the indescribable drag of his length along your walls, the utterly enticing sound of his muffled grunts and quiet whines, the way his fingers dig into your hips in an urgent declaration of ownership — it all sends each of your senses and nerves spiraling defenselessly into an electrifying pool of delight beyond description. 

as jungwon frantically observes the evidence of your orgasm — your softened cries vibrating against his hand, your body shuddering under the intensity of the pleasure, your pussy convulsing and spasming around him — his cock begins to pulse within you. 

“oh god, gonna fill you up so good- fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he spills freely inside you, streams of his cum flooding your pussy abundantly, his cock buried as deep as your battered pussy would allow. a gentle shudder travels through him from the magnitude of the pleasure you so willingly provided, and he loosens his rigid grasp on your hips. 

“you think anyone heard?” he asks playfully, his deep, short breaths tangling with your own.

a gentle laugh escapes him as you immediately nod, and he begins to withdraw his cock from you, thoroughly enjoying the squelches he receives in return.

neither of you are quite ready to return to the store, reluctant to face the impending shame.

but in truth — jungwon doesn’t really care.

[reidsdimples]

“I gave your girlfriend cunnalingus on my couch”

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Smut & Fluff (if you squint) 18+❤️‍🔥

Your cheating ex gets what’s coming to him when Spencer shows you what you truly deserve.

Just a little fantasy I had based on this song

Spencer opens his front door just barely after you finish knocking. You rub your arms as you hug yourself tight, trying not to cry anymore. When you see those sympathetic doe eyes though, you feel apart and collapsed into your best friend’s arms. He was warm, solid, unwavering. He always has been.

He closes the door behind you and gently guides you to his couch. You sniffle and wipe your tears. You’d been here before. Somehow you always end up in Spencer’s arms after your boyfriend cheats on you.

Even though you and Spencer no longer work together, the two of you have always been close. So when you took a new job in a different department, it didn’t affect your friendship.

“What happened?” He asks gently. He sits a mug of warm coffee on the table in front of you. Of course it was sweetened to your liking.

“Got off of work early, they were in my bed,” you seethe.

“Same girl?” He stares through you, his anger clear in the flexing of his perfect jaw.

“Nope,” you sigh. “I kicked him out. I don’t care anymore. He better be gone by morning,” you shake your head.

“So you wanna crash here?” He grins and nudges your arm playfully.

“Please,” you pucker your lip. His eyes linger on your mouth for a moment then he stands.

“You are always welcome,” he retrieves his phone which pinged with a text. He’s leaning on his counter casually with his long legs crossed at the ankles, looking unreal in a hoodie and pajama pants.

You and Spencer had never gone there. But you had thought about it… a lot. Now, sitting on his couch, heartbroken again, you find yourself wanting him closer than ever.

Your phone finds.

Leon

You ignore it, a fowl taste in your mouth. He calls again which becomes Spencer over with a pillow and a blanket.

Leon: come on babe, we both know you’ll get over it. Just come home

You scowl at the screen and drop your phone on his coffee table.

“I can’t believe I’ve put up with his shit for two years. Every time I say I’m done, I take him back,” you drop your head into your hands.

“I know you don’t like it when I profile you…” he starts.

“Give it to me doctor,” you tell him. No way you could feel worse.

“He’s carefully worn you down slowly. He has destroyed your self esteem and made you subconsciously believe you’re worth nothing better than him. He relishes in the power he’s taken from you. You crave intimacy and fear being alone so you take him back, you can’t help it,” he takes the seat next to you. The couch dips slightly.

You know he’s right, he’s always right.

“How do I… not do that,” you’re feeling vulnerable.

“Prove to yourself that you can do better,” he pushes and gently grips your hand.

You scoff in a disbelieving ‘yeah right’ manner and turn look away from him. You can’t bear his intense stare at the moment.

“I’m serious… you…” he pauses on a groan as if he’s fighting not to say something. His thumb brushes over your skin gently, sending chills up your arm.

“What?” You urge him.

“You are gorgeous, and powerful. You own a room when you walk into it and somehow you have no idea that all eyes are on you. You have the ability to drive a man to his knees but you keep letting Leon bring you to yours,” he shakes his head. Anger has crept into Spencer’s demeanor. “It’s not fair.”

“Fair?” You ask because his words have rendered you nearly speechless. He his squeezes your gently, he look away and looks back into your eyes.

“It’s not fair that he’s treating you this way. If I had the chance, I’d worship you.”

You’re pretty sure your jaw is on the floor. Spencer… Spencer Reid didn’t say those things, Spencer didn’t fantasize about you the way you do him. It’s impossible.

Your sheer lack of give a shit about anything spurs you to grip the collar of his hoodie and pull him towards you. He collapses to his knees before you and stares up into your eyes. He’s torn between astonishment and amusement.

“Worship me how?” You tease him.

He grins, his tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. His strong hands rest on your thighs and squeeze. You inhale a sharp breath.

“It doesn’t even have to mean anything. But you need to know that you can do better,” he implores and situates himself between your still clothed legs.

“And you’re the better I’m assuming?” You poke his nose and lean back on the couch. You lift your hips when he locks his fingers in your waistband and tugs. You silently follow his lead.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” he gently kisses your ankle as he tosses your jeans on the ground.

He props that same ankle on his shoulder and begins kissing up your leg. You want to tell him he’s the better man in every way, that he always has been.

But his fingers are fire against your skin, his lips soft and teasing as he plants soft kisses on your thighs.

Your phone rings again. Spencer looks up and laughs a breathless sort of laugh against your skin.

A text comes through and you look at it lazily while you play in Spencer’s hair. His fingers dig massage your thighs as he starts to nip at your soft skin.

Leon: where are you?

You smirk as an idea flies to you, one that would exact the perfect revenge. You place your hand on the crown of Spencer’s head and snap a photo from your point of view.

He laughs when you show him the picture. His identify is concealed and Leon doesn’t know Spencer. You send the photo of the “mystery man” between your legs to your cheating ass boyfriend. You finally toss your phone away, eager to focus on said man.

“Are you using me?” He tutts and tugs on your lace panties with his teeth. His breath fans across your pussy and causes goosebumps to trail up your skin and harden your nipples.

“Is that okay?” You playfully pucker out your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes.

“Mhmm,” he answers mindlessly because he’s tugging your underwear aside.

He gets a glimpse of you and you’re perfect and he’s amazed. He kisses your pussy lips softly, eliciting a soft moan. You want more of him, you need more friction.

You put your other leg on his opposite shoulder and pull him closer. That’s all the prompting he needs. He holds your underwear out of the way completely and dives into you as you open up for him.

Spencer’s lips are warm, his strong tongue pushing and prodding against your most sensitive areas. Your clit is given special attention but he notes how much you enjoy his tongue inside of you.

“Spencer,” you cry.

He holds girls your thighs and laps at you like a man starved.

“So perfect, angel,” he praises and slips his tongue back into your entrance.

He drags it upward and flicks it against your clit causing you to twitch.

“Mmm right there,” you beg and push his head closer.

He obeys and keeps his pace steady and unrelenting against your clit. You inhale deeply as your climax builds and you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt so wanted, felt so good.

He moans into your cunt when you start to greedily grind against his face. He masters the pace you need and tilts you right over the edge. Your orgasm seizes you all at once and your legs shake. He eats you through it and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh god,” you shudder.

He looks up at you as though asking if he did good and wipes his mouth.

“Woah,” you pant.

He grins and you pull him up to kiss him. You had never kissed Spencer before but doing so felt so … right. He leans against you and cradles you softly, his hands on either side of your face as though he needs to keep you close.

Your lips slot against each others perfectly as if in tune to one another already. You savor the taste of him and how it mixes with your arousal already on his tongue.

Somehow you both moan into the kiss at the same time. It prompts a small laugh from the two of you and he rests his forehead against yours. He’s still leaning between your legs, well, more like lazily resting there as though beyond content.

You hear your phone buzzing and you think it must have been the whole time.

You scoff.

“For the record, Spencer, you’ve always been the better man. I just never would have thought you’d be interested,” you admit. He furrows his brow and moves up to set beside you. He faces you with his legs crossed.

You note his messy hair, crooked collar, and doe eyes which give him a boyish kind of charm.

“You’re so far out of my league that I never pursued you,” his voice notes the irony of the situation. “You don’t have to choose me. Or anyone. Ever. I just want you to be happy,” he says honestly.

Your phone vibrates again. Spencer stares at it and hands it to you.

6 Missed Calls

8 Texts Messages

4 Voicemails

“Thank you,” you smirk. “Right now I want to get over this asshole and spend time with you. In equal measure.”

“We can do that.” He leans back in the couch and you crawl against him.

You play the most recent voicemail which is just Leon blubbering and sobbing about “how could you do this to me” despite him cheating for your entire relationship.

You and Spencer get a good laugh out of Leon misery and then he reaches for a book.

“Read to me?” You sigh contently.

He does, until you fall asleep peacefully in his arms.

[hyunverse]

dimples ★ jeong jaehyun.

jaehyun x gn!reader. fluff, oneshot.

wc: 587 words.

note: first!! ever!!! jaehyun fic!!! he might be a lil ooc lol. also i would like to dedicate this one to my bae @ch3rryd0ll for dragging me into the fandom ily forever <3

Inspired by a video of Mark saying that to make Jaehyun feel better, just poke his dimple with your finger.

The smell of Jaehyun’s cologne tells you he’s home, aside from the hushed pitter-patter of his footsteps against the wooden floor. You look up from your book, watching as he enters the room. His mannerisms tell you everything you need to know — he did not have a good day. 

Silently, you watch as he shrugs off his coat, tossing it onto a chair before taking off his socks. It’s not until you clear your throat that he acknowledges your presence — a small smile on his face, yet the stress in his eyes still apparent. 

“Hi babe,” he mutters, to which you reply with a “hey.” 

The conversation ends there, as Jaehyun disappears into the bathroom. You continue to read your book — or at least attempt to, your mind still occupied with what could’ve happened to your boyfriend, and the ways in which you could comfort him. The sound of water splashing becomes your white noise, along with the occasional sounds of Jaehyun rummaging around. The smell of his coconut shampoo (technically yours, he has a habit of using your products) leaks into the bedroom, and you smile. You’ve missed his presence all day, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, albeit it’s merely in the form of his scent. 

Soon after, Jaehyun comes out of the bathroom, a towel loosely hanging around his waist, raven hair wet and messy. Once again, he silently goes around the room, putting on a pair of grey sweatpants and drying his hair before getting in the bed with you. 

With Jaehyun finally beside you, messy-haired and so damn kissable, the bedroom walls finally feel like home again.

“Rough day?” you whisper, dog-earing a page before setting your book on the nightstand, “So pouty.”

“Mm,” he hums, his pout intensifying at your comment, “Missed you.” 

You chuckle, letting him cuddle into your side and place his chin on your shoulder. He’s talking less than usual, but you thank God he’s at least still clingy. 

“Missed you too,” you reply, pulling up the duvet to cover the both of you. 

Gently, you trace a hand up and down his chest, in an attempt to soothe him. The pout on his face remains. You could practically see his brain still racking, stressing.

“Want to talk about it, baby?” you question, pushing his hair back. A small sigh escapes your lips when he shakes his head.

“Talking about it could make you feel better,” you try again, rubbing a hand on his temple. Again, he shakes his head. 

“You sure?” you try again. This time, you poke his dimple, smiling to yourself.

Just like that, Jaehyun gives in to you. His pout turns into a small smile, growing wider as you continuously poke his dimple. Soon, he lets out small laughter, tilting his face away from you, as though to shy away. 

“You’re so cute,” you giggle, running a hand on his side, the other still poking on his cheek, “So fucking cute.” 

“That’s all you,” he chuckles, meeting your gaze. This time, he genuinely smiles. One that makes his dimples deeper, and his eyes crinkle. “I was stressed, but you just made it all better.”

It’s your turn to smile wide, “Okay, I’m glad. You can talk to me every time you’re having a hard time, y’know?” 

Jaehyun nods, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer. You’re now laying chest to chest, his heart thumping against yours. Tenderly, he places a kiss on your forehead, then your lips. 

“Okay, baby.”

nct taglist: fill this form to be added.

[merchen-aeravellae]

A Yandere Through Time

Yandere Time Traveler x Royal Reader

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, forced confinement, obsession

No one knows who created it, but every owner of the mysterious mirror has met a fate so tragic it chills anyone to the bone. The mirror appeared out of nowhere, wandering from hand to hand, from life to life. At first glance, it seems like a blessing, but in reality, it is a curse in disguise. If you cross paths with it, beware: it offers you your deepest desire, but the price is your sanity.

°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●

Yandere Time Traveler who is dedicated to collecting antiques, a passion that has been passed down through generations in his family since the famous Rosa Era. Each member of his lineage has their own personal museum. His collection not only includes legally acquired pieces but also artifacts that the world does not know exist and are in his possession.

Yandere Time Traveler who is mainly dedicated to purchasing items from the Roja Era, not because it is his favorite time period, but because his favorite person lived during that time. The fifth child of a king who ruled what is now his city, the castle where they lived still stands proudly on the outskirts of the city, now converted into a museum that he visits weekly as a way to be close to his beloved

Yandere Time Traveler who has been intrigued by your story since childhood: a member of the royal family beloved by his family, the common people, and even his enemies. One day, you disappeared from your own home, and no one ever heard from you again. Everyone searched exhaustively for decades but never found you. A group of people tried to exploit the situation by impersonating you to gain all the luxuries and privileges that rightfully belonged to you. Only one person resembled you both in appearance and manner of speaking. The only problem was that nearly 70 years had passed since your disappearance, and this person was too young to be you. In the end, their husband had to clarify that they were suffering from mental issues, and as a result, no one took them seriously.

Yandere Time Traveler who feels like a lunatic: how could he be in love with someone who lived nearly two hundred years ago? However, he has always felt a connection to you, and the only way he finds to be near you is by acquiring all your belongings through illegal auctions. Selling and buying items related to you is prohibited in his country; museums tirelessly search for all your belongings across the continent to display them alongside those of your family. But he is faster and acquires everything before the museums can get their hands on it.

Yandere Time Traveler who, of all your belongings, has searched the black markets most fervently for your hat. In the Roja Era, royalty did not use crowns to show their lineage; instead, they used special and unique hats to demonstrate their noble position. The hats of your sisters and brothers are in the castle museum, but yours was never found. The theory is that you wore it the day you disappeared, and wherever you are, the hat is with you.

Yandere Time Traveler who acquired a mirror from an antique shop during a sale. He didn't know what era it was from, but its beauty convinced him to place it in the room dedicated to you. The mirror carried a dark legend: all its owners ended up losing their sanity or disappearing without a trace. However, he was not intimidated, believing it was just people's tales. He was sure you would have been fascinated by it, imagining you using it to admire your reflection while trying on clothes.

Yandere Time Traveler who, one night, woke up startled by strange noises coming from a nearby room. With silent steps, he approached to discover the source of the sound, but his concern grew when he realized the noises were coming from the room dedicated to his beloved. He immediately thought someone had broken in to steal something from his valuable collection. Wasting no time, he grabbed a bat he had purchased a couple of weeks ago, perfect for defending himself against an intruder. Upon entering the room, he found no one, but the mirror looked different. Strange figures were forming on its surface, and he couldn't resist the temptation to touch it. It was as if the mirror was calling to him. However, the moment his fingers brushed against the glass, he lost consciousness.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up with a terrible headache. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on a wooden bed that creaked with the slightest movement. The room was unfamiliar, filled with objects that didn’t match his home. The walls were made of wood. Various items adorned the space, from wooden toys to old tools, along with portraits and simple household decorations. As his vision adjusted, he noticed a small window allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate the room. The smell of wax, burnt wood, and a faint scent of food filled his nose.

Yandere Time Traveler who panicked. He tried to get out of the bed to figure out where he was, but only succeeded in worsening his headache from the sudden movement. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Fear took over as he desperately looked for something to defend himself with. But before he could act, the door opened, and an old woman entered the room, calmly looking at him.

Yandere Time Traveler who discovered that he was in the house of an elderly couple. They had found him unconscious at their doorstep and, out of compassion, had taken care of him ever since. Maybe he had gone mad because nothing made sense. The date on the calendar in their house showed that it was 200 years before his own time. It wasn’t possible that he had traveled to the past. Maybe he had hit his head, and all of this was just a delusion, a hallucination caused by the injury. Perhaps he was in a hospital, in a coma, dreaming a nonsensical fantasy.

Yandere Time Traveler, unable to find a way back to his own time, was now trying to adjust to his new life. The elderly couple who had taken him in gave him work in their small antique shop and allowed him to live in their home. In return, he had to handle the heavier tasks, like feeding the animals, repairing anything that broke, and keeping the shop in order.

Yandere Time Traveler was organizing some items in the shop when he heard the bustle of a crowd outside. The voices and shouting filled the street, but he didn’t even bother looking out the window. He didn’t care what celebration or festival was taking place outside. Everything went quiet for a while until the shop bell rang. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but it was his job. With a fake smile, he greeted the customers who had entered.

Yandere Time Traveler was startled to see a familiar face. It wasn’t someone he had met in person, but someone he had seen in portraits—it was the crown princess of Adrionia. Adrionia was the name of his city when the monarchy still existed. Although he knew he was in the Roja Era, he never imagined he would meet a member of the royal family in a place like this. The heir was about to speak when a pair of voices interrupted from the hallway in front of them.

Yandere Time Traveler who was shocked to see the rest of the royal siblings there. His heart swelled with longing; if they were here, it meant that you must also be here. He couldn't help but search for you among the crowd, but he couldn’t find you. His hope deflated into sadness, until someone emerged from one of the back hallways, holding a trinket in their hands.

Yandere Time Traveler who wanted to die right then and there—you were standing before him, the love of his life. As you asked your sister to buy the trinket for you, he couldn’t help but admire you. You were even more beautiful in person; the paintings didn’t do you justice. He wanted to leap over the counter to be closer to you, but he knew if he did that, he'd be thrown into the dungeon. All he could do was watch you from where he stood, his heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour.

Yandere Time Traveler who felt you so close, yet so unattainable. As he rang up your sister’s purchase, he never took his eyes off you for a second. He watched you with a mix of fascination and desperation, knowing that this might be the only time he’d ever be so near you. And just as you had appeared, you left. His world crumbled with each step you took toward the exit, moving further away from him.

Yandere Time Traveler who couldn’t stop thinking about you after that encounter. His heart filled with yearning to see you again. Now that he had seen you in the flesh, he couldn't allow everything to end with just one brief meeting. He needed to see you once more, needed you in his life in a more permanent, closer way. But he knew he couldn’t just approach you without a plan—and for that, he needed to scheme carefully.

Yandere Time Traveler who decided to use his knowledge of the past to his advantage. He began calling himself a prophet and would go out to the town square to “predict” events he already knew would happen soon. At first, people looked at him with skepticism, and many called him crazy. But when his predictions started coming true with eerie accuracy, everything changed. Word spread throughout the kingdom about his visions, and people gathered in the square to hear him speak. It wasn’t long before the royals heard of him and summoned him to the castle. Everything was going according to plan.

Yandere Time Traveler who was tested by the court, but he was ready for whatever challenge came his way. He “predicted” the betrayal of a court member, and a week later, a respected and seemingly unblemished noble was discovered stealing large sums from the royal treasury. The impressed kings offered him a permanent position at the castle. His goal was now within reach. Every day, he grew closer to you. He knew you better than you knew yourself and was confident that soon you would fall in love with him.

Yandere Time Traveler who, over time, befriended the royal family, but you were different. You seemed deeply distrustful of him. Every time he tried to approach you, you fled. If he entered a room through the door, you left through the window. The more frequent these encounters became, the more frustrated he felt. He left you gifts, but you discarded them. The letters he sent, you burned in the fireplace. And every time he tried to speak to you, you ignored him. Couldn’t you see that destiny was bringing you together? Why did you run from him as if he carried some contagious disease?

Yandere Time Traveler who knew he had to be patient, but every moment away from you felt like a blow to the heart. Then, during a casual meeting with your brothers, everything he had worked for unraveled. Without meaning to, your brother let it slip that you were seeing someone in secret—a mere guard, someone far beneath him. He had to keep his composure; he couldn’t afford to break his facade in front of them. But all he wanted to do was rush out and bury that filthy man deep in the earth.

Yandere Time Traveler who now understood everything. You had always rejected his efforts because you already had someone in your life. The idea of you being with someone else was unbearable. Every touch, every word shared between you and that guard ignited a wildfire of jealousy within him. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He needed to devise a new plan, so he decided to accuse your lover of trying to seduce you to rise in high society. The kings were furious with both you and your lover. The execution seemed imminent. However, something unexpected happened. On your knees, you begged your parents, saying it was all a misunderstanding. At other times, he would have loved to hear your voice, but at that moment, he wished you'd be quiet. You were ruining his plan and breaking his heart as he watched you plead for another man.

Yandere Time Traveler had to leave the castle for a few days; the whole situation was overwhelming him, and he feared he might do something that would compromise his facade. He returned to the shop where he had worked at the beginning. The old man greeted him cheerfully, happy to see him after such a long time. While the older man talked about everything that had happened in his absence, he wandered around the shop, looking at the new antiques that had arrived, hoping to distract his mind. Suddenly, something caught his attention: a mirror that seemed too familiar, sitting in a corner. He now knew how it had ended up in the couple's home. As he stared at it, an idea formed in his mind: "If I couldn't have you in your world, maybe I could in mine." With that thought in mind, he decided to buy the mirror, flashing a disturbing smile.

Yandere Time Traveler returned to the castle with his new treasure, eager to figure out how it worked as soon as possible, though it was easier said than done. It was during a fit of rage that he grabbed the bat he had brought with him to smash objects and vent his frustration. You had convinced your parents that your lover was a good man, and they had allowed you to marry him. He should have been that man, the one who would marry you, but his place had been taken. After breaking several objects in his fury, he left the bat leaning against the mirror and stormed out of the room, not noticing that the reflection in the mirror had begun to change.

Yandere Time Traveler who could only watch as you prepared for your wedding felt as if you were mocking him. Unable to bear it any longer, he retreated to his room to devise a plan. He would not let anyone else have you. Upon entering, he found something magnificent: the portal in the mirror was in all its glory. He gazed at the bat and suddenly, the idea of how it worked came to him. He had been so foolish; the answer was so simple, and he hadn’t seen it before. Now, you would be where you belonged, by his side, living in his own time, where you could never escape.

Yandere Time Traveler who sent you a letter pretending to be your brother to get you to the library. If you had known it was him, you never would have gone to meet him. The mirror was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t see it at a glance, and he would ambush you from behind. Hearing your footsteps approaching down the hallway, you entered and called out for your brother. He stood momentarily stunned, witnessing something he never thought he’d see: you were wearing your hat, the object he had longed to see all his life. But that feeling quickly faded when, angrily, you yelled at your "brother" to come out of hiding because you had a date with your fiancé and needed to leave immediately. The mention of the other man and the fact that you wore something as significant as your hat just to see his rival gave him the strength to push you into the portal, following closely behind.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up on a floor that seemed familiar, was back in his own home. He watched as you lay unconscious beside him, and since he had already gone through the experience of the portal, he managed to get up before you. He reinforced all exits to ensure you couldn’t escape and then let you rest in what would now be his shared bedroom. Hours later, he heard a blood-curdling scream. He rushed to his room, but you were not there. He found you in the room he had dedicated exclusively to you. You tried to escape, but seeing such a room had frightened you so much that you couldn’t help but scream.

Yandere Time Traveler who pretended everything was fine for a while. You stayed at home while he went to work. It didn’t matter that you did nothing all day; he believed your hands weren’t meant for work. He preferred to do everything himself to keep you content. One night, upon returning from work, he noticed something strange: the house felt too silent. Although he was convinced there was no way you could have escaped, his home felt empty. He searched every corner, but there was no sign of your presence. As he pondered where you could be, his gaze fell on the mirror.

Yandere Time Traveler who had underestimated you. You had managed to find a way to use the mirror while he was away, but he already had an idea of where you might be. Using the mirror, he traveled 70 years after the date of your disappearance. True to his assumption, he quickly found you; everyone knew you for trying to claim that you were the missing royal member, even though that was now impossible. He approached you slowly from behind while you were talking to a couple of people, trying to convince them of your identity. He placed an arm around your shoulders, noticing how your skin prickled. He was too angry to care about the effect he was having on you. With a fake worried look, he explained to the people that you were his fiancée, but that you were suffering from dementia. The people left, leaving the two of you alone.

Yandere Time Traveler who took you back to his time, determined not to make the same mistake. With the bat he had used earlier, he gathered all his strength and smashed the mirror into pieces while you screamed for him to stop. His rage was relentless; he hit the mirror so many times that it became irreparable. When he finished, he embraced you while you cried out loud, knowing that your only escape had been destroyed. He tried to comfort you, whispering soothing words, but his attempts at calm only had the opposite effect. Every whisper and every caress only heightened your desperation, reminding you that you were now trapped with a lunatic, with no hope of returning.

Yandere Time Traveler "No matter what era you're in, I will always find a way to find you."

[stark-ironman]

Love your Hugh Jackman stories.

I have one idea where you suppose go for dinner. But Hugh wants you and you want him so you have sex on the kicken table before showing up late to dinner. 🔥

Can't Wait

18+ No Minors

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it), kinda heel kink, kitchen table sex, dirty talk, quickie

5:25

You stare at the clock and realize you have to get going if you want to arrive to your friends birthday dinner on time, so you slide your heels on and walk out of your bedroom to the kitchen where Hugh is at. Hugh glances over at you, letting a low whistle out as he spins you around to get a better look.

"You look so stunning, love. Sort of making me debate on letting you out the house tonight." He lowly tells you while pulling you close to him. A chuckle escapes your lips, "I set up the party so I have to at least show up." Hugh's hands grip your hips, moving around to grip your ass as he kisses you deeply.

His erection pokes at your thigh and you pull back slightly, trying to maintain your composure. "I can't mess up my makeup..." "I'll be gentle." Hugh smirks, pushing you until you're laying down on the kitchen table. He pushes his pants down enough to let his cock bounce out, grabbing his base and rubbing the length across your clit before slowly sliding in.

The stretch causes your back to arch, moving your leg so your heels digs in his shoulders. He moans loudly at the feeling and throws his head back slightly once he bottoms out. "There you go, baby, take all of my cock. Such a needy thing." Hugh tells you as he start pounding into you.

You hold onto the sides of the table while Hugh's arms lock around your legs to hold you close to him, feeling him push deeper with each thrust. "Going so.. deep." You moan, moving one of your heels to his neck. "Fuck, baby. You like putting those heels to use, huh?" He asks.

"Have to make sure you enjoy them too." You smirk and he thrusts harder, his eyes closing from the pleasure as your walls contract against his length.

His thumb meets your clit, rubbing in a desperate and quick manner. "Come on, baby, don't want you to be late to your dinner now do we? Let me see my pretty girl cum for me." He coos, his other hand gripping you tighter as your release builds, pushing your heel just a bit more against his neck as you release.

Faint curses fall from Hugh's lips as he releases inside of you and you smile softly as he pulls out and fixes your underwear.

6:15

You call out, looking at him. "I couldn't help myself, love. You're just so beautiful I can't resist you." He chuckles, kissing you softly as your phone starts going off.

"Well, she's going to kill me for being late." You say, kissing Hugh before running out the door.

[darnell-la]

can we get some nsfw of logan heavily infantilizing reader? i know he's a mean mean man and i want him to make us cry 🥺 just wanna be doted on but also fucked like a beast

note: Logan is a very nasty individual in this story. He’s degrading, calls the reader out of her name many times, fucks rough, is manipulative, possessive, and more…

having Logan Howlett claim you are one of the best-given things that could happen.

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“You’re so fuckin’ childish, y/n, do you know that!? So fuckin’ childish!” Logan shouted at the girl as he placed her into his passenger seat. The man slammed the door in her face before walking around to the car.

Y/m scoffed as she crossed her arms, knowing she was wrong for what she’d done tonight, but at least she had fun.

Logan treats y/n like she has no idea what the world is like. Wade speaks to him, telling him he should take it easy because is his friend. Not Logan’s.

“Well, if I’m gonna stay in an apartment with two kids, I expect them to have manners and respect. If not, then I’m out of here,” Logan threatened a few months ago when he first got here.

Y/n had come home drunk out of her mind at three in the morning after Logan and Wade had been worried all night.

Her phone had died. She explained that to them, and Wade understood, but when she came through that door smiling, laughing, and giggling with the friend who dropped her off, it triggered Logan.

“I know pay the bills, and the apartment is his, but I’ll kick you the fuck out, kid,” Logan threatened as he got into the car and started it up, ready to get home and rest without stressing about y/n.

“I’m a grown woman, Logan. If I wanna go out and get drunk with my friends, I can!” Y/n turned towards the man just to yell before turning back towards the door, looking out of the window.

“What kinda fun is that, y/n? You’re a college student, you’ve got classes in the afternoon, you need to study, but instead, you’re out almost every weekend, pissy drunk and begging for a man to touch you,”

“What!? I don’t even go out with men! I reject them all,” y/n said, confused about why he even cared about her getting with anyone.

“Sure you don’t. Every time I pick you up or you walk through that door, you’re dressed sluttier. Every fucking time!” Logan yelled, hands groping the wheel as he drove through the city to head home.

“At this point, you’re just stressing yourself out. Let me live my life like I let you, okay? Fuck!” Y/n complained.

“So slutting around is living life now? God, you kids are fucking dumb,” Logan shook his head. “I don’t slut around!” Y/n basically screamed at the man.

“Lower your fucking tone when you talk to me, young lady!” Logan looked her way. The anger in his voice made her back up, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard.

“Always fuckin’ yellin'. Can you ever shut the fuck up for once? Just do better in life and shut the fuck up — Grow up! Because you’re a-fucking-nnoying,” the man got out.

Y/n looked out of the window in silence, holding back her tears as the man continued.

“Be a fuckin’ lady, and respect yourself for once. For once!” He hit the wheel, making the girl jump. “Respect me!” The man hit the wheel again, but harder.

Y/n wiped a tear from her cheek quickly so he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Once he did, the man laughed to himself. “Unbelievable,” the man shook his head, disappointed in her.

“You can yell at me, but when I start yellin’ and tellin’ you what you look like, you start carrying. Fucking pathetic. Seriously!”

Logan didn’t mean to hurt the girl's feelings. He was just angry. He hated seeing her out and doing things he didn’t want her to do. Why can’t she just listen to him? Why does she need other people to make her happy when she has Wade and him at home.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Y/n wouldn’t sniff here and there, but low so she wouldn’t start Logan up again. She was embarrassed and disappointed in herself.

Right as Logan parked the car, y/n pulled on the handle to get out, but he had locked the door before she could.

“Looks y/n-“ Logan went to say, but y/n cut him off. “Let me out,” y/n said with a stern voice. “Y/n, just hear me out-“ he tried to say again. “Let me out!” She yelled, not even looking at the man.

“Hey!” Logan reached for her arm and grabbed it tightly. Y/n tried yanking herself away, but he was stronger. “Let me go!” Y/n yelled, only angering the man further. He had become obvious to the strength he had.

“Ow, Logan!” Y/n shouted at the man, but all he did was grip harder. “Stay still, y/n!” Logan demanded. “You're hurting me!” She finally said as tears streamed from her eyes.

The way she looked at the man in pain, not just from his grip, but more so from his words. Looking into his eyes, he realized he had gone too far.

“Y/n,” Logan said low as she fought the man, slapping his hand, but he wouldn’t let go. He only loosened his grip. “Let me go!” She could barely yell, only cry.

Logan shifted his body and lifted his other hand to cup her cheek. When he did, she tried shaking her head to get him off, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Please!” She cried, but Logan didn’t let her leave. All he did was let her arm go, only to push her seat back and hover over her quickly, the other hand still on her cheek.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Logan said, but she couldn’t stop. She sobbed as she weakly slapped Logan’s body, telling him to leave her alone, but that was the last thing he was going to do.

“Baby, look at him — It’s okay, just look at me,” Logan said as he placed the other hand on her other cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m sorry, y/n, okay? I’m sorry,” Logan spoke. That was when y/n cried harder with no words. “Aw, baby,” Logan said, trying to wipe her tears away, but they kept rolling.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe, baby. That it. It’s dangerous out here. You can’t just be goin’ out every night, looking the way you do. You just can’t,” Logan said.

“If you wanna drink, we got it at the house. You know that. No more goin’ out, and you won’t look like this anymore,” he said, hoping to manipulate her into staying in the house, and in his sight.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Logan said and kept repeating until she ducked in her cries. It took her a while, but she managed.

“Please understand that I want you safe, y/n. Do you understand that?” Logan asked. Y/n slowly nodded her head with a sniff, making him smile slightly.

“That’s it, baby. All I want is for my baby to be safe — No more goin’ out after tonight. Maybe with me, but I have to be by your side. It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“B-But my friends,” y/n sniffed. “They’ll be fine, baby. They love you and will understand. You want me to trust you and not be stressed out, right? You want me to be? I’m gettin’ old, and ion needa be stressin’ about my girl,” Logan said.

Y/n nodded her head, halfway understanding what he wanted, but not fully. She didn’t ask though. She just knew by the way he always acted that he wanted her in sight and safe with no funny business.

“Good, baby, good,” Logan said, looking into the girl's eyes as she looked back up at him, eyes bloody and eyelashes batting.

“You’re too pretty to be seen without me, baby, and you know that, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?” Logan asked, making her nod again.

“That's right, and you're sorry for disobeying me, right?” He asked. The way he spoke to her, made her feel like she’s actually done something wrong.

“S-Sorry,” she said low. A groan slipped past the man’s lips at her words and voice. She was too sweet to believe she was real.

“Ah huh, and are you gonna show me just how sorry you are?” He asked. Y/n surprisingly nodded quickly, wanting him to know that she meant nothing personal by the way she lived.

“Good girl — Now turn around for me,” Logan said. Her mind wasn’t honking straight, but she did as told, apologizing for her body rubbing on his as she did so. “It’s okay, baby - You’re all good,”

“I’m just a little angry, and you understand that, right? It’s acceptable to why I am, right, baby?” He asked her, making her him with a nod.

“Ah huh, and you’re gonna help me relax, right, baby?” He asked and she repeated what she had done before, but more shaky. “That right,”

Logan began unbuckling his belt, watching the girl underneath him shiver from how drunk she was, the cold air coming through the cracked window, her crying session, and the confusion of this situation.

“Never listenin’ to me, baby. I don’t like that,” Logan said before giving y/n a hard slap on her ass that was covered in her tight thin dress. A whine had slipped from her mouth, only making the man groan.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna bring all this anger right out on and into you, baby,” Logan said as he pulled himself out. “And guess what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna lay here, and take it like the disrespectful little slut you are,”

Y/n whined at his words, feeling shitty for not being respectful towards the older man, but she’ll soon understand to listen.

“Every time I pick you up or watch you walk through those doors, you’re fuckin’ soaked. I just know you’re out and about, waiting for some random man to offer his cock,”

“I know you’re whore enough to take it too, now ain’t you?” Logan asked. “N-No,” y/n shook her head with a whine as he pulled her dress up, revealing her dark wet patch.

“Sure you’re not, baby. You know the drunk sluts always say that, right? Until they’re caught being stuffed and fucked in some bar bathroom,”

Y/n whined again at his comment about what he thought of her as his fingers hooked around her pants. The man pulled his fingers back, causing the panties to rip perfectly.

“You wanna be treated like some dirty slut at the bar?” Logan asked as he put his cock in his hand. “No,” y/n truly spoke, but he didn’t believe her.

The man grabbed a handful of her hair and then pushed her head into the seat. “Are you sure, baby? Because you’re gonna spreading in my passenger seat just like them club whores,”

Before y/n could say anything, the man laughed into her, forcing his huge length through her walls, knowing she would barely be able to take him.

“Logan!” Y/n cried out loud, voice crazy as she gripped and clawed at the seats. “Nah uh, you shut the fuck up!” Logan spat through his teeth as he leaned over and into the girl's ear.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, I know you want this. You always do. Comin’ back from the fuckin’ bar all soaked and full of attitude. I just know you rub that shit in my face,”

“I fuckin’ know you come through those doors wanting me to fuck your drunk ass through my mattress,” the man snapped his hips hard.

“Oh yeah? Can't take it?” Logan asked as the young girl cried in pain and pleasure. “S-Sorry, sorry,” she quickly whined as she back arched.

“No, you’re fucking not. You’re only sayin’ it now because I’m fucking this cunt dumb,” Logan growled in the girl's ear as he tugged on her hair.

“Slutty fuckin’ cunt - Grippin’ me like she ain’t been fucked in the club already,” Logan said, making the girl shake her head.

“N-No,” she managed to say. “Oh yeah? You’re tellin’ me no man has been in this cunt at the club? Fuckin’ you silly in the bathroom as you pass out from the liquor?” Logan asked.

He had already known the answer, but he was angry. He wanted to get everything out. If he could smell how wet she was every weekend, he could smell a man on her, and thankfully for her, he never has.

“N-No,” y/n whined as she came around him without warning. He hadn’t cared that she soaked his leather seats. All he cared about was how could he could fuck he’d. Maybe if he fucked he’d be good enough, she wouldn’t dare leave the apartment again.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You don’t let another man touch you. Never!” He pounded, knowing the wind out of her with every thrust.

“I swear, if you do, baby, ima kill him. Ima fuckin’ kill him then lock your ass in my room,” Logan threatened, only making y/n moan.

“My fuckin’ cunt — Mine! All fuckin’ mine and you know it. You’ve been known it, Bub, and because you wanted to play games, I’m gonna teach you what the fuck happens when you do,”

Logan took the seatbelt to the car and tied it around her wrist after pulling them man. The man soon continued his anger by slamming into her until she cried, begging him to stop.

He was rough, but y/n knew deep down that she deserved it. She was disrespectful and didn’t listen to him. He should get what he wants.

“You're mine, right, baby? All mine to use like those I want at the bar and club?” Logan asked as y/n could barely keep herself conscious. “Y-Yes,” was all she could get out.

“That’s my girl,”

[decolonize-the-everything]

Just discovered what "littermate syndrome" is and I'm disgusted with colonizers

Nothing is sacred that threatens their place of power no matter how minor that place is; they can't stand the thought of not being the center of someone else's universe.

I can't imagine the battles they must have in their heads to feel so superior to everything and simultaneously so scared of losing that unnatural belief in superiority that they can't even let dog siblings be around each other. Because even that tiniest inkling of having an actual community with others is a threat to their place of power.

All this oppression to maintain their delicate sense of safety which wouldn't be in danger to begin with if they'd minded their fucking business and just let people be.

Not EVERYTHING is here for them to take.

To make this understandable and maybe even relatable, the way colonizers treat the earth and it's inhabitants is how the worst of men treat women under patriarchy. Theirs for the taking. If a woman- like unclaimed land- is unharmed and still full of potential it's because a man simply hasn't found her and taken that status from her yet. Her freedom entirely dependent on how long she can avoid being seen by someone who wants to brag about owning her and the way he changed her.

If colonizers were just men maybe it wouldn't take so long to understand why colonization and subjugation to this extent, like sexual assault, is so unforgivable.

But thats not the case. So instead of having half the population as allies I have to deal with reading articles about "littermate syndrome" because how else are you going to cope with abandoning your humanity for power while pretending it's "just the way things are"

If it was really 'just the way things are' I don't think they'd need so many rules and cops and laws and states, and even articles about dogs to enforce all those ideas. Colonizers fight their own humanity and try to convince everyone else to hate themselves just as much and then have the audacity to accuse anyone who doesn't of being "uncivilized" and a "savage"

Like how the value of a dog directly correlates to it's trainability.

And all dogs can be trained, right?

Some of them just need more intense training. Sometimes you just need to deprive them of everything and teach them every blessing is a gift their "owner" alone can give, right?

Gotta teach em manners and civility and to be grateful for the blessing of being owned. Cuz imagine if they weren't and they had to survive on your own? Imagine how awful freedom would be, (classic colonizer line).

How dangerous to be on your own, unowned. Could you imagine how much worse the next person would be? Being owned by a nice colonizer is salvation. And you should be lucky because some colonizers... Well the way they treat their property is unthinkable isn't it?

Like what they said to natives after we were upset at being thrust from our land and onto reservations. At least they gave us land, right? According to colonizers it's them we have to thank for electricity and having a pot to piss in anyway. They could've just killed us.

They say the same about Palestinians now. And about prisoners. And they said it during slavery. And they've certainly said it to children who misbehave (act like a child). They say it about dogs. The earth.

Everything could be worse, though, right?

What ungrateful savages we are for not understanding how happy we should be just to be given the gift of the next breath by people who insist on seeing themselves as gods above us like they don't bleed the same color with the same ease as the rest of us.

And boy do they hate being reminded of that

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

logan howlett x asexual!reader

notes: fluff, mentions of sex, kissing, nuanced take on asexuality.

It took you a long time to say yes to going out with Logan.

And it wasn’t simply a case of you ‘playing hard to get’. You have no desire to be a fling. Sure, you recognize that objectively, he is hot! And you think to yourself, maybe you’d give him a shot if he didn’t just want to sleep with you.

So, for months, he pines. And it’s a rather new experience, he’s used to people just throwing themselves at him after a few flirty conversations, but it takes almost four months for you to even agree to go out with him.

When you do, he makes sure to put in his best effort—You two go out to a really nice dinner, and then you go on this long drive to a cliff side, and you lean against his motorcycle, holding hands as you look to the stars.

His heart thumps as your thumb gently rubs against his knuckles.

So the two of you date—

You kiss, you eat lunch together, you spend long nights with your hands running through his hair, reading to him.

But you don’t sleep with him.

He thinks maybe it’s a religious thing or maybe some weird fetish, like you think waiting will make it even better. But he doesn’t ask you about it, because he remembers how long it took you to go out with him, so he keeps it to himself.

Until one day, about seven months into your relationship.

The snow whirls outside the X-Mansion, the wind rattling your windows, as you curl up in bed, wrapped in his flannel, a couple of blankets and his arms.

“Can I ask you a question, Spitfire?” He wonders.

“Anything.” You answer, meaning it whole heartedly.

The Wolverine feels himself get nervous before he asks,

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?” He asks, and you take a minute. You knew the conversation would happen eventually. Logan isn’t your first boyfriend, so you know that the people you’re with are owed an explanation. And you brace yourself—If he isn’t willing to listen to you on this, you’re ready to walk away.

You sit up so you can be looking at him—It’s rather intimate.

“I’m Asexual.” You answer.

A beat.

“A sexual what?”

You laugh a little, mostly because you think it’s silly, especially considering Logan isn’t straight (you see how he’s looked at Scott).

“No, Asexual—It means I experience little to no sexual attraction,” You answer, and he tilts his head.

He’s committed a lot of time to you already. The explanation sort of scares him, and he’s ready to run away but he stays put, not wanting you to think he can’t handle whatever it is you’ve just thrown at him—But he was born in the early 1800’s. Have a bit of grace for the man.

“Okay, What does that mean, though?” He asks, and you’re grateful he hasn’t broken up with you yet.

“So, I.. I really like you. I mean—I love you, Logan.” You confess, “But sex just.. isn’t something I need, especially not often. I get horny, It’s just.. Sex is different for me. I like making out with you, kissing you, touching you—and there might be times where I do want to have sex with you, probably to show my affection and grow closer to you—Sex isn’t procreation or pure pleasure to me, it’s something that I only like to do every once in a while and I do it as a way to get closer to whoever I love. Does that make sense?”

Logan nods. It does make sense—Sex isn’t your thing. And he knows historically, he’s been passed around by the other x-men like a blunt, but in dating you for a while, since you two haven’t slept together, he’s much more okay with that being more rare.

Sure, you’re both attracted to each other, and like you said, making out is really nice, but..

“Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Well, I just..” he takes your hands in his, trying to convey what it is he wants to communicate. “We’re more than just dating. At least to me. No one’s ever been in my corner like you, and.. I don’t just look at you in a physical manner, I.. I look over my shoulder for you when I see something stupid or fun, because I want to share everything with you. I know it’s been rocky at times, but..” He clears his throat. You see tears well in his eyes and you just smile, your hand detaching from his to wipe a tear that runs down his face.

“I know.” You say softly, and he smiles.

“I don’t need sex to love you.” He tells you. He kisses you gently and asks, “Don’t feel like that’s ever something I need, okay, spitfire?”

“Okay, Claws.”

//i don't know what else to say about this other than i know i write smut often and graphically but i am in fact asexual, so i wanted to throw my hat in the ring for writing not only a queer reader but a reader who is asexual. you deserve a place in fanfiction too. also, readers description of asexuality is based off my own, so please remember that asexuality isn't a one size fits all thing.

[neoneun-au]

IN EARNEST; J.WW

―PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader, yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ―GENRE: regency au, romance, fluff, angst, love triangle, childhood friends to lovers ―WORD COUNT: 13k ―WARNINGS: rigid gender roles, historical setting, angst & family in-fighting

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this fic was rewritten from one on my old blog. it was majorly overhauled and i added around 1k worth of words. its one of my favourites, so i would appreciate hearing any thoughts you might have on it. please enjoy

The long, warm rays of the sun stretch over the fields of your childhood as you sit on the stone fence at the edge of your family’s estate, legs swinging in a manner unbefitting a young woman soon to be engaged. A gentle spring breeze stirs at your hair, blowing over you as it moves westward across the countryside on its journey as you sit, book in hand, wrapped in the warmth of the afternoon light. Words dance on the page before your eyes as you try and focus on the story, pulling your attention into the narrative only to have it drawn back out towards the horizon over the golden fields of wheat and rye. With a sigh, you snap the book shut and slip from atop the rock wall, landing on the soft earth below. 

Skirts dragging against the long grass as you walk, you make your way through the field--wheat stalks brush against your bare arms, parting for you as you stride forward past the cows and sheep and towards an old grove of trees tucked back at the edge of the property by the meandering creek where you spent so many of your days in childlike rapture and leisure. Amongst the flurry of balls, social gatherings, and visits expected of you these days, you’ve hardly had a spare moment to come and sit among the trees for the past few years. Social propriety and demands have all but replaced the imagination of your youth and yet the trees welcome you in as an old friend–beckoning you forth into their shade and kissing your cheeks with the morning dew. 

One old tree, of gnarled roots and rough bark, sits chief among them in the center of the grove. Images of your sister and you swinging from its long branches and knotted limbs spring to mind as you stride closer. Days long past spent nestled amongst its jutting roots for a midday picnic without a care for the mud on the hems of your dresses. With a smile you walk towards the tree, hand outstretched in greeting, and feel your way across the trunk. The knots and rough bark ripple under your fingers--a map of the tree's life spread out under your touch, and you move around it until you meet a familiar dip in the bark. A carving of a memory long forgotten.

Your fingers trace the loops of the heart, the curves of the letters, and a face swims into your vision to join your childhood self as she runs through the fields and trees. A boy of honey brown hair and an even sweeter voice with whom the days seemed to stretch onwards into infinity. A boy you had made promise you at 11 years old that he would marry you when you were both older so that you could live together until eternity. A boy with the spark of love buried in the dark browns of his eyes, obscured by the frames of his wire glasses, waiting for age and maturity to bring it to the forefront. A boy who just smiled, laughed, and chased you through the dawn soaked fields until you both collapsed from exhaustion by the river. A boy who leaned over with a soft smile some long hours later and whispered “I promise.” 

The promises of youth are delicate. They are made in the heat of summer, under the swell of the sun and the naive feelings that blossom in the hearts of every young person as they grow and change with daily discoveries. They are a glass vase, thin and ready to be broken–or simply tucked away on a high shelf to be left forgotten and collecting dust as time obscures them. 

Now, standing in the dawning of  your adulthood in the place of your youth, that promise is but a lingering nudge at the edge of your mind–a loose thread dangling free in the wind, waiting to be tugged on and unraveled. The boy stands with it, a denizen of the memory of a time when the sun shone down on you in smiles and in hope, lighting up your world with the wide-eyed exhilaration of young love.

You smile down at the carved imprint of a heart, transported back for a moment to that time, before someone clears their throat behind you, “what are you doing out here?” You spin on your heels, body moving unconsciously to shield the glyph from prying eyes, and see Jeonghan standing at the edge of the grove–sunlight filtering down through the tree tops and sprinkling him in flecks of golden light. He stands with a wry grin, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you regain your composure after the sudden interruption of your daydreams. 

“Nothing,” you reply after a moment with a light laugh, returning his smile–closing the lid on your memories as you take a step towards him. “Just out for a walk.” 

“Well, don’t wander too far,” he extends his arms for you to take and you accept, looping your arm through his and walking side by side out of the shade of the tree grove and  into the sunlight. “You might not be able to find your way back.” 

“I think I know my own family’s grounds, thank you,” you counter, peeking up at him as he stares ahead towards the estate in the distance, sprawling out over the field in a mass of grey stone. The wry smile has softened slightly, but still remains pulling gently at the corners of his lips. 

You hadn’t known what to make of Jeonghan the first time he stood off to the side of the village ball. New to the community by way of both work and friends, he was a source of fascination and aversion in equal measure by everyone in town. A community where everyone had known everyone and everyone was in everyone’s business made a newcomer stick out like the sorest of thumbs. You watched as he stood, making polite yet stiff conversation with the men of the village and keeping largely to himself  until your mother, not one to ever waste an opportunity, strong-armed your father into introducing the entire family to him. 

He seemed to sense in you a kindred spirit–someone there in a similar situation, bemused but disconnected from the gossip and frivolity of the ball. Placed at the center of it all regardless by mere social expectation and family ties. You spoke for a while, easing minute by minute from fateful acquaintances to fast friends, until you both succumbed to decorum and he asked  for a dance; after which your mother adopted him immediately as a friend of the family and he has not known a moment of peace since. 

A fact which you love to tease him about at any given opportunity. 

“What are you doing out here today, Jeonghan?” You ask as you walk past the cows grazing in the field, arm still tucked securely into the crook of his elbow. 

“Your father asked me round to discuss the merger of the mill in town,” he shakes his head and you laugh at what you can only imagine was an incredibly dry conversation. “Dreadfully boring. Then your mother noticed you wander off into the woods and sent me to fetch you.” 

“Scandalous,”  you tease, nudging your elbow into his side and eliciting a brief laugh. “A young man and woman out to pasture together? Unchaperoned and unmarried? My mother must really trust you.” 

“Yes, well if only she knew that the only reason I agree to come and talk to your father about all of this nonsense is to have the chance to speak with you,” the teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed; you can tell it’s meant as a joke, but there is an air of truth to it as well and the comment sinks under your skin, stilling the air around you. Suddenly, his arm against yours feels too real, too solid. You feel altogether too close to him and yet not close enough. You glance up and see his gaze still fixated forward towards your home, the sunlight gleaming over him and bathing him in the golden light of its rays. 

“When do you return to town?” you shift the conversation, eager for a reprieve from the constricting of your heart in your chest. 

“In three days time,” he replies, releasing your arm to step through the gate into the gardens–holding it open for you to pass through behind him. 

“So soon?” you glance at him in surprise. In the month he had been here, visiting in the afternoons and attending dinner parties, he had not made mention of the date of his inevitable return to town, so hearing the answer now was a slight shock. 

Jeonghan nods, and you loop your arm through his once more as you ascend the stone pathway towards the front of the house. “Unfortunately,” he sighs, “it was meant to be next month but I’ve been called away sooner than I had planned.” 

“I see.” Your voice trails off and you slip your arm free from his as you step through the doorway. A strange sense of melancholy takes over, sweeping the sunshine away from your thoughts and replacing them with the grey clouds that precipitate a sky before a storm. In barely two months time, you’ve come to enjoy Jeonghan’s company and his consistent appearances in your daily life. They became a comfort to you in a way you hadn’t felt from anyone’s company in a long time. Not since you were young, running wild and free without thought of propriety or the looming threat of your future. 

“I was hoping, actually, to talk with you before I left,” he starts, breaking through the clouds in your mind. You can hear the hesitation clear in his voice as he talks, a small shy smile painting his handsome features. 

“About what?” The heat of curiosity builds in your mind, swirling thoughts joining the fray. A buzzing excitement building as you watch him formulate the words–the wheels in his mind turning into place behind his soft brown eyes. He’s building to something, grasping onto a thread of courage and you silently pray that he manages to keep hold as you feel your heart rise into your throat. His fingers twitch at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for your hand and you feel your skin prickle at the thought. 

“I was hoping–” Jeonghan starts but is cut off just as quickly as your sister, Lydia, comes crashing through the parlour shouting your name, skirts billowing behind her. She skids to an abrupt halt as she sees you and Jeonghan both staring back at her. 

“H-hello, Mr. Yoon, I didn’t–umm,” she thumbs the letter clutched in her hand, nerves plain on her face as she tries to regain some sense of calm after her frantic entrance, “I didn’t realise you were still here.” She offers an awkward curtsy in his direction and you can hear the stifled laughter as he bows back. 

“Hello Ms. Lydia, I trust you are well?” 

“Very, thank you,” she nods, swallowing, and you have to stifle your own laugh at the awkwardness seeping out of her and infecting the room. She turns towards you, eyes pleading, “may I speak with you a moment?” 

You glance at Jeonghan and he smiles, “I should be going.” All hints of what he had been planning on saying before the interruption are wiped clear from his expression and you can’t help the slight bitterness towards your sister that rises in your stomach like bile as he turns to leave. 

“Your mother invited me for dinner tomorrow evening before I take my leave,” he adds, hand on the brass knob of the door, “I hope we can finish talking then.” With a final nod and smile he closes the door behind him–you watch through the window as he walks down the stone pathway towards his horse before your sister calls your attention back to her with a pointed cough. 

“Did he ask you?” she asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“Ask me what?” you move away from the entrance and flop down onto the plush cream settee at the side of the room–legs grateful for the relief after an afternoon spent traipsing through the fields outside. 

“Don’t be daft, I know that you know full well he is planning on proposing to you,” she sits down next to you in a huff, splaying her skirts out below her and knocking you on the shoulder with a closed fist–envelope still clutched tight in her hand, but evidently forgotten for the moment.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were in his confidence regarding the matter,” you tease, drawing a flustered expression from her as she pouts at you. 

“I don’t need to be to know,” she grumbles, “everyone says. Especially Mama.” 

The rumours had been circulating since that first ball and you were not oblivious to them. It would be impossible to be oblivious when the gossip that roamed through the village was as subtle as a bull. But rumours were just that: rumours. Unsubstantiated whisperings passed around by bored mamas and nosy servants at parties and in parlours, and you preferred to keep your hopes out of their baseless grasp as long as you were able to. You couldn’t deny, however, that the hope was there. That it had wound its way into your heart, filling your mind and soul with a buoyancy you hadn’t anticipated to feel. 

The thought of Jeonghan in front of you, extending his hand for yours, and asking to keep it forever is a thought that you couldn’t deny having had more than once. 

But you were not going to give your prying sister the satisfaction of knowing this. Instead you stare deadpan at her as she sits with a pout on her face, waiting for a reaction. The standoff continues for a moment in silence before she resigns and sighs, thrusting the letter she had been clutching in her hand towards you, “here, it’s for you.” 

You pluck the paper from and examine the envelope–torn open already by prying fingertips and eyes. “You opened it?” The accusation is more tired than biting, but she cowers under it anyway–crossing her arms in defence. 

“No,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in a decidedly unladylike manner–a habit of which your mother had tried to scold out of her for years now. “Mama opened it.” 

“And then you read it,” you sigh, running your eyes over the script of the envelope. Handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar. A name you haven’t seen in years scrawled in the top left corner in looping cursive–Jeon Wonwoo. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight, your sister's protestations fading into background noise, as you focus on the name written on the sheet of white before you–transfixed by memory and recognition. 

“Are you listening to me?” Lydia’s voice bleeds through the swell in your mind as you slip the letter out of the envelope–delicately, as if it might crumble to dust at the barest whisper of a breath–and unfold it in your hands. You brush aside her attempts at getting your attention and fix your gaze on the words unfolding on the page. 

Dearest ______,

Firstly, I hope you receive this letter in good health, and that your family is well. I am sorry we never kept up correspondence as we had promised when I first left for the city. I have so much to tell you and yet I feel that most of it is entirely pointless, so it might be better left unsaid for now; at least until we are able to speak in person. 

I’m not sure when this letter will arrive, but my intention is for it to precede my own arrival by at least a day or so. I had been planning on visiting for quite some time, but it was a thought always pushed to the back of my mind as life and present matters took over, but receiving your letter resurfaced the desire to return. 

I must say your letter was a slight shock, but certainly not an unwelcome one. Truthfully, there hasn’t been a day that has passed that I have not thought of you or of the time we spent together as children and adolescents. I hadn’t dared to hope that you remembered, or even returned the feelings that I had held close to my heart since those days, but reading your words brought that hope back to life. 

I look forward to seeing you again at last, 

Yours Truly, 

Wonwoo

You sit in silence for a moment, staring blank faced down at the letter as your sister leans over your shoulder trying desperately to read the lines of ink scrawled delicately over the page. “Well,” she whines, giving up on the task, “what does it say?” 

Without a glance spared in her direction, you stand up and race out of the parlour–brushing past your confused mother as you dart up the staircase towards your bedroom. 

“Oh, did you get the letter?” your mother calls after you as you run, leaning over the bannister, but you staunchly ignore her as you careen into your room to tear into the trunk at the foot of your bed. No mind paid for the mess you’re creating as you pull out ribbons, books, and trinkets from the large, ornately carved wooden box. Buried at the bottom of the trunk lies a small box of letters, hidden from the prying eyes of your family–or at least you had thought it was hidden from the prying eyes of your family. Looking now, as you sit splayed out on the floor of your bedroom amongst a haphazard pile of items, it’s clear that it has been rifled through since the last time you had bothered to check it. 

From amongst the pile of letters hidden away amongst your treasures and belongings, only one is missing. One tear-stained, hastily written piece of parchment snatched from the stack of otherwise inconsequential papers by the fingers of someone who was incapable of minding their own business or of leaving well enough alone. 

“Don’t be mad,” your sister’s voice pleads from behind you as she stands in the doorway playing with her fingers, watching your back as you begin to gather up your things with a sigh–tossing them back into the trunk and closing the lid with a snap before turning to face her. 

A slow seeping mixture of anger and embarrassment has overcome your thoughts and swells near to bursting as you glare at her through a fog of red. She opens her mouth to speak, fear dancing in her eyes as she scrambles for some words that might placate you. Tries to form some meagre explanation for her actions. You take advantage of her immobility and move towards her with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. A moment before you can catch her sleeves she turns and races down the hallway, leaping down the staircase, and hiding behind your bewildered mama–a desperate shield from your wrath. 

A sliver of clarity leeches through the haze surrounding you, sounding out like a bell through your angered mind, and instead of reaching for her with clawing hands like you’re itching to, you push past them and stalk straight through the front door and out into the gardens. A light drizzle of rain has begun to fall in the time between your walk through the fields and now, but you pay it no mind–only too grateful for the company of the raindrops alongside the tears that begin to fall from your eyes. 

You can hear the door open and close behind you, footsteps crunching along the dirt and gravel of the path you are currently trodding on towards no destination, but you don’t give them the satisfaction of turning. Instead you pick up your pace, hastening your already brisk gait until you’re nearly running towards the creek at the edge of the estate–searching for some escape, some reprieve, from the suffocating presence of your family to gather the frayed edges of your tormented mind. 

Missing the hint as usual, they persist. Voices call out from behind you, entreating you to turn and face them but the pleas and demands only serve to heighten the flush of rage through your veins.

By the time you reach the edge of the water your body is shaking. Whether from the cold or the overwhelming emotions you’re not sure. You stand, staring out over the water as it rushes downstream, blinking away the tears stinging at your eyes. “Oh, will you stop being so dramatic,” your mother finally catches up with you–her curls and skirts soaked in water and mud, a fact of which you know you will never hear the end of. “Apologise to your sister.” 

You baulk at her, mouth gaping with shock and horror, “me? Apologise to her?” 

“Yes, you scared her,” she nods, arms crossed and eyes set in a determined stare, “besides, you shouldn’t be racing down the stairs like a child at your age. Not when you are so close to being engaged, just think; what would your fiance say about this behaviour?” 

“I don’t have a fiance,” you shoot back, mirroring her stance, “and if I did, and if he were a man of any brains at all, he would say I have every right to wring her neck for what she’s done.” 

“Mama,” Lydia whines, still hiding behind the impenetrable figure standing before you in rain-soaked linens. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I just sent out a letter.” 

“A letter that was never yours to send,” you shout, earning yourself a withering glare from your mother. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and you sigh, feeling the rain as it falls against your tired limbs and a tired mind. The idyl of the morning feels so far away now. Jeonghan’s easy smile, the light filtering through the grove, the feeling of the rough bark under your fingertips. A morning of reminiscence scrubbed away so easily by the foolishness of one insolent sister. All the hope that had lifted in your chest now falling away from you with each raindrop and disappearing into the ground below. 

You open your eyes to watch your mother standing in defence of the sister that might have ruined both your past and future. All life, all fight drains from your body, and you’re left now with the only question that matters hanging in the damp, cool air between you. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer. She stares back at you, an expression of haughty defiance painting her face, and after a minute of silence–a cold standoff at the edge of the river–you brush past them once more and stride back towards the house. Resigning yourself to never knowing; to life never being that same as it was mere hours ago when you were standing peacefully in the midday sun, unaware of the storm brewing for you in the shadows of the day. 

Your mother hurries to catch up with you, “you’ll forgive her. She is your sister, after all, you’ve only got each other.” 

You feel the urge to shout again, to admonish her for always taking the side of your younger sibling even when it was clear she was in the wrong, but the feeling dies in your throat before you can even think to act on it. You’re too tired. Instead you halt in your step and turn to face her, another question pressing at the forefront of your mind, “you read the letter?” 

“I suppose we’ll be having two guests for dinner tomorrow night,” she muses, managing at least to look somewhat apologetic for your current state of affairs despite the obvious delight swimming behind her eyes. Two potential love matches for her daughter, and all the drama that a bored mama could possibly dream up, had finally planted itself in her lap and she was enjoying every second of it. 

“Don’t you have any shame at all?” you ask, knowing how fruitless the question was but unable to refrain from voicing it. Enough anger was still lingering at the edges of your mind to give voice to the words. 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you’re not excited to see the Jeon boy,” she says, trailing after you as you resume your brisk pace towards the house. “I always thought you two might get engaged when you were older, but then he left and well, Mr. Yoon seems an excellent second choice.” 

You pointedly ignore her as she continues to monologue her fantasies for life, following behind you as you head up to your room in search of dry clothing and some reprieve from her aimless talking. “Mama,” you spin towards her, stopping her at the threshold of your bedroom, “I can tell you are gleaning some great joy from this situation, but please for once in your life have some pity and leave me alone.” 

She opens her mouth to speak again but you close the door before she gets the chance, blocking out her protestations as you sink down onto the oak floor in a puddle of linen skirts and despair. 

.

.

.

Dinner is suffocating. Your father relishes in the rare silence at the table while you coldly pass bowls of potatoes and vegetables to your sister, avoiding eye contact even as she nudges you under the table with her foot. You know your behaviour is childish–unbecoming of someone your age, as your mother would say, despite her own childish actions–but you can’t bring yourself to come to a place of peace and forgiveness quite yet. The letter still looms in your mind like a parchment monolith, a cloud hanging over all of your thoughts even as you try to distract yourself after dinner with a book by the fireplace. Even as your mother tries to entice you into friendly gossip about how you think Wonwoo might have changed over the years, how he might measure up to Jeonghan as a potential match. 

The evening drags on into night, darkness swallowing the estate, and your sister sits staring at you over her untouched needlework from the other side of the parlour. You raise your eyes to meet hers for a moment before turning back to your novel, resuming the standoff and sinking back into the staunch silence you’re treating her with. 

In truth it has been this way since childhood. The moment she was ushered into this world, the weight of responsibility settled onto your shoulders. The expectation of being the eldest sibling; of acting mature and setting an example for her to follow as she chased you through the fields, inserting herself in every possible situation with the carelessness of one who knows that they can get away with anything, should they so choose. 

Your only reprieve from the insistent pressure of responsibility was when cousins and family would visit, capturing her wandering attention for long enough that you were able to slip out unnoticed and find solace outside, in a book, or with Wonwoo. Peace from her endless questioning and imitations–from following you around like a lost, unceasingly precocious child. 

The heat of her unwavering gaze burns into the top of your head as you try to follow the narrative of your story in the dim light of the fire. Eventually you give up, slipping the book back into its place on the shelf, and dismissing yourself with a good night to your father–absorbed in his own book and entirely uninterested in the dramatics brewing within his home. Your sister scrambles up after you, following in your footsteps and rushing to say her own goodnights before chasing behind you up the stairs. 

“Stop following me,” you spin around in the doorway to your room, arms crossed in defence–levelling her with a glare that you can only hope she takes seriously for once in her life. 

“You have to forgive me eventually,” Lydia says, matching your posture and meeting your gaze with her own determined stare. “You can’t be upset about it forever.” It’s clear the silent treatment you’ve been giving her has wormed its way under her skin–plucking at the exact nerves that she tries so hard to ignore. Her disdain for being ignored–for being disliked, even momentarily–working against her now in the safety of her own home. 

“Yes, I can,” you state flatly, half-turning away from her towards and moving to close the door before she stops you with a hand on your arm. 

“That’s not fair,” she whines, “what are you so upset about anyway? That you have two men in love with you?” The truth seeps through her words and you find the answer to your question from earlier finally in the subtext of her complaints. “You’re jealous?” 

“I’m not jealous,” she bites back, but the pout that accompanies the statement indicates the exact opposite. “I just think it’s unfair that you’re marrying someone without telling them that you’re in love with someone else.” 

“I’m not marrying anyone,” you grit your teeth to keep from shouting and rousing your parent’s attention. The last thing you needed at this moment was the less than helpful advice of your mother. “I’m not even engaged. No one has asked me to marry them–no one.” You turn away from her, eager to shut her out for the night and sink into the comfort of sleep, “and I’m not in love with Wonwoo.” 

She snorts, unconvinced, “that letter said otherwise.” 

“That letter was written when I was fifteen and he was leaving,” you reply with a glare, “things have changed.” 

“If you’re not still in love with him,” a small smile quirks up the corner of her lip, bringing another wave of rage crashing through you at the sight of it. Her smug expression lit low by the lanterns burning on the walls, “then why are you so mad?” 

With a huff you close the door, blocking out any further comments she might deem necessary to add–anything further to provoke you to anger. You pause a moment, staring at the dark wood of the door, and breathe. The urge to scream floods your thoughts and you move to lie flat on your bed before it bursts free completely. 

Sleep comes in fits and starts. Your dreams chase you through the labyrinth of night cloaked in signs and symbols–always beginning and ending in that grove of trees on your family's estate. Each time you stand at the entrance to the greenery, hopeful anticipation bubbling up in your chest, and take a step forward. Everything is silent–still. No chirping of birds, no rush of the wind, no sound at all save your own footsteps over the trodden soil as you walk towards the gnarled oak at the centre of the grove–your hand outstretched towards the bark. 

The carved heart greets your fingers, initials swimming before your eyes. Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Lydia's, your own. They all traverse and coalesce on the expanse of broken brown wood, mingling with each other and transforming endlessly in front of your eyes. Before they have a chance to settle, a branch snaps behind you and you turn in anticipation to see who it is; a glimpse of muted fabric, a vaguely formed face, flashes in front of your vision before you are transported back to the field outside the trees–feet itching to carry you forward once again. 

You repeat this process, over and over, until the light breaking through the window above your bed stirs you to consciousness. You sigh and squirm deeper into the blankets, desperate to sink back into the embrace of dreams and avoid the inevitable disaster of the day waiting for you outside your room. 

A sharp knock on the door cuts off any hope that you had of delay. “Mama says to come down for breakfast," Lydia warns and you listen as her footsteps disappear down the staircase before slipping out of bed and preparing for the day. 

.

.

.

The scent of eggs and ham greets you as you stumble down the stairs some time later; dressed in a simple frock belying the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of the day. Your mother greets you with a cheerful “good morning”, the tone ignorant of the tension that underlay your last interactions with her. You offer her a tired smile in response–content with staying in silence for as long as possible this morning and avoiding any further bursts of anger she might provoke. It takes you a moment to notice the extra figure sitting at the table, one at the same time so familiar and unfamiliar. Wonwoo’s eyes, obscured as they are behind the glass of his spectacles, betray a similar mixture of delight and wariness at your presence. He offers you a hesitant smile over his plate of food and you feel your heart leap into your throat, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

“Wonwoo,” you exclaim, earning an admonishing tsk from your mother at the noise. He stands, bowing slightly in greeting–smile broadening marginally as he does so. 

“Hello,” he replies. You can hear a million different restrained thoughts and questions in the greeting. So many unspoken words it makes your stomach knot. You remain, mouth agape, standing feet away while the force of it hits you while your sister, on the other hand, laughs aloud at the look of pure alarm on your face. 

“Oh, sit down before you fall down,” she says, rolling her eyes and reaching for another roll from the centre of the table. “It’s only Wonwoo, you knew he was coming.” 

You resist the temptation to openly glare at her and instead gather yourself into the seat across from Wonwoo–returning his smile, finally, with your own. “You’re here much sooner than expected,” you say, offering it as the only excuse for your astonishment at his presence during your family breakfast. 

“I arrived rather early this morning,” he explains. The tension held in his shoulders ebbs away slowly, hesitation diminishing now that you’ve settled across from him. “Thankfully your father was awake and willing to sit down over a cup of tea.” You nod in acknowledgement. He and your father had always gotten along rather well, being of similar disposition. You would often find them sitting in silence together while your mama chased you around with her many complaints. “You look well,” he adds after a moment, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

He’s older now than the last time you saw him–his jaw defined by the sharpness that comes with age, the loss of the soft roundness of youth–but he still looks exactly as you remember him. His brown eyes still hold that same kindness and quiet humour that you were so fond of. His smile, though grown hesitant with years of distance, is still as bright as it always was; a warm smile, both welcoming and genuine. A smile that makes you wish you had sent that letter out years ago. Maybe it would have kept him here, with you, at this table. Maybe you could have watched these transformations occur instead of seeing them all now. Maybe you would have had time to accustom yourself to the new angle of his jaw, to the mature slant of his cheekbone. Maybe…

“I am well, thank you,” you reply, cutting off your wandering thoughts and into your breakfast. Turning away from the warmth of his gaze for a moment’s reprieve. “And you? Have you been–” Hesitation stops you in your tracks as you form the question. Keen awareness of the curious eyes at the table fixed firmly on you, intruding on this reunion with their unceasing attention. The knowledge that both your mother and sister are highly aware of the undercurrent of feelings–whether present or past–running between you stalls your speech. “Are you well?” you finish lamely, clearing your throat and gathering yourself into a state of stoicism.

“Very well, thank you,” he replies with a nod, similarly reserved. Knowing your family as he does, you’re sure he senses the shift in the atmosphere. Sure he’s adjusting himself accordingly. 

“Well,” your mother leans forward, towards Wonwoo, a conspiratorial glint in her eye as she begins speaking, “we are so glad to have you back with us after such a long time away. I can’t imagine why you didn’t visit sooner, but no matter. How long will you be staying?” 

“Only a week,” he replies, “I return to town next Sunday.” 

“And what brings you here so suddenly?” The brazenness of her question in light of everything she knows would shock you if you weren’t so used to her meddling. You bite your tongue, woefully resigned to allowing her to play out her machinations while you suffer under the brunt of them. A mere tool in her game of matchmaking and gossip-mongering. Lydia stifles a laugh next to you with a cough, drawing Wonwoo’s attention. 

“Ah,” he starts, watching you closely for any hint of caution but you remain as neutral as possible. “I had been meaning to return for years now, I’ve been too long overdue for a visit. It has been years, even, since I’ve seen my own family’s estate.” 

“I see,” your mother sighs, correcting her posture and sitting upright, disappointed by the lack of spectacle. Her desire for a dramatic breakfast proposal being thwarted, she changes topic and shifts to Wonwoo’s current business practices. How is he getting along as a barrister in town during these troubled times? He answers her inquiries, offering up tidbits of gossip from town that might interest her, and you feel a rush of gratitude towards him for so easily flowing with her changing moods and temperament. A feat not easily undertaken. 

Conversation continues late into the morning, with even your father chiming in here and there; forgoing his usual habit of staying entirely silent until reproached by your mother and instead offering up comments entirely unprovoked to the surprise and delight of the same woman who is usually provoking him. You pick at the food on your plate, watching Wonwoo from across the table even as your sister silently teases you for it from her own seat. Finally, the plates are all cleared away and you stand, ready to stretch your stiff muscles outside of the house.

“Why don’t you three kids take a walk,” your mother prompts–taking notice of your fidgeting. “I have to make preparations for dinner tonight.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to go to such trouble on my account,” Wonwoo holds his hands up as if to ward off the worst of your mother’s efforts. 

“It’s not just for you,” Lydia sighs, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “it’s for Mr. Yoon.” 

“Who–” Wonwoo starts, glancing at you, a ripple of confusion passing over his face before your mother cuts him off. 

“Don’t be rude, Lydia,” she admonishes her, “it’s for both of you, Mr. Jeon. Mr. Yoon has become a very welcome part of our family gatherings since he arrived not two months ago.” She moves behind you, hustling the three of you out of the dining room and towards the front door in a manner befitting a sheepdog rather than a mother. “The girls will tell you all about him, I’m sure.” 

The door is closed on you before you have the chance to protest and you turn towards Wonwoo with a heavy sigh, “I guess we are taking a walk, then.” 

“Your mother certainly has not changed over all these years,” he laughs, more relaxed now that you’re away from the presence of your parents. He offers his arm for you to take as you descend down the stone path leading through the gardens and out into the fields.  The rain of the previous day is all but gone, leaving nothing but the odd puddle dotting the path as you walk along at an easy pace--grateful for the warm, golden sun as it streams down on you. 

You slip your arm through Wonwoo’s and marvel at the naturalness of the gesture. Though it’s been years since your last exchange of letters, and even longer since you last saw each other in person, the ease with which you slip back into old comforts in his presence is nothing short of remarkable. You spend the first half of the walk catching up–exchanging stories of the goings-on around the village and in town since you last spoke. Lydia walks a ways ahead of you, constantly looking back as if desperate to invite herself into the conversation before inevitably thinking better of it and turning around to resume her striding. 

The silence emanating from her is a worrisome gnat that wheedles its way into the back of your mind, but you brush it aside and focus on the feeling of your old friend back at your side. The feeling of his arm against yours, his voice no longer a mere echo in your mind, but a real sound to be heard and listened to. It feels as if he had never left; that despite the growth in each of you as a person, both physically and mentally, there had merely been a pause put on your relationship. A brief interlude that served only to bring you to this exact moment in time where you could be together again. 

The comfort is at once welcome and disconcerting. The thought of Wonwoo’s letter, the implication of his feelings, presses at the forefront of your mind alongside the image of Jeonghan with his hand outstretched towards you in the sun of the grove. As much as you want to ignore these worries, they sit there staring at you, tugging at your attention as you try and focus on what should be a joyous reunion. And as Wonwoo talks, regaling you with tales from his time at college and in his current employment, you can see those same worries brewing behind his eyes. The same hesitation keeping him from broaching either topic. You’re each waiting, hearts held on the blade of a sword. Enjoying each other's company while expecting someone to slice into it and spill the blood at any moment. 

“So,” your sister struts over to you as you sit in the grass by the river, knees tucked tight to your chest. She sits down in front of you, her skirts pooling around her in a puddle of blue and white. You brace yourself for whatever she had been planning during her extended silence on your walk. The tension built up from yesterday had still not eased and if you knew your sister as well as you thought you did, you knew she would not allow herself to be the first one to heal the rift. 

You fix her with an even stare. Careful neutrality painted on your expression in an attempt to dissuade the worst of her plotting. “Yes, Lydia?” 

“Did she tell you about Jeonghan yet?” she asks with a mirthful grin, and you feel the question jolt through your body. Wonwoo glances up at her, dropping the blade of grass he had been idly running between his fingers, and lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. 

“Ah, no,” he admits. His eyes flicker to you briefly before returning to Lydia–so quickly you might not have noticed had your own eyes not been watching him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t believe so.”

“And you’ve never met him before?” Her grin widens slightly, glee shining bright in the depths of her coal dark eyes. She was truly her mother’s daughter. 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, no,” he says, tolerating the leading questions with more patience than you would have ever been able to muster. But then, he always was more patient than you. 

“So you don’t know?” she asks, smile widening even further. 

“Lydia,” you warn, using every ounce of strength and resilience in your body to resist leaping forward and tackling her to the ground before she can spoil anything further. 

The warning in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo. You can feel him stiffen next to you; the fear of whatever is being left unsaid creeping under his skin and nestling there like a slumbering bear at the cusp of spring.

“Know what?” he asks, curiosity overwhelming the fear. He plucks up the thread your sister has laid bare and you know there’s no going back once she’s said what she wants to say. You want to grab him by the hand and race away–towards the trees, to a place used as solace from her nearly everyday in your youth. To hide from her and from the realities of the situation you find yourself currently stranded in. To stay in this moment in between forever. 

Lydia smiles again, pleased to command everyone’s attention so completely. You wait, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightening, and watch Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. Waiting to see the regret over his return show itself plain on his face. 

“They’re engaged,” she says finally, pulling the pin and leaning back on her arms to watch Wonwoo’s face fall. His mouth pulls to a thin line and you feel a cavern open up in the hollow of your chest, ready to swallow you whole. 

“Lydia,” you all but shout her name, startling a bird resting on a nearby bush and sending it flying into the air with an alarmed chirp. “We are not engaged.” 

“You might as well be,” she shouts back, balling her fists up in her skirts and fixing you with a glare, “I know that’s why he’s coming for dinner tonight.” 

“You don’t know anything,” the cold anger seething in your voice surprises you, but the buttons have been pressed and you can do nothing now except ride the wave. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, Lydia–whether you’re bored or just jealous or what–and frankly, I don’t care. It’s not funny. Leave me alone.” 

Whatever outcome she had hoped to garner from engineering this confrontation, this was not it. You watch as she picks herself up off the ground in a huff and stalks back towards the house–no doubt seeking the solace of your mother’s ever-forgiving arms. The rage subsides as she disappears from view, leaving in its wake a hollow in the pit of your stomach as you’re left staring out over the meandering creek as it carves its path through the fields. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing sideways at Wonwoo. He sits still, in a state of mild shock at the outburst, and makes no indication of either moving or speaking. Birds fly overhead, singing their soprano songs as they make their way towards some unknown destination–wings disturbing the otherwise still air surrounding you. Silence stretches onwards, and you sit with your head resting on your arms, wishing you could travel back in time to prevent this from ever happening. 

But what time would you travel back to? To prevent Lydia from ever finding the letter in the first place, would you not have written it? Would you have instead bottled up those feelings that, at the time, were so overwhelming they demanded a two-page long letter to express? 

Would you go back and refuse to meet Jeonghan at the ball? Spend your time against the wall and accepting dances from the unwed sons of families you rarely associated with? 

Or would you travel back the span of a day and make peace with your sister. Approach her not from a well of anger but from a space of understanding and diplomacy–if only to smooth her ruffled feathers and prevent the fight that had been brewing in the pot of tension between you. 

The answer never comes. All of the possibilities–of what could have been or what might have been–dangle before you, but you know there is no going back; you are left now simply to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of what is. 

Wonwoo breaks the tense silence himself after a few minutes. “Is it true?” he asks, the potent mixture of hope and fear in his voice sends a pang of guilt through your heart–piercing the already bruised organ further at the sound. 

“We’re not engaged,” you say, unsure of how else to phrase the inbetween state of being that exists between you and Jeonghan. That period of time when both of you know what the next step is but still have not moved a muscle to take it. 

“Why did you send the letter?” He asks, twisting the knife of guilt and shame further and deeper into you with the tone of despair leaking out over every word. You turn to look at him, meeting his gaze head on to see the heartbreak glistening in his warm, brown eyes. 

The threat of tears prick behind your own as you look at him, desperately searching your brain for an answer that will make all of this go away–but none surface. Instead you are left with nothing but a confused tangle of emotions churning inside of you, clouding your thoughts with the force of them. You brace yourself for his possible reaction to the truth, averting your eyes back towards the blue river, “I didn’t send it.” The confession rolls out of your mouth like a prayer for peace and you can hear Wonwoo’s sharp intake of air as he takes a steadying breath beside you. 

“Do you love him?” The question hangs in the air between you, bringing you at once closer together with the weight of it and thrusting you further apart in the implication. 

“I don’t know,” you had never been able to lie around Wonwoo. Not since you were children, forcing him to steal bread and cheese from the kitchens with you for your own tea parties in the garden. Not since you were youths of twelve telling each other your deepest secrets as you laid next to each other in the field watching the clouds pass overhead. The truth, however painful it may be, was always the only route you were ever able to take when held under the weight of his gaze–transfixed by the warmth in his honeydark eyes. 

“Could you love him?” 

“Yes,” you sigh, nodding. “I could.” 

His next question comes out as a whisper, barely heard of the sound of the water below and the birds overhead--almost as if he was too afraid to ask it, “do you love me?” 

What could you say? What answer was there to give? ‘Of course, Wonwoo, you’re my best friend.’ While it remains true, you know that it isn’t what he’s asking you; you can read the deeper meaning hidden in the question, you know the significance of the words he is choosing. You turn towards him, twisting the knife in your heart one final time, severing completely the hope he had sent by letter. “I don’t know.” 

Another moment of silence passes. You stare unblinking over the horizon, waiting for the rain clouds to form in the blue expanse overhead–to match your mood with their dreary presence–but the sky remains unashamedly clear. 

Wonwoo lets out a long sigh beside you. You keep your gaze forward as you feel him stand up until he reaches a hand out to help you up. You glance from his hand to his face in surprise at the gesture after your confession, but he just smiles down at you sadly. “Come on,” he prompts and you slip your hand into his hand. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, unclear as to his intentions now that everything has been laid bare under the afternoon sun. 

“I’m walking you home,” he says simply, before pulling you to your feet and heading back down the path away from the running water and golden fields of wheat. 

.

.

.

The afternoon drags on, spent in the midst of an uncomfortable silence in the parlour with your sister and mother. Wonwoo excused himself to his family home shortly after returning back under the guise of getting ready for dinner. A part of you had been expecting him to feign illness and retire for the entirety of the evening, but no doubt the pressure of social graces–as well as his own unwavering politeness–entreated him to keep the engagement. 

The book open between your hands may as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying it; your mind swims with thoughts of your fight with your sister, and of the subsequent conversation with Wonwoo–replaying it over and over relentlessly. His face, crestfallen and sad, lingers in the forefront of your mind–a portrait reminder of the sharp ache in the centre of your chest. Lydia sits across from you, puncturing the fabric of her needlework aimlessly as she switches between pouting and glaring in your direction while your mother pointedly ignores you both in favour of hemming the dress her own sister recently passed down to her. 

Your father, attuned as usual to the shifting moods of the house, avoids the parlour entirely. 

The silent contemplation brings you no sense of reprieve by the time Jeonghan arrives for the evening. Hours spent pondering your options–alternating back and forth between him and Wonwoo and your confused feelings for both men–have brought no clear conclusion forward. In the wake of the afternoon, you prepare yourself for what was sure to be a bizarre dinner party, begging your mother not to sit you next to Lydia at the table for everyone’s sake. 

Thankfully she obliges, seating you instead between Wonwoo and Jeonghan for her own amusement–the latter of which being entirely unaware of the state of affairs he is about to enter into with this dinner. The table is set, the people are seated, and your mother begins with an overwhelmingly passionate monologue of gratitude towards the two young gentlemen joining your family that evening. 

“Mr. Jeon,” she smiles, passing a bowl of potatoes towards him, “how happy we are to see you at long last back home, as I already said this morning.” You roll your eyes at the emphatic speech, catching the gaze of your sister in a similar state of reproach and almost laughing with her before you correct yourself and turn back towards your plate of food. “I do so hope you will be back to visit much more in the future.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo nods his gratitude towards her, a placating smile stretching over his lips as he passes the bowl towards his aunt who had invited herself over as soon as she heard about the occasion. 

“I’ve already admonished him, Gloria,” she laughs, scooping a healthy serving of the starchy vegetable onto her own plate before handing it off down the line. “It has been far too long since I have seen my nephew and what does he do when he arrives? He comes to your estate for breakfast without even first saying hello to anyone in his own family.” She shakes her head and shares another laugh with your mother. They are, as always, two birds of a feather when in the company of each other–delighting in gossip and unwarranted comments as often as they can catch a breath to share them. 

“Now, Mr. Yoon,” your mother shifts her attention towards the man at your right side, smiling at him as if he were a newborn baby, “I am saddened to hear that you have to leave us so soon, but we have very much enjoyed your company these past few months and do so hope you will be back again soon.” 

“Of course,” he returns her smile with his own. You can feel the heat of his thigh next to your own under the table, the closeness of him on your one side and Wonwoo on the other nearly suffocating you in your seat. “There is a lot to come back for.” 

The comment doesn’t go unnoticed by either your sister, who has to feign a brief coughing fit to cover her laughter, or Wonwoo whose hand tenses around the fork in his grasp even as his expression remains impassive. The conversation is dissolved and dispersed amongst the table throughout the meal; your father catches Jeonghan’s attention and, unusually talkative, entreats him with a renewed discussion of the progress on the new mill’s construction. Both family matriarchs trade local gossip, as well as any anecdotes they can remember from the most recent ball, to keep each other entertained while you and Wonwoo sit in abject silence next to each other–eyes focused on the food on your plates in front of you. 

Everyone retires to the parlour after dinner, mingling in small groups with you and your sister sitting in silence at the edge of room–watching as your mother’s laugh grows louder with the heat of wine and your father’s passionate discussions about the price of rye take on a life of their own, while Jeonghan just nods patiently and listens. Gravity and familiarity pull the two of you closer together, seeking some solace in each other as the only two outsiders in your own home. 

“You were right,” she heaves a sigh, turning to you with a brief glance. 

“What was I right about?” You keep your eyes trained towards the room, watching as Wonwoo and Jeonghan strike up a conversation with each other and desperately wishing you were close enough to be able to hear what they were discussing. Lydia calls your attention back to her with a dramatic sigh. 

“I was jealous,” she admits and you look at her in surprise at the frank confession. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry. In my defence I didn’t know it was going to be so–” she pauses, waving a hand in a dramatic gesture towards the rest of the room, “dramatic.” 

You choke back a bark of astonished laughter, completely at odds with how you had been feeling for the first portion of the evening; all fight had been entirely drained out of you and despite the desire to continue dragging her over the coals for her sin, you give in to the shared bond that exists between you as sisters. “Me either,” you say simply.

“Do you forgive me?” she asks, a spark of hope lighting up her voice at your acceptance of her excuse and you laugh. 

“No,” you reply, grinning at her, “but I will.” 

“I suppose I can accept that,” she nods once, smiling back at you before drifting towards your mother and inserting herself into a conversation around pregnancy rumours in the village–a topic that is sure to keep all three of them enraptured for the remainder of the evening, as nothing is more exciting than the threat of children to women who have none to worry over anymore.

Left alone, you wander towards Wonwoo and Jeonghan; buoyed by the reconciliation with your sister and resigned to swallowing the rest of your fate as it stands before you. “Are we still discussing mills and rye?” you ask, nodding towards your father who has taken it upon himself to sink into silence with a book in front of the fire, having exhausted all avenues of conversation that he is even remotely invested in. 

Jeonghan laughs, shaking his head with a mock grimace, “no, actually. As it turns out, once you’ve already talked about the price of grain for well over an hour, there isn’t much left to be said.” 

Wonwoo nods, laughing–all hint of earlier heartbreak has washed clean from his expression for the moment and you can see that he and Jeonghan are getting along despite themselves. The confusion returns anew, revitalised in your mind, and you can’t be sure whether this development is good or bad even as you stand by to watch it unfold. 

“No,” Wonwoo says, “I was just asking him about his time in London.” 

“A truly horrible place,” Jeonghan shudders at the thought of the city, drawing another laugh forward from Wonwoo and plucking another thread of nerves inside your throat. “No, I am quite happy to be away from there for the time being. The peace and quiet of the countryside suits me, I think.” 

“It is certainly quiet,” Wonwoo nods just as a loud bout of laughter sounds out from the group of women on the settee near the fireplace, a wry smile dancing on his lips. 

“And you are from here originally?” Jeonghan asks, glancing over at Wonwoo’s aunt as she stands to deliver her well practised imitation of one of the other mamas from the village. 

“Yes, we grew up together,” he nods, gesturing towards you with the reply. Jeonghan glances between you, the new knowledge clicking into place in the wheels of his mind. 

“You must have a lot of stories from that time,” he says, following the thought. You watch it spin behind the firelit brown of his eyes. 

“Many, yes. We spent a lot of our time together,” Wonwoo affirms, and the truth of the statement sinks into you as he says it. Your past is filled with memories of him–painted with images of him splayed out in the fields, or leaping into the water, or simply falling asleep at the breakfast table after a sleepless night spent reading by candlelight. “If you want,” Wonwoo muses, lifting a hand to his chin with a sly grin, “I can tell you about the time she lost her shoe in the–”

“Stop,” you reach a hand out in panic, yanked unceremoniously out of your memories by the suggestion, and grab onto Wonwoo’s arm to cut off the story before it can begin. “No one wants to hear that story,” you let out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Jeonghan says, glancing down where your hand sits lingering on Wonwoo’s arm; you pull it back to your side and resign yourself to the embarrassment that is sure to follow. He turns his attention back towards Wonwoo as he begins the story–more than happy to offer up your pain as an anecdote for the evening. 

“We were having a foot race through the fields after a particularly intense summer storm,” he begins with and you groan inwardly, already dreading the narrative that you know will follow, “of course her skirts were at least an inch deep in the mud and were weighing her down rather heavily,” the story continues and Jeonghan stands as a ready audience as Wonwoo weaves the image together for him. You can picture that day so clearly in your mind, the feeling of the mud sucking you down into the field, Wonwoo nearly tearing your sleeve off while trying to pull you out, and then diving in to rescue the shoe that you were sure your mother would kill you for if she knew you had lost it. 

The rain beating down on you as Wonwoo carried you on his back towards the house–tears streaming down your face and the both of you covered head to toe in mud which earned you an, admittedly deserved, verbal lashing from your parents as soon as you tracked it inside. 

“I must say,” Jeonghan looks towards you when the story comes to its conclusion, laughing softly at the thought, “I can’t quite picture it.”

“Why not?” you ask, curious as to the reason behind his statement. 

“I suppose,” he pauses for a moment in thought, “you seem much more put together now. I can’t picture you as a wild child.” 

Wonwoo snorts, as if some inside joke has been shared, and shoots you a conspiratorial glance, “she’s definitely much more put together now.”

“Well, I’m glad you two have had fun bonding over my embarrassment,” you sigh. The clock on the wall chimes the hour and you see from the corner of your eye your father yawning wide over his book. Even the laughter and chatter from the other women in the room has died down–everyone now sporting a tired, weary expression in the lateness of the evening. 

Wonwoo’s aunt stands, thanking your parents profusely for the meal and the bed, before retiring upstairs to the guest rooms. Your mother and sister follow her in short order, with your father not too far behind, ushering the three of you towards bed as well. The wooden floors of the stairs creak under the weight as everyone files up towards their respective rooms for the evening; the house has not seen this many guests since the last time your cousins stayed with you, and despite the bizarre circumstances you were grateful for the company as a welcome change of pace from the everyday routine. 

You slip into bed after saying your goodnights and feel the weight of the day sinking into you. Left in solitude finally after hours of entertaining company, your thoughts return to the circular confusion that had been clouding your mind before dinner. They flicker back and forth between faces–Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Jeonghan–both men swimming up to eclipse all your thoughts once again. You remember Jeonghan as he was the day you met him, cheerful and witty in the presence of a room full of strangers. The best company you had kept in months–more than willing to converse and joke with the ease of someone you could have known for years. 

And you remember Wonwoo, as he was when you were children–bright, kind, and willing to go along with every place you could cook up despite his own shyness and reserve. And you remember him as he was today, beside the creek in the fields; bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, face fallen in the wake of your confession. He had come all this way on the wings of hope towards you after years of separation, and you had to be the one to ground him with reality. Not once, in all your years of knowing him had you seen that expression on his face until today. 

Sleep consumes you after you exhaust your cyclical thoughts; you pray for a dreamless slumber–only too ready to sink into the relief of darkness–and for once, your prayers are granted. 

.

.

.

The house is abuzz with activity in the morning. Everyone wakes for breakfast early, eager to continue last night’s conversations or to strike up new ones, and you feel renewed after a blessedly restful sleep. The weight of indecision still rests heavy on your heart, but it isn’t as cloying and suffocating as it had been the night before–trapped between Wonwoo and Jeonghan at the table all while wrestling with your own thoughts. Instead you find yourself smiling more easily, even laughing openly at your sister’s jokes over breakfast. Relief washes through you at the reprieve from your tortured feelings until the meal once again comes to an end and Jeonghan stands, turning towards you with a question. “If I may,” he begins, capturing the attention of everyone still seated despite the attempt at keeping his voice to a low volume. “Could I request the privilege of an audience with you,” uncharacteristic nervousness shimmers in his voice and you feel it similarly ripple through your body, “alone?” 

In a rush your mother stands, abandoning her half-cut slice of ham and ushering everyone out of the dining room with glee and answers for you. “Of course, of course,” you sit paralyzed, your own nerves tying a knot inside your throat as you watch them leave the room. Wonwoo looks back at you, meeting your eyes with his own worried gaze before the door is closed and you are left in silence as Jeonghan gathers his thoughts to speak. 

“It should come as no surprise,” he begins, and you stand to face him–eyes slightly averted from his own to avoid the intensity of the moment, “that I–” he pauses, hesitating. The nerves that were in his voice before have built to a fine point and you watch his hands as they clench and unclench into fists at his side. 

“Jeonghan,” you start, hoping to offer some words to ease the palpable tension in the air but coming up entirely speechless. 

“I return to town soon, and I was hoping you would also–” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration before giving up on whatever speech he had half-planned. “I love you,” he says, plainly, brown eyes seeking yours for any confirmation of the feelings he wishes to be returned, “quite a lot, actually, and I had to ask before I left if you feel the same, if–” he inhales, breath shaking with the force of his confession–with the fear of rejection or acceptance or both. “If you would do me the honour of marrying me?” 

The question hangs between you–caught in limbo as you ponder it. You had expected it, as much as you had tried to ignore that expectancy, it was there. Standing here, in the centre of your family’s dining room facing him now–the buzzing excitement, the sweeping sense of anticipation, and warmth that you felt before–it’s all miles away. The hope you had previously held for this exact moment is racing away through the fields, running free and far from you. The feelings that bore the hope exist still, they sit nestled in your heart, but they aren’t attached to Jeonghan; here in the light of day you finally come to the realisation that you have known all along where your heart belongs. 

It belongs in the fields of your childhood, running through the mud with your hand clasped tight in Wonwoo’s firm grip. It belongs at the feet of the boy who promised you at thirteen years old that he would never let you go. It belongs to someone on the other side of the door from you–whose heart you shattered only a day prior. 

Jeonghan stands silent–waiting for your response–and you wish in this moment you could give him something other than the truth that has formed on your lips, but it has broken free into the air between you before you can catch it. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I wish I could. I really do, but–”

He smiles, the expression not quite meeting his eyes as he nods in understanding, “I know.” The resignation in his voice catches you off guard and he laughs at your surprise, “I knew last night that this was a losing game for me, but still,” he sighs, “I had to ask.” 

“So,” you start, at a loss for what social decorum expects of you in this situation. Sinking into the relief of his acceptance of your rejection. “What will you do now?” 

He pauses a moment in thought, fixing his gaze on the ceiling before turning back to you with a slight grin, “maybe I will invest in the new mill.” 

Laughter cuts through the tension, dissolving the atmosphere of the room back into one of calm camaraderie, “I really am sorry, Jeonghan. For what it’s worth, if you had asked me five days ago I would have said yes.” 

“Missed my chance, then,” he smiles sadly, turning towards the door only to have it swing open under the weight of your mother and sister pressing against it. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” he bows towards your mother and, before she has a chance to inquire, leaves through the front door and heads off into the morning sun. 

“You rejected him?” your mother asks, surprise and astonishment colouring her voice. She glances between you and the door as it closes behind Jeonghan, mouth agape. 

“Where’s Wonwoo?” you ask, taking note of the absence of him from the small group gathered at the door to the dining room. They all glance around at each other, matching bewildered expressions, until, with a roll of your eyes, you push through them and head out the front door–propriety be damned. 

For a moment you hesitate; you have no idea where he might have gone in the span of time you spent talking to Jeonghan but a voice in the back of your mind directs you across the golden fields towards that old familiar grove of trees. Your mother and sister, accompanied by Wonwoo’s aunt, hover at the front step of the house, watching as you stride through the tall grass, through the stalks of wheat, past the cows and sheep, and towards the greenery beyond. 

You pause at the entrance to the grove, framed by old willow trees and inhale a steadying breath. Your feet sink into the soft earth as you step into the shade of the trees and you see Wonwoo standing, as you half-expected he would be, next to the gnarled oak tree in the centre of the clearing. A small smile plays at the corners of your lips as you approach him in silence, startling him when you come to a stop beside him–eyes trained on the carved heart in the rough, brown bark. 

“Do you remember when we did this?” he asks, tracing a finger over the old memory. You nod, waiting for him to continue the story, “a month before I left for town.”

“I remember.” 

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without first promising to come back when we were older,” he laughs–a light, breathless laugh. “Do you remember that?” 

“I do,” you nod, turning towards him. “I remember you saying you would always come back for me.” 

“Right,” he nods, removing his hand from the wood of the tree and straightening his posture. You stand for a moment, in the silence of the morning broken only by the chirping of nesting birds in the treetops above. The shared memory lingers between you–wrapping you together in a knot of knowing. A knowing of each other, unlike anyone else–shared history, shared memories, shared feelings. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Wonwoo asks, breaking the silence first and glancing at you–fear of your unspoken answer, of what he imagines it might be, dancing in his brown eyes as he stands in the sun-dappled wood. You can’t help but feel strange in this moment, standing with the boy you’ve stood with so many times surrounded by these same trees. He looks the same–older, yes–but the same. The same brown eyes alight with hope and love, the same golden skin glistening in the light of the sun, the same tremor in his voice as he gives voice to a question that he fears the answer to. 

You pause a moment in thought. “Jeonghan would make an excellent husband,” you say, consdiering the possibility out loud. Wonwoo's face falls; a subtle almost imperceptible shift in his expression. Fear of an unknown solidifying into fear of an almost certainty in his mind.

He clears his throat, nodding, "he would." The tremor in his voice remains even as he tries to hide it, speaking softly and trying to steel his gaze. "You would be," he stammers, averting his eyes back towards the bark of the tree, “you would be an excellent match."

"We would, but Wonwoo," you say, catching his attention again with the mention of his name. You capture his gaze once more as you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. Your fingers itch to reach out and take his hand in yours; standing here alone in the middle of a copse of trees you're already laughing in the face of all decency. All it would take is one of you to reach out–skin to skin–as you had when you were children. Without care, without worry. No thought to anything save the moment. Save the feeling that trembles in the space between you. 

"Wonwoo," you begin again, steadying your hands at your side, "how could I marry him when I'm still in love with you?"

The dawn of realisation breaks over his face–clearing away the storm clouds that had been brewing behind his eyes–and his mouth falls open in silent shock. You stand there, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun as it filters through the tops of the trees overhead. Trees that have witnessed your growth together through life; running wild as children, escaping your parents as youths, and sharing your first, fumbling kiss at fourteen years old after racing each other through the rain to the solace of the grove. Trees that now stand witness as Wonwoo finally speaks, breaking the silence that had stretched taut between you for a moment–a silence filled with so many unspoken memories and words. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a mere breath in the air; if you hadn’t been standing so close already you might not have heard him. 

You reach forward, allowing your itching fingers to finally grasp onto his–the shock of his warm hands in your own sending a chill over your body. Slowly, you raise his hand to your lips and press a chaste kiss to the knuckles, murmuring a soft “yes,” into his skin there. 

All the awkwardness of youth is gone; the stiff hands, the hesitation, all of it melts into the past as Wonwoo raises a gentle hand to your cheek, bringing you towards him. A sharp inhale in the wake of anticipation, and then your lips meet. His warmth sinks into you as you press forward into the kiss, deepening it as you feel the flood of feelings held back for years pour forth.

Wonwoo pulls back with a smile that lights up the browns of his irises as he looks at you. “What would your mother think of this?” he teases, entwining his fingers with yours. 

“Don’t ruin this please,” you grimace, and he laughs–bright and clear before pulling you back to him. You feel his smile against your lips and sink into the warmth of it, wrapping your arms around him and allowing the world outside to melt away. No thoughts of your family, no thoughts of your past, no thoughts of the future–just here and now, in the arms of the one you’ve loved and waited for. 

And it’s in this moment, as Wonwoo encircles you in his arms, that you know you’ve made the right choice. 

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging and letting me know. its what keeps me writing

[mustainegf]

Hi, Elena! I need some hurt/comfort bittersweet story with Kirk (any era). He tells his girlfriend about his tough childhood with a crazy father, and the reader comforts him in a sweet manner 🥺

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐃 ¹⁹⁹⁰

That summer was thick with heat to our heads like a wool blanket. Even with the windows open, the small cabin we had rented on the outskirts of Mill Valley felt like an oven. Kirk sprawled all over the leather couch, shirtless, his dark hair curled at his damp forehead. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the cool stone at the fireplace, with a half glass of wine in my hand.

We hadn't been together very long, only a year, but it felt like forever. We were comfortable together. We didn't talk much about his life on the road. He was Kirk Hammett, after all. The Kirk Hammett. Lead guitarist for Metallica. But all of it went away when it was just him and me.

He'd been quiet that night, quieter than usual. I could tell something was chewing at him, but I didn't push. I just watched him, the way his fingers strummed the air, searching for comfort of the guitar. Finally, he turned in my general direction, his eyes blacker than the dark night coming through the windows into the room.

"You want to know why I never talk about my dad?" he murmured lowly.

This made me nod, he'd said it so suddenly that I knew he must've been thinking about it for a while. I set my glass on the table and moved to sit closer on the sofa, letting my leg fall against his. He didn't pull away as he turned to me.

"He was a mean son of a bitch," Kirk began, his voice rough, like gravel scraping the bottom of a shoe. "He'd beat the shit out of my mom, and me too if he was drunk enough. I was just a kid, but I remember every goddamn moment..."

I stayed silent, letting him talk, my mouth going dry as I imagined his childhood. He never opened up like this before. I reached out, and my fingers found his. He grabbed onto my hand tight.

"There was this one time," he continued, his voice full of the memory, "My 16th birthday... He came home late, drunk as hell, and just went at my mom. I can still hear her crying, begging him to stop." A hint of the crack in his voice, I squeezed his hand tighter, for him to continue. "I just… I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped on him to pull him off her. He turned around and hit me so hard I..."

Kirk stopped, and his eyes dove into mine for anything I could offer. I felt stinging tears in my eyes, not only for him, but for the little boy he'd been, for the one who had grown up too soon in a house of fear.

"One day I woke up and he was gone," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "My mom was on the floor, bleeding. I thought she was dead, but she wasn't. Somehow, she wasn't. I tried to help her, but I didn't know what to do. I was just a kid, you know? I was so fucking scared."

His hand swallowed around mine in a way that made me want to move closer, to try and hide him from such terrifying memories, I knew actions spoke louder than words. "Kirk, baby..." I whispered in a. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Don't be. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault but his."

We sat silent for a little while, his admission hanging heavy. I mean, how could I ever find the words to say? But I wanted him to know I was there for him, that more than anything, I wasn't going anywhere. I moved in and kissed his cheek, teared with the taste of salt through his wet skin, and he turned into me, burying his face into my neck.

"I never told nobody that," he murmured. "Just James."

I held him, felt his heart. That was all he seemed to need. "You don't have to carry it alone... Not anymore," I said softly, my fingers mindlessly toying with his tight curls. "I'm here, Kirk..."

He pulled back far enough to look at me. "I'm scared," he confessed. "That I'll end up like him. That I'll hurt you."

I shook my head, pressing my forehead to his. "You're not him," I told him firmly. "You could never be him. You're kind and you're good, and I know you'd never hurt me... or anyone for that matter."

For a beat, he just stared at me, his eyes boring into my own. Then he kissed me. Though a tad shocked, I kissed him back just as sweetly.

When we finally pulled apart, Kirk smiled. His fingers traced the outline of my face. He had this look... Perhaps it was peace, or maybe the beginning of it.

[highinmiamiii]

you can be the boss 🦢

Club owner!Joe Kessler x Stripper Reader x DBF!Billy Butcher

18+ smut mdni

(a/n): new installment to club kess! i love this au soooo much kess is such a dirtbag, he’s kinda hard for me to write so i apologize if things are not as smooth sailing as you might expect. i hope you all enjoy this more sugar daddyish oriented smut chapter i was feeling smutty…perhaps we will get more sugar daddy shenanigans in the future before butcher decides he needs kessler gone asap. i love them being jealous of eachother its so hot, anyways

(CW: in general just stay away if you’re uncomfortable by anything sexual bc this is pretty filthy. fingering, squirting, slight daddyish dynamic, arguement w butcher, idk what else)

The dim glow of Kessler’s modern penthouse was a sharp contrast to the harsh reality she faced daily. The space was a testament to excess—a grand apartment bathed in dark marble, glass and metals, where every piece of furniture looked more out of some sort of sterile futuristic hospital than the last. Black velvet drapes, rich and heavy, framed the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cigars and fine leather.

Tonight, she was a vision in a black silk dress that clung to her every curve, the material shimmering under the soft, ambient lighting. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, each step resonating with the weight of her uncertainty. The dress’s plunging neckline and thigh-high slit revealed just enough to captivate yet leave much to the imagination. Her makeup was impeccable—smoky eyes and red lips that promised allure. Her hair cascaded in glossy waves, framing her face in a way that only enhanced her beauty further.

Kessler lounged on an overstuffed leather sofa, his presence larger than life. He had a predatory grace about him, his eyes glinting with unspoken promises. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight. I must say, the way that dress hugs you—” He let the compliment trail off, his gaze lingering in a manner both admiring and possessive.

She shifted uncomfortably, aware of the subtle pressure his gaze exerted. “Thank you, Mr. Kessler,” she replied, attempting to mask her discomfort with a polite smile.

Kessler’s smile widened, revealing a glint of white teeth. “Call me Joe, darling. ‘Mr. Kessler’ makes me sound like a schoolteacher. Now, let’s talk business.” He gestured toward a bottle of vintage champagne resting in an ice bucket nearby, his hand lingering just a fraction too long on her arm as he led her to sit beside him.

As she settled on the sofa, he poured the champagne with practiced elegance, his eyes never straying far from her. “You know, baby, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. You’ve got something special, and I’d hate to see that talent go to waste.”

Her heart raced at his words. She thought back to the other day when he spoke to her in his office. The promises of stardom hanging heavy between them since them “H-how so?”

Kessler leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m talking about making you a star. Not just any star, but one of those dazzling lights that everyone will want to see. I could maybe even get ya in a film one day”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to read his intentions. “And what’s in it for you?”

A smirk played on his lips as he handed her a thick envelope stuffed with cash. “Absolutely nothing sweetheart, just a little something to show my appreciation. Get yourself something nice to wear. Don’t worry about the details just yet. We’re going to get you out of this town, baby. It’s only a matter of time.”

The envelope felt heavy in her hands, its weight a reminder of her growing dependence on Kessler’s promises. As she hesitated, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “Relax, darling. You’re in good hands.”

His thick strong hands roamed their way down her waist, gently turning her over so her back is facing him. He starts to dig his fingers deep into the blades of her back, kneading the skin and helping her release every last knot “Mmm, so tense baby” He huffs and kneads rougher, causing a pleasured gasp to escape her throat “fuck..” She whispers, cracking her neck

Kessler’s hands continued their slow, deliberate work on her back, each stroke more possessive than the last. His breath was hot against her neck, close enough to send shivers down her spine. He was playing a dangerous game—one that blurred the lines between manipulation and seduction.

“Can’t have my girls all tense like this,” Kessler whispered, his lips grazing her ear, voice low and full of promise. “You’ve been carrying too much weight on those pretty shoulders.”

He pushed her hair aside and trailed soft kisses down the back of her neck, his lips lingering just enough to make her pulse quicken. She tensed, unsure how to respond. Part of her mind screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her, leaning back into his touch, craving the attention despite the warning signs flashing in her head.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers now tracing circles along her hips, drawing her closer into him. “I’ll take care of everything. You just let me handle it.”

His hands roamed lower, teasingly brushing against her waist as he spun her around to face him. Kessler’s dark eyes were filled with desire and power, a dangerous mix that made her heart race. He pulled her closer, into his lap so that she’s straddling his waist.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Kessler growled softly, his hand now caressing her cheek, thumb tracing her lips. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you, baby? The way you move, the way you look at me… it drives me wild.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips crashing against hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. The kiss was hard and demanding, filled with the same possessiveness that had been building between them since the start. His hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue slid against hers, coaxing her deeper into the moment.

Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. She knew this was wrong—knew that he was manipulating her, bending her to his will. But in that moment, with his hands on her and his words washing over her, it was hard to remember the reasons why she had to resist.

He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding their way to her jaw, her throat, marking her with each kiss. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispered against her skin, the promise dripping with desire and control. “You won’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Her breath quickened, and she felt his hand slide down to her thigh, lifting her leg slightly so that he could press himself harder against her. It was overwhelming, the way he commanded the situation, the way he took control without giving her time to think. Kessler pulled back just enough to speak, his voice husky with lust. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to this ol’ man, eh? you proud of that?” He says teasingly as he breathes heavily into your ear

As his lips found hers again, she kissed him back with a desperation that surprised even her. It wasn’t just the money, or the promises—it was the way he made her feel in moments like this. Powerful, desired, and yet, completely under his thumb. A stark contrast to how Billy made her feel.

The only time she would feel any sort of reciprocation from Butcher when he was off his rockers or blackout drunk. You’d looked up to him since you were a literal little girl. Of course you had a dumb schoolgirl crush on him, but that didn’t matter right now. Not with Kessler holding you like this, making you feel so sexy, so wanted, spoiling you every last chance he got. Fuck Billy. If he didn’t want her sober then she was going to find someone world’s better for her.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, she knew the truth: the more she gave in, the more she’d lose of herself. But then again, it was a much better feeling to have someone want you without having to consume enough alcohol to kill a small animal for once.

Kessler’s hands slid up her waist again, his grip firm. “You won’t ever need to work for those tips again,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “You’re too good for that. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

She pulled back, her breath ragged as she searched his eyes. “And what do you get out of this, Joe?…” She asked, honestly not wanting to deal with her suspicions right now and see him as the perfect man…but she had to, it seemed like a very unfair trade here.

He smirked, that devilish grin lighting up his face. “I get you, sweetheart. That’s more than enough.”

Her mind was screaming at her to step away, to leave, but instead, she stayed there, pinned between Kessler and the wall, completely unsure of where to go from here.

Kessler's gaze held hers captive, his eyes darkening with intensity. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before tangling in her hair. "Why do you always have to be so unsure about everything, huh babygirl?" he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Kessler's hands tightened around her waist, his fingers splayed possessively over her hips. "You know, when you're being difficult, it makes me want to put you over my knee and spank some sense into you." He growled, his voice low and menacing.

Her eyes widened, her face flushing a deep shade of red. "W-What?... Over your knee?... Like a- a fucking a child?" She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re sicker than I thought you were Kess” She mutters with a soft nervous chuckle. Kessler grinned wickedly, enjoying her flustered reaction. "Well, sweetheart, you're acting like a damn brat right now, ain't you? Maybe a good spanking is just what you need to learn some respect." His hands squeezed her backside, his intent clear.

She nervously stutters out “Y-you know what- it’s getting late kess—“

Kessler silenced her protests with a searing kiss, his hands gripping her thighs and hoisting her up. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. "Then perhaps," he said against her lips, "you should show me some obedience instead, young lady."

Her mind was racing, but her body betrayed her, clinging to him as he carried her to the bedroom. She buried her face in his neck, murmuring “y-yes Mr. Kessler”

He hikes her dress up past her ass, his palm smacking loudly against the plump fat, her skin rippling as she yelps in shock “Told ya not to fuckin’ call me that, didn’t I babygirl?”

She gasped as his palm connected with her bottom, the sharp smack echoing in the room. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she buried her face deeper into his neck, letting out a choked sob "Y-yes- m’sorry” she whines helplessly

Kessler's hand caressed her reddened flesh soothingly, his touch gentle despite the earlier roughness. "Good girl." He praised, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's see if you can ride my hand like one"

Kessler felt a surge of protectiveness well up within him. He could feel her body quivering against his, her breath coming in ragged, tear-choked gasps. Her vulnerability stirred something primal within him, a need to cherish and control her in equal measure. She let out a soft, shuddering breath as his hand caressed her stinging backside, her body still tensed from the sudden, humiliating punishment. The heat from his palm seeped into her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. His touch gentled, his fingers trailing along the crease of her bottom, pausing to squeeze the tender flesh possessively before slipping lower. She could feel his knuckles brushing against her thighs, parting them ever so slightly.

Kessler wrapped an arm around her waist and tossed her facedown on the mattress, her breath hitching as she bounced slightly. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs and pinning her hips down with one beefy, tattooed arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand snaked beneath her, groping along her inner thighs until it reached the hem of her lace underwear. He paused, his thick fingers toying with the delicate fabric before he slowly began to drag it aside, revealing the tender flesh beneath.

As he exposed her soaked pussy, he let out a low, appreciative growl. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his breath hot against her ear. "Fucking soaked, just for me. dripping all over my sheets, aren't you, sweetness?" Her cheeks flamed with embarrassed heat as she buried her face in the mattress, muffling her moans. His thick fingers parted her folds, slowly sliding up and down her slick crease. “Answer me," he demanded gruffly, punctuating his words with firm pressure against her hole.

“Y-yes” she gasps out softly, wondering how the hell she got here. she had promised butcher that she wasn’t sleeping with kessler, especially not for his money…so what the hell was she doing letting him touch her like this. Her mind raced as Kessler's touch grew bolder, his fingers pumping in and out of her as his thumb swirled around her sensitive little pulsing nub, soaking up her guilty secret. "Squeezin’ me and i’ve barely got two fingers in, got the tightest pretty little pussy i’ve ever laid eyes on, baby" he growled, his breath hot against her ear.

Kessler's fingers curled inward, pressing against her g-spot as he continued to talk dirty to her. "that’s a good fuckin’ girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "let's see just how messy we can get’er, eh?”

She bit down on her lip to silence her cries as he slowly added a third finger, stretching her wide. His touch grew more insistent, his thumb rubbing firm circles over her swollen nub while his fingers pumped in and out of her, slowly gaining speed.

“oh yeah baby, doin’ so well..” he rasped, his tone filled with approval. “This little cunts gripping my fingers so tight, all soaked and sloppy... that old fuck that comes around the club- what’s his name sweetheart?— “

“W-wha—“ She mumbles, rolling her neck in pleasure as she arches her back slightly. “jeeesus- i- i don’t know who you’re talking about-“

“The motherfucker that picks ya up babygirl, think I don’t ask around? Butcher, was it? He bury his fingers this deep in ya like I am now?"

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled moan as he hit that spot inside her again and again. Her eyes rolled back, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to keep his fingers inside her, but he just pushed them in even deeper. Her back bowed, pushing her rear higher into the air as unbridled pleasure coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Each thrust of his fingers against that magical spot sent shockwaves through her core, her inner walls clutching at him greedily, desperate to keep him inside.

"Mmm, does he make you feel like this?" Kessler growled, his breath hot against her ear. "does he make you shake and whimper like my touch does? does he make you beg for his touch, sweetheart?"

"No, Billy means nothing," she stammered, her back arching off the bed as Kessler's fingers hit that magic spot inside her. "We've never— really done anything. He's always drunk, and I've never… never even gotten close to finishing with him…I-I swear…”

Kessler's eyes widened in disbelief as she spoke, his fingers pausing inside her for a moment before he started moving again, faster and harder. "What the fuck, sweetheart? He's never even gotten you off?" "He's not my boyfriend," she gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets. "He's just... around. And when he is, he's drunk or asleep. Oh god, Kess, please..." Kessler groaned softly, his mind racing with the realization that he was likely the only one who'd ever touched her like this, who'd ever brought her to the brink of release. His fingers curled inside her, his thumb rubbing her swollen nub with quick, firm circles. "You're so close, babygirl. I can feel you pulsating around my fingers. You're gonna come for me like this, ain't ya? Y’don’t need him..” She nodded frantically, her body trembling as his words washed over her. "Yes, Kess, yes, d-don’t need him! I've never... I've never even touched myself like this. Only you, only your fingers—and oh god, I'm so close!"

Her back bowed, a high-pitched cry tearing from her throat as the most intense pleasure she'd ever known exploded within her. It was like a dam breaking, her insides convulsing as waves of pure ecstasy crashed over her. Kessler's mouth dropped open as she cried out, her body convulsing as a torrent of her release gushed out, drenching his hand. "Holy fuck...made my girl fuckin’ squirt" he breathed, watching in awe as her body trembled and quaked.

He quickly moved to clean her up, his tongue delving between her folds to lap up every last drop. She whimpered and shuddered, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as he ate her out like a starving man.

Kessler's face buried between her thighs, his tongue ravaging her soaked flesh as he licked up every last trace of her release. She quivered uncontrollably, her hips bucking against his mouth, overly sensitized from the mind-shattering climax. "K-Kess... it's too much...,"

He gentled his touch, lapping at her slowly, thoroughly cleaning her up before placing soft kisses on her inner thighs and belly. He crawled up beside her, pulling her against his chest as they both caught their breath.

That next morning, sun seeping in through the floor-to-ceiling windows as his his housemaid sweeps the floor. Soft jazz played in the background, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and ease. She, in a delicate white lacy dress that contrasted starkly with the darkness of her previous attire, felt like she was stepping into a world far removed from her own struggles. This dress, with its intricate lace detailing and short little poofy skirt, was both elegant and suggestive—a perfect blend of innocence and allure.

Kessler greeted her with an almost theatrical flourish. “There she is, my starlet,” he crooned, his eyes dark with something akin to possessiveness.

Weeks later, her role at Club Kessler had evolved significantly. She had been promoted to a bottle service girl, a coveted position that allowed her to cater to the club’s high-profile clientele. The VIP area, with its plush seating and private booths, was a stark contrast to the main stage where she once performed. The exclusivity of her new role seemed like a step toward the future Kessler had promised her.

Kessler’s possessiveness, however, became more apparent with each passing night. She, now clad in a glittering silver mini-dress that showcased her toned legs and accentuated her every move, was serving a particularly influential client. As she danced for him, her movements fluid and practiced, she noticed Kessler watching from the shadows, his gaze intense and scrutinizing.

After the dance, Kessler approached her with a dangerous smile. “Baby, I need to talk to you.”

Her heart sank. She followed him to a quieter corner of the club, where the sound of the music seemed distant and hollow. “What’s wrong?”

He placed a hand on her arm, his touch possessive. “I saw what you were doing out there. It’s not what I want for you. You’re not just another girl in this club; you’re special. I don’t want you giving private dances anymore.”

She blinked, stunned. “But… how am I supposed to make money? I work off tips.”

Kessler’s smile faltered for a brief moment before returning with a more sinister edge. “Don’t worry about it. From now on, I’ll take care of everything. You’re not here to earn a living, sweetheart; you’re here to shine.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on her shoulders. Her independence was slipping away, replaced by a sense of obligation and dependency. The last shred of her dignity—the money she had earned herself—was now a distant memory.

Kessler’s manipulation became more pronounced. The cash he handed her grew in volume, and his control over her life tightened with each passing day. She felt the weight of her dependence on him—a growing burden that overshadowed the promises of fame and freedom.

The bell above the door chimed as Butcher stepped into the shop, his presence a familiar weight that made the cramped space feel even smaller. She stood behind the counter, hands smoothing over a pile of folded shirts, trying not to let her fingers tremble. The shop smelled like old leather and wood polish, mixed with the faint tang of motor oil from the garage out back. It was the kind of place that felt worn-in, like a pair of boots broken just right.

Butcher, in his usual dark coat, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, looked out of place here—too rough, too loud for the quiet, slow-moving world of the shop. His heavy boots echoed off the wooden floors as he strode past the racks, eyes landing on her in that way that always made her feel exposed. He had that same look tonight—like he knew something wasn’t right but wasn’t sure how to ask.

She wore a pale pink dress today, soft and frilled at the edges, the kind of thing that made her feel delicate, though she’d long forgotten how to be. It hugged her figure just enough to feel pretty without trying, but now, under Butcher’s stare, it felt like too much. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the dress, fidgeting in that way she did when she was nervous.

“Bit late, don’t ya think?” she asked, her voice light but brittle as she glanced up at him. He looked tired. The kind of tired that sunk deep into the bones, making everything heavy. He didn’t answer right away, just made his way over to the counter, resting his elbows on it as he leaned toward her, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You closing up soon?” His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it, hidden beneath the layers of his gruff exterior.

“Yeah, just waiting on one last customer,” she said, nodding to the back where an old man was browsing the shelves with deliberate slowness. He didn’t seem in a rush to leave, and neither did Butcher, it seemed.

He grunted in response, shifting his weight. “Didn’t think you’d be workin’ this late.”

She shrugged, eyes dropping to the counter, fingers running over the grain of the wood, tracing the tiny nicks and scratches that had accumulated over the years. “Needed the hours,” she muttered. Butcher knew why, even if she didn’t say it outright. The debt. Kessler. Everything she’d tangled herself in.

A silence fell between them, thick and heavy like the dusk settling outside. She could feel him watching her, that familiar gaze that made her skin itch, like he could see all the things she was trying to hide. It was always like this with Butcher—he didn’t have to say much to make her feel like she was under a microscope.

“You alright?” His question was simple, but there was weight to it, like it held more than just casual concern.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly, her voice wavering just enough to betray her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the cracks.

Butcher tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if to study her closer. “Ya sure ‘bout that, Doll?”

She hated how easily that nickname slipped out of him, how it softened her resolve even when she didn’t want it to. She glanced up, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking away. He always had a way of getting under her skin, seeing through her defenses without even trying.

The old man at the back of the shop coughed, a reminder that they weren’t alone. Butcher straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like he was about to say something when the customer shuffled to the front, a stack of books in hand.

She stepped away from Butcher, her heart pounding in her chest, and rang up the sale with hands that were a little too shaky. The man didn’t seem to notice as he gathered his things and nodded politely, heading for the door. The bell chimed again as it swung shut behind him, leaving her alone with Butcher.

The air felt thicker now, the shop quieter. Butcher took a step toward her, his fingers drumming on the countertop. “Doll,” he started, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

She looked at him finally, really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of a world that wasn’t entirely his. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His coat was rumpled, like he’d been wearing it for too long, and his shirt was half untucked, one side pulled loose where his belt cut into his waist. But there was something else too—something softer, buried deep in the lines of his face. Concern, maybe. Or guilt. She couldn’t tell anymore.

“I’m fine, Butcher,” she repeated, but this time her voice was quieter, more tired than defiant. She wiped her hands on her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You don’t need to keep checking in on me.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah? And who’s gonna check in on ya if I don’t?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken for too long. She didn’t answer, didn’t know how to. Her eyes drifted to the door, then back to him, and suddenly the space between them felt too small, too intimate.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered, more to convince herself than him. She didn’t even believe it anymore.

Butcher’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice dropping low, rough around the edges. “I ain’t sayin’ you can’t handle yourself, Doll. I know you’re tough. But tough ain’t always enough.”

Her chest tightened, the words sinking deep. She could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, the way Butcher always seemed to pull her in, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to push him away, tell him to leave, but instead, she found herself leaning into it, letting the silence stretch between them.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You don’t have to fix everything.”

Butcher’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and he let out a breath he’d been holding. “I ain’t tryin’ to fix ya, Doll. Just don’t want ya drownin’, is all.”

There it was again—that concern, that twisted, broken care that made her chest ache. He didn’t know how to show it, not the way people were supposed to, but she felt it anyway, like a pulse between them.

“I’m not drowning.” she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself anymore. “Leave it, Butcher.”

Butcher didn’t move, didn’t push, just stood there watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something. Something dangerous. Something she couldn’t escape from.

The bell above the door chimed again as he turned to leave, but before stepping out into the night, he glanced back at her, eyes lingering for just a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Make sure ya lock up, Doll,” he muttered, his voice softer now, like a command but gentler. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving her standing in the dim light of the shop, the weight of his presence still hanging in the air.

[sereh624]

redacted characters w kids 💥💥

not to be mistaken for dad!redactedboys

david :

gets clung to at every pack event. something about the nonchalant, reserved man with the cute partner who gives them candy is extremely alluring. he’ll be sat in a chair, arms crossed with a “😒” expression as he has like 4 toddlers screaming in his ears, pulling on his hair, little hands iron-clad around his arms.

asher :

is “the fun one”, but not in the way he would have liked. the pack children definitely bag on him (obviously lovingly), milo acting as their little (literally) leader. outside of the teasing, asher is truly well-loved amongst the children.

milo :

picks fights w the teenagers LMAO. he sees them like a different species; how could someone be so intelligent yet incapable of basic manners and maturity? it makes his head spin. at the end of every argument (which he inevitably loses, because he is arguing with pre-teens who don’t quite grasp his large words yet), milo will be rambling to sweetheart during the car ride home about how he was never like that (he most certainly was).

darlin :

unlike milo, they get along well with the teenagers. it's a mix of their relatability and strong sense of personal justice, which aligns closely with them. unfortunately, the curse of having an older southern partner is all too real, so their name in their phones in meemaw/peepaw. it made their eyes roll the first time they saw it.

sam :

while i don't think he'd be super popular amongst the pack kids, he'd definitely be a safe space for the quieter teens to hang around. sam doesn't speak to them unless spoken to, which they like. every pack gathering, sam will have like two teens glued to their phones just following him around, avoiding smalltalk.

porter :

idk this man's an enigma. he either hates kids or is really good with them (maybe both lmao). it's not often porter finds himself in an environment where there would be children, but in the off-chance that he does, i think they'd find him funny. his wit is great for all audiences, and he doesn't even have to try. or he pisses them off. again, probably both.

vincent :

good with kids in a big-brotherly way. i picture him (headcanon alert) as having had a sibling or atleast a younger friend before he was turned, which gives him this brotherly vibe. nice for the most part, but again, i don't imagine vincent would find himself in a place that involves kids. unless he like. hangs out near playgrounds at night now cause he isn't in the house 😭😭😭

gavin :

pretty good. gavin doesn't mind entertaining them for a while, but he finds his humour is better suited for adult audiences. he could listen to a kid ramble all day, (interested “hmm?”’s and “ohh, is that right?”’s are his specialty) but when it comes to making conversation himself AND cracking kid-friendly jokes? yeah he's lost. short-lived social battery.

@skunkox @vividmilk @definitelynuwonhere

hi evie yes u got added to the taglist no u wont be removed i lvoe you

ir’as 12a,wm ngoomdight

[evanescencelovrr]

Part 4 of the college au :) enjoy! Feel free to like comment & reblog

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Just great. His voice replayed over and over in your mind. Tell y’er friend I said thank you. How you wanted to bury yourself in a pile of blankets and not come out your room. But classes continued, your human needs existed and that meant coming out briefly.

You’d seen him a few times after that throughout the week, but never said anything. He would watch you, leaning against the wall by his door, long legs shifting. He’d lean his weight onto one leg, arms crossed. His boots were worn and distressed.

Apart of you felt bad for avoiding him but you couldn’t stop your face from turning red each time you remembered the moment. You sighed, opening your door with your keys, glancing at his behind you. His door was shut.

Thank god, didn’t need to see the brute.

You sigh softly and come in, immediately hit with a blast of cold air. Of course—you caught something briefly on the news channel that a cold front was coming in as late October approached. You shuddered, hugging your bare arms close to you. You then stared at the window, approaching your desk and setting your water bottle down.

“Damn thing…” You muttered under your breath. Once again you climbed up on the old school heater, it was off. It was boxed off by wood and had slits to release heat—so standing on it was fine. You grunted, hands desperately trying to push down on the steel.

Nothing. It creaked if anything.

You groaned in frustration, pensive for a moment. You’d know you’d have to get someone to fix this.

But not your mosquito of a friend.

And that’s how you know found yourself sulking like a puppy in front of Simons door. Well, now his name was Simon. You could see the little Ghost character with his name on the door, the RA probably made that for him. A grin itched at your lip—thinking he’d seen it and left it there.

But the sulking returned once you realized you had to ask for help, so you sighed and rolled your eyes. You raised your hand to knock, hearing nothing.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” You called out.

No response.

You bit at your lip, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Maybe he was avoiding you—or maybe he wasn’t there. You decided to wrap it up, arm moving back to your side.

“What’re ya doin’?” You hear a gruff voice from behind. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you spun around to see the tall Brit present, moving stealthily like a ghost. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Your heart rate spiked. “I-I was—“ You stammered.

Simon dragged his eyes over your form slowly, taking you in. He then tipped hair head up slightly in a “aha,” manner. His large hands fumbled for his keys, hanging off a keychain that said “Team 141,” on it. You noticed it but didn’t ask.

“I had a feelin’ you’d come crawlin’ back. Aftah’ avoidin’ me for a week.” He said, snapping you out your observation.

You moved aside when he gestured with his key, to his door, brow raised.

Almost like: You’re blocking the way, lass.

You bit the inside of your cheek and moved, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t avoiding you…okay maybe I was. Can you blame me?” You then caved in, raising a brow at him and shoving your back to the wall. You could hear the jam of the keys as he eased it into the lock, wrist turning to open it. He then cast a sideways glance at you before resting his bag on the table, shifting. He tore his jacket off, hanging it on the hook. Underneath we wore a black button up, and his usual cargo pants.

“I don’t blame ya fer’ talkin’ bout me.” He said, lip itching to grin sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes and he found himself gazing at you, as you leaned on his doorway, shoulder leaning on the frame. Your hair traveled down. Smooth skin peaked out from under the sweater you wore.

“Figured your like Uncle Sam. You never let anyone go a day without your teasing.” You scoffed lightly, although amusement striking your eyes as you stared at him. Something in his gaze pierced you and you found yourself shifting, moving off the frame to look at your open door. A cold chill blew.

“You know my window is a piece of shit.”

“And you want me to fix it, aye? Is that wot am’ hearin’?”

Now you could hear the grin in his voice. He was practically purring like a cat at your demise. You tap your finger in irritation against your arm and released a sigh through your nose, looking at him.

“Yes. There. You heard it right. Congrats for passing your hearing test.”

Finally, after a hidden grin, he came out the room after resting his balaclava mask on the desk. He revealed his rugged fired face, eye bags under and red. Purplish even. As you gazed at him when he walked by into your room—you couldn’t help but wonder if the man slept. He looked dead. His hair was a rugged mess, as he had a low taper fade. He ought to cut it again—it was growing long, he could sense your gaze on it.

He then pushed your door open, head almost brushing the top of the door frame. Broad back tilting to sliver in. Fuck. He was tall—you thought, following after him. You barely even reached halfway at the door. Even had to tiptoe to look out the peephole.

“Ah. There she is.” He said at the window, although his eyes said otherwise. As you were behind him he took sight of your room. It was simple, some blankets piles on your bed unfolded, pillows pink. String lights hung from the ceiling, pipe to pipe. Some bobo thin scarves were used to create a little hanging nest, where your plushies rested.

“What a dungeon ya got.” He commented shamelessly, the brute man not even needing to stand on the heater to raise his arms. Muscles flexed as he pressed his hands down on the steel, immediately bringing down the window. His pants tightened around his thighs, from leaning forward, leg bumping the edge of your desk.

A huge creak was heard.

“So you were lookin’ around?” You teased, smirking behind him. You couldn’t help but also take advantage of the view as well, whilst he did too.

And the view was looking mighty damn fine.

“It just happened to be there.” He muttered, then stepped back. He left a gap in the window for air circulation, your box fan spinning loudly. He sighed and wiped his dusty hands on his pants then turned around to look at you, the light exposure behind him. His hair glowed, face shadowed giving him a rougher look.

“I’ll be seeing ya then.” He would mutter, arm brushing yours when he walked past. Again, you felt the sparks and you straightened up, turning around to face him as his back tilted again to leave. His fingers brushed your door knob.

“Get some sleep, you look dead.”

You said, which earned you a smooth baritone chuckle. The door then shut softly.