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vxsellie · 14 days ago

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KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

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moonlitdesertdreams · 7 months ago

Text

Mine (All Mine)

Request: None A/N: Please enjoy some short smut and possessive!cooper. Nothing important otherwise :) Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, attempted SA, P in V sex, Cooper licking blood, 18+ MINORS DNI! Summary: Cooper doesn't share what's his, and he sure as hell doesn't let anyone take it by force.

Word Count: 2.4k+

(Gif Credit to @victoryrifle)

“Keep walkin’!”

You stumble over the rusty leg irons binding your feet. The slave trader yapping in your ear proceeds to shove you once again, but you bite your tongue.

Nothing could ever just go according to plan.

Running low on both Vials and sustenance, you’d led a hacking Cooper into the nearest town. It was desolate, but what town wasn’t in this age? You weren’t planning on staying long anyway; you just needed to get Cooper somewhere relatively safe and barter with whoever happened to be running the pharmacy that day.

Too bad the entire town was run by Slavers, up to and including the old Mister Handy running its dingy medical outpost. You were sedated and down before the inkling to fight ever came along, left to wake up in a wood cage with your hands and feet bound.

You went hoarse from screaming pointlessly at your captors. Your wooden prison was sat carelessly in the open, unbearable heat beating down. The whipping wind ensured that sand found its way into every crevice. There was no doubt your skin was scorched from the sun.

And they left you there, until the sun set and you could hear the roar of a raucous crowd from the town center.

Cooper was back there somewhere, probably having hacked up a lung in the empty shell of a house you’d broken into on the outskirts of town. You were careful to board the door back up when you left, and hoped no one had retraced your steps.

“I said move! You fuckin’ deaf?” A Slaver grabs you painfully by the ear and yanks. “Bein’ deaf drops your price.”

The other women you’re chained to - in a single file line behind you with very little slack on the chains - cower in fear. You glare at the man and decide headbutting him is the best course of action, knocking your skull into the soft part of his nose.

“Wish I was so I didn’t have to hear you run your mouth.”

The Slaver cracks his most-likely broken nose back into place and smirks. “Maybe I’ll buy you myself. Teach you a damn lesson.”

He turns away then, letting the rest of the guards lead you down a narrow alley between two buildings. Creaky wooden stairs greet you, and you step up them without hesitation. If nothing else, you’d give the Slavers no sense of satisfaction by putting fear on display.

The town square has been converted into a makeshift stage and audience area, where tens of people sit, stand and holler as you’re all led on stage. They all hold small signs with numbers, and it doesn’t take you long to realize it’s an auction.

They start with the woman farthest to your left, yelling out how many caps they deemed her worthy of. It continues down the row until the auctioneer, who you realize had four eyes total on his face, stops in front of you.

“Mint condition, this one is.” He yells into the crowd and slaps a firm hand onto your shoulder. “How many caps for her?”

You try to keep up with the people throwing numbers out, but there’s too many faces and not enough ambient light to see them all. Eventually the auctioneer moves away, and you’re left to stand there. The other women are given the same treatment, until each of them is labeled with a price and effectively sold to the highest bidder.

The auctioneer makes an announcement about cap exchange as the crowd is dissipating, but you’re still bound in chains. Your eyes dart around, looking for any unbecoming figures that come towards you. Men meet with the auctioneer one by one, and are slowly allowed to leave with their prizes. The women are a mix of cryers and defiers, some simply accepting their fate with tears in their eyes while others scream and thrash as they’re dragged off.

You look to the auctioneer when it’s only you left, trying to figure out what was going on. One slaver makes his way to you, grabbing at the iron cuffs to unlock them.

“Nah, man. Leave her cuffed.”

The slaver in front of you grins at the one who’d spoken. Coincidentally, the same whose nose you’d broken minutes ago. He steps into your field of view, and you realize he wasn’t bluffing when he said he’d buy you. Ice-cold terror flows through your veins at the helplessness of being cuffed, but you refuse to show it.

“Nasty, huh? Just how I like 'em’.”

Broken Nose grabs you by the collar and yanks you close enough that you can smell the teeth rotting out of his mouth. “Oh, I’m gonna like it. That’s for sure.”

In what is probably a poor choice, you spit in his face. Just like the headbut, it was impulsive and split-second. You don’t regret it, but you realize it’s not a great idea. Regardless, you weren’t about to go down without a fight.

Unfortunately for you, now he’s not worried about damaging goods before a sale. The slaver backhands you, and the force sends you tumbling to the ground. You’re struggling to your hands and knees, tangled in ridiculously long chains and fumbling with your cuffs. Broken Nose kneels in front of you and grabs you by the neck.

“Need a lesson in manners, huh?” He growls.

You take your first good look at him. He’s probably ten years older than yourself, with yellowing teeth and greasy black hair that hangs in a stringy manner around his face. The bridge of his nose is bruised, yellow and purple all over. Dried blood is still caked around his mouth.

“Fuck you.”

He finally snaps, and grabs a hold of the chains. You’re dragged off the stage and pushed into the darkness of the alleyway. One fist latches into your hair, and the other replaces itself around your throat.

“We’ll start here.” He shakes you, bringing your face within centimeters of his. “When I say something, you fuckin’ listen!”

You’re on the ground before you know it, and large hands grab at the old leather belt around your waist. You kick and thrash to the best of your ability while bound, screaming like a banshee. The slaver manages to pin you down and crawl over top, one hand fumbling with the zipper of his pants while the other holds your cuffed wrists down. The sound of belts jangling encourages you to fight more, and you thrash upwards. He might be bigger than you, but he’s a sloppy fighter and lets one of your wrists slip free.

Without hesitation, you swing the iron cuff and chain as hard as you can into his face.

“Agh! You’re a dead bitch, you know that?” He stumbles to the side, leaning against a building for support and clutching his now-bleeding forehead. His pants hang loose, dirty boxers on display.

You’re on your back, covered in both your blood and his. Your chest heaves, and you stare down your would-be assaulter.

“Y’know, I missed that last exchange.” A familiar drawl echoes from the back of the alley. “You mind repeatin’ it, boy?”

The Slaver snorts. “You want some? Go ahead and try. She’d be better off in the fuckin’ ground.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d have to try.” Spurs clank down the empty alleyway from behind you, “Somethin’ tells me she’d come willingly.”

The Ghoul stands firm in his place, hand hovering over his gun like an old western standoff. Your head drops to the ground in relief. The slaver, though, looks more and more irritated by the moment. He glares at the Ghoul who’s now only a few feet behind you.

“Fuckin’ ghoul.” Broken Nose growls, and pulls a pistol. “Why don’t you get lost?”

Cooper takes a few more steps forward, sidestepping your body. The Slaver keeps the gun level with him. “‘Fraid I can’t do that.”

“Oh yeah?” The slaver gestures wildly with his pistol. “Why’s that?”

The Ghoul darts forward like a puma, ducking the shot that’s fired at him. You see a knife glint in the dim light, and hear it cut through flesh.

“‘Cause nobody touches what’s mine.”

A flash of heat shoots through you in spite of the circumstances. You watch Broken Nose fall to the ground, barely alive as blood gushes from a gash across his neck. Cooper’s knife drops from his hand, falling to blood-stained dirt. He turns to you slowly.

“You alright?”

He’s covered in blood, obviously pissed off, and has never been more attractive.

“Fantastic.” You breathe. The fiery determination and blatant possessiveness on display by the Ghoul shoot bolts of want straight to your cunt.

The Ghoul steps over Broken Nose’s legs to get to you. His eyes are dark, but do a once over to check you for injuries.

“He touch you?” Cooper’s drawl is thick. So much so that it almost twists his words into a snarl.

You push yourself to sit up. ��Not anywhere delicate.”

Cooper hums and uses your chains to pull you up. Your legs are sore from kicking, and arms raw from the cuffs. “Whatta ‘bout this?”

You look down as he reaches to you and fiddles with the unfastened belt. His hands linger at the button of your jeans, tugging at the fabric.

“Oh, he tried.” You shiver as Cooper’s fingers dance over the skin of your stomach. “But I wouldn’t let him.”

His leather gloves fist into your shirt and yank you close. You trip over the chains and fall into his chest.

“Damn right.” His breath washes over your ear. “Nobody touches you like that but me.”

You’d be lying if you said wetness didn’t gather between your legs faster than a speeding bullet. Cooper’s eyes jotted town towards your dangling belt once more before he used your bounds to spin you back against the wall. One of his knees jammed between your thighs, and his hands landed heavily on either side of your head.

You wet your lips as he hovers mere centimeters away. The Ghoul’s eyes are transfixed on your chest and stomach, where your white tank top is bared and covered in red stains. He lowers a hand to brush up your stomach, between your breasts and through rivulets of crimson. It’s immediately stuck into his mouth, and you moan shakily as his tongue darts out to taste your attacker’s blood.

Cooper turns his head and spits. “Slavers always taste foul.”

You readjust yourself on his knee to send pleasant waves of heat to your core. “Cooper Howard?”

He looks down at you, hat brim drawn low on his brow and desire burning bright in his eyes. There’s a bulge visible just below his belt that makes you salivate.

“What could you possibly want, darlin’?” His marred face leans in close, lips brushing your ears. Teeth nip at your earlobe, “Couldn’t be to fuck right here in the open where you was attacked by some other fella, now is it?”

Now, you know that sentence should give you pause.

However, this world is fucked beyond belief.

You whimper out your answer, and the Ghoul continues his steady ministrations down your neck and in that sensitive spot behind your ear. With your hands bound, you can’t do much more than tangle your fingers in his shirt and hold.

When he resurfaces, your neck is wet with saliva and sweat.

“I’ll take care of you, babydoll.” He purrs. “Right here, right now. You just gotta do one thing for me.”

You fist your hand in his shirt, but are surprised to find the cuffs slipping away after he fumbles with them for a moment. A quick glance shows him pocketing a key, but you’re too worked up to focus on one thing for too long.

“What do I gotta do?”

You really don’t mean to sound so desperate, but something about Cooper always has you heated and dripping as soon as he initiates anything intimate.

“Just tell me.” He grunts as you tug at his belt with newly freed hands. “Who do you belong to?”

Oh, you’re fucked.

“You. Fuck, I belong to you.” You gasp as you free him from his pants. “I want you to use me to get off.”

A scarred hand wraps tight around your neck and forces your head upwards. “Damn straight.”

It takes no time to yank your pants low enough for him to enter you. You’ve flipped so your front side is pinned to the building, legs spread. Cooper takes long, slow thrusts at first before picking up the pace. Large, strong hands hold your hips steady. You brace yourself with your hands, moaning in time with his thrusts. He’s stable throughout, only growling pet names into your ear when you let out a whine. The Ghoul begins to stagger when he’s close, and it’s not long before you feel his release coating your walls and dripping out onto the dirt.

You don’t realize how unstable and sore your legs are until he’s sliding out of you, filthy noises following. His cock pulses against your swollen slit before you fully collapse.

“Easy now.” Cooper catches you, one hand attempting to fasten himself back into his jeans, “Seems that we gotta go back to camp, huh?”

Your mind is alight with want for him, and you whine in his absence. “Coop, please.”

“Oh no need to beg, sugar.” He fixes your pants as well, “I plan on taking good care of you when we get there.”

Back at camp, he fulfills his promise and more.

You beg and plead for your release, and it’s granted with enthusiasm.

And after it’s done, you both ache for sleep, to rest sore muscles and heal new bruises. Some from fights, and others from passion. A blanket of stars coerces you to shut your eyes, and you’re helpless to resist. This night could have ended much differently - namely, with a bullet in your head- so you think about how grateful you are to have the legendary Ghoul at your side, protecting you on your shared journey for the truth. Willing to fight through his own suffering and dependencies to keep you safe in spite of his rocky exterior.

You like to think he’s a big teddy bear, but you didn’t dare put it out into the world while in his vicinity.

The thoughts are fleeting, and you fall into oblivion while tucked into the side of vengeance itself. It’s a place many others, even in this hellscape of a Wasteland, wouldn’t dare to get near.

The big, bad Ghoul.

And he’s all mine.

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

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missqhughes · 3 months ago

Text

JERSEY GIRL | L. HUGHES43

-> luke hughes x fem!reader

-> includes: fluff, use of y/n, lowercase intended

-> IN WHICH: the same guy, the same time, the same block. weirdly coincidental; a part of her excited for the small portion of the day they get to cross paths. little does she know, her new job is for the very team he plays for.

-> everyone’s favorite lukey pookie 😗 i feel like he’s such a sucker for a crush like this. also got some help from @sweetestdesire ! my girl, thank you! as always, love it as much as i do! 💋 part 1

*fic is not proofread

i’m late, i’m late, i’m SO late. y/n thought to herself, cursing her alarm for not going off at the right time.

the morning was rough enough, unopened boxes still scattered around her new apartment, living in a brand new city across the country from her old one.

she tripped over her packages items in a scramble to get ready, rummaging through them to find any semblance of a professional outfit, one that would be okay to wear for her first day.

if being late wasn’t enough, her new job was with the new jersey devils, and she didn’t know shit about hockey. y/n never cared to watch it, didn’t even know how it was played and god knew she couldn’t pick any of the players on the devils out of a crowd; even if she tried.

to say she was shocked about getting a position with them, that was an understatement.

and here she was, speed walking to get to the prudential center on time; fast enough to where she could have maybe a minute to spare if she was lucky, and slow enough to where she didn’t look like a complete lunatic.

turning a corner with her head down, she comes in full contact with a body in front of her, both stepping back and coming in with quick apologies,

“sorry,”

“shit, sorry”

the guy she had ran into looked about her age, tall with a head full of brown curls and in a neat maroon suit.

the interaction happened so fast that when she turned to look back at him, he was far along in his own path.

guessing he’s also in a rush. maybe he works in the finance part of the city.

she pried him out of her mind as soon as she ran through the doors of the prudential center, finding her way to the devil’s office, thankfully, just in time.

she was greeted with handshakes and smiles, talking to a couple of the team managers,

“welcome to the devils, y/n happy to have you here.” she shook hands with the man, controlling her breath and keeping it down that she almost got on all fours to make it there on time.

“happy to be here, thank you,” she smiled,

“for now you’ll just be doing some of the boring stuff. paper work, legal, social, all that kind. you’ll have your own space but feel free to visit around the arena when you’d like. season starts right around the corner, so we want to make sure we’re on our game.”

she nodded her head, nervous about the expectations set on her. y/n wanted to make a good impression on everyone, and set her best foot forward. thankfully no one had asked her anything about hockey yet.

“absolutely, thank you again,”

y/n was lead to her office space, a desk designated with her name plate and a small devils logo next to it. she sat down and adjusted herself, immediately diving into her work, but in the back of her mind the curly haired guy from around the corner was there.

——————————————————————————

today was a little more sane.

y/n still woke up late, but nonetheless now knew what box she put her nice clothes in, slipping on boots and leaving out the door in a nick of time.

she was now able to take in her new city, actually enjoying her walk to work and the bustle around it. in her awe of her surroundings, she bumped into a stranger for a second time.

god, again?

she looked up, apology ready at the mouth, in a slight disbelief at the person in front of her when he spoke,

“sorry about that… again,”

it was the same guy from yesterday, this time sporting a plain black shirt and pants, much more casual than yesterday. he looked really good, just as good as he did in his suit. y/n was able to actually take in his features; plump lips, she could tell he had a nice smile, and lush green eyes that dived into hers.

out of her trance, she felt her cheeks grow hot realizing that she was staring for far too long,

“it’s okay, um, bye.” she stuttered, moving past him, keeping her head down until the embarrassment she felt had died down inside her.

the curly haired boy turned, watching her disappear out of his sight. she was pretty. really pretty. he almost wish he had said something, anything after knocking into her for a second time.

no chance is happens again.

——————————————————————————

god, how does this keep happening?

y/n was running late. again. more late than yesterday and the day before.

the pile of nice clothing was scattered over her room, a result of her sifting and dismissing outfits even though she knew she didn’t have the time to spare.

with almost tripping out the door, she said fuck it, running and almost getting hit by a not so kind mouthed new jersey driver in an intersection.

in her hot pursuit for work, she slowed down at the corner she saw the same guy in. maybe it was a coincidence, but she didn’t want to make it to a third time running into his chest.

her gut feeling correct; his steps seemingly synchronized to hers, stopping a few feet in front of her.

he was sporting a different suit, a crisp navy blue matched with a perfectly patterned tie. today, with the addition of a backpack and headphones.

“good thing i slowed down,” y/n said in a short breath, his lips curling up into a barely noticeable smile,

“glad you did too,” he said, his voice gentle and sweet.

y/n looked down at her watch, groaning lightly when she was reminded of the time,

“shit i have to go, m’sorry,” she mumbled, picking up her pace once she knew he couldn’t see her anymore. she had already been cutting it close the past two days, not wanting to make today she was officially late.

y/n just kept moving, not stopping her pace until she reached the arena, only slowing down once she knew she could, hurling herself into her small corner desk.

it was unfortunate; the past three consecutive days y/n had run into this cute guy, the first one she’s met in the city and she had to run away from him every time, quite literally.

——————————————————————————

it had been 2 days since she had seen the handsome stranger, and it honestly made y/n a bit disappointed.

she’d put on a cuter, spent a little longer to curl her hair, even setting her alarm extra early to leave on time in hopes of seeing him for just that slim moment; maybe this time she’d actually stop talk to him, maybe even ask to get a coffee with her, if she was feeling bold enough.

maybe he started taking the bus, she thought to herself.

y/n sat at her desk, leg bouncing up and down as she stared blankly at the seemingly endless paperwork in front of her. y/n didn’t even feel like she had a job in pro sports, it all felt like the same office job she had before. all but with a nicer apartment and some eye candy she ran in to.

the day felt extra long, her feet ached when she had to drag herself off her desk and to her walk back to her apartment.

once y/n reached her front door, she sighed in relief in slipping off her heels, tossing them aimlessly into her hallway. her shoulders sinking down once she had dropped her things, eagerly walking over to rest on her new white couch.

she had done a good job unpacking over the couple days, only two partially emptied boxes occupying her living room. she felt satisfied, but not completely settled in.

maybe it’s time to make some friends?

——————————————————————————

she didn’t see him the day after either.

she sighed, head in her hand, trying to squeeze the headache out of her temples, eyes tired from staring at the computer for god knows how long.

y/n’s posture fixed when she heard 3 knocks on the wall, she swiveled her chair, met with the smiling face of the head coach; appropriately wearing a devils jacket and hat to pair.

“y/n, right?”

“hi, yes, that’s me. how are you?” she smiled, standing up to give him a firm handshake.

“doing well, thank you. jus to let you know, the players are doing some media work right now, tom wanted you to introduce yourself to them. get familiar with the team before the first couple games.”

y/n cheered internally, finally something to do other than feel her eyes melt watching a screen all day.

“sounds good, i’ll be down there soon.”

he shook her hand again with a smile before leaving the room. y/n closed up the last bit of work she was doing, and made her way down to the ice.

the players were in their red practice jerseys, some making videos with the media team and others skating around the ice casually, talking amongst each other.

the atmosphere was nice to her, a couple of the players saying hi and introducing themselves. but everything seemed to stop when y/n made eye contact with a familiar face.

no way.

it couldn’t be.

he seemed to have the exact same expression on his face as her, equally in shock and now oblivious to the conversation happening in front of him.

y/n felt like she was dreaming, that she was going to be shaken back into reality, that her brain was just convincing herself that he was there when he actually wasn’t.

but no, no matter how much she blinked, or dug her nails into her palms, there he was.

she felt awkward again, realizing she had been staring at him for the nth time since they’ve crossed paths, spinning to find someone else to converse with instead of peering into his soul.

behind her back, he was still in awe, unable to tear his gaze away from her.

“yeah, and then i was like… luke, dude, are you even listening?”

“what jack? oh, yeah i’m listening,” he said, an obvious lie, not paying any amount of attention to him.

jack looked around to see what could possibly cause luke to be so occupied, and then he saw y/n; sneaking little side glances and lightly eyeing him up and down.

he chuckled, “lukey’s got a crush on the new girl huh? why don’t you go say something instead of staring like a creep.”

“shut up, i was not staring,” luke said, hitting him on the shoulder with a tint of pink brushing on his cheeks with his denial. “it’s just… i saw her at the same time and place like 3 days in a row. it was weird, and she was always in a rush. didn’t know in a rush to come here though.” he kept his voice low, scared she could somehow overhear them.

“then just call it fate and say something, please, i cant keep watching this.”

“no way i’m doing that.”

“okay fine, then i will,”

luke’s eyes went wide for a moment, jack calling out over to where she was heads turning but he was waving y/n over.

she felt her ears ringing, almost feeling embarrassed about the whole thing, like it was some secret they had and now she was exposed to everyone.

y/n stopped in front of them, hands in her pockets to control the shaking, facing the two; one with the biggest smile on his face and the other ready to pass out.

“i’m jack, this is my brother luke,” the smiley one said, his blue eyes shining as he used his thumb to point to luke, the name to the handsome stranger.

jack held out his hand to shake hers, nudging luke slightly to do the same, y/n’s hand lingering on luke’s a little longer, feeling an electricity in her body as soon as their hands touched.

“nice to meet you, i’m y/n.”

luke probably repeated her name about 100 times in his head, everything happening in front of him causing a buzzing in his stomach. he smiled formed lightly, taking all of her in.

“so, two brothers in the nhl, your parents must be really proud,”

“actually our-”

“our older brother plays for as well, so, yeah, there’s three of us, yeah” luke spat out nervously, his sentencing jumbling so fast that the words barely got out.

jack internally face palmed, embarrassed at his brother’s lack of game. he was shocked it was working, y/n keeping the conversation going with him with a grin on her face.

“oh look, curtis is calling me over, don’t wait up you two,” jack pat his brother on the back, giving her a wink before jogging away.

with him gone, they both stood there for a second, swallowed in silence.

“i cant believe you play for the devils,” y/n said breathlessly, before she was able to swallow her shock, but seeing him now wasn’t just a coincidence; it couldn’t be.

“i cant believe you work for us,” luke said, a dopey smile still stuck on his face,

“i didn’t think i’d see you again, i thought those few couple times were just coincidence.”

“i didn’t think so either, but hey look at those odds,”

y/n’s heart kept skipping beat after beat; no one having this kind of effect on her in a long time, but she wasn’t mad about it.

“so, y/n… areyoudoinganythingafterwork?” he mumbled, face turning bright red after his incoherent words.

her brows slightly furrowed in confusion, “am i what?”

he inhaled deeply, green eyes bouncing between her gaze, “are you doing anything… after work? if not it’s totally fine i was just curious,”

y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his rambling, how nervous she didn’t realize she made him and was absolutely loving every second of it.

“i’m not doing anything after work, luke,” y/n smiled, her heart beating at a better rhythm than it had since she’s been in jersey.

“cool, yeah we should definitely do something,”

“show me around the city?”

“you just moved here?” luke was surprised, not expecting someone who just moved to the area to be working for the nhl.

“yes,” y/n scratched the back of her head, “it’s been hectic, still a few boxes left at my apartment to unpack,”

“well then, i’ll show you around the city. can i get your number? how’s 6:00 sound?” luke fidgeted with his fingers, studying her face with his phone in her hand, lighting up when he saw her name saved in his contacts.

“6:00, i’ll text you my address. don’t be late,” she chirped,

“wouldn’t dream of it,” luke smiled, waving her off while shuffling away, his brown curls slightly bouncing with every step, the back of his jersey reading “hughes” with the number 43.

luke hughes. hm. definitely looking him up later.

——————————————————————————

xoxo, kaia

#luke hughes #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes fanfic #lh43 #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #hockey #new jersey devils #nhl fanfiction #nhl players

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

Text

The Big Tease | bfd!harry

*photo is for t-shirt placement visual only. please picture who you like as reader.

best friend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Summary: based loosely on this request - Harry comes to your place to make sure you're taking care of yourself and you find that as hard as you try to tease him, he's not giving in to you and then some high emotions are exposed.

Word Count: 7.8k words

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, angst, age gap, cheating

bfd!harry masterlist

You tried not to feel guilty about what you were doing with a married man. Your best friend’s dad. It was hard when it came to keeping it a secret from everyone. Keeping it a secret from Fae.

“Where’d you get this?” Fae brushed her fingers over the pretty little bracelet Mr. Styles gave you a few nights before. It was gold with three round light-colored opals in the center and two round-cut tiny diamonds on either side. It was dainty and sweet and you knew it was expensive after googling the brand and finding the exact item available online and in high-end shops nearby.

“Ahh… my mom and dad got it for me a while ago. Just haven’t worn it in a long time. Forgot it about,” you lied with a shrug. Lying to her made you nauseous.

“Really? How could you forget about this? It’s gorgeous! Looks really pretty on you too,” she complimented and you frowned as you looked down at it.

You hated lying to your best friend. But what could you do? You certainly wouldn’t admit to your affair with her father. And of course, you weren’t quite feeling guilty enough to put an end to it either. Mr. Styles was the best you’d ever had and you were completely smitten with him.

When you two finally made it back to your apartment after shopping and eating and stopping at the ice cream shop for a treat you’d also forgotten all the lovely flowers you had sitting around your living room and kitchen.

It had also become a thing where you’d get the most exquisite bouquets delivered to you every Monday morning. Peonies, roses, phalaenopsis orchids, and gardenias all stuffed with hardly any filler. You knew the bouquets he was sending you were hundreds of dollars a pop. But they were breathtaking.

You quickly assessed in your mind whether or not you’d removed the cards from them which would have given everything away should Fae see. Unlocking your door and letting yourself in first you quickly glanced around and the freshest bouquet clearly still had its card poking out of it. You made a beeline across the room as Fae closed your door behind her and plucked the tiny card out, crumpling it in your hand, and then bent down next to the table to pretend you were doing something else.

“Those are so pretty, Y/n. Oh my god. Do you have a flower service or something?”

You had three bouquets placed around your living room. One was clearly old and some of the flowers were drooping, losing their vibrant colors, while the newer ones were full of soft pinks and purples, crisp white and cream…

“Yes. I decided to start treating myself to nice flowers every week.” You smiled. Another lie. You couldn’t afford a weekly delivery of these kinds of flowers and if Fae bothered to research how expensive bouquets like this were she’d have questioned you further. But luckily she didn’t.

The bracelet, the flowers, your glow… all things she noticed, could have been an indicator of a lover but as far as you could tell she hadn’t connected the dots. Or at least she didn’t voice it to you.

Of course, everything could be explained. But she was your best friend. If you weren’t more vigilant, she’d be catching on soon, you were sure.

. . .

The following day after a morning shift at the restaurant you arrived home and collapsed on your couch. It was exhausting. The restaurant was only open for breakfast and brunch on the weekend (where normally it’s only a dinner spot the rest of the week) and it was slammed. Mimosas, eggs benedict, fancy French tarts, and pastries, huge parties of people, music, guests nursing hangovers… The restaurant was well known for its weekend breakfast and brunch with bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys. The clientele were usually upper-class folks who didn’t mind spending $35 for their mimosa and then only ordering 2 when they could have had as many as they wanted. A local creamery provided butter, yogurt, and milk for your special breakfast dishes, and a bowl of fancy yogurt and some in-house granola was $15. The cheapest food item on the breakfast menu. The cheapest item on the menu was a cup of black coffee, refillable. Unless you ordered the free tap water.

You got lucky to eat anything while you served breakfast. It was typically too busy to take a bite of anything. But the tips were excellent because everyone was usually in a great mood.

You were startled awake by your phone vibrating in your back pocket. You’d fallen asleep without even realizing you’d closed your eyes.

Pulling the phone out from under your body you realized it was Harry calling you (he normally didn’t call unless it was prearranged).

“Hello?” You sat up as you answered.

“Baby! I was worried. Are you okay? I didn’t hear back from you.”

Harry had a thing where he wanted you to text him when you got home from work to let him know you made it safely, even if it was a morning shift. He was always so worried about you but you kind of loved it.

“I’m fine. Sorry! I fell asleep as soon as I sat down on the couch. God, I’m so exhausted. Fae was here late last night and then I had the breakfast shift so I only had like four hours of sleep…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I was just worried. I texted you and then never heard back. Just started to panic. Have you eaten?”

You smiled and his soft deep voice made you feel so comfortable and safe, “I haven’t eaten yet. I had a bit at work but just passed out as soon as I got here.”

“So you’ve only had something to eat at work? It’s already dinnertime, Y/n.”

Harry did have a tendency to sort of scold you like he was your dad. Maybe it was ingrained in him in some ways. To try and take care of you and remind you to do things like eat.

“Geez, Dad. I’ll get right on it,” you teased.

Harry was silent for a moment, which had you worried. Perhaps calling him ‘dad’ had been unwise.

But then suddenly his voice broke through the line, “I’m coming over. I have a feeling you don’t have any groceries and I’m gonna make you dinner. Something to eat.”

You scoffed, “I mean… I have food here. I will eat. You don’t have–“

“I’ll be there within an hour,” he interrupted and you nodded to yourself.

“O… Okay. Um… yeah. In an hour.”

. . .

You quickly showered and tossed your dirty clothes into your clothes hamper so they weren’t strewn about your bedroom floor. You tidied up and kept yourself busy until he finally arrived. You were getting all worked up knowing he was coming over.

You didn’t know what he had been telling Mrs. Styles about why he was leaving or when he’d stay with you overnight, or spend hours in your bed every week. Though there were times he could only come over quickly, most of the time he stayed with you long enough that he’d need a good cover story. You kind of hoped you could have him for the night.

When he knocked at your door and you opened it up for him you saw he had his hands full. One arm around a sack of groceries and in his other hand the bag he normally packed for when he was staying the night.

You smiled when you saw his handsome face and ushered him into your small apartment. He leaned in to kiss you quickly, “Just showered?” He asked.

“Well yeah,” you spoke as you closed the door and followed behind him to your kitchen, “I didn’t have the chance earlier because I fell asleep as you know,” you laughed.

“Mmhmm…” he grunted affirmatively as he began to remove the grocery items from the bag one by one.

You saw tomatoes, fresh basil, flour, mushrooms, cheese…

“What are you making?” You picked up the container of buffalo mozzarella and then looked at Harry.

“Margherita pizza. One of my favorite little recipes my mom used to make.”

You placed the container down, pulled his arm to drag him toward you, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him.

He immediately paused what he was doing and wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss and then giving you a taste of his tongue.

But then he pulled away with his signature teasing smirk and went back to his task.

“You brought your bag. Gonna stay the night with me?”

He nodded as he folded the paper bag up neatly and then looked at you, “If that’s okay. Have to leave early, though.”

If that’s okay.

You laughed to yourself and nodded, “Of course, it’s okay, Harry. God, what I wouldn’t give to have you with me every–“ You stopped what you saying when you realized how suddenly serious that thought was. You did want him every night. You wanted him to yourself but you hadn’t discussed that with him before.

Harry placed the neatly folded paper bag down on your little counter and then pulled you back toward him with his hands on your hips, “Yeah? Every…? What? Every night? Want me every night, baby?” That same sneaky, devious smirk on his face had you melting and warm.

“I just meant, you’re always welcome,” you slid your hands up his chest and bit your lip. You were a little embarrassed that you admitted that but it was obviously too late now.

“I’m always welcome or you want me every night? Which is it?” He gripped you harder so you couldn’t escape his questions, his gaze.

You puffed a breath out through your lips with a laugh, “Both.”

He loosened his grip and brought a hand to your face, his eyes fixed to yours, “Both. I’d much prefer to be here with you every night too. Would if I could.” The thumb that trailed over your cheekbone and to your temple was soft and loving. You knew he meant what he said.

Harry’s pizza was superb. Your oven wasn’t quite right, he kept saying as he baked it but to you, it was the best thing that had ever come out of that cheap appliance.

“Usually like to make this in a brick oven. The one I’ve got in my backyard, but this will do in a pinch I suppose.”

Your mouth was full as you nodded, “So good.”

Harry laughed at your stuffed cheeks and the way you were gobbling down what he’d made.

“Aren’t you going to eat more?” You asked him finally when you’d swallowed your bite. He’d only had one slice.

“Already had dinner. But I wanted to feed you. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

For some reason with a tummy full of Harry’s pizza and the kind gesture of his cooking to help take care of you had you reeling and needing more than just food.

Of course, it would have been impolite to just abandon cleanup but you were suddenly aware of how his sleeves were pushed up his forearms and how his dimples were extra deep accompanying his attractive smile. And his hair looked too tidy, you needed to get your hands in it. Needed to get him out of his clothes. Get those long fingers around your neck and touching your body immediately.

You set your plate down on the small kitchen table you were both sitting at and slid your hand up his thigh, “Oh is that why you came over here? The only reason?” You grinned and he leaned back into his chair and looked at you, keeping his own grin in check.

“Need to make sure my girl is healthy. Has everything she needs.”

“Yeah? And sometimes I need more than just food too, Mr. Styles.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs slightly as you continued moving your hand upward, “Oh I know, sweet girl. You need a lot of things, don’t you?”

You nodded, “What about you? Do you need things too? From me? Anything I can help you with?”

Now his grin was breaking out over his face but it was cheeky, playful, “Of course I do.”

But he wasn’t giving in to your little game. He liked having you be the one to ask for it. You didn’t know why but he loved hearing you beg him. You always resisted begging. At first anyway. Sometimes he’d give in without you needing to.

“And what do you need from me?” You stopped short of putting your fingers over where you knew he was tucked under his pants. The obvious natural bulge he sported giving away where he normally liked to position himself.

“Whatever you’re willing to give me, love. But I’m here because you needed to eat first and foremost. And you needed some groceries.”

You laughed and skipped over his lovely cock and put your hand up to his chest, scooting your chair in a little closer, “I’ll give you anything you want, sir. All you have to do is ask.”

Harry smiled and licked his lips slowly, “I’m as content as I can be here with you right now. Could sit here all night listening to you talk. S’that what you want? Want to touch my chest,” he flitted his eyes down to where your hand was before looking back into your eyes, “and my thighs, and chat all night about my pizza making skills and your lack of healthy food?”

You folded your lips into your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. He was playing a game of chicken with you. You really wanted to win this time.

“Well, that does sound really nice. You’ve filled me up so good with your yummy pizza. Guess I don’t need anything more than stimulating conversation with you if that’s all you’re interested in.”

Harry swallowed and breathed a laugh out of his nose, “Fine. Pizza and conversation it is.”

You wanted to huff in frustration. He still had his arms crossed over his chest, just under where your fingers were toying with the buttons on his shirt. He wasn’t giving in. But you had a thought.

“I’ll be right back.”

You hopped up from the chair and pranced to your bedroom. If he wanted to tease so would you. Stripping off your sweats you dug out your thin white Hey Lover t-shirt and tied it up just under the center of your breasts, and black cheeky boy short panties. You’d pretend you were only getting comfy since it was already late in the evening. He’d know what you were up to but you could play it off like you just wanted to get into your comfy house clothes.

When you got back to the kitchen Harry was already cleaning up.

“Hey, let’s do that later. Wanna sit and talk a bit.”

Harry tsked you, his back still turned as he wrapped up the rest of the pizza in foil, “I worked hard on this. Don’t want it to go bad. You can go sit–“ when he finally turned his full gaze back to you he stopped mid-sentence. You saw his jaw clench and his nostrils flair.

Not fair. That was not fair of you.

You knew your top especially was going to drive him mad. It was thin and your nipples were poking through the material and he could certainly see the shadow of the deeper color of your areolas popping through.

And he did. You noted where his eyes roamed, pausing over your tits for a good few seconds before licking his lips and turning back around to finish his job.

“Go sit.” He said without a single note of sweetness or desire.

You smiled to yourself as you walked into the living room and sat on your couch. Putting on a little music you selected a good little playlist that you knew he’d like.

Trying to act as unbothered as you possibly could you found a comfortable position on the couch and leaned into your cushions as you waited for Mr. Styles to join you.

It wasn’t long before he was casually strolling into the living room and sitting on the couch, leaving a few feet between you two. He draped an ankle over his knee and sat back, looking totally cool and unbothered.

You stretched and gathered your hair into your hands to expose your neck as you spoke, “So, how was your day today, Mr. Styles? You already know all about mine.”

Harry nodded slowly as he looked at you, keeping his eyes on your face, “Normal. Woke up and worked out, read an article, and played some golf with a colleague. That’s it really. Now here I am feeding you and entertaining you with conversation,” he grinned and you saw his eyes quickly take in your neck.

You smiled and sighed, “Sounds nice. I’ve played golf a few times. I’m terrible at it, though. Once a guy who took me tried to straighten out my stance but it did no good. No matter how many times he helped me adjust my grip or pushed my legs to spread them out properly it just didn’t work,” you chuckled. It was true. You’d gone with a guy a couple of years back on a date. He was flirting with you when he tried showing you the proper way to stand and hold the club but it turned into making out in the golf cart and a quick fuck in his car before he dropped you at home.

“S’that so? He probably wasn’t a good player either if he couldn’t give you any tips to help you improve your game.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I think he was more interested in getting my clothes off than anything,” you kept your eyes on his to asses but there was nothing there that indicated jealousy.

You had to amp it up. Do something to make him lose it. Wanted to watch him thicken up in his pants.

Dropping your hair you tucked your legs under yourself and turned to face Harry. You knew he was trying his hardest not to let his eyes drop below your neck. He knew he’d be fucked if he took in the way the soft cotton stretched over your breasts.

“Anyway. Are you any good?” You allowed your own eyes to take him in fully. His composure was sure to falter at some point.

“Yeah. I’m all right. I can hold my own.”

His short answer was not exactly what you were hoping for but you didn’t let it deter you. For some reason, his standoffish behavior was getting you even more worked up.

“Bet you can hold your own. You’re just so naturally good at everything you do,” you moved your finger over your tummy, keeping your eyes on his, “I know first-hand.”

Harry raised his brows and the movement of your hand over your torso and then down toward the top of your panties had him dropping his sight to where you were softly ghosting your fingers along the elastic band. You tugged at the knot on your shirt before moving your hand back up toward your chest, your thumb pressed between your thin cotton t-shirt-covered tits.

He watched your fingers and then looked back up at you, “Do you? And what do you know of my skills?” He smiled softly. Still appearing totally unbothered.

You sighed and tilted your head, keeping your eyes on his before stretching your arms over your head and allowing your shirt to lift the tiniest bit, revealing the bottom of your breasts. You only put your arms down once you were satisfied that Mr. Styles had gotten a good look, “Well, for example, you just made me a pizza that was to die for. Also, you recently got promoted at work and now you’re some big shot,” you unfolded a leg from underneath your bum and stretched it out, pressing your bare foot onto Harry’s thigh, “And I’ve seen you work out,” you nudged his muscled thigh, “You put men half your age to shame. You’re so athletic…” you began to pull your foot away but Harry gripped your ankle and pulled your leg to drape over his thigh making you smile in triumph. Though you’d not yet won this round, he was clearly giving in to you bit by bit.

“Hmmm…” Harry nodded and hummed quietly. He kept his hand on your shin and his eyes a safe distance from anything below your chin, “I know I’m good at a lot of things. Can make you dribble all over your chin by just pulling my pants down,” he licked his lips, “Feel like that’s a great skill of mine. What else…” his hand began to brush over your leg softly and you scoffed at him but of course, he was right. You both knew it. He made you drool and whiney and hot. He didn’t even have to do anything.

“That was one time. And you had your fingers in my mouth. It wasn’t because of your cock,” you lied. Well, his fingers in your mouth did have you drool down your chin and when he pulled his pants down, he teasingly pointed out how your chin was shiny and you’d dripped saliva down your neck and to your chest.

“No? Hmmm… but you were so desperate to get it in your mouth that you tried grabbing me and when I told you to be patient you whined and drooled all over the floor. You can pretend all you want, little girl. I see what you’re trying to do.”

You watched as his hand traveled up your leg and past your knee to your thigh, “Wearing this little getup… trying to seduce me. So desperate for me. But you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than this, Y/n. You can lie to yourself and pretend you're not bothered and change the subject and show me your pretty tits all you want. S’not gonna change the fact that you’re gonna wind up a messy little puddle begging me for anything I’ll give you. Isn’t that right?”

Your mouth dropped open in faux shock. He was right. But you weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Styles. I know you like having your ego stroked. So go ahead and keep telling yourself that you’ve got the upper hand. We both know you’re already folding. I can sit here all night and chat with you like this if you want. Doesn’t bother me one bit.” You folded your arms across your chest with a grin.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head. You were fun. He loved these moments with you. Loved giving you a hard time. Loved when you gave him a hard time. He softly pinched the inside of your thigh and you laughed, attempting to pull your leg away but he held you in place, large palms keeping your leg over him, fingers digging into your skin.

“Darling, you forget who you’re dealing with. I’m not the one resorting to skimpy clothes and trying to hide how turned-on I am. I see you trying to keep your legs pressed together. Hiding something,” he jutted his chin toward you and looked over the spot between your legs where he knew your panties covered up a tiny secret.

You wore black panties on purpose. Any wetness would be easier to hide, but keeping your legs pressed together could ensure he didn’t see the wet patch that had begun to spread. However, the way he was holding your leg over his lap made it quite difficult for you to not open your thighs a little.

“You just love to imagine that you’ve got me all bothered. But you’re wrong. I’m totally fine.”

Harry smiled and pulled at your leg further, causing a small yelp to slip out from your mouth followed by a tiny bit of laughter at the way you lost balance when you were pulled toward him, your other leg being tugged at to drape over his thigh.

“Good. Then we can just sit here and talk about the weather and maybe politics if you’re into that. Or is there another topic you had in mind since you’re so keen on just sitting chatting all night?”

You steadied yourself, back against the cushion as you pressed your legs together again and looked up at him innocently, “Randy called me the other day. Said he missed me. Apologized for being rude when we were together. That was nice to hear. The apology,” you wiggled your hips to fix your seating so you could appear more casual, despite having your legs in Harry’s possession over his lap.

Harry’s large palms ran up the outer sides of your thighs slowly before dragging back down to just above your knees, keeping his eyes on yours, “Oh really? Thinking about getting back with him then?” He spoke trying to tamper the playful smile on his face.

You snorted a laugh and grinned teasingly, drawing your fingers across your breasts, “Nahh… I can do better. I mean… maybe if I’m desperate and just need to scratch an itch. You know? Being a single girl gets hard at times. My dildo is only gonna give me a small taste of what a man can. Even if he’s not great in bed.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he nodded with dark eyes, “Would be such a shame to waste a good fuck on Rudy like that when you’ve got me at the helm. Of course, you're too stubborn to admit it. All you have to do is ask.”

You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap with a pout, “Randy. His name is Randy. But anyway… I don’t have to beg Randy to fuck me. He’s never pretended he was unbothered by me. Always quite straightforward really. If he wanted sex all he had to do was tell me. You on the other hand,” you poked your finger into his arm, “like making it hard for me, which is quite impolite. So I’m okay with not having sex if you just aren’t up for it.”

Harry pushed a laugh out through his nose at your tease, “Rudy sounds like a fucking bore. And he never gave you an orgasm. Either you have really bad taste or you’re just a tease. I have a feeling I know which it is, too. Little girl likes to play games. I can play games if you want. But you know I’m gonna win.”

You knew he was right. You wanted his cock but he wasn’t budging. All you had to do was admit it. Ask him politely. And you would when you couldn’t handle it any longer but you were having fun and the back and forth was like foreplay for you.

He kept one hand grasped around the outside of your thigh while his other smoothed inward, fingers pushing your thighs apart the tiniest bit and then gently dancing upward. If he moved his fingers too far up he’d feel how damp you were already.

“I’m not playing games,” you spoke matter-of-factly, watching as his hand traveled over your skin, “I can just tell maybe you’re tired Perhaps you’ve had a long day and it’s almost bedtime for you. I mean I get it,” you laughed in preparation for what you were about to say, “When you get to be your age things just slow down a little. It’s okay if you’re not up for it tonight, sir.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes as he laughed at your attempt to provoke him.

When he looked back at you his expression was serious as he pried your legs apart, swiping the pad of his pointer finger right over the wet material of your panties and raised his brows as if he was shocked. Though you knew he was goading you, “You know goddamn well that my age has nothing to do with my libido. Difference between me and you is that I have incredible willpower and I know that you’re gonna be begging me to stuff your pussy before the night is over.”

You laughed and shook your head, “Nope.”

Harry pressed his thumb right over where your clit was already aching and grinned, “Yep.” Popping the p for emphasis. “See I’ve already got you soaking your panties. Goosebumps on your legs. Your nipples are hard. Your face is warm. I bet your heart is pounding too, just wishing you were getting the life fucked out of you right now. And you could be,” he spoke lowly as he slid a finger under the fabric of your panties and smoothed it over your skin, but not touching your crease or your clit like you hoped, “If you just admit it.”

You noticed that his cock had plumped under his pants. A good sign, you figured, “Nothing to admit. I might be turned on but I can hold out. In fact, I’d bet you’re not in much better shape with your cock swelling up like it is. You need this wet pussy to soothe that big dick, don’t you?”

Harry’s undisturbed body language was a concern because even though his prick was growing harder by the minute, you were starting to boil while he still seemed unphased.

“Oh, honey…” Harry smiled at you like you were a pitiful thing, “I’m doing just fine. In fact, probably just gonna fuck my own fist before we go to bed since you’re so stubborn. Maybe I’ll let you watch me too. I’ll be just fine. Just love being here with you. We don’t always have to have sex.”

You clenched your jaw and huffed imagining that scene. Having Harry yank his cock with his big hand until he was coming on your floor. You’d want to lick it up off the floor too. Scoop it all up and swallow it down. He had you obsessed with his come. Well, with him in general.

You tried to think of something to say but your brain was stuck on the image of him slowly stroking his fat cock and saying filthy shit to you while you tried to hold it together and not give in to your own urges.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harry lifted a hand to your face and brushed his thumb along your jaw and up over your cheek, “Need to tell me something?”

Your lips parted and you breathed out a small whimper and squished your eyes closed. Your determination was crumbling with his soft touches.

“S’okay. If you don’t mind,” Harry pushed your legs off of him and quickly began to unbutton his pants, “S’getting tight in there…” he pulled his pants down just a touch so that the bulge under his briefs was now poking out and he had a bit more space to breathe.

He pressed over his erection and straightened himself out and suddenly the tip of his cock was peeking out over the band of Calvin Kleins. You closed your eyes again and tried to will yourself to not give in to him. But what was fair was fair. You were teasing him with your body and now he was returning the favor.

When you heard Harry chuckle you opened your eyes to look at him and your head was fuzzy. He was literally mouth-watering. He’d unbuttoned his shirt so you could see his tattoos and the large erection poking out from his briefs was like an actual cherry on top of it all. You licked your lips and swallowed down your saliva as you stared at his swollen head. It looked like something you could just pop into your mouth and suckle on if you weren’t so stubborn.

But Harry loved how stubborn you were. You really did make him work for it. You were exciting and sweet and he loved the way you teased him.

“If you want some you can have some, sweetheart. I know you’d like a taste. S’right there for you if you just ask politely.”

You groaned and looked away from him but your eyes were burning and all you could think about was straddling his lap and pushing his briefs down so you could fuck yourself on him. You were actually vibrating and pulsing you were so turned on.

And when you thought about it all… how this was all just a game anyway. How you both knew you’d end up with his come dribbling out of your cunt and satisfied and fucked out before you went to bed you laughed, “Fuck it…” you said as you crawled yourself over his lap and Harry’s hands found your hips, “I want you. Okay? You win.”

He had a pleased smile on his face when he felt you press your soaked panties over his briefs and plaster your lips over his in finality.

He would have laughed and teased you for giving in but he was thankful you did. Because he was aching for you.

You were desperate too. You pulled away from the kiss and put your hands down to his briefs and pushed at the material before sliding the crotch of your panties to the side and letting your wet hole kiss his tip softly as you looked into his eyes, “Can I please have it?”

Harry’s smirk fell from his face the moment you began to lower yourself, coating him in your slick arousal, “Yes. Take what you want. Fuck…”

The music was soft and you could barely hear the lyrics as you began to work yourself down and up along his length. You moaned as you felt him poke deep and keened, sucking in a sharp breath, “So thick…” you panted.

You were wetting Harry’s briefs and the tops of his pants but he didn’t care in that moment. He’d take care of the issue after you were done, “Yeah? Needed to stuff yourself with my cock didn’t you darling? Feels good?”

You nodded and held onto the back of the couch as Harry moved his hands from your hips up to the bottom hem of your top and pushed the material up so he could finally look at your pretty breasts. His favorite. He leaned in and suckled your tit into your mouth and you gasped softly.

You began to ride him a little faster, sticky slick noises coming from between your bodies as you writhed up and down his cock.

“Harry!” You shouted his name in a desperate plea. You didn’t know what you were pleading for but you just wanted more. His tongue and lips and teeth on your tits and his heavy, hard dick inside of you were really all a girl could ask for.

Harry moaned and licked over the spot he nipped next to your nipple and moved his lips over your soft flesh as he spoke, “Poor thing… so needy for me. Should have just given in the first time I told you to, baby.”

The couch under you squeaked gently as you rose and fell over him. The relief of having him inside of you had you tearing up.

Harry tilted his head back to look at your face. And just as he expected you were completely insatiable. Your expression was hungry and lusty with your lips parted, a pained look across your features.

Harry cooed at you and slid his hands up from your soft breasts to cup your face and make you kiss him. Your mouths moved together slowly as you shifted over him, slowing down a little now that your mouths were connected.

Harry pulled away, keeping his hands at your face, “Slow down a little bit. Here…” he dropped one hand to your hip and stilled you, pushing you down all the way over his shaft until you were firmly seated in his lap and his tip was stuffed so far inside of you it hurt making you whine and quiver.

“Like that. Just sit and feel me. No need to hurry. Gonna always take care of you. Okay?” His lips pressed over yours again and you moaned into his mouth.

You acted as if you were starved. You canted your hips slightly to glide your clit against his pelvic bone and he gasped and pulled away again, “I know you need it, baby. Just slow down. You were so desperate weren’t you?” He thumbed at your cheek and wiped your tears with a grin, “Always my good girl. Aren’t you?”

You bit your lips and whimpered as you nodded. You felt like a pathetic girl. It was like the moment his cock was inside of you all your good sense flew out the window and you were a melty, needy puppy in despair, deprived of attention and love. You needed more and more and more every time he entered you. It only got worse as the months crawled on and your affair got more serious.

“I wanna be your only good girl. Please…” You slid your shaky fingers into his hair and smoothed your lips over his with a tremulous breath.

Harry rocked upward, dipping into your sensitive insides and you gasped again, parting your lips from his.

“Look at me, Y/n…” Harry spoke as he moved a hand to the back of your neck.

You locked eyes with him and your sad little pout had him leaning in to give you a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth before he looked back into your eyes, “You’re my good girl. No one else. Just you, baby. Understood?”

You nodded and sniffled, “But I’m not,” You jutted your bottom lip out like a child and felt ridiculous. You didn’t know what had you so emotional suddenly. Maybe it was the build-up and all the teasing. Or the way you always gave in to him and he was so cool and secure in himself while you were shaky and desperate.

Harry moved a hand down your back and kept his other hand brushing softly over your cheekbone, “Yes you are. You’re mine. You’re my only.”

You didn’t want to say it. Hated to bring it up but you couldn’t help it or you thought you’d explode if you didn’t tell the truth, “But you’re married. I might be yours but you’re not mine.”

He hadn’t quite expected it. You knew the situation. He couldn’t just leave his wife of 20+ years. It didn’t work that way. But to hear you say it was… well it gave him pause.

“Okay. I am married. But I’m here with you right now, Y/n. Because I’d rather be here with you. Wish I could be here every night. And I would if I could.”

You nodded. You knew he’d prefer to fuck you rather than his wife. That part was understood. But he’d never actually choose you over her when it came down to it. “I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just… I’m starting to…” You swallowed the words your heart wanted to reveal but you stopped, “Just want to see you more I think. Once a week or every other week isn’t good for me. Need you more. I think that’ll make me better. I’m sorry… I don’t know –“

Harry shushed you and stroked your back softly, “I want to see you more too, baby. Should we think of a way to make it twice or three times a week even? Will that make it better?”

You smiled and nodded, “Three times a week? Oh my god…” You kissed him and squealed at the idea of having him three times a week.

Harry laughed and nodded, “If it makes you happy. Didn’t know you needed more, honey. Didn’t want to make you sick of me.”

You laughed in return and shook your head, “I could never be sick of you, Harry. I’m…” You stopped yourself once again. The words on the tip of your tongue but that wouldn’t be fair. To you nor to him. “I’m happy you want that too.”

Harry’s fingers on your face felt soft and comforting, “Of course I want that. I want you happy. And that would make me happier too.”

You felt dizzy with love and excitement as you pasted your lips to his and began to rock your hips slowly again.

You knew you were selfish. Knew you were getting in too deep but you didn’t care. Maybe down the road one day it would hurt but for now, you would be happy with anything he gave you.

Suddenly Harry shifted and brought his arm to cradle you close as he laid you down flat on the couch, his thick cock still inside of you. But now he was hovering over you with a dark smile on his face, “I need to fuck you like you’re mine. Show you I mean it,” he said as he pulled your legs up, calves pressed over his shoulders, and began to roll his hips into you. The springs in the couch cushions danced under your back and creaked as he picked up the pace.

You coughed out a moan and squished your exposed tits together. You still had on your shirt, tugged up above your tits, and your underwear, and Harry still had his clothes on, while his shirt was unbuttoned and his pants were down past his bottom. You were both the picture of neediness, not even bothering to take the time to undress fully.

Harry held onto the back of your thighs as he plunged in and pulled back to his tip, before plowing his cock into the hilt again. Every time his hips met the back of your thighs the sticky sound of your arousal on his cock was unmistakable.

He swatted at your thigh when you began to slip from his hold, your leg wobbling free from his shoulder, “Stay put. Keep your legs up,” he grunted.

You gasped and nodded, “Yes, sir…”

Every dip of himself into you felt divine. His cock pushing into your insides and slipping into your guts repeatedly was noisy and delicious.

Harry moaned, unable to hold back how good it felt to be inside of you.

You looked up at him and saw how gone he was. His soft raspberry lips were parted and his eyes were dark as he gasped and panted. His thrusts were becoming harder and sloppier and he was breathing hard. You wanted his come.

“Need it, Harry. Give it to me…” you whispered as you brought a hand up to his jaw and he kept his eyes on you. He was shaking with desire you could feel it.

“Fuck, honey…” he groaned and clenched his jaw. He wanted to make you come first but his own emotions were getting him keyed up and he was already leaking a steady stream of pre-come into your pussy with each stroke.

He stopped his motions and sucked in a sharp breath as he lowered a hand to your clit, “Need you to come first, okay? Then I’m gonna fill your pussy like you need, baby.”

With his thumb on your clit you cooed in ecstasy. You had no idea what you were saying as you felt electricity begin to thrum through your body, winding its way around your ribs and down your spine, and into your tummy where sparks began to turn to fire as he began thrusting into you again.

“Want you to fuck your come deep into my womb. Breed my pussy, sir…” You moaned your words unable to stop it.

Harry grunted and he popped his eyes open to look down at you in shock. He knew you were on birth control and knew it was highly improbable but still, your words had him reeling and feeding his breeding kink, something that had been dormant for many years. You tended to awaken old feelings he once relished in.

And he wasn’t sure if he actually want to get you knocked up but just hearing that fed into something deep and instinctual that had been pushed down. Something primal. You had unleashed a tsunami of emotions and now this?

He began to hammer into you and your legs fell from his shoulders as he fucked himself down into you so hard you saw stars and you gurgled as you came around him, unable to voice your dirty thoughts as your pussy pulsed and squeezed around him.

“Fuck!” Harry barked loudly when he felt you come and he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that you’d tapped into, “Gonna knock you up. Fuck you til your all bred and full with my cock and my babies. That what you want? Stuffed full of me in every fucking way?”

Harry throbbed as he finally poured into you, pushing his cock into you as deep as he could manage, balls tucked up against your bum as he whimpered with each tight roll of his hips upward. Imagining his come seeping into you and having it stick. Getting you pregnant. Making you his forever.

He collapsed over you and slid his tongue into your mouth as you brought your arms around his back to keep him close.

Pure hedonistic, rapturous oblivion.

Your heart pounded as he kissed you and you felt him trembling in your arms just as you were in his.

You longed to speak the words you knew you felt but it wasn’t right. You’d want him to say it first. Wanted him to admit it. Wanted him to want you.

But Harry was feeling it all heavy and deeply just the same. His own longing to show you exactly what he felt and that even though he’d play off those words he spoke as he came inside of you, he meant it in a way. He’d love to see you pregnant with his babies. Have you as his own for good. Tell you what he felt deep down.

You smiled into the kiss and Harry pushed himself up to look down at you.

“Just what I needed, Harry. Always know how to make me feel so so good.” You pushed your fingers into his hair and gazed into his pretty eyes and watched as his grin widened.

“Mmm… Ditto. Need you more than just once a week, baby. I did mean that you know.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes to let that idea sink in a bit. Harry grunted as he moved and you suddenly felt a pinch at the back of your thigh and you laughed, opening your eyes.

“Did you hear me?”

You nodded, “Yes, sir. Three times a week is what you said. That sounds like as close to perfection as I could ask for.”

Harry nudged his nose to yours and let out a soft breath, “Just want more of you, baby.”

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sordidmusings · 1 year ago

Text

Age Gap (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: for @soft-mafia since she wanted more age gap Buggy! Mostly bulleted like a headcanon but has two little drabbles sprinkled in cuz I couldn't help myself. I will be posting a continuation of this actually writing out the scene mentioned at the end, but I wanted to get this out now.

Word count: ~2.6 k

Warnings: obviously an age gap but the younger one is mentioned to be in their 20s, fem!reader, NSFW mentioned at the end, alcohol consumption, probably (hopefully) silly humor, the touch starved shows hardcore for a second there, tried my best to get Buggy right but you know how it be especially because he exists as an amalgam of LA and anime Buggy in my brain

Now come get y'all dopamine

I imagine you joined Buggy’s crew largely looking for that found family goodness then found out how much you’d never been taken care of and how much you craved it

One day while going through the different acts you were learning from the crew trying to find what stuck, you took a decent fall. Not the kind that breaks bones, but the kind where you just gotta lay there a sec and recalibrate how you got to this point

After some laughter (I mean come on it is a crew curated by Buggy and they could tell it wasn’t serious), the nearby crew surrounded you to check on you. While you were breathlessly saying you’re fine from your position on the floor, they parted to reveal the Captain coming to your side:

Buggy bent down to loom over you. The shadow he cast over your face was a welcome break from the bright overhead lights. You just wished that the way they haloed him didn’t make it so hard to see the laughter on his face.

“Good form! I think we could just throw you around to see you flail like that as your act - you’d be our finest comedy routine.” His voice was thick with sarcasm and giggles. However, his detached arms were gentle when they lifted you from the floor. They changed to posing outstretched with his hands on your shoulders and he walked into them to reattach. He looked you up and down before circling around you, all the while his hands were nudging you this way and that for his inspection. Once he was back at your front, he changed to brushing some dirt from your arms and shoulders. You didn’t speak for fear of interrupting this attention you were receiving from him. He seemed to suddenly snap to clarity anyway.

“RIGHT.” Vocal control? Who is she? Buggy doesn’t know her. “So either get better at what you’re doing or actually fall on purpose. Wouldn’t want you fucking up that money maker.” He was already walking away when one detached hand gave your cheek two brisk pats and he made himself scarce.

It was obvious to you and everyone else how much you ate up his attention. The soft look you were still giving the direction he went in was damn near sickening. It was then you understood your purpose here - becoming Buggy’s spoiled lapdog.

Luckily for you, that was also the moment Buggy realized how his body buzzed when he touched you and how he lit up when you looked up at him with pretty, wide eyes.

Unluckily, he also decided that being near you would lead down a dangerous route of him needing more and more of you and he was positive that he was just being some old creep over a pretty little thing like you.

This led to a game where Buggy would try to keep you at arm’s length while he battled both his own desire to be around you and your seemingly supernatural ability to just appear next to him at all times.

He wasn’t great at the arms distance thing even when he thought he was nailing it because nailing it to him was being in his natural space as the center of attention and only checking (immediately and desperately) that you were watching and approving of whatever he was doing. The way his head would always snap to you for your reaction was neither subtle nor discouraging to your rapidly growing infatuation.

You decided that orbiting his personal space wasn’t working well enough. Sure, he’d give you a hit of what you wanted with some fleeting touches and mostly disguised compliments but you needed more. Hurting yourself intentionally so that he would take care of you didn’t seem like a sustainable option, so you settled on playing his own game. Time to practice owning a room.

This could be a dangerous game to play. You were certain that blatantly taking the spotlight would just make him upset with you not that you’d mind him taking that out on you. You settled on more subtle things like spreading your attention more through the crew instead of mostly on him, being more focused and daring in your training, participating more in the many games that broke out when the alcohol did, and dressing a bit more intentionally (whether that’s flashier colors, eye-catching accessories, bold makeup, new or intricate hairstyles, etc.)

The boldest card you played was feeding more into any of the flirting you received.

He has a freak show, yes, but have you ever seen how fine circus performers are?? Full fun costumes are It and also the tasks they have to perform either help them get conventionally attractive bodies and/or the rizz that comes with performing feats (just look at the traction Fryboy has gained with women like damn why he kinda-). Due to that, you’re around attractive people all the time.

While the flirting is for the purpose of pushing Buggy’s buttons, you must admit that it wasn’t a hard habit to keep up and may help inflate your ego.

Your attempts have mixed results. Buggy’s desire to claim you grew but so did his insecurity

In his mind, you look more natural next to one of the younger lookers in his crew while he’s certain the pair of you must look ridiculous together. It’s this very insecurity that’s gonna make it necessary for you to bluntly and shamelessly throw yourself at him both repeatedly and with no room for questions:

You have no clue what else you can do to get through that thick skull of his. You’re on your knees, quite literally at that. You figured that kneeling in front of that circus throne while he’s laid himself all over it would be enough to break the man. Enough to break any man, really, but he’s still finding ways to deflect you.

Buggy nodded his head to a nearby open seat. “You know they made chairs to be comfortable and your dumb ass is on the floor. That drunk already?” he snorted. Maybe choosing to do this during one of the many celebrations (you think this one is for one week of no one pregaming for show runs. ironic.) was a bad idea. You had been banking on some drinks loosening up whatever was holding him back. It always made you snicker when you entertained the idea of it being from a sense of propriety. Checking in on the situation, you could see how all the chaos going on around you two made it easier for him to keep his eyes off of you and his ears unfocused. Earlier, you had counted it as a plus that working up a buzz would help you bulldoze through his stubbornness. You had forgotten that any alcohol in your system would make for the perfect excuse for him to write you off.

“I’ve barely started my third drink,” you started with a pout, “and I’d be ashamed if that’s enough to get me drunk after all the time spent on your crew.”

“Then you are just being stupid.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Okay. Attention didn’t work. Compliments didn’t work. Kneeling didn’t work. Time for some big guns.

You shifted to the side so you’d be sitting towards your left hip with your bent legs beside you. Your drink found its way to your right hand but, most importantly, your chin found its way onto Buggy’s left knee. It brought you so close to where you’d really like to put yourself to work, and, man, was the temptation strong with the way his right leg was slung over the armrest of his seat. How did he expect you to stay away when he was serving himself up on a platter like this?

Buggy was definitely giving you his undivided attention now. His gaze was dark and slightly accusatory. The lighting matched with his makeup made him look more dangerous than usual. The nerves it sent through you might have had you back right off. Instead you held your ground because you saw his pulse hammer against his neck. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed. You saw his pink tongue contrast with red as he licked his lips and gave a shaky exhale.

While you were starting to settle into your bold move, Buggy was becoming more and more antsy. His grip on his glass became white-knuckled under his gloves, and he tried to give himself time to think by taking a huge gulp of his drink. Why did you have to look at him like that? So pleading? The angle from his lap made your lashes darken your eyes and it was impossible for him to keep the image of your hooded gaze about a foot closer to him out of his head. What did you want from him? You’d denied his accusations about money or intel so what the fuck could it be? Was this a game? Get in the pants of the Captain for preferential treatment and go back to whoever else you had in your palm on the crew to laugh about him falling for it?

You noticed his mood turning sour so you decided to interrupt whatever was tumbling around his head. “I think I could get much more comfy right here.” To prove a point, you dragged your chin to his inner thigh, right above his knee, and snuggled your cheek into his leg. His pants weren’t the softest against your skin but he was so addictingly warm through them. Your eyes briefly fluttered shut to enjoy the sensation before you looked back up at him and flirtatiously said, “I’m comfiest next to you.”

His hands itched with the need to grab you by the hair and force your face right where he needed you. Instead he scoffed at you. “Suuuuure. And why’s that, princess?”

“You make me smile,” you admitted immediately. His startled gaze met your lovesick one and you realized what you said and how quickly you said it. Too close to emotionally vulnerable; time to backtrack a touch. You want to get the role as his trophy before you even attempt to approach the title of Love of His Life. “You also said that you take care of your crew and I’m on your crew, right? So you’ll take care of me.”

The cheeky smile you spoke through melted him. An achingly deep sigh left him while his right hand detached from the arm to deposit his drink on the floor next to you. Quickly, it flew back to its limb. Both of your hearts pumped fire through your chests as he reached that hand out towards you. Buggy took his time stroking his fingers from your forehead into your hair. When his palm came down to join the gesture, you were very happy to realize that his hand was just as warm as the thigh still under your cheek. You shuffled closer so your legs squeezed in between his foot and the left leg of his throne. Buggy shuddered when he felt your fingertips graze the back of his calf and spread out like a star so you could grab it. Using your new grip, you snuggled more firmly into his leg and let yourself buzz off of getting this new touch from your Captain.

Ulterior motives be damned, Buggy couldn’t give them any credence when you looked so happy to sit at his feet and receive such a simple touch. He should probably laugh and call you a needy puppy to regain some control over the situation. Instead, he slipped his hand down the side of your head. He massaged his fingertips into the base of your skull and said, “I’ll take care of you, little star.”

Once he has accepted that you’re serious there will be jokes about the dynamic but do not be fooled - he can only dish it out and WILL spiral if he receives any type of comment about how much older he is (the word geriatric is punishable by death)

Sometimes the joke is him patronizingly treating you like a child (you almost socked him right there at the dinner table when some food came at your face with accompanying airplane noises)

Sometimes it’s calling you a gold digger (“then where’s my allowance, huh?” “OH so my gIFTS AREN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW? YOU were the one ACTUALLY CRYING over me buying you that wonky ass stuffed seal with the lopsided face!!” “HIS NAME IS JERRY AND YOU WILL SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT”)

Sometimes it’s just dumb shit like pointing at the type of girl’s clothing store that has made a contract with God to own all the pinks and pastels the world has to offer before turning to you straight faced and asking if you want to stop in to look. Any way this man can think to goof, he will.

And it’s tooooootally a coping mechanism to process the fact that he’s nearly forty and dating a twenty-something and not at all because joking around with you has become one of his basic survival needs

The dynamic ends up helping both of y’all feel special - you have a hot, boisterous, spotlight-stealing pirate captain pampering (and then making a mess of) you while he gets a beautiful, capable, eye-catching young thing looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky

Nothing goes to Buggy’s head more than when you walk into a room full of people, attractive ones especially, and only see him.

He loves anything that makes it obvious to others that you are his, whether that's him draped over you, you draped over him, red stains on the back of your hands, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, having his jolly roger on your outfit, having you in his hat or coat

This very much extends to him wanting anyone and everyone to overhear you in the bedroom. Everyone should know you're his and he's the only one who can make you feel so good

Don't worry, they'll also get the message that he's yours from all the moaning and praises

He gives you endless pet names but always comes back to “sweet stuff”, “sweets”, “princess”, “star”, “prima donna” (affectionate), “prima donna” (derogatory), and anything preceded by “little” (“little showstopper”, “little tease”, very rarely “little girl” if he feels especially like exerting power over you)

He prides himself on making you feel cared for and safe. Instead of feeling like a chore he has to do because he’s in the ‘older man’ role, he loves the way you preen under his attention and how you happily return the favor.

When in the Cross Guild Era, Buggy started going to all meetings with you by his side then on his thigh. It was a good defensive strategy because the other two seemed more hesitant to throttle him if you were in the way, but lets be real this man is also clingy and loves showing you off too.

At first he found it offensive that Mihawk and Croc were so disbelieving at the sight of you happily perched on your captain’s lap but then it made him the smuggest motherfucker when he would see their eyes trail over you knowing that they can only look and he can touch however he wants. This leads to him pushing until he hit your boundary at leaving very visible marks on you

One time he fucked you stupid right before a meeting so that you wouldn’t think about the bite mark surrounded by red makeup that kept playing peekaboo with your shirt collar (or the red smears between your thighs that showed whenever you shifted your legs)

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #opla buggy #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #my writing #fem reader #afab reader #x reader

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the-kr8tor · 1 month ago

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Other Side of Paradise

Pairing: Robin Hood! Hobie Brown x Princess! Reader

Word count: 7.3k

Summary: Being a princess is all fine and dandy until you're about to get married off like a brood mare. Will the handsome thief that stole your heart help get you out of a loveless marriage? Or perhaps you'll be the one stealing his heart?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), robin hood au, royalty au, part 1 of part 2, talks of marriage, reader has unnamed siblings, a bit ooc Hobie at the start but it's for the plot, fluff.

A/N: This oneshot is so long I had to cut it in half lol enjoy! (Part 2 will be up in a few days)

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Part one >>> Part two

Being a princess in one of the largest and most powerful countries in the world, you'd think that your family, the royal family would treat you like the finest jewel in their treasury. But no, they treat you like their doormat, a pretty little thing to put atop their mantle only to be forgotten until it's time to show you off.

You are a princess, draped in the finest silks and chiffon, jewels in your hair, golden rings around each of your fingers. But the one missing, the one that your family truly only cares about is a diamond on your ring finger that has remained empty ever since your debut out into society.

You're the thirteenth child of the thirteenth king and queen, an unlucky number perhaps, but you find it lucky since you're the youngest out of the thirteen, hence your empty ring finger. But after your last elder sister got married, all the attention went to you when you didn't want them in the first place. You went from just co-existing with your family, to you being the center of attention in the span of a few hours after they sent your dear sister off to her husband. From your brothers to your sisters, they've all been wed. Even if they had no say in who they were going to marry, they went with few little tears. Some married kings, princesses, and a few were shipped off to dukes and duchesses. Your parents were determined to fill every noble and royal household with their own blood. And unfortunately, you're not an exception.

With your corset poking you at your side, dress weighing heavy, and crown falling off your head every few minutes; you look like you're about to scream and shout in the middle of the throne room. You might as well when you roam your eyes at the marriage candidates staring at you like you're the last slice of pie at the tavern. Every eligible noble man around the world has come vying for your hand, or more like your dowry for that matter.

For once in your life, they didn't make you sit at the far back where you're free to whip out a book and read without interruption. But now, you sit front and center next to your royal parents, their heads held high, jewels shining in the sunlight that bathes the whole throne room in its kaleidoscope light coming from the colourful stained glass window that depicts your age-old family history. Some of its bits were conveniently taken out by your ancestors when they ‘took over’ the throne from their rightful heir and uncle. Maybe that's why they had to send off most of your siblings to faraway countries to prevent infighting amongst your family when the throne inevitably goes empty. You won't fight for it though, who would want to rule a country standing on the precipice of war and famine every year?

You claw at your wrist, the itchy lace turning your skin bumpy and agitated. Your mother clears her throat, head standing still while her eyes throw daggers at you.

“I think I'm allergic to this fabric, mother.” You whisper, but the vast throne room practically announces your uncomfortable self with an echo of your voice.

Swallowing thickly, you see the crowd of nobles standing to the sides turn their heads at you. Their golden suits and gowns just screams ‘I’m important!’ to everyone in the room. But when everyone thinks they're important, does that mean that everyone outside the room is insignificant? You don't think so, but everyone and their blue blooded self thinks the world revolves around them.

“Hush,” your mother speaks plainly, showing the nobles that you are obedient and raised well. Well, you were technically not raised by her or your father, they barely know you except for the one fact that you're their child. They practically tossed you to your wet nurse and governess the second you were launched out of the queen. “Sit still, we may find you a husband today.”

You inhale, fixing your posture. You miss your library. “But they look…” your eyes glance at the men waiting at the far end of the hall. Finding that none of them would suit you at all. Maybe your governess was right, reading romance novels would give you high and impossible expectations for a romantic partner. Some were too blond, wore too many ruby rings on their fingers, too much perfume that you could smell them from where you sat. Or that the feathers on their hats are too big, or they wear too much green, or their pants are too blue for your taste. Maybe it's not too late to run away and become a nun. “...too much.”

Your mother, the queen, pats the back of your hand. The most affection she has given you in your entire life. “They all come from respectable families,” in other words, rich. “And most importantly, noble.”

“Can I still take sister Thena’s offer and become a nun instead?” You ask wryly, still trying to whisper your words.

She smiles sweetly, or what you call, her restrained smile that she gives to her courtiers. “If you don't quiet down and find a husband instead, lord Melbourne is looking for a wife.”

You gasp, head turning to look at the said lord who looks like he could be your great grandfather. “No, you wouldn't.” He catches your eyes, winking at you through his wrinkles. You make a face, scrunching up your nose and looking away at the man.

“I would dare,” she raises an eyebrow. “It's either him, or you pick a handsome young man from the line up.”

Your father finally catches on, he leans back on his throne to look at you over your mother. “It's for your own good, darling. We don't want you to die a spinster.”

You've noticed that he has a habit of calling you ‘darling’ these days. Perhaps he finally forgot your name. That's probably it since he named three of your brothers Charles because he forgot he already used that name before. Or maybe the gout has gotten to his brain.

“Would it be so bad to die a spinster?” They both crane their heads at you, brows slightly furrowed and mouths faintly agape in surprise. “I mean, you don't have to send a letter to me every year since I'll be staying here with you.” Their expressions sours further. “or maybe I could find a ship and sail the seas under our banner—” they both shake their heads, even your father's advisor shakes his head at you. So you give up, for now at least. “Or maybe I could just go and be a jester for one of my siblings.” You manage to whisper this time. Your words carried through the wind with no one to hear it but you. Or so you thought.

With the sound of the trumpets, the courting begins. Grasping your chair, you huff in place when the first man struts his stuff on the red carpeted floor.

You notice that he bows perfectly. He wears a dark blue coat over a silver hue tunic, his shoes are shined to perfection, smile even brighter than his leather shoes. “Eugene, Viscount of Van Horn, my princess.”

“A pleasure,” you say, unamused.

“I bring gifts from my land,” his attendants bring out crates full of oysters and crabs still writhing within its metal confines. “There will be more once we are married.” Your parents seemed to like it when they smiled at the slimy crates. “And a portrait of myself to better help you choose a husband.” You raise a brow, and sure enough, his people bring out a large square shaped thing that is hidden behind a white cloth. Eugene clicks his fingers, prompting them to reveal the gaudiest painting of someone ever etched on parchment.

It's not a regular portrait per se, the size is questionable, yes, but the contents of it makes you and everyone in the throne room tilt their heads to the side to see it clearly. The frame is riddled with rubies, and the painting, well, Eugene hangs upside down from a sycamore tree branch, grinning like how he is right now, from ear to ear. He's wearing the same thing as in the portrait too, at least his features are accurate. You know your mother does not look remotely similar to her portrait that hangs in the great hall.

“Uh?” You blink and every time you do, you see more and more questionable details. Like how there's somehow a field of pink roses below him, and how the sun shines to the west even though the shadow doesn't line up accurately. Some paintings have secret meanings weaved into it. Maybe he's trying to say that he can defy the rules of the world?

“You see,” Eugene waves his hand around the portrait, explaining its contents when you still look confused. “This shows my physical prowess,” he points at himself hanging upside down by just his legs. “And the sycamore tree represents—”

“Thank you, Viscount.” Thankfully, your father stops him from further getting into the artistic meanings of his painting. “We shall take your offer into consideration.” He smiles, and with a wave of his hand, his men shoo the viscount away to the side. “Next suitor.”

No one steps forward, instead, you see the waiting men move about, looking like there's someone making their way out the front. You wait for him to come out. And who greets you has you pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Henry, duke of Plainsboro, my princess.” The seemingly six year old lord bows down to you.

“Him?” You gesture towards the child. “He's a baby.”

“Pardon me, princess. But I'm eight and a half.”

“Oh my apologies, my lord.” You clear your throat, head turning towards your parents. “He's a toddler!” Your mother hushes you down, giving you a pointed look of disapproval. “Mother, surely we're not considering him.”

“What is your offer, lord Henry?” The king asks, ignoring your protests.

The young lord grins toothily, you scoff when you see that he's still missing his front tooth. “I guess I'm the invisible princess now.” There's only been two suitors so far and you already feel like your soul is getting sucked right out of your miserable body.

“Two hundred livestock, including my prized stallion. And half a million coins for your royal coffers.” The toddler has money to burn. You gotta hand it to his governess or whoever taught him how to converse, he speaks better than your older brothers combined.

That seemed to get your parents attention. “Oh dear god no, not the baby, surely?”

“Hush,” your father waves you off. “We'll highly consider your generous offer, my lord.” He smiles at the child, and you don't even hide your displeasure anymore.

You fight the urge to groan loudly and throw a fit in front of all the nobles. Instead, you huff and silently cry in your plush golden seat.

The next man with a beard starts to walk towards the front, but another man pushes him away and gets to the front before the other noble could say something.

This one intrigues you, something from his walk, up to his confident smirk doesn't seem to scream ‘I'm important! And you must pay heed to me!’ kind of air around him. He seems genuine when he smiles at you, you find it contagious, bringing a smile to tug at your own lips. His hazel eyes appear to be piercing through you without the familiar uneasiness the rest of the courtiers give you. And there's something from his bow that almost makes you giggle in place. It's like he's mocking the way the previous nobles bowed to you and your parents.

“Hobart, lord of Doverhill.” His voice brings a heavy accent, it's smooth in your ears but weighs heavy on your chest. A comfortable heaviness that brings solace. He flicks his eyes at you, his pupils catch the light perfectly, making his multi-colored eyes glow from the stained glass windows. “My princess.” He acknowledges you, and for some reason, your heart leaps from your chest.

He wears a simple red and white suit with silver inlays stitched at the hem. He has a bird engraved on his cufflinks, and shoes that are scuffed but presentable. You look closely at him to read him better, and you spot that his suit doesn't seem to fit right on him, the length is too short, and his trousers look like it stops right above his ankles. Nonetheless, he looks good in it. *Incredibly good.

“What is your offer lord…” your father knits his brows, briefly looking at his adviser who is equally as confused, mumbling a ‘where in the world is Doverhill?’ “Hobart?”

“Nothin’. I offer you nothin.’” He says confidently, smirk staying on his lips. If you took your eyes off him for a second, you wouldn't have seen his quick wink thrown at you. You think the other suitors should just go home.

“Is this a jape?” Your mother scoffs, manicured nails pointing accusingly at him.

“No, but I do have somethin’ for her.” He glances at you, eyes staying on you. “My love, unconditional love that never wavers. I offer nothin’ but warmth to tide her over durin’ the winter, a full belly so she'll never starve nor hunger for food or affections. And I offer smiles and laughter that will echo around our manor.”

You just noticed that he's now standing in front of you with the light shining behind him, giving him a halo of sunlight. “And time, time to just live and be ourselves beyond our titles.” He reaches for your hand, thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes never leaving your own as he kisses the back of your hand gently. You're glad you hid your gloves from your handmaiden before leaving your apartments.

This is your romantic novel moment.

You're speechless. “I—”

“Ask me whatever you want and I shall grant it.” He whispers to you and only you.

“I choose him!” You say boisterously, heart thrumming in your chest. The crowd yells their various protests, murmurs from the court that you ignore. Without missing a beat, you look over to your bewildered parents. “Can I promenade with Lord Hobart?”

“B–but he offers nothing—”

You don't wait for their approval, instead, you grasp his hand tightly around yours and with a bow to your king and queen, you walk off hand in hand with the lord of Doverhill.

It's safe to say that everyone was left gawking at the door you left in. It was a full minute before anyone got wise and followed you towards the gardens.

—

By the time you make it towards the inner halls of the castle, every guard and noble are prowling for you and your new acquaintance. Gossip thrives at court, and your family's home is not an exception. You lead him side by side, you've let go of him after it quieted down in the throne room. Smiling, there's a pep in your step as you pass by your siblings’ former apartments.

“What are your hobbies, Lord Hobart?” Your hands are tucked behind you, hiding your twiddling thumbs from the handsome lord.

“Call me Hobie.” He glances at you, brilliant pools of hazels catching the sun's rays. “I play the lute.”

“How peculiar,” you grin wider. “It’s definitely interesting though.”

He raises a brow. “The name or the hobby?” Chuckling, he maneuvers around you, hands hidden in his pockets as he appears from behind you. He plays it off nonchalantly, grinning at you as he twirls back into his place next to you. You two now have switched places with him walking next to the rooms and with you right beside the tall windows that faces the glimmering sea outside.

“The latter. I like your nickname.”

“Thank you, love.” Your heart leaps in your chest, you hope he doesn't notice. “Better than hanging upside down on a bloody sycamore tree.”

Your laughter echoes further down the hall, “yes, that was incredibly odd. The portrait had me in stitches.”

“Ironic too,” he smirks, eyes glancing about the hallway. Perhaps he just likes the decor and the ancient oil paintings on the walls.

“How so?”

“Sycamore represents wisdom. I don't think that man had any, based on his taste in art.”

You giggle, and you see him smile softly at you. “I learned something new today.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, surprisingly, he does the same. “Do you read, my lord? I'm partial to it myself.”

“Whenever I can. But ‘m a bit busy these days.”

“Ah yes, a land to tend to and people to take care of.” You clasp your hands together as he leads you down the long hallway. Hobie nods with a gentle smile as if he's reminiscing about his home.

“How ‘bout you, d’you have people you take care of?”

A weird question to ask, but you answer it nonetheless. “I guess I did, my siblings, before they all left to marry. We took care of eachother. Made sure that everyone was heard, made sure to fight for eachother. But when it was time to marry, none of them could fight it even when we all dared to go against it.” You realize what you've said, back tracking. “I must apologize, that was… a lot.”

He shakes his head gently, the simple silver necklace around his neck shines brightly in the sun. “It's not a lot. It's good to have people that care for you, and for you to care for them. That's just family.”

You smile at his words, the pit in your stomach grows as you miss your siblings dearly.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, you're taking in his entire presence. He's a lot nicer and sweeter than you thought he would be when you thought he was just playing for your favour. He's so close to you that you can see every line, indent and mole on his chiseled face. And how he smells like freshly cut pine and like dandelions in the spring. You could only hope that he likes you back, he may save you from a lifetime of a loveless and cold marriage.

You two pass by the jewel apartments where your family’s most precious crown jewels are safely kept under lock and key. There's a couple of guards standing by the large metal doorway, but you don't seem to recognize them since you always kept to yourself most of the time and would always watch people during feasts and balls while everyone else were schmoozing. Somehow, their uniforms seem to not fit them well. One even had his shirt inside out.

You hear something jingling, but before you could follow the sound, Hobie tilts his head towards you with a lopsided smile while his hand ghosts over the small of your back. Guiding you away towards the sweet smelling gardens.

Hobie pushes the doors open, and the sun greets the two of you as birds chirp and fly overhead. The white puffy clouds provide shade, and the flowers are in full bloom, from the tulips down to the sunflowers that are as tall as him.

He whistles out, and you watch his awestruck face at the sheer beauty of the renowned garden. “You've got a fountain ‘ere?” he gestures with his head towards the bubbling marble fountain with two cherubs spitting water at the top of its spire.

You smile at his wonderment. “Yes, my great grandfather commissioned it for my great grandmother. It's a bit gaudy but the sentiment behind it is sweet.”

Hobie walks closer to it as leaves crunch underfoot and with the sun kissing his skin. He waves his hand over the falling water, letting the cool water drench his sleeve as it trickles down, not caring about it at all.

“Is this drinkable water?” He asks blatantly.

“I don't know, but it is clean.”

His eyes are downcast, looking like he's in deep thought while the water splashes his hand. “Did you know that down in the streets where your subjects live they survive everyday on dirty water?” His tone changes, brows creased. “And over ‘ere you're using it for a bloody fountain.”

You blink, inhaling deeply. “I–I didn't know. I'll make sure my father knows about this—”

“Don't worry, princess, he knows.” He spits out your title with malice.

“I'm sorry if I offended you,” you grasp tightly at your heavy skirt. “Forgive me.”

Hobie sighs, face softening, and eyes observing your expression as if he's trying to find a lie within your eyes. “You should tell him. He might actually do somethin' this time.”

“I will—”

You hear leaves crunch a few ways away, once you look over at where it came from, you see a bulbous skirt hiding behind a topiary of a rabbit.

“This place has eyes and ears.” He holds out his hand for you, waiting, not taking forcibly. “I know a place where we can hide.”

“You know? It's your first time here, is it not?”

“I heard there's a hedge maze ‘ere. One of the nobles couldn't stop talkin’ about it.”

Your apprehension fades, and you take his hand gingerly. Fingers sliding on his palm, feeling every calluses and scar on his skin. When he cups your hand gently, you swear you felt sparks fly in your vision.

Hobie's chest rises and falls slowly as he takes you in under the soft sunlight. “C’mon, love.”

With his hand upon yours, you let him guide you further and further into the emerald labyrinth. You watch him from behind, eyes trained on him and only him. Perhaps this is what your sisters and governess told you about when you know a person could be that person your heart yearns for. Or maybe this is your own romance novel riddled mind making up a delusion through rose coloured glass. Either way, you find him ethereal, like a sea captain, or perhaps a god walking amongst men.

He expertly dodges the nosey courtiers, twisting and turning around the hedges as if he had been there or have studied the labyrinth.

With you in tow, he stops when you both reach the middle of the maze where a statue of the minotaur lies defeated with Theseus standing above him with his sword embedded in the Minotaur's shoulder blade. The creature's face is contorted into pain and anguish as tears fall down on the grassy ground.

“This one is my favourite,” you say while he stares at the old statue. “It's been here for a long time, and it'll remain here even when I'm gone.” His hand still holds onto you as you turn towards him. “Why exactly did you join the courting?” He's taken aback. “Those men out there wanted my dowry, or my royal blood to be passed down to their children. But I don't see that want in you, Hobie. You're different from them. Like you've lived a thousand lifetimes.”

“‘m not a vampire or immortal if that's what you're askin'”

You grin, tamping down your laughter. “The way you walk, stand, and look at things. There's no sense of urgency nor you give insincere interest, it's all earnest. And you listened to me, no one ever listens to me.” You brush your hand across the scar on the back of his hand. “You seem to enjoy everything like it's your last day, you don't walk with haste like the rest of them. Time goes very quickly here but with you, it's at a snail’s pace. As if you have all the time in the world.” You breathe, eyes watching his unreadable expression. “I think I know who you are, Hobie.”

He laughs, grinning widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Our intel did say you're brilliant. The forgotten princess.”

Surprisingly, you grin back, standing toe to toe with him. “You’ve been the thorn on my father's side for years. The blue bloods hate you but the common people adore you. I never thought I'd look at the eyes of the man who wishes for my family's downfall.”

He brushes your cheek with his knuckles. “This the real you, princess?”

“I've been me the entire time, have you?” You lean forward, looking at him through your lashes. “Is this the real you, Hobie? Or shall I call you by your pseudonym?”

He chuckles deeply. Hands raising up in mock surrender. “You got me.”

The bells in the highest tower ring three times, signaling a thief within the walls of the castle. “And here I thought I was wrong.”

Hobie tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “I have to take you with us now.”

“Oh woe is me.” You feign fear a bit too on the nose to be considered genuine. It's better to be taken in by a known generous thief than to marry a stranger who only wants you for your womb.

“Thought you'd be difficult.” He chuckles as he hears thunderous footsteps running towards the center of the maze. “May I?” He gestures for you, and you shrug, putting your hands behind your back. “Why are you cooperatin’?”

“Maybe I've got a proposition for you and your crew.”

He stands behind you, holding your wrists in one hand while he brandishes a dagger at your throat. He doesn't threaten you with it or poke and prod at your skin. He just points the dagger at one of the exits through the hedge maze where you surmise a dozen or so guards race through to get to you.

“What d’you want?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Freedom.” You whisper back.

“What are you offerin’?”

You chortle, feeling his rough hands softly enclose around your wrists. Leaning back, you look at him upside down. “That depends on who shows up in front of us.”

With trepidation, Hobie points his dagger at the exit while he backs himself into the balcony that faces the sea. His back hits the warm stone of the bannister, and he tightens his hold on the dagger.

Footsteps rush in, and out comes the same guards you saw in front of the crown jewel room, together with a few more people dressed as staff and even a chef. They heave and pant, smiling once they see him. Hobie puts his dagger down to his side, mirroring their relieved smiles.

You notice the lack of crowns and jewels in their satchels. “No luck?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Holy shit, you actually got the princess to like you.” A girl who must've been no older than sixteen walks towards you, her blond hair is tied into a neat bun to mimic the look of the staff but her dagger strapped to her side says otherwise. “It's a pleasure, your highness.”

“Likewise—”

“What happened?” Hobie interrupts your friendly greeting.

“Two words, a lot of fucking guards.” The one with the dark hair and blue eyes says while he exhales like he tried to win a race against a horse.

“That's more than two words, moron.” A woman clad in black says, she winks when she meets with your eyes. “I guess we got something more precious.”

“Princess, meet the crew. Crew meet the princess.” Hobie says while he takes a rope from one of them. He tries your hands together, leaving enough wiggle room as to not hurt your wrists.

“No jewels but we got a princess. So plan C then?” A man wearing one of the guard uniforms says. He takes his hat off, revealing a priest’s halo under it.

“You've got a priest in your crew?” You ask, looking at Hobie. There's a lot more racing footsteps heading for the center of the maze, the guards are definitely the one marching towards you now. It's nice to be remembered sometimes.

“He lost a bet.” He just shrugs it off as if that answers your question. Looking at his crew, he addresses them, “there's nothin’ we can do now, we go to plan C.”

“Wait, what's plan C?” You ask, and your eyes widen when one by one, each member jumps off the balcony down to the cold depths. “W–wait, no, absolutely not!”

“This is plan C.” Hobie hobbles towards the edge of the balcony, arm holding you against him while you hear splashes from below.

“Alright, I change my mind! Put me down!” Now that you and Hobie are the only ones left on the balcony, he carries you as he lifts himself over the balcony edge. Standing up with you in his arms, you look down for a second and vertigo shifts your vision into a blurry mess. You don't even notice that you're clutching onto his chest and hiding your face into the fabric of his suit.

“Halt!” A guard yells above the rushing blood in your ears. You hear swords getting unsheathed, and angry words thrown at the man you're currently clutching onto.

With his hands holding you, Hobie laughs, “hold your breath, princess!” He jumps over the balcony backwards despite your screaming.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, soul leaving your body as you fall. Hobie's cackling echoes while the winds rush past your ears, heartbeat thudding, and face hidden on his chest, you fall into the cold depths, chill stinging your skin. And the last thing you see before the darkness envelopes you is his hand reaching for your own in the cold bitter blue of the sea.

—

You wake up with a groan and smell distinctively like fish and seaweed. Your vision sways, seeing the ground rock too, you surmise that you're on the move. It's either that or the carriage you're on smells weirdly like horse dung.

You're placed on a horse with your hands tied behind your back, stomach hurting from the saddle, sun bearing down on you, and dress weighing like a ton from it being drenched in the water. You're uncomfortable to say the least. They didn't have the foresight to bind your feet though, you may have a chance to run if you're lucky enough to have one.

“Is this how you treat a princess?” You groggily say, head turning to see your captor.

Hobie glances down at you with a smirk, he's no longer in his frilly court clothes. Now he's donning a simple green undershirt that he purposely let loose on the collar, showing off his skin as it glimmers in the blazing sun. There's a quiver of arrows at his back, and a bow strapped on the side of his saddle that pokes your leg. His sword is settled at his hip, pommel engraved with a spider, looking like it's crawling right on the scuffed metal.

“Only to the fit ones.” His gloved hands are placed atop your back casually, using you like his personal table while he reigns in his horse. “ain't that right, Roach?” He addresses his blue dappled horse. Roach huffs, nodding as if he actually understood his rider. “See?”

You scoff, “you trained him to say yes to everything you say.” But you can't deny the heat blossoming on your cheeks. There's trotting next to you and you look to your side to see who it is.

“You’re awfully calm about all of this, princess.” The raven haired asks with a lopsided smile.

You shrug the best you can while in your position. “Just a regular day for me I suppose.”

“Have you been kidnapped before?” Someone asks behind you, his voice familiar while dry leaves crunch under the hooves.

“A handful of times, usually I'm with one or two of my siblings so my parents always pay the ransom. I don't know if they'll pay if it's only me now.”

“That's really sad actually.” He says, now you remember him being the one with the priest's hair who supposedly lost a bet.

Hobie chuckles from above, and you look up at him with a glare. He raises a brow and moves your head with his palm atop your head, turning it towards the woman riding next to you. You could only huff at him.

“What's your name, priest?” You ask, voice strained from the position.

“Just call me Ned, princess.”

“It's nice to meet you, Ned. I'm sorry about your hair.”

“It's alright. It's quite breezy actually.” He rubs his hand above his bald spot.

“How about you? What's your name?” You ask the pretty woman.

She smiles, dark eyes shadowed by the canopy above. “It's Yuri for you, gorgeous.”

You smile back genuinely. “You have such a pretty name—”

“Oi, stop makin' friends with ‘em.” Hobie flicks the shell of your ear, earning a gasp from you.

“Ow!” You hear their guffaws echo around the forest. “It's called being nice.”

“It's a tactic to make us bring you back to the palace. And it ain't workin’, princess.” He tilts his head down, mocking you with his stare.

You try to bite him but he's too fast to catch as he moves away before you could. “So that was your brilliant plan then? To charm me and take me as your hostage?” You say while trying to wiggle out of your binds.

“Not originally no, I was just there to distract you and for you to bring me to the hallways leading to the garden so I could toss them the keys I nicked from your shitty guards.” He explains plainly with a teasing smirk.

You chortle, mocking him back. “But you didn't take into account that there would be guards inside, huh? For a mastermind that’s a bit stupid of you.”

“This daft mastermind got somethin' better than jewels.” Hobie bends down, now eye to eye with you, you see every green and grey speck in his hazel eyes that reminds you of a cloudy night sky or a field of wildflowers in the summer. He blinks at your unusual soft gaze, words trapped in his throat as he sees your eyes glance briefly down at his lips. He swallows down his sudden rush of feelings, “I've got you, princess.”

You inhale, and you smell fresh dandelions in the air combined with pine swirling in the wind. “Not to disappoint you but they won't pay that much for me.”

“We don't need that much anyway,” he says, and unbeknownst to him, there's a dozen pairs of eyes watching the two of you interact. “Just enough for us to get by, love. We don't hoard wealth like your greedy father.”

“I—” before you could retort, (one that you're sure would be so clever that it'll blow him away.) A sharp whistle sounds out around the thick mossy forest. It sounds like a bird singing for a second, then when you look at where the sound came from right in front of you, a thick curtain of vines unfurl, revealing a small bustling village hidden behind the undergrowth. “What?”

“Welcome to Doverhill, princess.” He says, tapping the top of your head with his finger.

The horses move towards the large space just passing the vines, and you now see the village in its fullest form. Straw and wooden huts are built around the clearing, its chimneys softly billow out smoke; you guess that they need to lessen the use of their chimneys to stay hidden lest they want to be found in the middle of the dense forest. You look up and you spot a pair of large trees on each side with a crow's nest built atop it where archers guard and watch over the only entrance and exit in the whole village. The place is protected by large looming trees that grow around the area, every tree has lush canopies that protect the village from the intense sun and hide them from above. But the leaves still leave enough sunlight to pass through its greenery, it bathes the whole area with dappled lights that dance in the breeze.

You take note of the complete amenities, there's a stable and a barn further up ahead. Rows and upon rows of farmland where fruits and vegetables grow bountifully. There's also a bigger building on the right where you guess it could be the town hall. There are also a handful of wells placed around so that enough people would get their water without walking too far to grab a bucket. A few of the notable buildings are a blacksmith with its relentless hammer pounding onto a smoldering sword. A bakery with pastries perfectly lined up at the front, and even a tailor and a cobbler sitting next to each other.

As you get closer, you see an even bigger tree sitting in the middle of the village. Its large trunk is thick, bigger than anything you've ever seen. The leaves are viridescent and healthy, it looks like it's centuries old. There, within its branches is a tree house covered in vines with violets growing among its walls. Despite the green and browns that surround it, the lone tree house is painted with a brighter shade of blue and accents of red. The door is even in the same shade, and the ladder leading up to it is painted in alternating colours of the rainbow. It's beautiful and enticing to the eyes.

You see movement in your peripheral, taking your attention away from the tree house, the sound of childish laughter echo and you spot children running around while adults tend to their homes and garden. Once they hear the trotting of horses, they stop by to wave at you, or to Hobie and his crew more like.

“What is this place?”

“I told you, it's Doverhill.” He smiles back at the people, face turning back into a smirk when he returns his attention towards you. “What did you expect us to live? A basement of a tavern? The bloody sewers?”

“No,” you scoff while taking a whiff of a freshly baked bread cooling on a nearby windowsill. “I just didn't expect it to be this lively.” You turn towards him despite the ache in your neck. “How many people live here?”

“Close to two hundred.” He smiles proudly, eyes trained up front. “All these years and none of you royals knew that we've been in ‘ere, instead you all looked under rocks and behind waterfalls for us.”

You blink at the sheer size of the canopy that provides a dome like roof above. “It's beautiful.” With awe and delight in your eyes, Hobie could only look at you with a ghost of a smile.

“Hobart Larry Brown!” A yell interrupts your awestruck gaze, craning your neck to the source, you see an old woman with a cane quickly making her way towards the group. “Who the hell is that?!”

“Auntie!” Hobie abruptly stops his horse, the second he does, his crew disperses subtly, leaving him behind to face the wrath of the old woman. “Oi!” He tries to call them back but they're already gone. Probably hiding behind the houses to save their own skins. “We were out on that heist we were plannin’ remember, aunt Janet?”

“Don't patronize me, boy!” She points at Hobie with the tip of her cane, poking his chest as he raises his hands up in surrender. “Is this how you treat a girl? Get her off of that bloody horse.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, yeah?” He gets off the horse swiftly, and then carries you carefully with his hands on your hips.

You swear you stopped breathing the entire time he had his hands on you. As much as you want to hate him, you can't deny how he makes your heart jump in place.

Once you're back on your feet, you stretch your back, hearing the crack of the corset. Or maybe that's your back making that god awful sound. He chuckles, hiding his amusement on his shoulder with the excuse of wiping his sweat on his tunic.

“So,” Janet steps in front of you, grey eyes soft and genuine. “Who are you? A lady? A duchess?”

“A princess actually.”

“Oh lord have mercy.” She says underneath her breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You kidnapped *the princess? You fool!” With her cane, she strikes him down like a child being chastised. Hobie shields himself with his arms above his head while you laugh at his misfortune. More and more people come out to watch the spectacle, giggles and chortling echoing around the clearing. “I bet you didn't get any of the royal jewels and you settled for an actual royal jewel!”

“Aww how sweet of you—”

“Hush, you monarchist!” She takes a 180 and jabs you with her cane. You take a step back, aghast at what she called you.

“As for you!” She turns back to Hobie, finding him grinning at what happened. “Stop playing, child! I heard the commotion from over here! What if you and the rest of the little shits got hurt?”

“We have a name, Janet—” he tries to explain, only to be met with her cane on his hip. “Ow.”

Janet puts her cane back down, ending her tirade. “Bringing her here only spells out trouble, Hobie.”

“It wasn't exactly part of the bloody plan, auntie.”

She sighs, “what are we gonna do with her?” She points at you like you're not in the same place as her.

“I'm right here.” You shrug, “and if you asked me, you'll find that I'm useful and not just some dirty monarchist.”

“You are?” Both Hobie and aunt Janet ask simultaneously.

You clench your jaw, sucking in your teeth. “I will explain, but first can we take these ropes off? My wrists hurt.” They narrow their eyes at you. “I'm not gonna run away, promise.”

Hobie takes a step towards you, but he's stopped by aunt Janet putting her cane on his chest. He huffs in place, arms crossed in protest. She walks towards you with her eyes narrowed, rightfully suspicious of you. Taking her cane, she twists the top and out she unsheathes a shiny dagger from her cane. Grabbing your hands, she swiftly cuts off your binds before you could even jump back when she brandished her weapon.

Aunt Janet backs away next to Hobie while everyone in the village has their eyes on you. Glancing around, you spot an opportunity where no one is there. A break within the circle of the crowd. You pretend to roll around the joints in your wrist, opening your mouth like you're about to speak, you suddenly point at the sky.

“What the hell is that?!” They surprisingly look up, and you immediately make a break for it. You don't hear footsteps running after you so you keep running. Just as when you're about to make it towards the vines, you trip, falling face first into the dirt and skidding a few feet away. With a groan, you lift yourself up, nose aching and bleeding, mouth full of grass and soil. You feel like you've been dragged by a horse.

A head of red appears in your blurred vision. She pokes the top of your head, teasing you. “Sorry, I had too.”

“Good on you, Mayday!” Hobie makes his way towards the two of you as you slump down on the ground, hiding your face from sheer embarrassment. “Thwarted by a ten year old.”

“I'm eleven, Hobie!” She says, and you thump your forehead against the grass.

You feel a palm sliding down between your head and the grass, preventing you from bashing. “Careful now, princess, wouldn't want to hurt you now, hm?”

You groan, surrendering yourself and letting your head fall on his palm while he praises the child who tripped you.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

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atmancarehome · 3 days ago

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arthaseniorcare · 7 months ago

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the-artist-grimm · 2 months ago

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Closeup plus basic notes of the lamb's room from my Starfall comic! Anthea's got a room in the attic of the temple

Also extra notes! Placing under Read More just to keep things tidy

The One Who Waits Alter

Anthea started worshipping TOWW shortly after entering Ratau's care. The rat hadn't exactly planned on telling his freshly orphaned, somewhat traumatized ward that their new guardian was previously a cult leader, but Anthea discovered some of his old books on the lost 5th Bishop of Death one day and Ratau was left little choice but to explain. The book was an exact copy of an extremely old, likely from right before Narinder was imprisoned, text that depicted the god of death as a kind, patient being, which for the lamb whose family had died in the most violent way possible quickly became a comfort. It contrasted Ratau's own memories of a somewhat more reserved, stern god, but since it made Anthea happier he decided to let it be. Anthea hasn't missed a nightly prayer ever since, and still does it before bed despite now having direct access to the god himself. The layout was one they read from that old book, which stated that a pentagram wreath was to hang between an evenly divided four candles. Unwritten however was the reasoning-the center was Death, and on either side his siblings who ruled over Life. They were meant to be lit in honor of the siblings who took care of the mortals Narinder would eventually receive after death.

Stars and Starmap

Back when he was still alive the lamb's father, Aries, would take Anthea with him on supply runs knowing they didn't get much one on one time otherwise with their younger siblings around. They'd sometimes be out overnight so the two would go stargazing, and its something the lamb still holds dear. Their original copy of the book, 'A Story of Stars' was one of his last gifts to them which even while he was alive Anthea was super careful with it since books are hard to get, but their brothers kinda colored all over it while Anthea was out gathering supplies shortly after his death one time. The lamb played it off and shared with them after as a 'oh they're little and just miss dad its ok' type of thing, but it was kinda reluctantly, with them being secretly upset about it whenever they saw scribbles all over their favorite illustrations while reading to the kids. It burned with their old life, and now Anthea would give anything to have those scribbled pages back.

Sleep Potions and Herbs

The lamb suffers from sleep problems and often brews their own remedies. They know not to take them often since they're kinda really strong-like once they kick in they literally just pass out, but they keep them around for when nightmares get bad. They know a few other remedies from Flinky, since he used to double as both Ratau's right hand and cult medic. Antidotes, pain tonics, basic essentials for when you don't have a doctor.

The Crown

Gonna make a silly doodle comic but after an uh...awkward incident with Narinder calling the lamb while they were dressing one morning the two made a deal in regards to his being able to see through the crown-if the crown is off and facing a wall it means the lamb needs privacy and he's to try again later or until they call back unless told otherwise. Look he may be a bit of a grumpy god but Shamura raised at least one brother to be a gentleman lol

Hope Chest

In sheep culture weaving/knitting with wool was a huge thing, especially for ewes, like most learned from the time they could walk from their mothers. After coming of age most would start keeping a chest they'd gradually fill with handmade linens, blankets, ect. for their future homes after marriage, and it was something Ratau encouraged Anthea to do since he didn't want them to just drop their culture. They still got a loom over at his place since it's hard to move, though they do have knitting needles in the chest.

Books

Books are somewhat hard to come by if you're not in one of the Bishops' cults where they have scribes so Anthea tends to collect any and all they find

Ratau's Family Crest

Given to the lamb on their 18th birthday. Rats have family crests tattooed onto their foreheads at 18, and since he'd essentially adopted Anthea Ratau thought it was fitting to give them something similar but not permanent. It fell off during their execution, but they made sure to go back and grab it after downing the heretics that attacked after resurrection. They still wear it now under their tunic

#cotl #cotl lamb #cotl fanart #sketch #my art #crimson angel au #anthea #crimson angel au lore

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ihops-golden-closet · 10 months ago

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How To Care For A Bunny 101

Pairing: Jungkook x Bunny Hybrid Reader, mentions of Dog Hybrid Jimin x Bunny Hybrid Reader

Genre: Domestic, Smut, Fluff, a little bit of angst, mentions of the past, a little bit of sliding timelines

Rating: 18+

Summary: You were head over heels for your owner but you always buried your feelings in fear of damaging your relationship with Jungkook. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was also in the exact same predicament. After you experience your heat for the first time, Jungkook decides it's finally time for him to come clean.

Author's Note: Hello! This is the first piece of work that I am uploading to this site. I hope I don't scare anyone off of here. A bit of a warning but there is a bit of a sliding timeline here. If this gets confusing, I would appreciate the feedback. If you liked this story, please leave a like and give my blog a follow! I would really appreciate it!

Italics=Past

Clutching the stuffed animal closer to your body, you watched as the alarm clock struck midnight. It’s been over an hour since the tattoo shop that your owner works at was supposed to close but Jungkook has yet to arrive home. The stuffed toy, which you affectionately named Cooky, was a birthday gift your owner had gotten you. In times when you feel lonely, such as this one, Cooky provides some comfort but you would rather be cuddled up in Jungkook’s arms as he lulled you to sleep with his gentle singing.

It didn’t take long for you to fall head over heels for Jungkook after you started living with him. How could you not? Jungkook was everything a girl could want. He was sweet, had the voice of an angel, attractive (although you always felt too shy to tell him that), and cherished every moment he spent with you among other things. Most importantly, he cared for you, a feeling you were robbed of growing up in that wretched hybrid care center you used to call home.

You don’t think of your past home as much as you used to. Preferring the memories you make now with your loving owner than the lonely ones back at your old home. It was at this bunny hybrid care center that you could recall your earliest memories. It was there where you were raised by the facility’s caretakers and received your education, making a few casual friends along the way. As kind as some of your caretakers were, you never grew as close to any, at least not in the way you did with Jungkook. They often never stayed long to form that kind of connection anyway. It wasn’t the best place for a child, the facility not receiving as much funding as it should to properly care for its residents. You often felt alone. You had some friends but for the most part, you missed out on forming deep and meaningful bonds.

You didn’t get adopted as a kid. Most families preferred to adopt hybrids when they were still very young. But you aged out of the preferred age bracket and eventually came to the realization that finding another home might as well be impossible. Hybrids who chose to stay could work for the center in exchange for basic housing and money (albeit a poor wage). With nowhere else to go, you really had no other option.

That was up until Jungkook came into your life.

It was never Jungkook’s intention to adopt a hybrid. He had only come to your residence to accompany his friend Eunwoo. Eunwoo already had his own hybrid at home but wanted to adopt another one as a companion. It was on that day that Jungkook met you for the first time.

He first came across you doodling on your sketchbook at the care center’s living room area. You were curled up in a huge chair besides the room’s massive window. He even remembered exactly what you wore that day because of how cute he thought you looked. A fluffy oversized sweater and some fuzzy socks. You were so focused on your work that you took no notice of the buzz around you.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?”, Eunwoo quipped from behind Jungkook, snapping the other out of his staring daze.

“Y-yeah, she is”, Jungkook choked, feeling sheepish at being caught, “have you seen her yet?”

“No, but I’d like to get to know her”, Eunwoo shrugged, “maybe she’d be a good match for my Hana.”

After asking around a bit, Eunwoo was able to land a meet session with you that same day. He just wanted to get to know you better, see if you’d be a good match for his own hybrid at home. Being that Jungkook was already there, he stuck around for the meeting. Although if he was being honest, he was curious about you too.

“I like your body art.”

“Body art?”, Jungkook asked, “you mean my tattoos?”

“Oh I meant tattoos! Sorry! ”, you quickly apologized, embarrassed at your own mistake. You have seen tattoos before in magazines and in movies but didn’t know what to call them.

“No worries, I knew what you meant”, Jungkook laughed, “wanna see them?”

“Sure!”

Jungkook giggled at your enthusiasm before removing his jacket. You blushed at the sight of his well defined biceps decorated with numerous tattoos. His body itself was it’s own work of art. The next couple of minutes were spent with you gushing over how cool Jungkook’s tattoos looked, curious to find out the meaning and detail behind every one of them. Jungkook doesn’t think he has ever met anyone as excited about tattoos as you were, especially with how innocent he thought you looked.

Although the session was meant for Eunwoo to get to know you better, he ended up basically being third wheeled for the remainder of the enthusiastic exchange between the two of you. It didn’t bother him however, it was pretty amusing watching his friend of over a decade turn into a pile of putty in front him.

“She seems smitten with you”, Eunwoo commented over his steaming cup of coffee.

After the session was over, Eunwoo had let the staff know that he needed more time to think it over before adopting you. Both he and Jungkook deciding to stop at a cafe close by after the ordeal.

“What do you mean?”, Jungkook replied over his own iced americano.

Eunwoo shrugged before taking a sip of his own drink, “have you ever thought about adopting a hybrid?”

“No.”

It was true, it had never really crossed Jungkook’s mind before. He knows of people who have, and from his perspective, it seems like a huge hassle. There are specific diets, expensive medical visits, the dreaded heat spells, and who knows how many more complications out there.

“Well if you ever change your mind, I know a cute one.”

Being a new and relatively inexperienced owner, Jungkook missed all red flags of your impending first heat. You were extra affectionate and clingy. Not that it bothered him at all. He loved basking in the extra attention and affection you provided, chalking it up to you simply missing him due to the heavy work schedule he had that week.

Then it was the restlessness. Just before he left for work or to run errands in the morning, he would stop by your room to check up on you only you find you still awake from the night before with red eyes and a tired face. The lack of sleep was an immediate cause of concern in his eyes. He thought it warranted a doctor’s visit but you insisted that it was nothing to worry about and it was all caused by you staying up late to play games on your computer. His instincts told him it was something else but he took your word for it anyway and decided to wait and see if your sleep improved.

He finally dragged you to see the doctor after your restlessness only worsened and you started to complain of hot flashes. You tried to brush that off with different excuses as well but nothing you said this time was going to stop this doctor’s visit from happening.

“She’s experiencing her first heat.”

Jungkook nearly chocked on his own salvia upon hearing those words come out the doctor so nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. It hadn’t even been 5 minutes since Jungkook described your symptoms to the middle aged woman before she already had a diagnosis.

“Are you sure? I mean, the symptoms are kind of broad, could it not be an indiction of something else?”

“I’m positive”, she left out a laugh and adjusted her glasses, “I see it all the time. Besides, she’s due for one. I’d be more concerned if she hadn’t experience her heat yet.”

Jungkook chewed his lip. He had researched your symptoms on his own and found that your symptoms marked all the signs of a hybrid heat but he had just wanted to make sure. He felt his heart drop as he remembered all the posts recommending hybrids go through their heats with other hybrids.

“I see…she’s going to need a hybrid partner, right?”

“Ideally, yes. However, any partner will do so long as she has her needs met. Whether you decide to find her a hybrid partner or assist her yourself is going to be something for you and her to decide.”

As much as he despised the idea of another man touching you, Jungkook knew that he had to set his feelings aside and do what’s best for you. He didn’t want to take advantage of your instincts.

He knew of another hybrid like you who could help you through your heat. Jimin, a dog hybrid, was his coworker and one of his closest friends. Many businesses actively discriminate against hybrids and typically don’t hire them but Seokjin had known Jimin for a while and knew it’d be silly to pass out on a valuable employee because he happened to have ears and a fluffy tail. Most customers loved Jimin anyway because of his charm and skills, few ever turned him away for his hybrid status.

He feels uneasy at the prospect of asking Jimin if he would be willing to help you with such an intimate activity but he knew he could trust Jimin. Sex between hybrids is almost always done for instinctual needs and intimacy isn’t an aspect typically involved but Jungkook can’t help but feel his stomach churn at the thought.

“I’ll do it.”

Jungkook felt his heart drop a bit. Theoretically, he should be thankful that Jimin didn’t outright turn on him or even worse, cut all contact with him then and there. But still, part of him had hoped for a little more resistance from the hybrid.

“A-are you sure?”, Jungkook hopes Jimin doesn’t catch on to the reluctance in his voice.

“Yeah, I mean, why not? I know how much of a pain heats are, especially when you don’t have a partner to help you out. She’s really lucky to have an owner like you who looks out for these kinds of things Kook.”

Jungkook didn’t speak to Jimin for a couple of days after that night. He knew it was a wrong and shitty thing to do but he couldn’t stomach any sort of interaction with him. Every time he looked at Jimin, the image of you beneath him crossed his mind and it haunted him. It’s not like he was mad or upset with Jimin. Jungkook was the one who had asked him for his help after all. He just needs some time to forget the whole thing. As much as Jungkook tried to not show how bothered he was by the whole ordeal, the others quickly caught on to the change in his character. He didn’t joke around or engage with the others as much as he used to.

After the tension between them became too unbearable for Jimin to handle, Jimin decided to finally confront Jungkook privately. He wanted to catch Jungkook at closing hour as soon as the others left but he’s not too sure how that’s going to work out considering Jungkook is almost always the first to leave these days. Jimin knows that was surely in an effort to avoid him since Jimin had to almost drag Jungkook out of the parlor after closing before. Fortunately for him, Jungkook had forgotten a few of his belongings back in the parlor so he had no choice but to come back and retrieve them.

Jimin was just about done sweeping up the place when he heard the unlocking of the parlor’s door. There stood Jungkook, who looked like a deer caught under headlights as soon as he met Jimin’s stare.

“H-hey”, Jungkook could feel his hands start to get clammy as soon as he realized he was alone with Jimin, “I just realized I left some of my stuff here so I came back to pick them up.”

“Oh yea, no problem. I left them on the counter in the back”, Jimin quipped. Despite not confronting him yet, Jimin already started to feel awkward.

Jungkook bolted for the door as soon as he had grabbed all his things. He was only a few steps away from the exit when Jimin made his move.

“Jungkook, wait.”

Shit.

“Yes hyung?”, Jungkook had inched towards the door, resting his hand on the handle but he had turned around to reply to Jimin anyways.

“We should talk.”

Despite trying to avoid the situation altogether, Jungkook knew this would inevitably happen. It was difficult for him to completely hide the change in his character altogether. Jimin was also a sensitive guy by nature, he knew Jimin could feel the tension in the room become impalpable when they were together.

Jungkook let out an awkward cough before speaking, “sure, what’s on your mind?”

He could have replied that he had somewhere to be and spared himself from the conversation at hand but he already felt like a piece of shit for avoiding Jimin. This was the least he could do.

Jimin sighed. How does one even start a conversation like this?

“Well…to be honest, I just feel like something’s changed between us”, Jimin let the words flow out, it’s too late to go back now, “I don’t if you been trying to avoid me lately but that’s the impression I’m getting. I just wanted to know…if I did something wrong or something?"

“N-no”, Jungkook suddenly felt extremely guilty, “of course not hyung. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jimin knew Jungkook was still hiding something, so he pressed further, “but something’s definitely bothering you Kook, I can tell. You know you could always tell me right? I won’t be hurt or offended.”

Jungkook sighed, he going to have to come clean for Jimin’s sake, “it’s not you hyung. Really. It’s me.”

Setting his stuff down, Jungkook decided to tell finally tell someone what was on his mind.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that…after that night between you and Y/N…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Jungkook started trailing off again, he wanted to Jimin his true feelings but the words just keep getting lodged in his throat. Jimin was relieved to hear that he didn’t fuck up his and Jungkook’s relationship but it still bothered him to see Jungkook look so down. He’s been close friends with Jungkook for so long now that Jungkook is practically like a little brother to him. Even if Jimin isn’t the reason for change in Jungkook’s character, he’s still going to help him in any way he can.

“What do you mean? Is Y/N still in pain?”

“No”, Jungkook quickly interjected, “she’s ok now, what I’m trying to say is that this is more about me than it is her.”

Jimin thinks be beginning to understand now.

“I love her hyung and not in a way that an owner should be with their hybrid,” Jungkook felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders as he began to pour out the feelings he had bottled up inside for so long, “you did nothing wrong. I’m not mad at you or anything. I just feel… hurt and jealous about the whole thing. I know it’s a shitty thing to be feeling that way but everytime I’m with you…all I can think about is you and Y/N, well y’know.”

Oh. Jimin had a small hunch about what was really going on but he never thought that Jungkook would actually come to him and confirm it. Jimin felt like shit. He was just now starting to understand just how deep Jungkook’s feelings for you ran and he had jumped in and ruined it. Jimin felt as if he had betrayed his own brother.

“Jungkook, you have to tell Y/N.”

Jungkook’s eyes doubled in size at Jimin’s word of advice. How could he tell you something like that? What if you don’t feel the same and it totally ruins your relationship? He couldn’t burden you with something like that.

“Hyung, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea-”, Jungkook started but Jimin quickly interjected.

“You can’t carry this burden forever. And Y/N deserves to know the truth. How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way if you don’t confess how you truly feel? You have to trust her.”

Jungkook understood what Jimin was getting to. His feelings were getting in the way of his relationship with you and Jimin. He had to tell you how he truly felt so he could finally let this burden go.

He just hoped you felt the same way.

Jungkook didn’t say another word as he walked up to the dog hybrid and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. He was just glad that his relationship with Jimin could be salvaged. As vulnerable as he feels right now, it felt good for Jungkook to open up and have this talk.

“It’s going to be okay Kook”, Jimin reciprocated the younger man’s embrace, he’s grateful that Jungkook could be honest with him.

“I’m so sorry hyung for everything, I hope you can forgive me”, Jungkook felt guilty for making Jimin believe he did something wrong. He’s doesn’t deserve to have someone as kind and understanding as Jimin as a friend.

Jimin chuckled, patting Jungkook on the pat, he reassured him, “it’s ok Jungkook, I understand. That’s something hard to go through, especially when you bottle up those feelings and keep them to yourself. Everything’s gonna be ok.”

Jungkook’s been with a few girls here and there but his relationships never latest for more than a few dates. Not after they would find out about you. Of course, when the topic would inevitably come up, Jungkook always insisted that his relationship with you was strictly familiar. Most of the time, it would work in qwelling any relationship doubts but only temporarily. It was impossible to miss how Jungkook’s eyes would light up when you walked into the room, the attentiveness he displayed everytime you spoke, or the sweet smile and giggle he gave you when you said something funny.

Jungkook could feel himself start to feel nervous again as he fumbled with the front’s door to his apartment. Either you would awake and waiting for him (it’s a cute little habit of yours to always wait for him after work to greet him, no matter how late) or you would be snuggled up on the sofa fast asleep if you couldn’t suppress your sleepiness long enough to see him.

Jungkook finally opened the door only to be greeted to the sight of you quietly asleep on the softa. He felt his heart melt at how peaceful and gentle you looked snuggled up under the heavy pink blanket. Your face was just barely peeking out of the covers as was your favorite stuffed animal Cooky.

The conversation would have to wait until tomorrow.

Quickly locking the door behind him, Jungkook was quiet as he set his things away as to not to disturb your slumber. In times that you would fall asleep on the couch, you would wake up and find yourself in your room again. Jungkook moving you back to your bedroom the night before. As peaceful as you looked, Jungkook figured the couch probably wasn’t as comfortable as your mattress.

After Jungkook finished setting his things away, the first thing he did was pick you up as gently as possible from the couch. Being mindful of not making too much noise and making sure he brought Cooky with you, he swiftly moved you from the couch into your bedroom as if you weighed nothing. He’d get ready for bed after he moved you.

Jungkook had just set you down on your bed when he felt you stirring beneath him. Shit. He must have awoken you during the procress.

“Kook?”, you said in a voice heavy in sleep, “that you?”

“Yeah Bun, I’m just moving you”, Jungkook replied, almost whispering, “sorry for waking you, I’ll be leaving now, ‘kay?”

“Wait no, don’t go yet Kook”, you were fully awake now, you grabbed Jungkook’s hand in a weak attempt to get him to stay, “how was work?”

“It was great. Lots of clients”, Jungkook shrugged, moving to sit next to you on the bed, “you sure you don’t want me to leave so you could go to sleep baby?”

“Nah, I’m ok”, you replied with a shake of your head, “I’m fully awake now, see? Don’t worry ‘bout me. Why’d you come home so late? Was it really that busy today?”

“N-no. I just forgot some things at the parlor so I had to go back. Then me and Jimin talked for a bit about something important…”

“Oh?”, you sat up now, using your elbows to prop yourself up from the bed, “what about?”

Suddenly, the world started to feel like it was slowing down to a stop. Jungkook felt extremely vulnerable again under your curious gaze. Even more so than when he was with Jimin. He can’t recall if he ever felt as nervous and as clammy as he did right now. Can he really go through with this?

“Y/N…there’s something important that I’ve been meaning to tell you for awhile now but I never had the courage to say it.”

“Yeah?”, you fully sat up now, feeling your heart speed up now in anticipation at what Jungkook had to say, “what is it Kook?”

Jungkook sighed. Why did this have to be so difficult?

“Y/N, the reason why I stayed up so late was because I told Jimin the truth about how I felt. About that night between you and Jimin. About you.”

Jungkook was gnawing at his bottom lip now, it was too late to go back now. He had your attention completely. He felt like a 12 year old boy confessing to his crush for the first time. His heart could burst out of his chest at any second now.

“The truth is”, Jungkook took a second to clear his throat before he continued, “I’ve loved you for a long time now. I’m in love with you and I know as an owner I shouldn’t feel- hmph”

Without thinking, you pressed your lips to Jungkook’s, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. It wasn’t lustful or needy but a delicate kiss. For a second, Jungkook froze. Your lips were softer than he had imagined. You two locked lips for what seemed like forever before you gently pulled away to properly respond to Jungkook’s confession.

“I’m happy to hear that Kook because for the longest time now, I’ve loved you too. I was also scared to tell you because I didn’t know if you felt the same or not. I didn’t want to make you feel awkward in your own home. To be honest, I’ve always tried to hide my feelings but I knew I couldn’t ignore them anymore when you brought another girl here for the first time. It was that client from your work, remember? I felt so jealous that I cried that night. I don’t think I can handle seeing you with anybody else.”

Was this really happening or were you still dreaming? Even if this was a dream, you didn’t want to wake up. Not yet.

Jungkook felt the massive pressure he had carried with him for so long just dissipate in an instant. It was just like all his worries and doubts had been flushed out of his system. You loved him back. Not just in a familiar sort of way but you were in love with him too.

“Ok, I won’t ever bring another girl home again, I promise.”

Jungkook couldn’t help himself but slowly smile at your cute confession of jealously, who knew you were so possessive?

“Kook, why didn’t you help me with my heat?”

Jungkook chewed at his lip again, not knowing how to best respond, “It just didn’t feel right for me as your owner and a human to use your natural instincts as an excuse to have sex with you. I just wanted to do what was best for you and so I fiigured finding you another hybrid as a partner would be the best course of action.”

“You wouldn’t have taken advantage of me Kook, I may be a hybrid but I have enough control to know what I’m doing”, you reassured Jungkook. You were finally glad to hear that Jungkook didn’t offer himself as a partner to you because he felt unsure of himself and not because he didn’t want to be your mate, “Jiminnie… he’s nice but…I wanted you to help me.”

“Hmm, is it too late for me to take care of my baby girl?”

Maybe it was low or the raspy tone in his voice, but his words immediately made you squirm.

Taking your hands in his larger ones, he brought your hand up to his face, tentatively leaving tender kisses on your fingertips. Its little actions like this that turned you into a pile of putty in front of him.

“Mhm”, you inched closer to him, practically purring your next words, ”I mean, it’s not too late at all, please mate with me Kook.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice, his lips were already back on yours at your command. Unlike your first kiss, this one quickly turned into one laced with pure lust. You moaned as you felt Jungkook’s tongue slip inside your own mouth before exploring everything he could.

Breaking the kiss, Jungkook leaned back and took a couple of seconds to take you in. Here you were, beneath him and in desperate need of his touch. Even in this state you were beautiful, your hair was fanned out, eyes glossy and heavy, and your lips were parted as you let out short breaths.

In Jungkook’s attempt to better re-adjust his position to where he was hovering above you, his rapidly inflating shaft had unintentionally made contact with your clothed pussy. You moaned as you felt him rapidly stiffening under your touch.

“What do you need from me baby?”, Jungkook’s voice was laced with pure lust, “No need to be shy now, I’m all yours.”

“Want you to touch me here”, taking his hand in yours, you trailed it down to your body right down to your cunt. Your wetness had soaked through the fabric and although you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you had surely left a huge stain.

You shuddered as you felt Jungkook’s larger hands finally reach the place you most wanted them.

“We just started and you already made a huge mess Bun”, Jungkook teased as he slipped his hand beneath the band of your panties. He could your slick immediately coat his fingers as he rubbed lazy circles around the sensitive flesh.

Before you could respond, Jungkook slipped his finger inside you. You were already so wet that the action brough no discomfort.

“Hngh”, you squimed at the sensation of Jungkook fully immersing a digit in you. Jungkook watched your face scrunch up in pleasure as he slipped yet another digit inside. Using his free thumb to rub small circles on your numb, Jungkook began to slowly pump his fingers in and out of you. He curled them slightly to fuck you at a more pleasurable angle. He only had two digits in you and yet your cunt was already squeezing tightly around him. When he moved his fingers out, he could feel your pussy try to suck them back in.

“So tight around my fingers,” Jungkook spoke, moaning at his own words,”How are you gonna handle a cock stuffed inside you, baby?”

“Mhm, I c-can handle it.”

You suddenly felt Jungkook slip his fingers out of you, instantly letting out a whine at the loss of him inside you.

“Don’t worry bunny”, Jungkook laughed at your adorable whine, “we’re not done yet.”

Jungkook pulled back, now moving himself down your body to bring himself closer to your quivering core. He was pleased to find a huge wet stain decorating the front of your panties as he gently tugged you pajamas off of you. You lifted your hips slightly so Jungkook could fully remove your pajamas off of you. After discarding your pajamas somewhere on the floor, Jungkook leaned his face in to hover over where you desperately wanted him before placing a gentle kiss through the fabric.

Hooking his fingers on the sides of your panties, he slowly peeled the fabric off, taking every second of the view. Once again, you slightly lifted your hips to assit him with taking the wet fabric off. You shuddered as you felt the cool air hit your exposed core.

As much as he wanted to take in more of the gorgeous view in front of him, Jungkook decided not to waste time any longer and lowered himself until his face was mere centimeters from your pussy. You smelled as divine as you looked. Tentatively, he placed another soft kiss on your folds before licking a strip.

You mewled at his actions, earning a hum of satisfaction from him.

“That felt good huh baby?”, he chucked from in-between your legs. Slipping his hands beneath your thighs, Jungkook hoisted them over his shoulders to give himself better access to your clenching pussy.

“Mhm, want more of it Kook”, you muttered breathlessly.

Only this time, instead of going straight for your needy cunt, Jungkook opted for a bit more foreplay to prepare you. He placed a few more gentle kisses on the surrounding flesh of your core. Very gently, he bit and sucked on a few areas, leaving behind the faint marks of hickies in some places.

“Kook, p-please”, you were practically muttering to yourself at this point. Diving your fingers down to your pussy, you parted your lips to show Jungkook exactly where you needed him, “touch me here.”

Jungkook chuckled at your needy request, “since my princess asked so nicely...”

He dove straight to your pussy, his mouth covering the slick flesh. Jungkook wasted no time in attacking your pussy with his tongue and lapped at the slick pouring out your wet hole. A wave of pleasure washed down your entire body. It’s like you were experiencing your heat all over again only this time Jungkook was the cure.

Jungkook’s free hand came down to rub gentle circles around your clit as his tongue continued it’s assault on your cunt. With just a few more laps, you came completely undone. Your thighs began to shake as you rode off your orgasm with Jungkook’s tongue still buried in your pussy. Jungkook ensured that not a single drop of your juices went to waste.

With your orgasm fully washing over you, Jungkook pulled away to give you a few moments to let your body calm down. His hard cock was now digging through the fabric of his jeans and his balls heavy from neglect. Never had he given himself blue balls from a sight as beautiful as this before. Catching your breath again, you felt a vivid shade of pink dust your cheeks as you caught on to Jungkook’s dilemma.

Jungkook’s hard cock sprung out from his pants the instant he peeled them off. You moaned at the sight, your thighs instantly spreading a little farther as Jungkook wasted no time in getting inbetween your legs. He looked down at you with his pupils blown out in lust as he stroked his throbbing cock.

“Ready, baby?” You nodded furiously, almost forgetting your own voice. All you could focus on was Jungkook’s throbbing cock so close to your pussy. Jungkook took notice and decided that you suffered enough to keep teasing you. Hoisting your thighs and pulling you close to his lap, Jungkook proceeded to run the tip of his cock up and down your slit. You squirmed at the sensation, instinctively pushing yourself closer to what you needed.

“So impatient”, Jungkook let out a small laugh, though truthfully, he himself couldn’t wait much longer. You felt the air in your lungs disappear as Jungkook gently slowly pushed the tip of cock inside you.

“F-fuck”, Jungkook grunted, bottoming completely inside you. Your walls were squeezing his cock deliciously but he resisted the urge to fuck you. You were clearly still trying to adjust to his size, your face cutely screwed up in a mix of pleasure and slight discomfort at Jungkook’s full size inside you.

Jungkook took a moment to drink in the beautiful sight of you beneath him, taking him in completely. It’s like you were made for him.

The initial discomfort of Jungkook’s cock buried inside you was quickly fading into pure bliss. You started to wiggled your hips a little, trying to fuck yourself on his cock, desperate to find the relief you were looking for.

“Fuck, you know how fucking cute you are, right?”, Jungkook leaned down to peck your lips, “you’re so good for me.”

“M-move Kook, puh-please”, you stuttered, too far gone in the absolutely euphoria you were experiencing.

Taking your word, Jungkook began moving his hips in a steady rhythm. He too became increasingly more vocal the more he fucked you. He was entranced with the sight before him. Whether it was the way your breasts bounced with every thrust he made, the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your tight pussy, or your face screwed up in pure bliss. He didn’t know where to look.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook, you too were just as entranced at the sight before you as he was. You don’t think you can ever get enough of the sight of Jungkook’s cock sliding in and out your cunt.

You racked your hands up Jungkook’s abs and chest before wrapping them around his neck, instantly pulling him a little closer to you.

You always admired Jungkook’s well defined abs, he had the physique of a greek god. You remembered the first time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs and how weak in the knees it made you. Jungkook had just come out of shower with only a pair of sweats on. You were in the living room, buried in a book when he strotted into the kitchen to grab a bottle water. You remembered blushing furiously as you tried to hide your face behind your book before he could catch you staring. Since then, you dreamt of feeling his abs beneath your fingertips.

Once again, you felt your breath hitched in your throat as Jungkook leaned his face only a few centimeters away from yours. He was now resting himself on his forearms from above you. Your heart was beating in your ears now from how close his face was to yours. You could feel his warm breath on your skin and you could count every eyelash as he fluttered

Catching you by surprise, Jungkook pressed his lips onto yours, snaking his tongue into your mouth. As he pulled away, a thin string of salivia connected you two.

“How could I have been such a fucking idiot to let another man have you like this?”

“M-mhm, no need to worry Kook”, as fucked out as you were right now, you managed to pull yourself together to give him a coherent reply, “a-am all yours..”

Jungkook felt his heart swell with pride in his own chest at your declaration, “and I yours, bunny.”

With each thrust hitting you in your sweet spot, you inched closer to that familiar sensation. Jungkook too could tell that you were getting close, evident by your pussy clenching more sporadically around his cock. Griping the sheets beneath you, you started babbling pleas and cries for more almost incoherently as you felt yourself getting closer and closer.

Re-adjusting his position, Jungkook now sat up and griped your hips as he began fucking you faster and at a deeper position.

“C’mon, bunny”, Jungkook grunted, he too was unsure how much longer he’d be able to last, “Cream all over my cock.”

It was Jungkook’s words that finally edged you to your high. You felt your eyes squeeze shut as you screamed in pure bliss, muscles contracting as you finally felt the relief that your body had been begging for wash over you.

It was a glorious sight, really, watching you lose yourself beneath him. You were milking his cock for all he was worth and he could feel himself start to lose himself as well. You could feel it too, his thrusts gradually becoming more shallow and losing their rthymtic pace. Locking your arms around his neck, you leaned forward to pepper kisses on his jawline.

“Come in me, Kook”, you whispered softly, batting your eyelashes at him, “wanna feel you.”

Not a second longer passed by and Jungkook’s warm seed was spilling inside you, filling you up completely. The world around you seemed to slow down and you drew dizzy at how full you felt in the moment.

Slowing down his pace to a stop, you felt Jungkook lay himself to rest behind you. Still partially buried inside your hole, he wrapped his arm around your tummy, pulling you snug to his chest. For a few moments, the two of you laid like this, just caught up in the moment and trying to catch each other's breath.

“You good now, bunny?”, Jungkook asked, finally breaking the silence. You replied with a hum of satisfaction, buring your head deeper in his chest, you could hear his rapidly beating heartbeat slow down a bit.

Feeling you relax beneath him, Jungkook slid his cock out from your trembling pussy. A conconation of his semen and your juices instantly squelching out. You whined at the loss of him and at the sensation of your juices running down your hole.

Grabbing a few tissues from the side of your bed, Jungkook lazily wiped both of you down as to not sully the bed further. Making a mental note to wash your sheets first thing in the morning.

“Jungkook?”

“Yes Bun?”

“Don’t date those other girls anymore, ‘kay?”

Feeling himself melt at your cuteness, Jungkook chuckled before leaning down to kiss you on your forhead.

“Okay, promise I won’t. Not when I have you.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook x hybrid reader #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #bts x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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neoneun-au · 2 months ago

Text

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.

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#svthub #caratlibrary #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #wonwoo scenarios #svt scenarios

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