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lovequartz · 10 months ago

Text

under wisteria blossoms

⊱ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x reader

⊱ genre: small town, acquaintances to lovers, fluff & angst

⊱ warnings: historical inaccuracy, self-image and self-esteem issues, period-typical views (marriage/women)

⊱ word count: 7900+

⊱ tonight, i’ll send the glow of a firefly to somewhere near your window

⊱ notes: happy and somewhat relived to be able to share this, i think like aoybb this is something that i worked really hard on and tried my best with <3

The boy's skin feels warm and clammy underneath Wonwoo’s fingers. He’s glad the family called him when they did, thankfully the young boy’s condition had been better than he’d anticipated. He hangs his stethoscope back into its place over his shoulders and turns to the boy’s grandfather.

“It’s a mild fever, he should be feeling better with a few doses of herbal tea and lots of rest,” Wonwoo pauses to pull the young boy’s shirt down and the sheet covering him, back up, “please don’t hesitate to call me if anything changes.”

Your father walks the doctor to the door and bids him farewell with a firm handshake as well as a pat on the shoulder. As soon as the door shuts you move to change the washcloth resting on your nephew’s head.

“You could’ve greeted him properly rather than peek at him from the hallway,” your father teases.

You shake your head as your hands busy themselves with wringing the washcloth. “He was so handsome,” you sigh, “I almost broke into a rash just staring at him.” You place the now cool fabric back into place across your nephew’s forehead, and press your moist hands against your cheeks in a futile effort to bring a chill to your warm face. Perhaps you’re the one with the fever now.

Your paths do not cross with the young and handsome doctor until sometime a week or two later. Your parents had insisted you bring him a small basket of persimmons on your morning delivery to thank him for Silas’s care, and your sister, Silas’s mother, had insisted that you bring your nephew with you.

So there you were, the pair of you, walking towards the town center to find Jeon Wonwoo’s office of practice.

Silas squeezes your hand to get your attention and you glance toward him to let him know you’re listening.

“Auntie,” he starts, “do you think I should become a doctor when I grow up?”

You almost giggle but hold it in lest he thinks you’re laughing at him. His mother would probably run the streets in excitement if she’d just heard her son’s query.

“Now why do I have a say in what you should be when you grow up? You can be whatever you want, I always tell you that.”

His lips form a small pout before he replies; “You’re my best friend, of course you have a say.”

Tears try to fill your eyes before you will them away with a shake of your head. “Well as your best friend I say that you should be whatever makes you happy.” You tell him and lean down to quickly press a kiss to his cheek. “Now let’s hurry to Mister Jeon’s office so he can get his persimmons and you can go to afternoon classes.”

The doctor’s office isn’t too hard to find, mostly due to the fact that there’s only one of them, and it’s fairly new to town.

As you and your nephew make your way to the entrance you notice the wisteria plants that span the awning. ‘They'll look lovely when they bloom in spring,’ you muse.

The bell above the door chimes as the two of you enter and the young man sitting behind what you assume to be the reception desk nods in greeting.

“Do you have an appointment?” He asks once you are closer to the desk.

“Actually, I’m here with a delivery," you say, shyly holding up the basket, "and payment for Dr. Jeon's house visit."

"Of course," he stands to receive the basket from you and sets it on the floor beside his chair. You watch him smooth down his dress shirt as he returns to his seat. The man then pulls open a drawer at his side and retrieves a medium sized journal, setting it in front of him and wetting his index finger to flip through its pages.

"May I know the date the visit took place? As well as the patient's last name and address?"

You provide him with the information and watch as he skims through the cursive written on the journal's pages.

As you converse with the man about payment you can't help but be thankful about how well behaved Silas is as you do. Although it might have been due to his fascination with the fish in a tank that sat in the waiting area, tucked next to some chairs and a table with a few newspapers, you're no less grateful.

The two of you leave the office shortly after, your nephew a bit disappointed in not seeing Dr. Jeon, the man who has become the current subject of his admiration.

"I'm sure we'll see him sometime soon," you say, trying to lift the boy's spirits, "it's a small town after all. Now, run along to class. Your mother will have my head if you're late again."

Silas bids you farewell with a hug and you watch him jog down the road towards the schoolhouse, his bag swinging behind him. Unbeknownst to you that the doctor you'd been speaking about was watching it all from not too far away.

Wonwoo is just shy of exhausted as he enters his practice. Removing his hat and tweed coat, holding onto them to hang them up in his office.

Seungkwan stands from his chair to greet him but before he can utter a word Wonwoo lets out an almost comical sigh.

"Please tell me I'm done with house visits for the day, I don't think I can handle another matriarch trying to convince me to marry their daughter."

"You'll be happy to note that all the patients left today are mostly general check-ups." Seungkwan replies with a look of amusement. "Oh and before I forget the daughter of the persimmon farm came by with a basket for you and also took care of their bill for the visit two weeks ago," he continues.

"I thought I caught a glimpse of her outside. Thank you, Seungkwan, I'll be in my office if you need me."

Wonwoo closes his office door behind him as he enters, hanging up his hat and jacket on the coat rack to his immediate left. The basket of persimmons sits in the middle of his desk, covered with a cloth that had to have been hand-sewn. It's cream colored with a bouquet of embroidered flowers in the corner, beautiful work. It's a shame he can't enjoy the sweet fruit that lies beneath, work comes first.

The bookstore's wood stairs creak as you ascend and in turn the bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter. Delight flashes across your face as you lock eyes with the girl who sits behind the counter. She returns your joy earnestly with a small smile and a wave of her hand.

"You seem to be awfully chipper this afternoon." Jisun notes as you lean against the counter.

"Maybe because I have it all to myself," You reply, with a smile.

"I thought you had deliveries to do today?" She asks, confused.

"Well, I did have one delivery today, to Dr. Jeon's office. My father said if I made that delivery and sent Silas off to classes I could take the afternoon off. I might have to do some this evening though."

At the mention of the doctor's name your friend gives you a coy look, which you ignore.

Jisun and you fall into easy conversation between the calm buzz of the bookstore and her helping whatever customer needs it. You move to sit beside her behind the counter, to free up space. She tells you all about the planning being done by her mother for her upcoming wedding. Her engagement to the eldest son of the town's pottering family, Kim Doyoung, happened sometime this past winter. Jisun was over the moon when he had asked for her hand; you remember her crush on him from your school days. He was set to take over the family business in two to three years due to his father's declining health.

"I'm thinking late summer or next autumn, because of the weather. My mother wants it to happen as early as possible, but Doyoung and I are okay with waiting a bit longer. His mother is fine with whatever I decide, she's truly wonderful."

"I'm sure everything will work out. I just can't wait to atten– your response is cut off by the bell above the door chiming to announce a customer, your and Jisun's eyes snapping to the door.

To your utter horror, Jeon Wonwoo enters the bookstore.

You duck behind the counter quickly, praying he hasn't seen you yet and clutching your headscarf so it obscures your face better.

Jisun gives you a confused look but you wordlessly plead for her to act normal, breathing a sigh of relief when she turns to greet the doctor.

"Welcome, Dr. Jeon! I wasn't expecting you today."

You're glad Jisun is a better actress than she seems.

Wonwoo returns her greeting and asks about the store. To which Jisun replies; "It's been fine, not too busy and not too slow."

"How's Doyoung's father? I understand he's been taking his medicine diligently, but I haven't got around to seeing him yet as I was in the office all afternoon."

She offers the doctor a smile, "He's doing much better, thankfully. We're all really grateful to you, Dr. Jeon."

"Please, call me Wonwoo, I prefer to be 'Dr. Jeon' during work hours."

Jisun smiles, "Of course."

Your squatting position soon becomes uncomfortable but you'd rather die than show yourself now, so you continue to listen to the two converse.

"And the wedding? I know you've been planning."

"Well, nothing is set in stone yet, but Doyoung and I are thinking perhaps late summer or even early autumn. Fret not, you and Seungkwan absolutely have a place on the guest list."

"Looking forward to it then. Sorry to take up so much time with small talk, your father has a medical textbook saved for me. I told him I would be by this morning but I was a bit too busy."

"I see, it's likely in his study then. I'll be just a minute!" She replies before turning around to the back of the bookstore, shooting you a wary glance before she disappears.

You hear Wonwoo hum quietly to himself as he waits, and you silently pray for Jisun to make haste. Your legs are burning, not only from the weight of your body but also mostly due to the weight of your deceit. No matter, you cannot possibly let Jeon Wonwoo see you.

"Here it is!" Jisun announces cheerfully as she returns, holding up the thick book with two hands and a sense of pride.

"Thank you, Jisun. How much do I owe?"

Jisun calculates the total along with a hefty discount sparing no room for argument, before wrapping the book up and handing it to the doctor.

"You take care now Wonwoo! I'm sure I'll see you soon." Jisun says as she bids him farewell.

You breathe a sigh of relief at the bell chiming, and the sound of the door closing. Grabbing onto the counter you hoist yourself back to standing much to the torment of your legs.

"What was that about?" Jisun asks with a confused look as you wince and massage your knees.

You open your mouth to respond but Jisun continues; "Don't you dare say 'nothing'."

"I don't want him to see me." You admit, looking at your feet.

"Why not?" She seems incredulous at your confession, "Is it because of your scar?"

Your hand instinctively reaches to touch the long scar that runs through your left eye and down your cheek. The scar that "marred" you, the one that made people look twice, the only thing that prevents you from finding love.

You sigh before giving Jisun a hollow smile, "I have to fetch Silas soon. I'll tell you more later."

And with that you wave to Jisun and make your exit.

The reminder of your scar brings awful memories back to the surface of your mind, and they are all you can think about as you walk to the schoolhouse.

Early Summer (Two Years Prior)

"Darling, is your sister ready? The Baes will be here any moment!"

Your sister hurriedly pulls the curlers from your hair, and runs a brush through them. "Give us forty seconds Mama!" She looks you over in the mirror before giving you a reassuring smile, rushing to pick up the discarded curlers.

"You look beautiful! Now go see Mama, quickly!"

You meet your mother in the kitchen and she gives you a once over before kissing your cheek. "My lovely girl."

Your mother instructs you on when to join them at the table after the Baes arrive and to bring the persimmons she's already cut with you. Figuring you still have time, you move to your sister's room where your nephew is playing.

"Hi Silas." You say softly as you find a seat next to the boy.

"Hi Auntie, what happened to your special meeting?" He asks with a tilt of his head.

"The special people aren't here yet so I came to say hi one more time." You reply, pushing his hair out of his face, it was getting so long.

You and your nephew chat for a bit more until the commotion from the front of the house draws away your attention; the Baes have arrived.

The Baes were a modest family, a mom, a dad and two children, one boy and one girl. They owned the town jewelers, and were surprisingly well known. Bae Giwoong, the head of the family, was skilled with his hands, creating beautiful pieces that complimented anyone. Paired with a wife that had vast knowledge on jewels and precious stones, they had done quite well for themselves.

Hyunsik, the son, had come in earnest with his family to potentially ask for your hand. You were quite nervous, but seeing as your sister had married almost four years prior and had Silas, it was only natural that you were thinking about marriage as well.

The meeting was dragging on. You had presented the persimmons just as your mother had instructed, before taking your seat at her side, across from Hyunsik who you offered a polite but reserved smile. He did not return it, only glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to the conversation between your father and his.

Soon, the chatter dwindled and the Baes announced their leave. Your father convinced Mr. Bae to have a cigar with him just outside the house before they departed. You busied yourself with clearing the table of the used forks and now empty cups of tea your mother had prepared.

After your tidying, you swiftly move through the house to the window at the front of it, intent on eavesdropping.

Peering out you see the son and father chatting amongst themselves, your father probably in his study to fetch the cigar he promised Mr. Bae. Leaning closer to the ledge you're able to hear the two as they converse.

"They're a good family, what do you think of her?" Mr. Bae asks.

"They seem to be," Hyunsik agrees, "She's adequate, I suppose. If only she didn't have that unsightly scar," he continues.

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words, as your hand unconsciously reaches to the scar.

His father mulls over his words with a hum before replying; "You'd have to keep her under lock and key, the poor girl's mangled."

The dread in your stomach hardens and you want nothing more than to stop hearing these harsh words, but you are frozen in place.

Hyunsik nods in agreement, "It's really a shame. I'd be able to overlook it if it were anywhere else, I just can't imagine waking up to that face every morning."

You feel the tears before you register that you're crying, and the sensation is enough to knock you back to consciousness. You stand hurriedly and make your way to your room before anyone can see you in this pathetic state.

You pretend. In the day you are just yourself, getting errands done and living day to day. You pretend to agree, when your mother tells you that Bae Hyunsik would not be asking for your hand due to the fact that he believes you two wouldn't be compatible. At night you are inconsolable, crying into your pillow until your tears eventually put you to sleep.

Silas senses a shift in your mood, but as a three year old he only does what he can. Seeking attention whenever you're sitting idle, laying his head on your lap while you stroke his hair. His little hands playing with your free one.

Eventually, you learn to move on. As does Hyunsik when he marries the eldest daughter of Lee's dairy farm.

His words, however, will stay with you forever.

Drawn out of your memories by the clanging of the schoolhouse bell you quicken your pace, keeping eyes out for your nephew. He appears within a few moments, his own eyes searching for you. You wave to him when he finally finds you.

"How were classes?" You ask as the boy bounds up to you, reaching to smooth his unruly hair.

"Good!” He chirps, before launching into detail about his afternoon. Keeping the two of you entertained as you follow the road home.

The days that follow glide by until eventually they all bleed into a week, a week since you’ve seen the young doctor. Your deliveries go as well as can be expected, though they have been slowing down, and your father is busy preparing the year’s saplings. Silas has gone off to visit his paternal grandparents who live a few towns away, your sister going along despite her relationship of apathy with her in-laws. She did say something about Henry’s younger brother finishing his woodworking apprenticeship so she was expected to be present.

You find yourself bored without your small friend but find time to chat with Jisun every now and again. Miraculously you haven’t run into Wonwoo at all, though you’ve caught glimpses from afar and he has not gotten any less handsome.

At dusk your mother finds you with a basket in her hands.

"Did I forget a delivery?" You question eyes falling to the vermillion fruit.

"No dear, your father is out with the trees still and it slipped my mind that I had promised Mrs. Lee these. You know her youngest just got engaged," She explains.

"Ah right I had forgotten. I'll take care of it," you reply, taking the basket from your mother's hands and pressing a reassuring kiss to her cheek.

The walk to the Lee home is not long, but it is closer to the town than to your own home. You greet the few townspeople you come across on the way, offering them small smiles and polite nods.

The greetings have you in a good mood so you have a little more pep in your step as you bound up the Lee family's porch, curling your fingers around the knocker when you make it to the door.

"Coming!" You hear a girlish voice say, followed by the sounds of the door unlocking.

With a slight tug of the door inwards you come face to face with Lee Daeun, the eldest Lee sister, one hand laid on the wood while the other cradles her very pregnant stomach. The polite smile on her face slips when her eyes flash with recognition.

"I had assumed your mother would be dropping by, not…..you."

You offer a shrug, "Mother sent me instead, sorry to disappoint." You reply jokingly, trying to ease the tension.

Daeun doesn't respond right away, choosing to study you for a few moments. The silence becomes awkward quickly so you try your best to remedy it.

"Congratulations to your sister, what a joyous occasion for her. And to yourself, I didn't know you were with child." You say with a warm smile, probably the most genuine thing the two of you had exchanged thus far.

You hold out the basket to her, which she takes sliding it up her arm so it rests in the crook of her elbow.

"Yes, well, our family is quite satisfied with her fiancé. He's the son of an artisan, and they live a few towns eastward." Both her hands now rest on her stomach, "As for this one, it's only been a few months. Hyunsik is over the moon, and Momma insists on keeping me inside for the time being, so I don't get out much." Daeun's eyes seize you once more before she continues; "And yourself? I know your family has been searching for suitors, any success?"

She may as well have doused you in cold water with the way her tone becomes icy.

"Unfortunately not. I'm not too worried though, I know finding a suitable bachelor can take some time and I'm nothing if not patient."

A scoff escapes her at your reply. "Worried? I feel you should be rather embarrassed. My youngest sister, a girl who we both watched play with mud when we were all children, is now engaged. Meanwhile you continue to age with no partner to call yours, as well as toting around your poor nephew pretending he's your own. I think it's time you face reality, nobody wants a scarred wife no matter how pretty she is."

You are stunned into silence, fists clenched and nails biting into the skin of your palms. Every cell in your body fighting the urge to cry at the venom Daeun had spat at you for seemingly no reason at all.

"Give your parents our family's thanks." Is the last thing she says before shutting the door in your face.

You stare at the door for a few moments, tears starting to blur your vision, before you turn and hurry away from the Lee's home.

Hot tears are blurring your vision as you head in the direction opposite your house. You want to find somewhere quiet to cry your eyes out before heading back to your residence and pretending everything is fine and dandy.

Reaching closer to town, you stumble across the fountain just behind the main street, tucked between a few trees. A veranda shielding it from the setting sun with vines of wisteria weaved through its wood. The flowers are nowhere in sight as their blooming season is still a ways off. You, however, are too busy crying to care much about wisteria.

Shakily you manage to sit at the fountain's edge before your body is wracked with your sobs. Fingers fumble to pull the knot of your scarf resting against your chin loose, and once the fabric comes free you bury your face in it, your tears never once stopping.

You don't know how long you sit there crying, removing your face from your tear stained head scarf every so often to breathe.

A soft voice is the thing that finally brings you back to reality, and there before you with worry etched into his wrinkled brow is Jeon Wonwoo.

Your mind blanks at the sight of him, and it feels as if someone has stuffed cotton in your ears as Wonwoo's lips move but you cannot hear a word he utters. His concerned frown deepens as he gets no response from you, leaning closer. It's as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you feel yourself falling backwards as if someone had grabbed onto the back of your dress and yanked.

Wonwoo cries in surprise as he watches you fall towards the water, arms reaching out to grab you. The sound kicks your brain into gear, it's too late to stop your descent but you throw your hands back to catch yourself. A loud splash echoes through the small area before you are engulfed in the sensation of cold water drenching your skin and clothes. Wonwoo as he lunged to grab you had also met with the fountain water, his hands and forearms submerged, and his body leaning over top of yours.

Silence buzzes between the two of you as the only thing you can do is stare at each other. It's only then do you truly realize the situation that you've found yourself in. Wonwoo's face is mere inches from your own and the only thing you can think is how much more handsome he looks up close. His strong jaw, sharp nose, and the flecks of honey that swim in the brown of his irises.

You notice him studying your own face, and as his eyes drift over to the left you remember why you were crying in the first place. Your hand snaps up to cover your scar and this is what seems to break the trance between you and the doctor. Wonwoo can feel the blood rushing to his ears as he scrambles back to his feet, bowing his head and offering apology after apology.

When you don't respond his eyes meet yours, and he notices you have not made any attempt to remove yourself from the fountain. Your green dress is bunched up over your knees, the fabric now dark due to the water, and your patterned head scarf still gripped in hand.

Wonwoo's face still feels like it has been set ablaze but he offers you both of his hands, "May I?"

You nod shakily before he leans over and your hands reach up to grasp his own. He pulls you firmly, but not yanking, and even lets one of your hands go to loop an arm around your waist for a more secure hold.

You notice how firm his body feels against yours and how much taller he is than you'd thought now that you're practically pressed together. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

Wonwoo slowly removes his arm from your waist and his hand from yours, taking half a step back to give you some (much needed) space.

"Are you alright? I feel awful about startling you, but I heard the crying and wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'm fine," you reply, voice small, "my apologies for getting you wet."

The doctor's lips twitch and you feel perhaps he wants to laugh at you. You wouldn't fault him, you are soaked to the bone, rivulets of water running down your legs beneath your dress.

"Water under the bridge."

You almost giggle at that, but duck your head down and compose yourself quickly.

Wonwoo continues; "Would you mind walking with me to my practice? I live right above it, and would feel better if I could get you into something dry before escorting you home. I know you live a bit out of town."

Before you can respond Wonwoo must have realized how he sounded.

"I know because you left me the persimmons and I treated the young boy, though I didn't see you there. I have seen you around town with him though, just briefly of course, completely coincidentally. I don't go out of my way to catch a glimpse of you here and there. I promise, I'm not a strange person." Wonwoo rambles in an attempt to clear the air, though you're not sure it needed clearing in the first place.

The space above Wonwoo’s office is quaint, what it lacks in size it makes up for in homey-ness. Books piled neatly from where they spill out of the bookshelf, a warm armchair nestled right beside it. A dining table with one chair, both a dark cherrywood, sits against the wall adjacent to the small kitchenette. There’s a small wood-burning stove that looks well loved. Everything in the space feels very Wonwoo to you.

Speaking of, you can hear him rustling through the drawers in the other room. He ushered you in despite your protests, not wanting to drip all over his home. Once inside he disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a towel clutched in his hand, and then layed it across the floor in front of you. “Since you feel so strongly about not getting my floor wet,” he’d said, before disappearing once more.

You fiddle with your fingers, still drenched to the bone, as your clothes drip drip drip onto the towel.

Finally, Wonwoo exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a bundle of clothes tucked safely in his other arm.

“I’m sure they won’t fit like a glove, but you’re likely grateful for dry clothes either way.” His tone is a bit teasing, and you can only nod in response with your ears feeling hot.

“The bathroom is just opposite of my room,” He says, passing over the clothes to your hands, “take your time. It’s just about dark so I’ll be sure to walk you home. You can call your parents, or husband, when you’re dressed. I have a phone.” He continues.

The ‘husband’ comment makes you bristle but you decide to clear the air with Wonwoo at a later time, desperately wanting to get out of this wet dress.

“Thank you,” you reply softly, and turn to scurry into the safety of the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly, not bothering with your undergarments. You’d rather have wet undergarments than be bare underneath clothes that don’t even belong to you, the thought flushes your whole body with heat.

Wonwoo directs you to the phone, it rests on a side table next to the armchair, and you dial your house phone with urgency, despite the slowness of the crank dial. The line rings for a few moments, and as you hear the other line click “Mother?” tumbles from your lips.

Your mother says your name with surprise, “Darling where are you? Are you still at the Lees’?”

“No, something happened on the way home. But I’m with Doctor Jeon, you know Doctor Jeon? He treated Silas when he had that god-awful fever. Well, he helped me out, so I’m fine. He insisted I call you before he accompanied me home, so I was just letting you know Momma.”

You listen to your mother talk for a bit more before you bid her goodbye, her voice ringing out a “Be safe on your way home!” before you set the receiver down.

“Thank you for letting me use your phone, and for the clothes,” you say to Wonwoo, who sits across the room from you in that dining table chair.

“Of course,” he replies, “now let's get you home.”

The small talk as the two of you walk the path to your family home is pleasant enough. You find that Wonwoo has somewhat of an eclectic sense of humor, and he’s quite witty despite the seriousness of his profession. In no time your home is visible, and you feel a tinge of disappointment at its sight.

“Well, I suppose this is where we part,” Wonwoo sighs as the two of you stand in front of the gate of your home.

“I suppose,” you echo.

A long pause ebbs between you both as you gaze at each other.

Suddenly you feel a jolt go through you as you have a realization. You’d forgotten your dress on the floor of his bathroom.

“My dress,” you say bashfully, “I left it in your bathroom.”

“That’s okay, I’ll get it washed for you. You can come by the office in the next few days, I’ll have it nice and clean.” He assures you with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Before you can turn to leave Wonwoo continues; “I haven’t seen your boy around, Silas was it? How’s he fairing these days?”

You offer the doctor a tight lipped smile, “His father took him to visit family a few towns over.” You think you have to clear this misunderstanding up before it's too late.

“Also, he’s not mine. Silas, I mean, he’s my sister’s son. I’m not married, I’ve never been.”

“I see,” Wonwoo replies, and you feel you may have offended him somehow at his tone but he continues; “That’s good then, I felt I may have been acting inappropriately towards you. Thinking you were married and all.”

“I didn’t think you were acting inappropriately at all.”

“That brings me relief. Then you won’t think me telling you how lovely I think you look would be inappropriate either? Considering you’re unmarried.”

You feel your ears are deceiving you, because surely Jeon Wonwoo didn’t just say he thinks you look lovely. But as you gaze at his face, a handsome smirk paints his lips, perhaps your ears work just fine.

It seems your mother has never had a more perfect sense of timing as she swings the front door open shouting your name.

You tear your gaze away from Wonwoo to call back to her; “I’m here! No need to shout.”

You hear her footsteps as she makes her way to the gate, shooting Wonwoo an apologetic glance. He offers a soft smile in response.

It isn’t long before you hear the rattling of the gate lock and your mother’s voice again “Honey, what are you doing loitering around outside…“ Her words trail off as she takes in Wonwoo standing across from you. Her gaze flits between the two of you, pausing at your state of dress; a linen shirt and black trousers that were a few sizes too big. Despite her obvious shock your mother paints on a lovely smile and bows her head in greeting to the doctor.

“Oh my, Doctor Jeon, I had forgotten you’d be accompanying her home! Thank you for helping my daughter out, you’re quite the gentleman.”

You shoot your mother an incredulous look, not wanting her to embarrass you further than you yourself already have. She ignores you, of course.

Wonwoo bows his head with a smile, “Not at all. It was my pleasure, your daughter has quite the interesting personality.”

“Doesn’t she? We have no idea where she gets it from, there’s no one like her in the family.”

You assume your mother is trying to rope Wonwoo into having something to eat by the glint in her eye so you jump in.

“I’m sure Wonwoo would like to head home, Momma. He has a bit of a walk back into town.”

“Do you?” She turns to him, “We’d hate to keep you.”

“I have some time,” Wonwoo assures her, “there’s no one waiting for me at home.”

You can’t help but feel betrayed by Wonwoo’s choice to indulge your mother.

“Really? Have you eaten? Let me pack some food for you to take!”

And before any of you can say anything, your mother has Wonwoo’s wrist in her grip gently leading him through the front gate and to your house.

You run a hand down your face before following.

Your mother leads Wonwoo through the house, through the living room, to have him sit on the ledge just outside the living room doors that open up to the garden.

“Now you wait right here,” your mother tells him, “I’ll have my daughter fetch you a drink while I pack up something for you!”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replies.

She eyes you meaningfully before grabbing your arm to drag you to the kitchen.

“There’s some cold yuzu tea in the fridge, take him a glass please.” She sets a medium sized cup onto a saucer, and you recognize it as a part of the china set your family typically uses for important guests. It’s white with some foliage painted on the side.

You follow your mother’s command as she busies herself with packing side dishes, reaching past her into the fridge where the pot of yuzu tea sits.

After pouring a cup you garnish it with a rosemary sprig you pluck from the plant sitting on the kitchen’s windowsill. You're careful not to spill as you make your way to where Wonwoo waits, your pace slow.

He gives you a kind smile as you set the cup and saucer in front of him, thanking you in a soft voice.

“Your mother made this?” He asks, after having a sip. The tea is quite refreshing, and it's probably one of the best yuzu teas he’s ever had.

You shake your head. “I made the pot this time, usually whoever finds it running low makes it, between me and her of course. My older sister can’t brew tea to save her life, she takes after father.”

“Well, it’s delicious. I suppose you’re quite the master when it comes to brewing tea.”

You shake your head again, bashfully. You feel small under Wonwoo's fond gaze, not sure what is the appropriate way to act when he's showing you such kindness. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, with Wonwoo sipping at his tea and you trying to discreetly study his face. You know you've thought this before but he really is quite handsome.

"The garden is beautiful, I don't think I've seen one built in the middle of a home like this before."

"My great-grandfather built this house," you reply, moving so your body is parallel with Wonwoo's, both of you facing the open space. "He traveled a bit with my great-grandmother and when they built this house they took inspiration from some of the homes they stayed in on their travels."

"I see." He replies, setting his now empty cup down, his knuckles brushing the side of your hand as he does so.

You pull your hand away, as if burned, and heat flushes your body.

Wonwoo doesn't comment on this thankfully but you think you see the edge of his lips twitch.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Your mother's voice rings out. Walking to where you and Wonwoo sit with the containers of food wrapped up in an orange cloth. She sets it between you and Wonwoo as she kneels.

"I don't know what you like, so I added a bit of everything! I snuck in a couple of persimmons as well, we have more than enough."

"Thank you kindly," Wonwoo says sweetly, giving your mother a smile.

"It's no trouble dear! And don't worry about the containers, I'll have this one fetch them from you whenever." She says, motioning to you.

"Well, thank you again. I should be getting on my way now, I've overstayed my welcome it seems."

"Oh not at all!" Your mother pats his arm, "We're always happy to have you Doctor Jeon. My daughter will see you out, don't be a stranger now!"

Wonwoo gathers the cloth in his fist, and the cup and saucer in his free hand. You take the china, passing it to your mother before leading Wonwoo back towards the entrance of your home.

Soon you are in the exact same setting you were when you had arrived; you and Wonwoo standing across from each other at the gate.

"My apologies for my mother, she's the type to flit around even if you tell her to sit still."

"Not at all. She's quite the character, but I can tell she's also immensely kind. I now know where you get it from." The smile on Wonwoo's lips is teasing and you think about how nice it is to have someone compliment you.

After a few more short moments of small talk you urge the doctor to be on his way. The sun had already sunk low behind the horizon and the path back to town settled in darkness. You hurry to grab him a lantern, just to help him light his way home, as the roads would absolutely be dark until about halfway into town.

Wonwoo promises to make it home safely, and he watches you enter your house before turning and making his way to his own.

Later that night you lay awake, palm pressed to your racing heart, replaying the moment Wonwoo called you lovely over and over again in your mind.

The next few days are spent with you staying busy, too busy even to go see Wonwoo for your dress. Pruning the persimmon trees and overall maintenance of the farm are the allotted tasks that fall to you. The workload is a bit heavy due to your sister and her family’s absence.

You’ve taken to sleeping in Wonwoo’s linen shirt, his pants have been washed and folded, but perhaps selfishly, you can't bring yourself to part from his shirt. It smells like him, petrichor with a light musk and the hint of something floral. It's intoxicating and the scent lulls you to sleep better than any tea you’ve ever had.

Sadly, you aren’t meant to hold on to the young doctor’s clothes forever. You have your mother wash the shirt, and find a bag to put Wonwoo’s clean clothes in so they can be returned to him. You intend to slip out quickly, but when your mother catches wind of your plans she rushes off to grab a few persimmons to send with you.

“Please, he’ll be sick of persimmons at this rate,” you whine.

She ignores your concern, slipping the wrapped fruits into your hand. “Nonsense! Nobody can be sick of persimmons,” she argues.

Soon, you are on your way to the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, with the persimmons in tow. The walk to town is pleasant enough, and you get a sense of tranquility with nobody else on the path except for yourself and the occasional woodland creature that makes an appearance.

You made a point to doll yourself up just a bit, wanting to leave Wonwoo with a better impression of yourself than last time. You don’t have high hopes, but perhaps just a hope that Wonwoo holds any feelings other than cordiality towards you. Your dress today is a dusty pink, and you’d found your sister’s rouge and applied a smidge to your cheeks and lips.

The air is somewhat brisk, as it usually is in early fall, but the chill still makes you shiver slightly. Red and yellow tipped leaves sway in the crisp wind, it is undoubtedly autumn. Soon enough you are at the entrance of town, face burning with embarrassment as you catch a glance of the fountain, remembering the events that transpired there.

Your pace quickens.

As you come upon Wonwoo’s practice, you are surprised to see him waiting outside. Giving you a small smile and a wave when he notices you.

“Good Morning,” he greets you with a honeyed voice.

“Morning,” is your soft reply, “do you always mill about outside this early?”

This makes the doctor chuckle. “No, not usually. I saw you coming up the path from my window, so I figured it was only right that I came to greet you.”

“Oh,” you try to fight the heat blooming on your cheeks, “I have your clothes, freshly laundered. Mother thought it pertinent to slip in a few persimmons even though I told her you’re probably sick of them by now.”

The smile has not left his lips yet, and he reaches out to take the bag from your hand, fingers brushing against your own. “I could never be sick of persimmons,” he replies, “after all, everytime I have one I think of you.”

The heat rushes back tenfold, you are beyond flustered and you think Wonwoo notices because of the way his lips quirk up. You feel your brain has been fried at just those few words and you struggle to form a reply. Thankfully, Wonwoo takes pity on you, despite being the cause of your non-functioning state.

“Your dress is upstairs,” he tells you, “I didn’t want it to get wrinkled so I hung it up as best I could. If you’d like, we could go upstairs and retrieve it or I can always bring it down to you.”

“We can go upstairs,” your voice small as you reply, your heart fluttering shamelessly in your chest at the thought of being in Wonwoo’s cozy home once more.

The fluttering of your heart does not stop even as the two of you climb the steps.

You get a lovely sense of warmth when the two of you enter, and you look at the wood stove still kindling. Wonwoo guides you to sit in his armchair, disappearing to the area his kitchenette is. You watch him grab a resting teapot and pour whatever resides within it into a mug. The mug is then wordless placed in your hands, and you murmur a soft “thank you”.

“Apple blackberry tea,” he explains, “I thought you might need some warming up from the chill.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you reply softly, “thank you.”

A small smile twitches at Wonwoo’s lips as he watches you cradle the mug and bring it to your lips to taste the tea. “Your dress is in the other room, give me a moment.”

You nod, taking another slow sip of the delicious tea. Both fruits pair surprisingly well, and it seems to be the perfect blend for a crisp autumn day.

Wonwoo returns, your dress folded meticulously and resting in his hands. Despite how well worn it is it looks almost brand new, testament to his care of it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all the trouble!” You stand to take the dress from Wonwoo’s hand, fondness swimming in your chest.

The man just shakes his head, “It was no trouble. It's something that belongs to you so I wanted to make sure it returned to you in an adequate condition.”

You press the garment to your chest, your eyes meeting his. You try to think of what to say to convey your gratitude but nothing seems good enough.

It's almost as if Wonwoo turns bashful under your gaze as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t intend to keep you longer, I would accompany you back to your home but unfortunately I have a few patients to see this morning.”

You snap back to reality at this, “Oh! Don’t apologize please, you’ve done more than enough for me, Wonwoo. I can make my way home no problem. Thank you again, for everything.” You give him a nod, walking past him to the door. However, before you can turn the knob you feel a hand at the crook of your arm, pulling you gently to a halt.

Glancing behind yourself, you see that Wonwoo has stopped you. An emotion you can’t quite place swims within his eyes, and it just adds to your confusion.

“Wonwoo..?” You say slowly, when neither of you has spoken for a stretch of moments.

He uses his delicate grip on you to turn your body so you two face each other once more, and the hand on your arm raises slowly to hold your cheek. Suddenly, his thumb is rubbing against your scar gently. He whispers your name and you feel as if you’ve been caught in a trance, you can’t speak, move, or think. All you can do is breathe and feel Wonwoo’s touch.

His eyes trace the lines of your face, before they find yours. “From this moment onwards, I intend to court you. If you’ll have me.”

His words stun you, a moment of silence passing between the two of you before it is broken by your mouth, moving faster than your mind can. “Yes, I’ll have you. Of course I will,” You say breathily.

A smile tugs on Wonwoo’s lips and then he is leaning down to brush his lips over your scar, his hand falling from your cheek and finding your own.

⊱ notes: as always thank you for reading! it really was a pleasure to write this doctor wonu is very dear to me <3333

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #bee.pollen #fic.

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scriveyner · 8 months ago

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skittish

For the third time in as many days, Atsushi caught sight of Akutagawa just as he turned and fled. This had become a pattern of sorts, and the previous occasions Atsushi had been far too preoccupied to bother with whatever bullshit the other man was cooking.

Today, however, he’d barely even picked up the grocery basket when Akutagawa entered the store behind him, immediately spotted Atsushi, and turned in a smooth motion to exit the building. Atsushi dropped the basket back into the stack and followed him, curious.

Akutagawa hadn’t expected to be followed. This was very clearly the case as when he realized Atsushi was right behind him, he picked up his pace as casually as he could. Atsushi matched his stride.

Frustrated, Akutagawa jerked off the main sidewalk down a side street and veered again into an alley—except when Atsushi reached said alley Akutagawa was staring in unconcealed frustration at the awnings that blocked him in. “What’s the matter,” Atsushi said, heartbeat pounding in his ears as Akutagawa spun angrily to face him. “Why didn’t you destroy them so you could go up the side of the building?”

“Weretiger, can you not take a fucking HINT?”

“No,” Atsushi said plainly, hands on his hips and trying not to huff and puff at the annoying exertion of chasing down a criminal in broad daylight.

Akutagawa snarled at the response, arms crossed as a defiant barrier between them. “Well let me be absolutely clear,” he growled. “Go. Away.”

“Nope,” Atsushi said, mock-cheerfully. “Not until you tell me why you’re bolting like a scared rabbit at the sight of me.”

Akutagawa stared at him, and Atsushi tilted his chin defiantly, daring him into a fight over this. “Is it about the kiss?”

The color that filled Akutagawa’s cheeks answered for him.

#sskk #shin soukoku #bungou stray dogs #typetriger #micro fic

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dontopenfairies · 1 month ago

Text

“Jesus! It’s pouring!” She covers her head with her arms as she strides quickly across the parking lot. He jogs a little to try to keep up.

She stops under the awning of the super market, smiling at him over her shoulder, lit by the yellow glow of the windows.

“What did you need again?”

“Just coconut oil,” he says, and she lets go of the handles of the basket she’d started to pick up.

Onto the black mat just beyond the sliding doors and then across the tile and down the aisles he follows her.

“Where do they even keep coconut oil?” she wonders aloud. “Hey, that’s cute.” She uses her foot to point at a small blue water bottle on a low shelf. “I should get you that.” She laughs at him over her shoulder.

“I think that’s for kids…” he says, trailing behind her as they round a corner and head up the next aisle.

“Here it is!” She takes a jar of coconut oil off the shelf and passes it to him just as he reaches her. “Is that the right kind?”

“Yeah! This will work!”

“Oh my gosh, look at this!” At the end of the aisle, there’s a little cardboard display full of stuffed animals. She squats down and pulls out a brown monkey clutching a little blanket. “This is so cute. And it’s so soft, too! Feel that.” She holds it out to him and he pets it very briefly and awkwardly before dropping his hand to his side again.

“Oh, come on, isn’t that cute? I think it comes with the blanket, too, aww.” She straightens up, still holding the monkey. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, um, it’s cute.”

“Okay, I’m getting it for you,” she says decisively. He follows her to the register and she sets the monkey down on the conveyor belt and points at it to tell him to set down his coconut oil, too. She makes small talk with the cashier as she unsnaps her wallet.

As soon as they’re out of the store, she falls into step next to him and leans very close. “You’re doing okay? Do I need to check you when we get to the car?”

“Umm…”

“Okay, I’m going to. You didn’t get your pants wet in the rain, did you?” She glances over his shoulder.

“No!”

“Okay, I was just asking, jeez.” They’re next to the car. It’s still raining hard. She clicks the key fob and it makes a little chirp-chirp sound as the car unlocks.

He gets in and starts to fasten his seatbelt but she stops him. “Just a second, okay?”

“Not here…”

“Is anybody looking in our car?” She reaches around and undoes his belt while he squirms in the seat.

“No, but…”

“Then everything’s fine.” Her hand reaches down his pants and squeezes his padding. “You’re dry. Good job.” She puts her arm around his shoulder and squeezes him for a second.

“Yeah, I know when I need to go to the bathroom and everything…” He zips up his fly and buckles his belt before pulling on the seatbelt again.

She twists her key in the ignition. “Uh-huh…and that’s why you wet yourself on Monday, right?”

“Not a lot!”

“Enough to soak through your pull-up.”

“Well, maybe…” He looks at his hands in his lap.

She puts her hand on the back of his headrest as she backs out. Once they’re on the road, she passes the monkey to him. He sets it on his lap and strokes the blanket with his hand.

“You’re so funny. You were all embarrassed in the store but I knew you wanted that toy.”

“Maybe a little bit…it’s really cute.”

“What are you making us for dinner again?” She slows to a stop. The rain hammering on the window shield is warping the red traffic light outside.

“Thai coconut soup,” he says, moving the monkey from one knee to the other, pretending it’s jumping around on its own.

“That is going to be so good in this weather.”

Just a few minutes later they pull into the driveway and he undoes his seatbelt and grabs his coconut oil, ready to jump out of the car.

“Hey hey hey hey,” she says, catching him by the shoulder. “Not so fast. Let me check you again before we go inside.”

#oc

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months ago

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You’re A Cowboy Like Me

A/N: Imma be real honest, I just wanted an excuse to write Cassian being hot in a cowboy hat, and I don't think anyone should fault me for that. Also, I really wanted to write a fic that uses the unofficial Cowboy Hat rules. Anywho! Enjoy! And happy Day 4 of @nessianweek :)

Read on AO3

It’s like driving into a Hallmark movie. Or a western. Various small shops and cafes line either side of Main Street, each with quaint looking window displays and what appear to be hand painted signs declaring their store names. The tall branches of pine trees can be seen stretching above the roofs, and mountains reaching up to the sky almost perfectly align with the road, as though you can reach the peak if you simply keep going.

“Oh, this is so cute.”

Nesta snorts softly at the comment, but when she tears her attention away from the window and toward where Gwyn sits in the driver seat, the redhead has a wide smile on her face as she leans forward over the steering wheel to peer at the town around them.

“Eyes on the road, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn shakes her head fondly, but she leans back in her seat, readjusting her hands on the wheel. They continue down the road until Gwyn’s phone directs them to turn right, taking them off Main Street and along a neighborhood road filled with row houses of pretty, painted brick. 828 is on the end, right on the corner, and Gwyn pulls the car into one of the spots right out front. They both slip out of the car, but when they knock on the front door, there’s no answer.

“She must already be at the shop,” Gwyn offers with an easy shrug of her shoulders before grabbing Nesta’s hand in hers. “Come on.”

She all but drags Nesta back toward Main Street, continuing to gush about the charm of the town. They pass chalkboard displays along the sidewalk, looping colorful letters declaring sales and specials alike. They even pass an open door and a series of small tables that Nesta fully intends to revisit at some point during this trip to find out the source of the sugary sweet and chocolate scent wafting on the breeze.

But soon they’re arriving at their intended destination: Windhaven Farmhouse Market.

A striped red awning stretches over the door, wooden flower boxes beneath the large, display windows on either side. And when they step inside the shop, rustic looking wooden shelves line almost every wall and weave through the center of the shop to create a series of aisles.

“Hey, Em!” Gwyn calls out, stepping deeper into the shop. “We’re here.”

Even as Gwyn disappears from view amongst the shelves, Nesta takes a chance to really take everything in, slowly spinning in place. There’s jars of honey and baskets of apples to her left and what appears to be gardening gloves and tools to her right. It’s certainly an odd assortment of items to be sold together, and that sentiment only seems to grow as Nesta starts to wander between the shelves, spotting hats and scarves along with a small assortment of books.

She turns around another corner, just barely stopping short before she walks straight into a man standing in the center of the aisle. She has to tilt her head up to really take him in, the man standing a whole head taller than her, but it’s not just the height he has on her. His shoulders and chest are wide, stretching the flannel fabric he’s currently wearing, and the denim of his jeans clings to the thick lines of his thighs. Even with just seeing his profile, even with the curly strands of hair that hang down to his shoulders, Nesta can see the hard cut of his jawline, the stubble along the skin there.

For a moment, her mouth goes dry watching the man reach forward for a bag of some sort of farm feed. The large span of his hands somehow make the bag look small, and with the sleeves of his flannel pushed up to his elbows, Nesta has the perfect view of the muscles in forearm flexing as he hefts the bag off the shelf and over his shoulder. She’s sure the farm feed must be heavy, but he makes it look as though it weighs nothing.

He turns at that exact moment, practically starting when he notices Nesta standing there. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t see you there.”

He has exactly the sort of drawling accent that Nesta would expect from a town like this, his voice warm and deep. It pours from his lips like a glass of whiskey, practically curling around her limbs. Those same lips curve up into an easy, cocksure smirk, bright hazel eyes drinking her in.

“You’re certainly not from around here, are you?”

Nesta scoffs, crossing her arms. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

She settles him with her most unimpressed look, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a scowl. It’s a cool and cutting look that’s certainly sent plenty of men in the bars of Adriata turning and fleeing. But not this man. His smile only seems to grow, the greens and golds of his eyes sparking like sizzling embers.

“I think I know a city girl when I see one. What are you doing here in Windhaven?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“And what about your name? Can that be my business?”

“You wish.”

The man chuckles, the sound just as low and warm as his voice, and Nesta has to press her lips together tighter against the reaction that laugh threatens to draw out of her, straightening her spine against the shiver threatening to skitter up it. She won’t allow him to disarm her so easily, refuses to be affected by his drawl and his charm and those hazel eyes. Refuses to be affected by him.

“Nesta!” Nesta turns just in time to watch Emerie bound around the corner and into the aisle, Gwyn hot on her tail. “There you are.”

“Nesta,” the man repeats, as though he’s tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue.

Nesta wants to hate how good it sounds, how his lips and his drawl curl around each syllable.

“Did you need something, Cassian?” Emerie asks, raising an eyebrow as her eyes flit back and forth between the two standing in front of her.

The man–Cassian–continues to wear that wide, teasing smile as he focuses his attention on Emerie, giving the bag of farm feed on his shoulder an almost loving tap. “Just this.” He dares to glance back toward Nesta. “For now.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the blatant flirting, the clear implication, and pointedly ignores the way Gwyn stifles a laugh behind her hand. For some reason, the reaction has Cassian looking like he’s won, like getting Nesta to roll her eyes was exactly what he intended. What he wanted. She’s not sure what to make of that.

He follows Emerie toward the shop counter, chatting easily, and when the transaction is finished, he readjusts the bag of farm feed on his shoulder. He dips his head forward in the mock salute of a hat tip, those hazel eyes never leaving Nesta’s for a moment. “Ladies. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

Nesta snorts softly. Only if he’s lucky.

~ * * * ~

Emerie slams the glass down against the wood, letting out a soft sigh as she pushes her hair away from her face. “What if I sold the place?”

“Would anyone buy it?” Nesta asks, swirling her own glass and the deep red liquid within.

Emerie shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe?”

“But will you regret it?” Gwyn points out, reaching forward and squeezing Emerie’s hand. “This is your father’s shop after all. And you already put so much work into it.”

“Exactly. This place was his dream. Maybe I should burn it to the ground. That will definitely have him rolling in his grave.”

Nesta grabs the wine bottle, emptying what remains into Emerie’s glass. “You know if you ever need accomplices for arson, we’re down. You can claim the insurance money.”

“And if the police question us?” Gwyn adds, her teal eyes alight with mischief as she presses a solemn hand to her chest and puts on a faux innocent voice. “We don’t know anything, officer.”

Emerie laughs, the sound bright even with the still lingering sadness tinging it, and she throws an arm around each of her friends. “I don’t know what I’d do without you bitches.”

“Probably have more wine,” Nesta answers dryly, shaking the now empty wine bottle in emphasis.

“We definitely need more wine.”

“There’s a tavern down the road!” Emerie exclaims, already stumbling up to her feet. “They’ll have wine. And shots.”

Nesta and Gwyn push to their feet as well, and all three of them go stumbling out of Windhaven Farmhouse Market and into the crisp night air. The sky above is a blanket of inky blue, and with how far the town is from the city, more stars than Nesta thinks she’s ever seen twinkle amongst it. A cool breeze seems to float down from the mountains, kissing her cheeks and tickling across her skin, and Nesta crosses her arms to help fight off the chill.

It doesn’t last long, though, Gwyn pulling one of Nesta’s arms free so she can link their elbows, doing the same to Emerie with her other arm. “Lead the way, Em.”

By the time they’re pushing through the doors of the tavern on Main Street, all three of them are breathless from laughing. They’re hit with music as soon as they step inside, some sort of country song heavy on guitar and twang and lyrics of heartbreak. Fairy lights hang in lines against the wooden slats of the ceiling, various neon beer signs covering three of the walls while a row of televisions line the fourth wall behind the bar.

It’s exactly what Nesta expects from a bar in a town like this, complete even with a large mechanical bull.

And currently atop the mechanical bull is none other than the man from the shop, Cassian.

His hair hangs in soft curls beneath his cowboy hat, the strands swaying and tickling that sharp jawline of his with his movements. He has one hand raised up by his head, but the other is curled around the leather of reins, fingers and forearms flexing almost rhythmically. His hips rock in time with the bull, thighs working and tightening beneath the fabric of his jeans to help keep his balance. And with the buttons of his flannel undone, fabric left to flutter at his sides, Nesta has the perfect view of the black lines and swirls of ink that curl across his pectorals, of the lines of his abs tensing and rolling to match the bull.

The sight is unholy.

“Nesta!”

Nesta clears her throat awkwardly, blinking rapidly and clearing her mind of the dangerous places her thoughts had begun to stray. She turns toward her friends, Gwyn’s eyebrow raised in exasperation making clear she had been saying Nesta’s name a few times. But it’s Emerie’s face twisted with that knowing smirk of hers that has Nesta rolling her eyes with a huff.

“Are we doing shots or not?”

She drags her friends toward the bartop, Emerie raising her arm in hopes of flagging down the bartender. Shouts echo up from the crowd, and Nesta turns around just in time to watch Cassian go sailing off the mechanical bull, landing against the inflatable cushions positioned in a ring around the space. He jumps back to his feet, the warm boom of his laughter reaching Nesta’s ears even over the music and distance. He flips off the operator of the mechanical bull, another dark haired man who looks more than pleased with himself based on the smirk, but that doesn’t seem to deter Cassian’s grin.

He tugs his hat from his head, dragging his fingers through his hair and pushing the curly strands off his face. The movement has his stomach stretching, drawing further emphasis to the cutting v-lines that disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. As though he can feel Nesta’s attention on him, his gaze dances over to her, but Nesta is quick to snap her head back around, focusing on the shot glass now being placed in front of her.

She doesn’t even wait for Emerie and Gwyn, quickly knocking back the clear liquid. She’s quite confident that she’s going to need it tonight.

She keeps her focus resolutely on her friends as they claim one of the high-top tables, but she can still feel Cassian’s attention on her. It scrapes across her shoulder blades, prickling the back of her neck. It’s like a caress, warm fingertips skating up her spine. And with each passing moment, it gets harder to ignore. So when it’s time, Nesta offers to get the next round of drinks, peeling away from her friends and stepping back up to the bartop.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Nesta takes a moment, allowing that slow, warm drawl to wash over her before she finally turns. Cassian has re-buttoned his flannel, but the sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows, his forearm resting casually against the bartop as he leans against it. As soon as Nesta’s gaze meets his, golden sparks flare through his hazel eyes, his lips twisting into a wide, cocksure grin. She refuses to acknowledge the answering flames simmering low in her gut.

“I enjoyed watching you fall on your face,” Nesta tells him cooly, making a big show of tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Wasn’t much of a show otherwise.”

Cassian laughs easily, not even being subtle about his attention dropping to her lips. “I’d be more than happy to give you a repeat show, then. Maybe a private show?”

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Is that a promise?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. This man is clearly too confident and cocky for his own good. Just because she can, she reaches forward, plucking the cowboy hat right off of his head and placing it on her own. Cassian’s expression slackens, and pride swells between Nesta’s ribs at drawing out such a reaction, at finally knocking him off his axis. She doesn’t bother biting back her own smirk as she turns back to the bar, gathering up the drinks there and sauntering back toward her friends, leaving him to watch her walk away.

“Where’d you get the hat?” Emerie asks when Nesta returns to their table.

“I stole it from Cassian,” Nesta explains, setting down their drinks and sliding back into her seat. When she looks back up again, Emerie’s brown eyes are wide, and Nesta blinks a few times in confusion. “What?”

“You took Cassian’s cowboy hat? To wear yourself?”

“He could do with being knocked down a peg or two, don’t you think?”

Emerie presses her lips together, clearly trying to hold back laughter, but not in the way Nesta is expecting. She’s all too familiar with the amusement dancing in her friend’s brown eyes, knows exactly what it means. And it’s never good for her. It has Nesta shifting in her seat, has her hackles raising as she settles Emerie with an unimpressed look of her own.

“What.”

“You can’t just go around taking cowboy hats off men like that,” Emerie offers with a laugh, leaning across the table and giving a pointed look. “Don’t you know what that means?”

Nesta huffs, crossing her arms. “Well, excuse me for not knowing Windhaven has some weird rule, apparently.”

“It’s not a Windhaven rule.”

“It’s a cowboy rule,” Gwyn jumps in to add, nodding solemnly around the straw of her drink. “Wearing his hat means you're his.”

“And taking it off him means you want to take some other attire off him,” Emerie adds with a shit eating smirk.

There’s no stopping Nesta’s incredulous laugh. “That is not a real thing.”

“Sure it is!” Gwyn continues. “Wrangled My Heart, that cowboy romance I was telling you about? It was a whole plot point.”

“That is not helping your case that this is an actual rule.”

“Trust me, Nesta. The ranch hands of Windhaven take the etiquette and rules of cowboy hats very seriously.”

Nesta scoffs at Emerie’s words, but the sound is half hearted at best. She dares to look around the tavern, too easy to spot Cassian where he’s leaning against the wall. His eyes are pinned fully on her, and even with the space between them, there’s no denying the heat in them. She quickly turns away again, but she can already feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks.

No point putting it off.

Nesta quickly downs the rest of her drink, pushing out of her seat and away from the table. She strides over to Cassian, already removing his hat from her head as she gets closer.

“I didn’t know the rule,” Nesta explains, holding Cassian’s hat out to him.

Cassian looks down toward his hat, but he makes no move to take it. “It looked better on you anyway.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Trust me, Nes. There’s no one as beautiful as you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say with the way Cassian’s grin only seems to grow. He finally takes the hat from Nesta’s hands, the tips of his fingers brushing across her skin as he does so. He steps closer to her, close enough that she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off his person, that every breath in has her chest pressing against his own. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze. That she can count every green vine and golden fleck of his hazel eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as Cassian raises his hand up above them, slow and purposeful. He settles his hat back on Nesta’s head, adjusting it until it sits how he likes.

“Much better, Nes,” Cassian tells her, tracing the backs of his fingers down her temple, her cheek, the side of her throat. “It’s important to always wear your hat straight. That’s another of the rules.”

Nesta swallows hard, trying to focus around her heart skipping in her chest. “How many rules are there?”

“More than you think.”

Cassian turns his hand, his palm pressing against her skin. The large span of it is enough to cradle her jaw and throat, and Nesta is sure that he must be able to feel the way her pulse flutters beneath his touch. His thumb drags across her bottom lip, Nesta’s lips parting with the movement. She lets her eyes fall closed, already leaning forward in anticipation, but nothing ever comes. When she snaps her eyes back open, Cassian is smirking again, and she rolls her eyes with a scowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” Cassian teases, even as he leans down enough for his nose to nearly bump against her. “You were the one who tried to give me my hat back, remember?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Nesta buries a hand in Cassian’s hair, tugging him down and finally closing that distance between them until his mouth crashes over hers. He kisses with the same sort of slow sensuality of that drawling accent of his, lips sliding against her own. He spins them around with ease, pressing Nesta back against the tavern wall. When he steps fully into her space, their bodies flush together, there’s no stifling the way Nesta moans into his mouth. She can feel every hard line of his body slotted perfectly against her own.

He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, curling and flicking at her own. When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far, dragging his lips across her jaw and throat. He finds that spot just behind her ear, and Nesta is puddy in his arms. His teeth scrape against the skin there, and she tosses her head back with a whine.

“If you keep making sounds like that,” Cassian breathes against her ear. “I’m going to have to take you right here in front of everyone.”

“On the mechanical bull?”

Cassian chuckles, pulling back fully, his eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown wide. “Another time.”

He kisses her again, holding her jaw just the way he wants her. Nesta feels dazed in the best way, only half registering the way he grabs her hand, leading her out of the tavern and back into the night. His truck is exactly what Nesta expects, beat up and red beneath the lights pouring out from the tavern.

It’s a short drive to Cassian’s farm, and despite the way she squints out the passenger window, Nesta can’t make out much in the darkness beyond a fence line and a looming building that she’s quite confident is a barn. The truck pulls to a stop in front of a gorgeous ranch style house with a wrap around porch. She’s so busy gaping at the house, that she doesn’t even register the passenger door being pulled open, not until Cassian’s arms wrap around her body, tugging her out of his truck and over his shoulder.

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaims, banging her fist against his shoulder blades. “Put me down. What are you doing?”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, instead continuing up the front steps and inside the house. When Nesta starts to squirm too much, Cassian’s hand comes down against her ass in reprimand, Nesta letting out a quiet yelp in surprise.

“Are you kidding me? I said put me–”

Nesta doesn’t even get a chance to finish her demand before her back is hitting a soft mattress and blankets. She sits up enough to take in the room around her, clearly the master bedroom. The furnishings are simple and rustic, all dark wood and a deep red bedspread.

“Beautiful.”

Nesta snaps her attention back toward Cassian, where he stands at the bottom of the bed, kicking his boots to the side. She can feel everywhere his eyes travel over her frame, goosebumps cascading across her skin at that caress. A shiver skates up her spine in response to the flames flickering amongst the hazel, and she stretches out more comfortably against the bed, really putting on a display. Cassian groans softly.

“You haven’t even gotten me out of my clothes yet,” Nesta comments, kicking off her shoes.

“I meant the sight of you in my bed,” Cassian explains, kneeling up onto the bed. “I might keep it.”

He settles between her spread thighs, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. Nesta moans into his mouth as his body presses against her, his hips rocking down against her own. She cards her fingers through the dark, curly strands of his hair, using her grip to tug him closer still and deepen the kiss. Cassian’s own hands slide up beneath the hem of her dress, along her thighs, the warmth of his grip seeping into her skin.

It’s a bit awkward with the hat still poised on Nesta’s head, so she shifts enough that she can pull it free and set it aside. Cassian merely uses the opportunity to latch his lips back to her neck, each hot press of his mouth leaving an echoing heat simmering through Nesta’s veins. His teeth sink into the skin over her pulse point, and Nesta gasps, the sound quickly morphing into a moan when his tongue laves over the hurt.

She reaches for the buttons of Cassian’s flannel, but she only succeeds in undoing the first few before his fingers curl around her wrists, tugging her hands away and pinning them against the mattress by her head.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines, bucking her hips against him desperately.

“Patience is a virtue, Nes.”

He switches his grip to just one hand, using the free one to tuck his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face back toward him and kissing her again, slow and deep. Nesta melts back against the bed as his tongue slides against her own, moaning softly when his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging it as he pulls back. He sits back on his haunches, gaze trailing over her again.

“Flushed so pretty.” Cassian’s hands push the hem of her dress up higher until it’s bunched around her waist. “But let’s see where else I can make that pretty pink spread.”

He continues to push her dress up and up, and Nesta sits up enough that he can tug it fully off, tossing it aside. He drags two fingers over her still clothed center and Nesta whimpers at the pressure, her hips jumping in response.

“And already so wet for me? Sweetheart, we’ve barely started.”

He traces a teasing circle across her clit, leaning down and swallowing Nesta’s moan with another searing kiss. He doesn’t break the contact as his hands slip behind her back, her bra quickly joining her dress on his bedroom floor. His hands slide to her breasts, fingers kneading the flesh and thumbs toying with her nipples.

He breaks the kiss, lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbones. Nesta tosses her head back when his mouth’s attention turns to her breast. Her skin is already so sensitive there, and the drag of the stubble along Cassian’s jawline only adds to the sensation, sends electricity ricocheting down her spine.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans when his tongue swirls around her nipple, gripping his hair and holding him there.

“Keep moaning my name like that,” Cassian murmurs softly, switching to her other breast.

Nesta is a panting, squirming mess by the time Cassian finally pulls back again, by the time he’s pressing kisses down her sternum, down her stomach. He slides further down the bed until his shoulders are cradled between her thighs, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties.

“You know, it’s a bit unfair that you’re still fully dressed.”

Cassian chuckles, but he still pushes back up to his knees, fisting the back of his shirt and tugging it off. Nesta licks her lips at all that golden brown skin being on display again. The dim lighting of the bedroom cuts shadows across the lines of muscles, only seeming to add emphasis to the dark swirls of tattoos that Nesta now realizes curl all the way down to his elbows.

“Better?”

“Closer,” Nesta concedes, sitting up and reaching for the buckle of Cassian’s jeans.

But Cassian grips Nesta’s hips, tugging forward until she falls back again, splayed across the blankets. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He shifts his grip to the waistband of her panties again, pulling them down her legs and off. His fingers dig into her thighs, spreading them wide and exposing her cunt to him. The appreciative groan that tumbles past his lips goes right to Nesta’s head, and she revels in drawing out such a reaction.

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Cassian tells her, fingers flexing. “And it’s all for me.”

Cassian settles back on his stomach, Nesta’s toes curling in anticipation, at the warm breath fanning across her cunt, but then nothing ever comes. An unfortunate tendency with this man. She whines, squirming against Cassian’s hold, desperate for that pressure, for that delicious friction.

“Please… Cassian, please.”

“What a good girl, begging for it.”

Nesta keens at the praise, and then Cassian really rewards her. He presses the flat of his tongue against her, licking a long, thick stripe all the way up to her clit. He repeats the same motion, and Nesta can feel the vibrations of his answering groan, only adding to the pleasure building inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Nesta gasps when Cassian’s tongue finds her clit and traces tantalizing circles there.

She buries a hand in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp as she holds him there, holds him right where she needs him. It draws another groan from the man between her thighs, his grip on them holding them open tight enough to bruise. Nesta tries to buck against it, tries to rock against his face, but he truly seems intent on taking his time.

Truly seems intent on undoing her and turning her into a whimpering, moaning mess.

It’s almost unfair the way he works his mouth over her and eats her out. The way he presses his tongue into her cunt and curls it. The way he sucks her clit between his lips. It’s almost unfair how attractive he looks doing it, dark curls tangled and unruly from Nesta’s fingers, hazel eyes swallowed whole by his blown pupils and pinned right on her face.

He releases his hold on one of her thighs, his hand sliding up to join his mouth. He sinks two fingers into her cunt, and Nesta arches up off the bed at the stretch. He quickly builds up a steady rhythm, pumping and curling his fingers, and Nesta’s cunt clenches and flutters around them, drawing them deeper still.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Cassian praises, pulling another long moan from Nesta’s throat. “Are you going to squeeze my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers?”

Nesta is barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak one. All she can do is moan again in response. All she can do is give herself over to the familiar heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut, the pleasure singing in her veins.

“How about you be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”

Cassian leans back down, his mouth working over her clit in time with his fingers, and Nesta can do nothing but obey. She moans Cassian’s name as her release tears through her, thighs shaking around his ears and cunt clenching down hard around his fingers. He works her through it, continues to rock his fingers and elongate her orgasm until the pleasure starts to melt into pain, and Nesta reaches her hand down, squeezing at Cassian’s wrist.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” Cassian breathes, carefully pulling his fingers free and pressing soothing kisses to the inside of her thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, cowboy.”

Cassian’s smirk is wide and cocksure as he slides back up Nesta’s body. He wastes no time sealing their lips together again, Nesta able to taste herself on his tongue when he presses it into her mouth. She slides her hands down Cassian’s chest, over the hard muscles, through the downy hair leading her to exactly what she wants.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she reaches for the buckle of his pants, shoving the waistband down his hips. He pushes up off the bed and to his feet, pulling his jeans and his boxers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them, and Nesta’s mouth practically goes dry.

She’d known from the stretch of his jeans that his thighs were thick, but seeing them like this is another thing all together. And then there’s his cock, hanging hard between them. He’s certainly larger than any of the men Nesta has been with back in Adriata, the girth of him wide. She can already imagine how the thick head will feel sinking into her, how the veins running along the side will feel dragging against the walls of her cunt.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, fisting his cock and stroking lazily.

“And what if I am?”

“You should see my view.”

Nesta smirks at his words, preening at the implication of them. She makes a big show of spreading her legs wider, tilting her hips up, to really give Cassian a view. She can hear the way his breath hitches, see the way his grip on his cock tightens, but she doesn’t stop there. She slides her fingers slowly down her chest, down her stomach, to the mess they’ve already made.

Cassian’s answering groan goes right to her head. Right to her cunt, already fluttering and desperate to be filled.

“Look at my good girl,” Cassian breathes, kneeling back up onto the bed. “Legs spread wide and ready for me.”

He reaches past her toward the bedside table, rooting around in the drawer until he pulls back with a condom between his fingers. Nesta watches through lidded eyes as he tears the wrapper open, sliding the condom on and down his cock. When he’s finished, he drags the head of his cock along her cunt, all the way to her clit, and Nesta whimpers, hips bucking up against him.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, repeating the motion again. “Want to be full and stretched on my cock?”

“You have no idea,” Nesta tells him, shoving at his shoulders until he falls flat on his back on the bed. She throws one leg over his hips and settles astride him, gripping his jaw and forcing his head back enough that she can lean down and whisper in his ear, “but maybe I want to hear you beg for it.”

Cassian groans, his hands finding her hips and squeezing. “Trust me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Nesta hums, satisfied with the answer, and sits back up. She spies where she discarded Cassian’s cowboy hat earlier, grabbing it and settling it back on her head before she starts to rock her hips, reveling in the slide of Cassian’s cock against her, the way it twitches and jumps in response to her movements.

“Mother save me, you’re a dream,” Cassian sighs, his hands sliding down her thighs and back up to her hips again.

“Didn’t I tell you compliments would get you everywhere?”

She reaches a hand down between them, gripping Cassian’s cock, reveling in the warm weight of it against her palm. She raises up onto her knees, lining his cock up and sinking down inch by slow inch. She was right about how amazing the wide girth of him would feel, already feeling keyed-up by the time she bottoms out, her cunt already clenching hard around him.

“Oh fuck,” Cassian gasps, throwing his head back. “That’s it, Nes.”

Nesta tries to respond, but all that tumbles past her lips is a low moan, especially when she dares to rock her hips, Cassian’s cock sliding against the walls of her cunt, her clit dragging across his pelvis. She settles her hands on Cassian’s chest, using it for balance as she presses up onto her knees and sinks back down again, building up a steady rhythm that has her nerve endings sparking, her blood simmering with delicious pleasure.

“Gods, look at how you take me, how your sweet cunt squeezes me.”

Nesta whimpers, picking up the pace of her movements, circling her hips every time she sinks down and trying to get Cassian’s cock to press deeper still. She feels so full of him, but the need for more still claws up her throat. Still has her chasing that high, that precipice.

“Such a good girl, riding my cock so perfect.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, reaching one of her hands to her own chest, squeezing her breast in hopes of finding that edge she needs. “Please.”

She doesn’t know how Cassian somehow knows what she’s asking, how he knows exactly what she needs, but with a growl, he grips her hips, flipping them over again, his hat tumbling somewhere off her head and the bed. He hikes her leg up high, spreading her open completely for him as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again. Nesta cries out as he sets a brutal pace, driving into her hard and just how she likes it.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Cassian breathes right against Nesta’s ear. “Need my cock right where it belongs, fucking you deep and hard?”

“Yes! Don’t stop. Gods, don’t stop.”

Nesta grapples for purchase in Cassian’s hair, on his shoulders, unable to do anything but hold on. It’s almost unfair, the way he plays her body so well, the way every drag of his cock, every slam of his hips, has her melting into little more than a puddle of moans and whimpers of his name.

But she can’t find it within herself to care.

Not when her entire body feels ablaze. Not when Cassian continues to snap his hips, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with her breathy pleas and his answering groans. Not when his hand slips between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit.

“We’re gentlemen here in Windhaven, you know. That means ladies first.”

Cassian continues to trace tight circles across her clit in time with his thrusts, and Nesta’s unable to deny his request even if she wanted to. She arches up off the bed, clenching hard and shouting Cassian’s name as she barrels through her second orgasm of the night. She’s half aware of Cassian groaning in her ear, of the way he continues to snap his hips a few more times before he shudders above her.

He pulls out and settles beside her with a soft sigh, Nesta taking a moment to catch her breath before she rolls over onto her side to face him. She finds herself tracing his dark lashes and the way they flutter, the pink that clings beneath the golden brown of his cheeks. Finds herself stuck on the pink of his lips, the way they tug up into a smile as though he can feel her attention on him.

He turns his head toward her, Nesta getting an up close look at the bright colds and twisting greens of his hazel eyes, the way they flare and simmer as his gaze dances over her face.

“Have I told you you’re beautiful?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she pushes herself up enough that she can lean over him, Cassian’s eyes tracking her the whole way. She dips her head, pressing her mouth against Cassian’s in the barest brush of a kiss, reveling in the way Cassian tries to chase her lips when she pulls away again.

“Careful, cowboy. If you keep up all these compliments, you’ll end up stuck with me.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #my fic

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moeitsu · 1 month ago

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 20 - More Than We Dared To Tell

Summary: In vulnerability they meet. As the world fades to a gentle hum, their hearts beat as if they're one. In the aftermath, quiet and deep. Love whispers promises they'll keep.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: I'm so happy to finally post this. It took me forever to write and when I first started it I just hated everything that came out. Plus I had writers block. But I really like this one. It reads more like an erotica than smut, and it's my first time trying this kind of writing. I hope you guys like it! 7k words

TW: NSFW. Adult content 18+. p in v, no protection. I love making men vulnerable hehe

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Kate sat across from Arthur, her eyes trained on the quiet sights outside of the rolling stagecoach. Her presence commanded his attention even in the dim, flickering light of the coach's interior. Dressed in her elegant attire, she radiated an ethereal grace that captivated him.

Throughout the evening, her laughter had mingled with the soft clinks of glass and the subdued murmur of the party, making Arthur's heart flutter uncontrollably. Dancing with her had only deepened the ache, a longing mingled with affection. Almost forgetting their goal of the night was to gather information, Arthur was lost in her beauty.

Their earlier encounter that morning had been a mere whisper of what Arthur envisioned for tonight. He had whispered promises, sketching out desires that left her flushed and breathless. Yet, the real surprise awaited at the outskirts of the city—a pause in their lives, a moment of privacy just for them.

Tonight, he and Kate deserved peace, a slice of time just for them, to explore the depths of their bond without intrusion. Arthur made a silent vow that by the end of their night his name would be carved into her heart, and he would repay her for this morning's gift tenfold. He would make love to her until she knew nothing else but his desire.

As the stagecoach drew to a gentle stop, Kate's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why are we stopping here?" her voice tinged with concern.

With a wide, conspiratorial grin, Arthur was already stepping out of the coach, the cool night air brushing against his face. He reached back, offering his hand to her.

Low and enticing, Arthur replied, "C’mon, Princess. I have something to show you."

Taking his hand, Kate allowed him to help her down, her eyes wide with curiosity. Behind them, Hosea gave her a reassuring nod, a silent blessing as Lenny cracked the reins and the coach rumbled away, carrying the rest of their group back toward camp.

"What's this about, Arthur? Are we not heading back with them?" Kate asked, eyes taking in her surroundings. Her gaze drifted to the quaint building before them.

Warm light spilled from its windows, casting a welcoming glow in the night. Baskets of wildflowers hung from the porch awning, mingled with green ivy that crept its way towards the sky. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, inviting and homely. The sound of quiet laughter came humming from a few open windows.

Above the door, a large blue sign with elegant white cursive announced, "Bailey’s Bed & Breakfast."

Arthur's excitement was palpable, his eyes shining with anticipation as he guided her toward the entrance. "I've got us a room for the night. Just you and me darlin’." he revealed, warm with promise. “No interruptions.”

As they entered the cozy warmth of the B & B, Kate couldn't help but be swept away by Arthur's earnestness and the intimate promise of the evening. The lobby was quaint, adorned with floral wallpaper and soft, flickering candlelight that cast a gentle glow. There was a small orchestra playing a quiet tune next to the bar, its melody light and romantic. Kate turned towards Arthur, her eyes glistening with gratitude and affection.

“Surprise,” he whispered quietly. Admiring the way she gaped at every little detail.

Kate reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she pulled him down for a tender, appreciative kiss. "Thank you," she breathed, the words mingling with their lips.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, sweetheart,” Arthur's response was deep, his arms wrapping around her with a strength that spoke of barely restrained desire. His hands began to roam, tracing the contours of her back, fingers teasing at the buttons of her dress as if they were mere obstacles to what he desired most.

Kate looped her arm in Arthur’s as they approached the front desk. An elderly woman smiled and reached behind her to grab a small key before they could speak. Sliding it across the polished hardwood she spoke, “the honeymoon suit is all set Mr. Kilgore. You and your wife have a good night now.”

Honeymoon, Kate chuckled to herself and raised an amused brow at Arthur as they ascended the winding staircase. His response was a playful wink. He’s really taking this fake marriage seriously, Kate thought. The idea of him being so chivalrous made her cheeks warm.

As they reached the top of the stairs, their movements were eager yet graceless, the urgency between them growing. Arthur pressed Kate against the door to their room, his lips claiming hers with hunger. His hands explored the contours of her back as he fumbled with the key, his hunger mounting with the struggle.

The door swung open, and they stepped into the room, their connection unbroken, their kisses only deepening. Arthur kicked the door shut behind him, his focus solely on Kate. His lips traced a path from hers, down her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her lips as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

Inside, the room welcomed them with its understated charm. A large, plush bed dominated the space, its quilts soft and inviting, whispering promises of comfort and closeness. Kate broke their kiss only for a moment to take it all in.

“Did I do alright?” Arthur whispered against her neck, his desire betraying a deeper need for her approval.

Taking a step back from their embrace, she gave the space a good deserving look. The bed was adorned with a delicate canopy that cascaded from the ceiling like a silken waterfall. Wispy, translucent drapes created a soft enclosure that whispered of passion. The fabric caught the glowing light of the small hearth, scattering it into a gentle glow that bathed the room in warmth.

The fireplace, set into an ornately carved stone mantle, crackled softly, the golden flames swaying in a dance. Shadows flickered across the walls, playing hide-and-seek with the fire’s glow. The scent of burning cedar and pine curled through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wildflowers. It was a comforting warmth, one that wrapped around her as surely as Arthur’s arms had moments before, inviting them to sink into the evening’s embrace.

To the side of the hearth stood a tall, elegant mirror framed in dark mahogany, its polished wood adorned with intricate floral carvings. The glass reflected the room’s amber light, capturing fleeting glimpses of their shared glances and quiet smiles. It was the kind of mirror that seemed to hold secrets, where dreams and reality met in between glances.

Opposite the bed, large windows stretched to the ceiling, framed by flowing drapes that billowed with the slightest breeze. The fabric, soft and translucent, allowed just enough of the starlit sky to peek through, casting silvery light across the floor. When the wind stirred, the drapes moved like dancers, swaying gently. The world outside was forgotten, left behind in favor of this private haven where time seemed to slow and hearts dared to hope.

Kate returned her gaze to Arthur’s, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as emotion welled up from deep within, overwhelmed by the sincerity of his gesture. “Oh, Arthur, I love it,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I love you.”

Arthur’s smile widened, his eyes reflecting a tenderness that stirred a deep warmth inside her. “I love you more, Kate.” His gaze shifted around the room, brows knitting momentarily. “Damn,” he muttered with a slight chuckle. “Looks like they forgot something.”

With a gentle kiss pressed to her forehead, he murmured a promise to return and slipped out the door, leaving the air between them humming with anticipation. Kate drew a deep breath, the heat of the night mingling with the simmering desire that pulsed beneath her skin.

The room was stifling, charged with the memory of Arthur’s touch and the lingering scent of him. She crossed to the window, easing it open further until the cool night breeze swept in, brushing over her flushed skin. It was a welcome contrast to the warmth inside her, clearing her mind and heightening her senses. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Turning towards the tall mirror, she admired the way the deep crimson dress hugged her curves. It suited her in a way that made her feel powerful, alluring, and beautiful. With a soft sigh, she began undoing the pins that held her hair in place, feeling the weight fall in loose waves around her shoulders. The release sent a shiver down her spine.

Fingers deftly worked the buttons at the back of her dress, each one undone with a deliberate, tenderness. The velvet fabric slipped down her arms, gliding over her body like a lover’s touch before pooling at her feet. She gathered it and draped it over the mirror, leaving herself clad in nothing but a thin, silken chemise.

The soft silk caressed her skin as she moved, the delicate straps slipping from her shoulders as she adjusted them, the fabric skimming down just enough to hint at the curves beneath. Her pulse quickened, the anticipation almost too much to bear—and she was oblivious to the door easing open behind her.

The sudden shift in the air made her heart stutter, and she turned, eyes widening as they met Arthur’s gaze. The room felt smaller, the distance between them vanishing as he crossed the threshold with deliberate, confident strides.

The wine bottle in his hand was forgotten as it fell onto the bed, the sound muffled by the plush covers. Before she could react, Arthur’s strong hands framed her face, pulling her into a kiss that was deep and fervent. Their mouths met, tongues intertwining as he released a low, guttural groan that sent shivers down her spine.

His warm hands moved down her neck, the rough pads of his thumbs tracing slow circles over her sensitive skin. One hand slipped behind her head, tipping it back to deepen their kiss, while the other glided down to cup her breast through the thin silk of her chemise. His thumb found the taut peak, teasing it with maddening pressure. She gasped into his mouth, pressing herself against him as the ache between her thighs made itself known.

Arthur was the first to break for air, his eyes dark and intense as they roved over her flushed face. "God, you’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "You make it impossible to keep my hands off you." He punctuated the statement with a playful pinch to her bottom, drawing a surprised yelp and a soft, breathless laugh from her.

Kate leaned into him, stealing another kiss before her gaze shifted to the neglected bottle on the bed. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "What did you bring us?"

Reaching for the bottle, Arthur presented her with an elegant red wine, its label in gold cursive reading “Brunello di Montalcino”.

Arthur's fingers danced over the bottle as he carefully broke the seal, the soft crinkle of foil breaking the stillness of the room. “Bartender told me they used to serve this to the royal family in Rome,” he said with a quiet chuckle, the warmth of his voice tugging at her heart. “Thought it might be fitting. Royal wine for a royal woman.”

Kate smiled, the curve of her lips softening as she watched him work, her gaze lingering on the steady movement of his hands. “I’m certainly no princess,” she murmured, her voice a hushed whisper, unsure if it was meant as a joke or a truth she couldn’t quite grasp.

Arthur’s eyes lifted from the bottle, locking with hers, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, ya are to me,” he said, his voice tender, yet thick with something deeper. “Besides, with the way you looked tonight, I think we might have to tell our children otherwise.”

The word children fell between them like a heavy, unexpected weight. Kate’s heart stuttered, and her breath caught in her throat. She froze, unable to move, as if the world had briefly stopped spinning.

Lorena.

She had wanted them once, long ago, in another lifetime when hope had still danced lightly in her chest. But that was over a decade ago. So much had changed since then, the woman she was now a far cry from the one who dared to dream of motherhood again.

It was impossible. She was impossible.

Her stomach turned at the thought of disappointing him. How could she not have told him sooner? How could she have let this moment slip by without giving him the truth, especially now, when it seemed so tender and raw between them? He had just spoken of a future, one that included their children, and she had no idea he felt that way. Her heart ached with a mixture of joy and dread, because she knew she could never give him what he wanted.

Her mind spiraled, her thoughts scrambling for clarity, but before she could grasp them, the cork popped from the bottle with a sharp, sudden noise. Kate flinched, her body betraying the storm inside her. Arthur’s eyes immediately flicked to her, his expression shifting with concern.

“Darlin’, you alright?” His voice was softer now, more urgent, as he placed the bottle aside and moved toward her.

Kate blinked, trying to steady herself, her fingers trembling as she tried to form words that would make sense. “You want…?” Her throat tightened, the words slipping from her lips like fragile glass, ready to shatter. “Arthur, I didn’t know you wanted children.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered with surprise, as if the question had come out of nowhere. He looked away for a moment, brow furrowed, before meeting her eyes again. His words had come so easily, without thought or hesitation. He hadn’t even realized how much he longed for that future until now, until he saw her standing there, her eyes full of softness and strength, a woman he had come to care for more than anything. He had never dreamed about a second chance at fatherhood before—hell, he barely understood the responsibilities he already had, especially after Isaac.

But now, with Kate, something had shifted. He wanted to be better. He wanted to give her everything. To give his children a life full of love and laughter. A life he never had.

Arthur reached for her, his hands trailing down her arms, feeling the coolness of her skin beneath his touch. He paused when he reached her hands, holding them gently. His grip was firm but tender, the warmth of his palm sending heat straight to her heart.

“Kate,” he began, his voice lower now, as though he was speaking from a place deep within. “I know things are… complicated right now. But you’ve opened my eyes in ways I never thought possible.” He squeezed her hands, the sincerity in his words wrapping around her like a protective embrace. “I want you in my future. And if we make it out of this alive... if you’ll still have me, I want to have a baby with you.”

His words, so heartfelt and raw, shot through her like a wave. Her heart surged, the ache of longing and love intertwining. He had truly come so far from the man she first met, the broken outlaw haunted by ghosts of the past. The man before her now was different—stronger, more whole—Arthur was truly healing. And Kate wanted nothing more than to be a part of that future with him. But her past, she had tried to bury it so deep, now threatened to tear it all apart.

Her eyes fluttered closed as a painful sigh escaped her lips, and when she spoke, her voice was small, fragile. “I’m so sorry, Arthur, but I can’t give you children.” The words trembled in the air between them, like fragile glass breaking. Her heart shattered just saying them, but she had to. She couldn’t live with herself if she lied to him.

Arthur’s expression shifted—first confusion, then something softer, sorrowful—but his gaze never left hers. He said nothing, but the silence between them spoke volumes. She could see the ache in his eyes, the pain of the unspoken.

Kate swallowed thickly, her chest tight with grief as the memories threatened to claw their way to the surface. “What happened to me... when I was captured, I—” She choked on the words, feeling the darkness creeping back, the horrors she had locked away for so long. “I’m certain that what they did to me—” She couldn’t finish, her hands silently moving across her belly in a self embrace.

Before she could utter another word, Arthur pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, as though he could shield her from the demons she was struggling to face. “That’s enough, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I ain’t gonna make you relive that.”

Kate’s face pressed into his chest, her voice muffled as she spoke, words thick with unshed tears. “I can’t have a baby Arthur, I would understand if this changes things for us.”

Arthur’s fingers gently cupped the back of her head, his other hand holding her close to him. “Darlin’, do you even know me at all?” His voice was raw, filled with an honesty she rarely heard. “I wouldn’t trade this for all the gold in the world. You are my world, you understand?”

She nodded, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but Arthur was quick to brush them away. He held her even tighter, the two of them a tangled mess of emotions, love, and unspoken promises. “It was a silly thing for me to say. It changes nothing about how I feel for you.”

Kate pulled back slightly, her eyes searching for any trace of doubt, any hint that he was lying. “It’s not silly, honey,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You have every right to want a family. I just… I wish I could give that to you.”

Arthur cupped her face, tilting it gently toward him, his thumb brushing away the final remnants of her tears. “Kate,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with such love, such conviction. “As long as I have you, you will always be my family. And that’s enough for me.”

Their lips found each other once again. With those words, Kate’s fears crumbled away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the hope of something better, something real, between them.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The evening lingered in the air, slow and intoxicating, as they shared a glass of wine that seemed to ignite the desire between them. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow on their skin as they sat close, Kate nestled comfortably in Arthur’s lap. The conversation was quiet, intimate—whispers of dreams and playful desires exchanged between soft kisses and lingering touches that spoke louder than words.

When the last drops of wine were finished, Kate set her glass aside, her movements slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of the moment settle deep in her chest. With a quiet, daring smile, she shifted on his lap, straddling him, her body now pressed fully against his. The dress coat and bow tie were long discarded, his shirt now unbuttoned in places, exposing the warm, rugged skin of his chest. The flickering firelight danced across his strong frame, and she couldn’t help but admire him, her heart racing at the sight of him in the dim, intimate glow.

Her hands, delicate and daring, traced the contours of his body with soft, eager strokes, feeling the heat of him beneath her fingertips. The alcohol had loosened her body and mind, a steady warmth pooling between her thighs, and she felt something primal awaken—something bold, something wild. She could feel the heat in her blood, drawn to him like a lioness on the prowl.

Arthur’s hands moved with purpose, fingers grazing her skin in a way that made her shiver. His touch was rough, but gentle in its own way, the calluses of his hands brushing against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Each move he made brought him closer to where she needed him, a slow tease that had her heart pounding.

Her chemise slipped lower, revealing the soft, inviting curve of her breast. The air felt cooler against her exposed skin, but it only seemed to heighten the heat between them. Kate’s hands slid over his chest, undoing the rest of his shirt buttons, exposing his skin to her eager touch. She felt the warmth of him, the thick, hard muscle beneath the soft hair that she longed to explore.

Tracing her thumb along the star shaped scar that adorned his shoulder, she leaned down to place her lips upon it. Kissing it with a softness as the memory of his survival washed over her. Her lips moved gracefully along the smooth edge of his collarbone and up towards the sensitive skin of his nick.

As her lips and fingers moved, mapping the lines of his body, she felt him respond—his chest rising in a sharp breath, his hands finding her breasts, his thumbs pressing against her sensitive nipples with a languid, teasing pressure.

She arched into him, the sensation of his hands on her skin causing a soft gasp to escape her lips. She couldn’t help but feel the subtle shift of her hips as she moved against him, the friction between them a delicious ache that made her pulse quicken. His growing need pressed against her, and she could feel it—he was just as consumed by this moment as she was, his body betraying the desire he could no longer hide. Barley constrained by the fabric of his pants.

Kate’s breath came faster, her own hunger rising as she pulled at the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him closer, to taste him. Her nails scraped lightly over his skin, feeling the warmth of him beneath the soft layer of hair, her body trembling in anticipation of what came next.

Arthur was lost in her, watching her with a gaze darkened by desire. His hands moved with a steady, confident rhythm, pulling her straps down just enough to reveal her bare shoulders, exposing the last bit of her flesh to the cool night air. His breath hitched, and for a moment, everything around them fell away—there was only her, and the way she made him feel. She was a vision of beauty, of vulnerability, of everything he wanted in this life.

He leaned in, his breath warm and steady against the delicate shell of her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, the words thick with longing, with adoration, and something far deeper than mere desire. His hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, as though he never wanted to let her go.

Arthur’s hands moved over her body with a reverence that sent shivers down her spine. He traced the delicate lines of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, his fingertips gently brushing over the soft skin of her ribs, before returning to frame her face. His eyes locked onto hers, silent and deep, as though asking a question that needed no words. The steady rhythm of their heartbeats pulsed in sync, the air thick with the weight of their connection.

Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping as she spoke, her voice trembling with desire and something far deeper. "You make me feel safe," she murmured, the raw emotion in her words wrapping around him like a tender, irresistible embrace. Arthur’s heart swelled at the sound of it, a rush of tenderness surging through him.

Without hesitation, his hands moved to the curve of her bottom, the warmth of her body under his palms igniting something primal in him. Gently, he lifted her, his strength cradling her in a way that felt as natural as breathing. "You are safe," he whispered, the words like a promise, low and soothing, as he guided her beneath him, laying her down on the soft elk skin rug, its warmth adding to the heat between them.

Their movements were slow, measured, each one perfectly in tune with the quickening pulse of their bodies. Arthur’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling the silky fabric of her dress with a purposeful ease, sliding it over her body, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. He stopped just above her navel, his fingers tracing soft, rhythmic circles around the sensitive skin, each touch sending a wave of electricity through her that made her breath catch in her throat.

Arthur paused, his eyes drinking her in as if he were memorizing every detail—her flushed skin glowing in the firelight, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, her eyes dark with need and something far more vulnerable. She was a vision—soft and beautiful, filled with both desire and something that made him want to protect her, cherish her.

"You make me feel like I belong," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion that stole his breath away.

Arthur’s lips hovered over her skin, brushing against the delicate curve beneath her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "You belong with me," he murmured, the words heavy with sincerity and longing. Slowly, he kissed his way down her body, his lips hot against her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When he reached her breast, he paused, his mouth closing around her nipple, swirling his tongue gently around the sensitive nub. He pulled and sucked with his mouth, the heat sending shivers through her body. Kate arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping her as he moved to the other, giving it the same reverence.

As his lips continued their journey lower, tracing the curve of her abdomen, she moaned again, her hands slipping through his hair, holding him closer.

“You make me feel needed,” she breathed, the words mingling with the sensation of his touch, a mix of longing and a deep emotional connection.

Arthur’s response was a kiss, tender but full of heat, just above the hairline between her thighs. His mouth was gentle, teasing, yet filled with a desperation he couldn’t quite hide. "I need you," he growled, his voice low and thick with emotion. He spread her legs, aligning himself with her, the heat of his body sending a rush of anticipation through her.

His hands moved under her thighs, pulling the thin fabric of her chemise off in a swift motion, exposing her completely to him. He lifted her to him as he lowered his head between her legs. The first touch of his mouth against her ignited something wild, a fire that burned brighter with each kiss he gave her. He moved slowly, deliberately, his tongue trailing from her entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, each lick sending her spiraling deeper into pleasure.

“Arthur!” A cry of bliss escaped her lips as the intensity of his touch overwhelmed her.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His tongue flicked and circled with purpose, driving her higher, her hips bucking instinctively, thighs trembling beneath his touch. She was lost to him, lost in the pleasure he gave her, her body shaking as she surrendered to him.

Kate’s fingers tangled in Arthur’s dirty blond hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a deep, rumbling groan from him. The sound sent a shiver racing down her spine, heightening the sensation as he pressed two thick fingers inside her, moving with a careful slowness that made her gasp. The heat between them simmered and pulsed, her body yielding to his touch as he felt her walls tighten around him, each flex and flutter fueling his own hunger.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain control. The image of being buried deep inside her, feeling that same vice-like grip around his aching length, tempted him to the edge of restraint. The fabric of his pants felt suffocating, he was painfully hard now, hips grinding into the rug looking for any form of release. The throbbing need to be inside her overwhelming.

But he was a patient man, one who relished the art of giving more than receiving. The pride he felt from watching Kate unravel beneath him was more intoxicating than any pleasure he could take for himself. He had made it a silent vow: she would always come first. He would never surrender to his own satisfaction until he had brought her to the brink and watched her fall apart in his hands.

Kate’s breath came in ragged gasps, the room filled with the symphony of her moans and the creamy, rhythmic sound of Arthur’s fingers working inside her. The slickness of her arousal coated his skin, driving him deeper into the moment, each movement more intentional than the last. He lowered his mouth to her once again, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her arch and cry out. The way she responded, hips lifting to meet the pressure of his mouth, sent a rush of heat coursing through him.

The slow, lewd suck of his lips against her skin resonated through her core, sending her spiraling into waves of bliss that made her thighs tremble uncontrollably. Arthur’s groans mixed with the soft, wet sounds of his ministrations, each one a testament to the pleasure he found in her surrender. His fingers moved in a steady, torturous rhythm, coaxing every drop of her release until she could no longer hold back.

“Fuck! Arthur I’m–!” Kate shattered with a keening cry, her body clenching around him as he hummed against her, savoring every quiver, every pulse of her climax.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice thick with affection. “Let go, love.” His words washed over her, grounding her as the aftershocks rippled through her.

With a final, lingering kiss pressed to the apex of her thighs, Arthur withdrew his fingers and looked up, eyes dark and heavy with longing. But there was no rush in the way he studied her, only a deep satisfaction that came from seeing her utterly spent, flushed and glowing in the aftermath.

Panting softly, Kate struggled to sit up, the desire in her voice trembling. “Arthur,” she whispered, the sound cracking with raw need. “Please… I need you.”

He steadied her as her legs wobbled beneath her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that belied the intensity between them. Her nimble fingers found their way to the rigid evidence of his desire, undoing the button and zipper with practiced urgency. Arthur’s body quaked as she pushed the fabric down, her palm gliding over his length, slick with anticipation. The touch awakened a fire in both of them—a shared ache that transcended the physical.

Before Kate could wrap her fingers around him, Arthur caught her wrist, his voice a husky murmur. “Easy, sweetheart.” With strength that left her breathless, he scooped her up, one arm under her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever held. “Let me take you to bed, hmm?”

In one fluid motion, he kicked off the remnants of his clothing and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the soft, inviting covers. The firelight cast a golden glow over their entwined forms, painting them in warmth and shadow. Arthur hovered above her, his eyes roaming over her with reverence, his breaths heavy and controlled. But as he braced himself, she caught the subtle wince that flickered across his features—the injured shoulder still bearing the strain of his body.

“C’mere, baby,” she whispered, coaxing him to shift his weight, guiding his arm beneath the pillows. He sank closer, their faces inches apart, his breath hot and uneven against her neck. She gasped as she felt him at her entrance, the teasing pressure sparking electric pulses that made her body tremble.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, so softly it was barely audible, his voice lined with a vulnerability that pierced through the haze. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

The tremor in his body told her this was more than a question. It was a plea, an unspoken need for reassurance—for a promise that this connection was real, that he wasn’t caught in a moment that would fade into the darkness that haunted him.

Her hands found his face, fingers tracing the strong jaw, eyes meeting his gaze and holding it. In that moment, she saw every shadow, every battle fought in silence, every wound that hadn’t fully healed.

To truly love someone is to understand their suffering.

“Yes, Arthur,” she replied, her voice steady and clear, overflowing with emotion. “I want you. I’ll say it a hundred times, until there’s no doubt left in you. Until you know, beyond everything, that I choose you.”

The tension between them shattered like a wave crashing on the shore, and Arthur captured her lips with a kiss that carried the weight of his devotion, longing, and love. It was fierce, raw, and tender all at once, a culmination of emotions unspoken but deeply understood. Kate’s fingers slid between their bodies, finding him with an assured touch. A shiver coursed down Arthur’s spine as she stroked him, trailing down the length of his shaft until her palm cupped the sensitive, heavy flesh that hung beneath. A gentle squeeze and a slow tug pulled a guttural sound from deep in his chest. His arousal beaded and dripped onto her skin, warm and slick.

A low, husky grunt escaped him, and he trembled, unable to hold back the faint whimper that broke free as she guided him along her folds. The wet heat of her need coated his length, preparing him in a silent invitation. The size of him dwarfed her delicate touch; she knew there would be a sharp ache when he entered, but she welcomed it, craving the connection more than anything.

“Kate,” Arthur’s voice was a ragged plea against her neck, the tension in his body evident as he held himself back, quivering with the effort.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice low and tender, guiding his face up so their eyes met. Her hands slipped around his neck, legs winding around his hips as she surrendered herself to him. She could see the war waged within him—the constant battle between the rough, unforgiving man he feared he was and the tender lover he had always been with her.

“I love you, Arthur,” she breathed, the words soft and steady. “You could never hurt me.” With a slight arch of her hips, she felt the initial burn as his head pressed into her. The stretch was sharp, searing through her like a white flame, but she focused on the way his expression contorted in unguarded bliss, blue eyes wide with reverence as he pushed deeper.

Arthur’s gaze held hers, searching for any sign of discomfort, even as he sank into her inch by inch. The moment he bottomed out, pressing into the deepest part of her, he released a shuddering breath and pressed a kiss to her temple, the salty tang of sweat mingling with their heat. Kate’s body adjusted slowly, every shift and flex sending electric pulses through them both. She clenched around him instinctively, drawing a groan from his lips as she carved out space for him within her.

“Give it to me,” she whispered, the words a plea and a promise.

A flash of understanding passed between them, and Arthur’s control snapped. He drew back, the friction leaving them both gasping, only to thrust forward until their bodies met again. Each movement carried the force of his need, the desperation of years of loneliness and longing released with every roll of his hips. The rhythm built, urgent and unrelenting, as he claimed her with an intensity that spoke of both passion and fear—fear that she would slip away, fear that he would never find this again.

Kate’s breath came in broken whimpers, the sharp bite of her nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders as the pain turned to pleasure, radiating through her in waves. Every thrust filled her, completed her, as if she had been a puzzle with a missing piece, and Arthur was the one who made her whole.

The room pulsed with the rhythm of their desire, each creak of the bed merging with soft gasps and whispered confessions. Arthur’s deep, guttural groan resonated as he rolled his hips with a deliberate slowness, each thrust intentional and unrelenting. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to drive her to the brink, his body a perfect match for hers as it instinctively responded, drawing him in deeper with every movement.

The friction, intense and electric, left Kate gasping, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling tight as a tremor ran down her spine. “Just like that,” she panted, her voice breaking with urgency. “Fuck, Arthur! Right there!” The echo of her cries filled the dimly lit room, unbridled and careless of the late hour.

A wicked grin played on Arthur’s lips as he watched her writhe beneath him, the pleasure building in waves as he learned the intricacies of her body. “That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice vibrating against her skin. “Tell me what you want. I’ve got you.”

Each deep stroke sent a jolt of heat through her, the slick sound of her arousal coating him and amplifying their connection. He angled his hips to brush that sensitive spot just inside her, pulling out until only the tip remained before sinking back in with precision, the coarse hair at the base of his cock damp with her need.

Lowering himself to her chest, he captured a hardened nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue in deliberate circles before sucking it into his mouth. The sharp pleasure had her gasping, her body clenching around him, and he couldn’t help but revel in her reactions.

He marked her with love bites, small purple reminders that she was his, that they were here, lost in each other. One of his hands found its way down, his thumb circling the swollen bead between her thighs, adding a new, dizzying layer of sensation.

“Oh god,” Kate’s voice broke, her legs trembling, body on the cusp of surrender. “I’m close,” she whimpered, eyes glassy and unfocused as tears welled up, the overwhelming mix of pleasure and emotion coloring her cheeks a deep rose.

Arthur’s pace faltered, fighting the tide of his own release as he focused on her, determined to feel her shatter around him first. “Just a little more, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, each word a promise.

Breathing ragged and full of intent, Arthur kept his focus on her pleasure, dragging his hips along the sensitive spot that made her gasp and shudder. His movements were precise, quick, and shallow, sending waves of heat coursing through her. Her body responded in kind, trembling, and slick against him, soaking the sheets beneath them. He could feel the tension within her, the way she fought to hold back the tide, and it only fueled his own urgent need.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “let me feel you.” The words breaking on a pant as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. His voice was rough, tinged with desperation. Every ounce of his focus honed in on her, driven by the singular purpose of bringing her the kind of pleasure that would mark this moment as unforgettable.

As if his words had unlocked her restraint, she tightened around him, the sudden pressure tearing a raw, guttural sound from his throat. Kate's vision blurred, a white-hot rush overtaking her as she surrendered to the sensation. Her climax surged through her, making her body quake uncontrollably, her breath coming in gasps as she called out his name, voice breaking with the intensity.

Arthur's control slipped as he spilled into her, the pulse of his release matched by the rhythmic spasms of her body. A low groan turned into a softer, vulnerable whimper as he buried himself as deep as possible, letting the warmth spread between them. He pressed tender kisses to the corner of her eyes, catching the tears that trailed down her flushed cheeks.

They laid together for a moment, sharing breath and messy kisses. Drunk on their love, they lay connected, limbs tangled and whispered affections. Even as their bodies still hummed with the aftershocks, Arthur’s hand slid down between her thighs. She tensed, the oversensitivity sparking a startled cry.

“Oh Arthur,” she breathed, “it’s too much,” her voice breaking as tremors began to seize her limbs.

“Just one more, my love,” he coaxed, his tone a soothing murmur.

He sat up slightly, allowing himself a clearer view of her, eyes heavy with desire and affection. He watched as her wide eyes met his, glazed and vulnerable. Her lips parted in a silent plea, new tears streaking down her face as she teetered on the edge once more.

He pressed a firm thumb against the sensitive pearl at her center, the light pressure enough to send another surge of sensation through her.

“That’s it, my good girl,” he whispered, the admiration clear in his voice. The sight of her unraveling beneath him, of her body responding so completely, made his chest ache with reverence.

Her body tightened around him again, a series of frantic pulses as her second climax took hold. She clutched his arms, nails digging into his skin leaving crescents as she bucked. Her breath caught in her throat. Legs shaking from the force of her pleasure. The coiled tension snapped, and she came apart, her hoarse cry tearing through the room.

Arthur!

“I’ve got you, baby,” Arthur reassured, his hands gliding up her trembling thighs before cupping her face. She turned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as she wrapped herself in him, a soft moan of bliss escaping her.

Pressing his lips to her damp brow, his own heart pounding with the intensity of their connection. The hard drumming in his ears harmonized with the melody of her labored breath, every beat and gasp composing a harmony. His name on her lips, breathing him to life. It was a song he longed for. It sounded like love.

My girl.

AN: I was low-key so nervous to post this, I've never officially written and posted an intimate scene. I'm tempted to come back to this in the future and edit it, but I must resist. And I must focus on other chapters now. I have so much planned, and I'm fighting this writers block tooth and nail. I'm speaking it into the universe that my mojo will come back.

Bonus pics of my new kitten:

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x oc

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autumnrainwrites · 3 months ago

Text

The Doll and the Butterfly

Originally posted to Cohost on 8/03/24.

One day in the forest, a doll found a butterfly upon the ground. Its wings were as blue as the sky, and twitched with life, but it could not fly.

How sad, the doll thought as it nudged the butterfly onto a porcelain finger. It lifted the butterfly up and carried the little insect as it stood beside its witch.

The doll's witch looked up from where she knelt beside a patch of flowers, sickle poised to slice the stems of the herbs she sought. When she saw the tiny form resting upon her doll's finger, she raised an eyebrow.

"What is that you have there? A dead bug?"

"It's alive, miss," the doll said, raising her hand so the butterfly caught a beam of sunlight through the dappled shadows.

"You're not going to save it. Might as well leave it to the woods."

Giving her witch a smile, the doll said, "This one wishes to try, miss, if you allow it."

With a sigh, the witch shrugs and turns back to the herbs. "Very well, but only if it doesn't get in the way of your duties. Now, bring the basket here."

The doll stepped over with a bright, cheery grin, offering the wicker basket held in its other hand. With a snic-snic-snac the witch cut the moly buds from their stems and piled them in the basket along with the toadstools and amaranth and acanthus she had found. Her foraging complete, she stood and led the way back home.

As the witch prepared each precious find for preservation, the doll prepared their afternoon tea. Even as it whirled through the kitchen and the garden, brewing and setting the table and adjusting the awnings for shade, it kept the butterfly safe upon its perch. Its witch finished with her own tasks much sooner, and the tea was a bit late, but neither said anything about the matter.

As evening fell, the witch rose from her study to find that dinner was behind as well. Wordlessly she stepped in to help, though her doll lowered its eyes in shame at that. And again, neither spoke of it.

The sun has set and the moon lit the earth, and the butterfly remained on the doll's finger. It had stopped twitching after dinner. Dishes lay soaking in the sink, when they should be clean and set in their cupboards. Finally, as they sat in the garden together, the witch turned to her doll.

"You can't hold onto that thing forever, you know."

"This one knows, miss. It just..." It stared helplessly at its witch.

"The butterfly is dead, little one." Her words were blunt, but her tone gentle. "Your kindness cannot save it."

"It has to keep trying miss."

The witch paused, heart aching from the earnest determination of her doll. She stared up towards the moon. "You need to rest, and I am not tired yet. I'll carry it for now, okay?"

Hesitantly, the doll handed over the butterfly, who stirred not at all, and returned to the house. With a heavy heart, the witch stood up from her chair and raised the blue-winged butterfly to the moonlight.

The next morning, the doll awoke and began to finish the tasks it neglected the night before, working extra quick to make sure they were done before its witch awakens. For her part, the witch rose late, emerging from the bedroom at half past ten for her morning tea.

As her doll served her, it asked, "What happened to the butterfly, miss?"

The witch hesitated a moment before she said, "It awoke and flew off in the moonlight."

"This one is glad, miss," the doll said. "It knew that it just needed a bit of time to heal."

The rest of the day was a happy one for the doll, cooking and cleaning and having its hair brushed. It never realized that its witch did not look it in the eyes until the day’s end.

#empty spaces #dollposting #witches #not a person

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pixeldistractions · 2 months ago

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She made this camper so cozy. Who would have thought you could bake bread from scratch in a Dutch oven over the campfire? She served blackberry preserves on toast, planted herbs in tiny pots on the counter, then she filled the produce baskets with actual fresh produce. “That’s what they’re there for, silly,” she said. She watched camper hack videos on YouTube—a cutting board over the sink for more counter space. How clever. She noted the dimensions, and he cut it to size for her. She bought string lights to hang under the awning, a decorative citronella candle for the picnic table.

“You shouldn’t buy so much,” he said. “You don’t need to. If you wait, I’ll buy it for you.”

But he couldn’t, not really, not while also fixing the solar panel and manifesting walls out of scraps and sending back money for his boys. She shouldn’t have to wait for her home to feel homey. He wanted her to feel at home here, so he kept quiet and tried not to notice if she went to Target again for throw blankets or rugs, or towel racks and pot holders. He would just unbox the hardware and install it for her.

It was a silly idea anyway that if they lived simply enough, frugally enough, he might provide everything they needed and wanted, and maybe he could imagine himself the exact opposite of the freeloading loser Colette always said he was.

But Jordan did pick up some work. Very good work, actually. He snagged a small contract with a local university, upgrading their dorm plumbing, and that would keep him occupied for a couple of weeks. It was a nice chunk of change, though of course, Colette would want some of it.

Still, he would have enough money to finish the last of the major repairs. Finally. The only thing left was to replace the solar battery converter, ironically, now that they were plugged into the power grid.

The nights were longer now, but still cozy enough in the lower altitudes of Nevada to spend the evenings outside. They had dinner by the sunset’s last light, then they settled in beside the campfire.

“You don’t have to spend all your money on that battery thing,” she said. “I can pay for some of it.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’ll just pick up a couple more jobs.”

He was weird about taking her money, and she wondered why?

“Okay, I need you to talk to me,” she said, hushed, after taking note that Johanna wasn’t paying any attention to them.

He looked startled, like he was in trouble. She smiled. “No, it’s not like that, don’t worry,” she said. “But, there’s something I’ve been wondering about… why don’t you want me to pay for anything?”

His eyebrows raised, lips pinched.

She stroked his fingers while he refrained from answering her question. “You’re my best friend, you know?”

“You’re mine, too,” he said.

“And best friends tell each other things.”

“I’m… embarrassed of it.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Okay…” An audible swallow, a slight squirm, a deep breath. “I was younger, twenty-two, after my dad died. I was in a lot of trouble with the foreclosure and some credit debts. So when Colette and I got friendly again, I let her help me out with it. But it didn’t stop there. It was like I would never live that down for the rest of my life, like even after I paid her back, no matter how much money, no matter how much effort, no matter that I stayed home with the boys for two whole years while she finished school, I could never pay her back enough to be even. I still can’t.”

“First, that’s really cruel,” Maria said. “Second, I wouldn’t do that to you. Third, it’s only $800, we can go halves.”

“Yeah, it’s only $800, then I can earn that much in three jobs. Will you let me?”

Every time she felt she might have found an opening to confess her terrible secret wealth, the moment proved to be exactly wrong. “Yeah, of course. But next time, I’ll help. Deal?”

“Sure. But you need to let me make it up to you for all those cozy pillows you bought,” he said, smirking now. She was glad to see that startled panic gone.

“Those pillows were nothing,” she said. “I got them in the clearance section.”

She didn’t know how to tell him that the battery converter would make barely a dent in her savings, and she also wasn’t convinced he would see that as a good thing. It seemed important that he paid for this himself. So she would let him. This time.

— “boxes and squares #5.2: come down from the clouds” (2/10)

previously: a freeloading loser // that money is not for spending on your boyfriend

Next -> // 5.2 start // index

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #sim stories #jordan #maria

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therealdisneyfan2319 · 2 years ago

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Latte Love | Wanda Maximoff

Summary: When a new coffee shop opens up across the street from your bakery, you enter into a rivalry with its new owner

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut (minors DNI), language, mentions of major character death, house fire, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.3K

Masterlist

A/N: This was a request from @aloneodi. The prompt was pretty straightforward: enemies to overs with lots of angst and smut. Enjoy ;)

For the past two months the construction across the street from your bakery had driven you insane. The constant sawing and hammering was grinding your gears. You weren’t sure what was coming in the old storefront. It had been vacant as long as you could remember. You were in elementary school when Mr. Neely retired and the building now sat in a state of dilapidated disrepair: the front awning was threadbare, the windows were partially boarded up, and graffiti was spray painted over the brick storefront. Inside the empty cases gathered dust and cobwebs. It was a bit of a pleasant surprise when you came to work one day to see a ‘SOLD’ sign taped to the front door.

“Maybe we should blast some music, give them a taste of their own medicine,” Natasha suggested with a smirk. Natasha Romanoff was your right hand woman when it came to running the bakery. Not only was she an accounting whiz and could balance the books in her sleep, she also made a mean creme brûlée.

“I just don’t understand why it’s taken them so long to remodel. It’s construction, not rocket science. What’s going in there anyway?”

“It’s a coffee shop. I met the owner when I went to the wholesaler the other day,” Sam explained as he dumped another batch of bagels into the bucket. A slightly intimidating Air Force veteran with the heart of a teddy bear, Sam was your resident bagel maker and donut fryer. People came from all corners of the state for his famous brownie batter donuts and egg everything bagels,

“So literally the exact same as us?” You could hardly believe what you were hearing. The Rolling Scones had quickly established itself as Westview’s premiere (and only) bakery. Why did someone else need to open up right across the street?

“Hold up, it’s not exactly the same thing. We’re a bakery that serves coffee and they’re a coffee shop that serves baked goods. Totally different.”

You shot Sam a glance that immediately made him do an about face and head back to his boiling batch of bagels. Flour covered fingers ran through your hair as you leaned up against the back counter thinking about all the negative ways this new shop was going to impact yours.

“What are we gonna do, Nat? I can’t lose this place.”

“Y/N, relax. It’s just another business. We’re not going to go out of business just because there’s a new place in town. If anything they’re the ones who should be worried. They have to compete with Sam’s bagels.”

“We could just burn it down!” Peter, the teenager who washed dishes after school and on weekends, added. “Then we wouldn’t have to worry about them!”

“He’s got a point,” Sam added as the door jingled open.

“Peter! Arson isn’t the answer here!” Nat rolled her eyes, heading to the back to work on handling the latest invoices.

“But it is a solution,” you teased. Natasha groaned as she kicked the back room door open. “Can I help you?” you asked, turning your attention to the customer who walked up to the counter.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a - oh, SAM! Hi!” The young woman in front of you raised up on her tiptoes and waved over the counter.

“Wanda hey!” He walked over, an overflowing basket of hard rolls in his arms. “Glad you came. How’s the remodeling going?”

“Good! My contractor told me that we should be able to open by the end of the month.”

“That’s great news! Did you pick the name yet?”

“My brother and I argued about it for a while, but we finally settled on Latte Love.”

“You’re the one who bought the old deli?!”

“Mmhmm. I always wanted to open a coffee shop and I thought it was an absolutely charming little spot. So I saved and took out some loans and got it! I’m Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” The overexcitable brunette shoved her hand out in front of you.

“Y/N L/N,” you responded as you reluctantly clasped her hand. The last thing you wanted to do was be friendly with the person who was your direct competitor.

Sam chatted with Wanda, asking her all sorts of questions about the wholesaler and how she was faring getting her deliveries set up. Your vision went red at the sight of your friend and this despicable woman having a friendly conversation. Why on earth would he invite her into your shop, the shop your parents worked so hard to build and the one you worked so hard to keep thriving? The fear of losing the family business permeated your mind on a daily basis. This wasn’t making it any better…

“Who’s that?” Natasha’s voice snapped you out of your stewing. She leaned against the counter, sizing up the scene in front of her.

“That’s the new coffee shop owner. Wanda. I have no idea why she’s here or why she’s talking to Sam,” you huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.

“Someone sounds a little jealous,” Nat teased.

“Jealous?!” Your face flushed red with embarrassment. “You think I’m jealous? Nat, that’s the woman who’s going to try to steal all our customers! She’s the enemy here, not the prize!”

Natasha looked at you, then at Wanda, then back at you, and back at Wanda. “She’s hot. Think I stand a chance?”

“Can you pretend you’re not gay for like, five minutes please? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I’m not jealous, I don’t want anything to do with her, and I swear to Christ if she’s into chicks too and you sleep with her your ass is so fired. ANYONE who sleeps with her is outta here!” As much as you hated to admit it, Natasha was right: Wanda was gorgeous. She had the perfect figure, her cropped jeans hugging the curves of her hips just right. The billowy light blue and white button up and oversized sun hat gave her a youthful exuberance that radiated from her glowing face and stunning green eyes.

“You’d have less of a stick up your ass if you got laid, you know?” she smirked. Groaning, you headed back toward the kitchen, kicking the swinging door with your foot. The sweet smell of powdered sugar and freshly baked cupcakes instantly calmed you. Unsure of how to amuse yourself until Wanda left, you grabbed a cooling rack of cookies and began frosting, turning the sugary discs into half moons. The repetition of frosting and smoothing calmed you. With enough time and vanilla Wanda’s unwelcome appearance would soon become a distant memory.

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

Latte Love had been open for almost a month. The cafe had a slow start initially. Customers trickled in and out for the better part of two weeks. For those two glorious weeks you paid no heed to the brunette who could often be found sweeping the sidewalk and arranging the outside tables just so. Suddenly, something changed. Before you knew it a line formed outside the locked doors every morning with people waiting to get their morning cup of coffee. You didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but once you spotted a couple of your regulars in the line your vitriol for Wanda increased tenfold.

“That’s the third time today they’ve had a line out the door!” Peter exclaimed as he pressed his nose to the glass.

“Thank you for that reminder, Captain Obvious,” you snarked as you counted back change to the lady at the counter. “Anything else you want to add?”

Peter quickly recoiled from the glass, a sheepish expression on his face. “Ned says their coffee is really good….and so are their muffins,” he mumbled.

Oh great. Now I’ve gotta compete with her pastries, too. What a bitch…you thought to yourself as you handed the lady back a fistful of coins. Wanda was frustrating you more and more every single day. You sighed, taking off your baseball cap and running your hands threw your sweaty hair.

The door jingled. Sam and Nat walked in, the two of them eating cookies that suspiciously didn’t look like yours.

“What are those?” you asked.

“You want one? Wanda gave them to us. Pietro’s trying out a new recipe for sugar cookies. They’re honestly not half bad.” Sam reached into the brown paper bag and grabbed a large cookie, its warmth causing it to bend ever so slightly.

“Goddamn it! You slammed your cap down on the counter. In your mind, this was an act of war and you were not going to stand for it. Who did she think she was, bribing your employees?

“Y/N, just relax, okay? Wanda didn’t mean anything by it. She’s really nice if you get to know her,” Natasha asserted.

“She’s stealing our customers!” you shouted. “And I can’t believe you guys are eating her food!”

“Dude, relax. The cookies are good and she’s nice. Her brother’s cool, too,” Sam added, wiping cookie crumbs from his goatee.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled, storming around the counter and yanking the door open. You were going over there to give her a piece of your mind.

You didn’t care what customers thought as you pushed Latte Love’s door open. Lucky for you there weren’t any at the moment, the last one having left moments ago. You heard the commotion of dishes crashing from the back and a voice you hadn’t heard before mixing with Wanda’s. As the commotion in the background subsided, it was the perfect opportunity to look around at the transformed deli.

The new design was rustic chic with exposed brick walls, stained wooden tables, and the same rustic counter that Mr. Neely once stored his meats and cheeses in. A series of shiny metallic coffee machines sat behind the counter, the shelves above it stocked with containers full of different types of coffee beans. The front case was stuffed full of various breads, pastries, cookies, and sandwiches. It wasn’t a bad place at all, and the food didn’t look half-bad either. She’d actually done a decent job at bringing the old shop back to life.

“Y/N?” You whipped around as Wanda called your name. She looked exhausted, her face glistening with sweat and powdered sugar as she pushed a rack of cupcakes and sweet breads out of the kitchen. Her hair was swept up in a messy bun, strands hanging askew as she wiped the sweat from her bow with her arm. Her black apron was peppered with sugar and frosting stains. “How are you? Did Sam give you a cookie like I asked him to?” “Did Sam - what?”

“Oh, I gave him some cookies to try. Pietro’s working out a new sugar cookie recipe and he needs taste testers so I figured-”

“What are you playing at here, Maximoff?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda tilted her head as she questioned you, her gaze quickly hardening into a stare.

“You heard me. What are you playing at? Is stealing my customers not enough for you that you need to go after my employees too?”

Wanda’s jaw dropped open as she stared at you incredulously. She laughed, shaking her head as she started unloading the cupcakes. “Are you for real right now?”

“Before you showed up we’d sell out every single day. Now more often than not I’m throwing stuff out. Sales have dropped and I’ve lost regulars that I’ve had for years. So I’m telling you this now: stay away from me and my staff.” It was all you could do to not take all your frustration out on her.

“I don’t know what you think’s going on here,” Wanda started, placing the trays neatly in the case. While she wasn’t outwardly aggressive, she shoved them in there harder than she normally would. “But you are absolutely insane if you think that I’m trying to steal your customers or staff or whatever. Sam and Natasha have been nothing but kind to me and Pietro, I just want to return the favor.”

“Well stop. The last thing I need is for my guys to be fraternizing with the enemy,” you grumbled, your blood pressure reaching a boiling point as you stared her down, fists clenched tightly at your side.

“Oh, so now I’m the enemy then?” She slammed the tray on the counter, sending loaves of bread tumbling off the sides. “Jesus, Y/N, what’s wrong with you? Have you ever stopped to think that maybe people stopped going to your shop because they wanted to try something new or, here’s a novel thought, maybe they like my place more than yours?”

“Fuck you, Wanda! That place means everything to me! You have no idea what I’ve done to keep that bakery running and I’m not gonna let your stupid bucket list adventure ruin my life’s work!”

“Get out!” Wanda shouted as she threw a muffin at your head. Her aim was wide and the pastry hit the wall with a splat as you leaned out of the way. “Get the fuck out of my store you bastard!”

Your vision tunneled as you stormed out of the shop, not neglecting to flip her the bird as you slammed the door behind you. Ever since Wanda Maximoff came to town everything had gone completely and utterly wrong. Everyone seemed to be flocking to her and her business. Even Sam and Natasha, two of your closest friends in the whole wide world, had taken to her. It irritated you to no end. She constantly invaded the deepest depths of your mind, and many nights you awoke in a cold sweat after she invaded your dreams. There was nothing you wouldn’t do to get her out of your mind: grueling pre-dawn runs, sleepless nights spent getting ahead on cake orders, countless after-work happy hours throwing back whatever alcohol you could get your hands on…anything to get that frustrating, irritating, beautiful woman, out of your mind.

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

After your spat, it was like someone had built the Berlin Wall in the middle of the street. Patrons realized that something was up with the two shops and most had picked a side. Lucky for you a majority of the customers you lost returned. Things finally went back to normal for a while. Sam and Natasha stopped frequenting Latte Love, or if they didn’t they kept quiet about it. Natasha reamed you out for the way you snapped at Wanda, telling you to grow the fuck up and deal with it like an adult while Sam became unusually quiet around you. It was exasperating, but at least you felt like you were in control again. Yet as things started to go back to normal, there was something looming around the corner that would change your life forever.

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

“Hello?” you mumbled groggily into your phone. It was the middle of the night and your phone jolted you awake with its abrasive ringtone.

“Y/N, it’s Nat.” You shot right up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. She sounded extremely concerned to the point where you were worried.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s the bakery. It’s-”

You didn’t even let her finish before you hung up, frantically searching for some clothes and your keys as you raced down the stairs of your apartment toward your car. As you sped down the road toward downtown, an orange glow illuminated the dark buildings while sirens grew ever closer.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no. Please no. Please. You white-knuckled the steering wheel, your damp palms sliding as your heart pounded in your chest. The turn onto the main drag confirmed your worst fears: The Rolling Scone was burning.

You skidded to a halt almost as soon as you turned the corner. Fire engines, police cars, and ambulances blocked the area surrounding your store and the other end of the road while firefighters rushed into the burning building. You jogged down the street, looking for a familiar face in the crowd of first responders.

“Y/N!” Natasha jumped out of the back of an ambulance and came running over to you, a reflective rescue blanket draped over her shoulders.

“Nat! Oh god, are you okay?” She threw her arms around you and squeezed you tight. You instinctively pulled her close, cradling her head with one hand as you wrapped your other arm around her.

“I don’t know what happened. I was working on the books in the office before I got started on the donuts and I started smelling smoke, so I walked out there and the kitchen was on fire. I tried to put it out, but when it got too big I called 911. It’s all my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were brimming with tears as she apologized for the mistake that wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled against the top of her head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” You held her close to you as she cried into your shirt. The sight of your beloved bakery burning to the ground in front of you should’ve elicited some emotional response from you, but you felt nothing. None of what was happening seemed real. You’d wake up in a few hours, shake off your nightmare, and head back to work like nothing ever happened, but that wouldn’t happen again for a very long time. Now when you woke up, you’d have to spend the foreseeable future picking up the charred pieces of your livelihood.

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

Gone. It was all gone. The last tangible reminder of your parents had gone up in smoke. Words couldn’t accurately describe just how devastated you were. The bakery was the way you dealt with the crushing pain of having tragically lost your parents so early in life. Now your coping mechanism was gone. You looked around, seeing the charred remains of the booths, the front counter, and the collection of employee and family pictures that hung on the back wall. One picture in particular caught your eye. It was you and your parents after the little league championship game the year your team won. The picture was charred around the edges, half of your mom’s body was burnt off, but it was mostly intact. You ripped it off the wall, sighing as you stared at the faded memory.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered at your parents’ beaming faces. You let their dream burn down and with it your last memories of them.

You stayed in the building most of the day. Natasha stopped by at one point to find you on the floor leaning against what was left of the front counter. She offered to grab you some food or take you home, but you declined, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the void. That’s where Wanda found you when she showed up later in the evening.

“Hey,” she said as she crouched under the CAUTION tape. You ignored her as you stared at the charred photograph in your hand. She stood awkwardly in front of you, a brown paper bag in one hand and her purse in the other. Wanda was the last person in the world you wanted to see right now. You wanted to scream, to tell her to leave you alone, but you didn’t have the energy.

“Please go,” you murmured, flipping the photograph through your fingers.

She didn’t go. She walked over to the counter, kicking a piece of charred wood to the side as she sat down next to you. There was an unspoken tension in the air as neither of you looked at each other: you stared down at the picture, she stared at the brown bag in her hand.

“Here,” she said as she slid the bag over to you. Taking a look inside the brown bag, you saw two delicious looking honey butter muffins staring back at you. “I figured that it’d help you feel a bit better.” Wanda smiled, her emerald eyes glimmering back at you. For the first time since you met it made your heart skip a beat.

“You figured that muffins from your still-standing cafe would help me feel better about my bakery burning down?”

“Look I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry about your bakery…” she trailed off as she brought her knees up and hugged them close to her chest. “It should’ve been my place that burned down, not yours.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true! Sam told me all about this place. How your parents built it from the ground up, how you’ve literally spent your whole life working here, how you dropped out of school after they died to-”

“Please stop,” you interrupted as you felt another lump in your throat. .

“Is that them?” she asked, leaning over to get a better look at the photo in your hand.

You nodded. “That’s, umm, that’s the day we won the little league championship. Dad coached my team that year and…” You trailed off as your eyes filled with tears. “Umm, this place is the only thing I have left of them, you know? Coming here every day, it’s almost like they’re still here. And now that it’s gone I…” You looked down at the picture as hot tears rolled down your face. The emotional breakdown that had been brewing all day was finally bubbling up through the cracks. “Sorry.”

Before you could say anything else, a pair of soft hands wrapped around you and pulled you close. “It’s okay, you can let it all out,” Wanda whispered. That was all it took for you to finally break down. You sobbed into her chest as she held you. She squeezed you close as she gently rocked back and forth, her fingers gently stroking your hair. “You’re okay, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you,” she soothed. Your body was wracked with sobs as you finally let everything go.

Wanda’s touch was calming. You’d never felt so calm or safe wrapped up in someone else’s arms before. You never cried in front of anyone, not even Natasha and she was your best friend. Somehow you knew that Wanda was someone you could trust completely. “I’m sorry that you’re going through this, but you don’t have to go through it alone,” she whispered in your ear as your sobs started to calm. You didn’t have enough control to speak yet so you simply nodded into her chest. Her scent was intoxicating, a combination of sugar, roasted coffee beans, and vanilla blossom shampoo. You never noticed it before.

“Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” you sniffled as you sat up.

“Sorry for throwing a muffin at your head,” Wanda chuckled as she reached up to brush a stray tear from her face. Her hand was incredibly soft as she rested it on your cheek. You felt your face grow hot, but you weren’t sure if it was from the way she was touching you or the lack of distance between your faces or all of the above. The knot in your throat instantly migrated down to your stomach as you locked eyes with her.

“ S’okay,” you mumbled as you lost yourself in her deep green eyes. After staring for a moment too long, you turned your head away and blinked. She shook her head, realizing for herself the tense intimacy of the situation. “What kind of muffins are these?” you asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Honey butter. Pietro found the recipe online and fell in love with them.”

“I can see why,” you responded with your mouth full. “They’re good, but I think mine are just a bit better.”

“Shut up,” she answered with a playful smack.

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

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wanda came over to your bakery almost every day. At first it was just to bring you something from the cafe: a cup of coffee and something sweet in the morning or a sandwich after she closed up for the evening. Her presence soon became a familiar comfort to you and you looked forward to the few moments you spent with her every evening. Daily food deliveries turned into offers to pick up dinner, and you often found yourself sitting up with her until all hours as you ate and continued the arduous rebuilding process. Soon enough Wanda was coming over to help you on her days off.

As you spent more time with her, the way you thought about her changed. You no longer woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares that involved her. Nowadays when you dreamt about her you woke up with an uncomfortable throbbing in your pajama pants. Her smile made you weak at the knees and you craved any opportunity to touch her. She was an incredible woman but you were terrified to tell her how you felt.

Natasha, of course, had noticed the shift in your demeanor towards her. “So do I get to fire you when you sleep with her or are you gonna fire yourself?” she teased one night while you were tearing the tile flooring out of the kitchen.

“Fuck off, Nat,” you answered, not steering your attention away from the floor.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t drooling over her when she wore those shorts in here the other day. Besides, I see the way you two are when you’re together.”

“She’s just being friendly. She’s like that with you and Sam too, you know.”

“Y/N, she kept staring at your crotch when you wore those grey sweatpants last week. Even if she doesn’t like you, and I’m telling you she does, she still wants to fuck you.”

“Right, yeah,” you guffawed. While you brushed Natasha off, you hoped she was right. You had caught Wanda staring when you wore your grey sweats last week…and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

“You should tell her how you feel. I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.”

“Nat-”

“She’s over there now. Just go talk to her. Ask her out for dinner or something.”

“Nat-”

“Relax, I’ve got everything under control,” she smiled at you. “Go talk to Wanda.”

You groaned as you pushed yourself up from the hard floor. “Fine. But if this all goes wrong I’m blaming it on you!” You wiped your hands on a rag, throwing it at Nat as you headed for the door.

“It won’t!” she called from the kitchen. You shook your head, grinning as you pushed the door open and crossed the street to Latte Love. The store was closed for the evening. Inside, Wanda was cleaning up, wiping down the tables and counter like she did every evening before making her way to The Rolling Scone.

Wanda looked up as she heard the door jingle. Her exhausted face lit up at the sight of you. “Hey you,” she called. “What’s going on?”

“Not much. Just helping Nat rip up the tile in the kitchen. Contractor says he’ll be ready to go by the end of the week for that.” The words felt like cotton balls in your mouth. You never got this flustered around her but the thought of telling Wanda how you truly felt about her had your stomach tied in knots. “How was your day?”

“Good! Pietro left early for an appointment, so it’s just me closing up. I was planning on picking up Indian for dinner. Wanna join me?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Listen-”

“Oh! I got this call for this INSANE order. This lady wants twelve dozen cupcakes by Sunday. SUNDAY. Can you believe that?!”

“Wanda-”

“I mean of course you can, you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have. But I mean we’re a coffee shop, not a bakery! I would’ve sent them to you but, well, you know, it’s a little hard to bake cupcakes when you don’t have an oven.”

“Wanda-”

“So I said ‘Sure, why the hell not?’ and I think that was a mistake because-”

“WANDA!” you said a little more aggressively than you intended.

“Yeah?” She threw her hand towel over her shoulder.

“Wanda. I, well, fuck. Sorry, I’m not good at this.” Your hands were all sweaty and your knees felt weak. “Look. What I want to say is, well, for the past few weeks we’ve…spending time with you…fuck! Why is this so hard for me to say?” You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated that you couldn’t figure out the right words to say.

Wanda’s quizzical look slowly softened into a smile as she started to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She looked down at the ground, biting her lip as she threw the towel on the counter right before she jumped up on it, spun around, and hopped off on the other side. She walked right over to you, stopping less than a foot away as she looked up into your eyes.

“You know, for an emotionally suppressed type of guy, you’re pretty cute when you get all flustered,” she teased.

“Wanda, I-”

Before you could finish your thought, Wanda grabbed your waist, leaned in, and kissed you. Your hands somehow found their way to the back of her neck, palms resting on her cheeks as you cupped her head. Every single coherent thought you had flew out of your brain the second her lips touched yours. They were just as sweet as you imagined they’d be. You smiled into her lips, eternally grateful that she had been the one to initiate this in the first place. She smiled back as you deepened it, capturing her bottom lip between yours. There was no need for talking, no need for any other explanation. The dance between your lips told the entire story: you were hers, and she was yours. The knot in your stomach burst into a million butterflies as every touch ignited a burning sense of desire within you.

“Wanda, I-” you somehow managed to choke out as she began to kiss the side of your neck.

“There’s a couch in the office and the door locks,” she mumbled. Her lips grazed your sensitive skin as she spoke and it took everything in you not to let out an offensive moan.

“Lead the way.” Wanda grabbed your hand and dragged you behind the counter and through the kitchen to the small office in the back of the shop. You slammed the door shut behind you as Wanda pinned you to it, locking the door with one hand before bringing it back up to roam your body. She slammed her lips into yours as you grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against your body. The contact sent a surge of energy through your groin and you knew it would be only a matter of moments before your shorts became unbearably uncomfortable.

You explored her body as you kissed her, tracing over every curve as she moaned into your mouth at the sensual contact. She was heavenly. You decided to change up the intensity of your make out session, swiping your tongue over her lower lip. She willingly opened up and allowed your tongue to explore hers.

Before you realized it, Wanda’s hands made their way down your body to the front of your shorts. She unbuttoned them, stopping right afterwards to palm your throbbing erection. You nibbled on her bottom lip as she fondled you and she smiled into your mouth in response. As she pulled your pants and boxers down, you pulled off your t-shirt and threw it off to the side.

“You’re beautiful,” Wanda whispered as she looked at your naked body for the first time. She ran her hands over your toned biceps, strong and wiry from years of kneading dough, and your pecs, down your toned stomach before reaching your cock. She grabbed it with one hand, stroking it gently as she dropped to her knees.

“Wanda,” you groaned as she worked her hands up and down your shaft. Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she lined up her mouth with your tip and swallowed the first part of your penis. She swirled her tongue around your tip, coating it in saliva before removing her mouth and using it as lube to jack you off. Your knees felt weak as she took you in her mouth again, bobbing her head up and down your entire length. She sucked and licked and swirled your cock, hollowing her cheeks as she took you down her throat. The noises that came from her mouth as she gagged on your length were sinful, but it only made you want her that much more.

At one point she reached for your hand, placing it on the back of her head. You took that as a sign to do what you wanted, so you moved her head up and down at a speed you liked. You moaned as you felt the familiar fire burning within you, spurred on by the way Wanda’s eyes watered as she let you fuck her throat. She grabbed onto your thighs as you pounded into her, nails digging into your flesh as she looked up at you with those pleading green eyes.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned as Wanda ripped your hand away from her head, bringing her other hand up to jack you off as she sucked on your tip. The sudden suction and added stimulation immediately caused you to tumble over the edge as you released down her throat. She greedily swallowed every last drop. Having her suck you off like that was a life-changing experience.

Wanda sat back on her heels, wiping the drool from her chin as she gasped for air. “Nice cock,” she chuckled. “Hope it feels as good as it tastes.”

“Why don’t we find out?” you teased, offering your hand to her as she stood up. “But I think you’ve got too many clothes on for that.”

“I think we can take care of that,” Wanda smirked, reaching down to pull her shirt over her head. “Want to get my pants?” she asked as she reached behind her to undo her bra.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you joked as you unbuttoned her jeans. You slid both them and her panties down her legs before she kicked them off. “Wow,” you said, taking a step back to admire her.

“Like what you see, tiger?”

“Wanda, I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Wanda blushed a deep shade of crimson at your words. It wasn’t an exaggeration. She was absolutely gorgeous.

“Thank you,” she whispered sheepishly as she sat on the couch.

You sat down next to her, your eyes darting from one part of her nude figure to the other before you settled back on her lips. Leaning forward, you kissed her as she fell back on the couch. It didn’t take much to shift your position so that you were completely on top of her. You relished the taste of her lips as you kissed and you wanted to savor the sensation of every second.

“Fuck,” you murmured as you reached a hand down between her legs. “You’re absolutely soaked, Wanda.” She whined as you drew a finger up the length of her cunt, teasing around her engorged clit. “You do that to me every day. I go home soaking wet and fuck myself thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” She bucked her hips against your hand, desperate to relieve the ache building within her. “God, I want you in me so bad, Y/N.”

“Jesus,” you whispered through gritted teeth as your erection swelled at her words. “And here I was trying to figure out how to tell you how the first thing I do every morning is jack off to the thought of you.”

“I guess we both have filthy minds then,” she grinned. Her face was flushed with arousal, the redness spreading down her neck and onto her breasts. “Fuck!” she exclaimed as you dipped a finger ever so slightly inside her before quickly pulling out. “Please just fuck me!”

“You’re cute when you beg,” you sighed as you lined yourself up with her entrance. You teased her with your tip, rubbing it up and down her slit and over her lips and clit before barely pushing your head in. She whined, rolling her hips in a feeble effort to lower herself onto you.

“Y/N please-” Wanda’s words turned into a sharp cry as you slammed your entire length inside her. Her pussy was absolute heaven. She was warm and wet, her slick velvety walls engulfing you and squeezing in all the right places.

“Oh my fucking god,” you croaked. You laid over her for a minute, trying to regroup yourself enough so you wouldn’t immediately blow your load inside her. As she adjusted to your intrusion and you calmed yourself down, you began to roll your hips against her, thrusting in and out.

“Shit,” she gasped. Wanda rolled her hips in time with yours, meeting you as you thrust your length all the way inside her. You continued at a steady pace, the sounds of her wet pussy being the only noise in the room.

“Are you okay?” you asked, noticing Wanda’s eyes were screwed shut.

“Feels really good. Can you go faster?” Not wanting to disappoint, you began to pound into her. Her mouth gaped open at your newfound intensity as she reached up to wrap her arms and legs around you. “Oh fuck, right there.”

The couch shook under the duress of your movements. You pounded into Wanda, her tight hole stretching perfectly around your cock with every thrust. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you grunted from exertion. Your moans and groans, along with the squelching of Wanda’s pussy, filled the room. As you pounded into her cunt, your cock disappearing within her wet folds, Wanda’s moans became louder and more erratic. “You close, baby girl?”

Wanda nodded, wrapping her legs tighter around your midsection. “My clit,” she choked out. You helped her move one of her arms from your back to the sensitive spot. She circled it furiously, a loud groan tearing from her chest. “Faster,” she commanded.

You doubled down on your efforts and hammered into her dripping cunt. The way her walls fluttered and clenched around you told you she wasn’t far away from her orgasm. The way she tightened around you sent that familiar coil through your lower abdomen. It wouldn’t be much longer until you reached your climax as well.

“I’m gonna cum,” she whined. You pounded into her as fast as you could, groaning as your hips slammed against her swollen pussy. Her hand circled her clit furiously. Wanda came with a loud groan, her back arching off the couch as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed down on her. Her walls throbbed and clenched rhythmically around you, the intense sensation finally causing you to cum as you released your thick load of cum deep inside her. Wanda dug her nails deep into your back as you absolutely ruined her.

“Fuck I love you,” you gasped as you collapsed on top of her from sheer exhaustion. Blood pounded in your ears and black dots peppered your vision as you recovered from the best orgasm you ever had.

“You love me?” Wanda asked, her eyes blown wide with desire from the afterglow of her incredible orgasm.

“Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.” A sense of panic overtook you as you stared down at Wanda.

“No it’s okay. I mean, I feel the same way,” she admitted, smiling back up at you.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm”

You chuckled as you leaned down to kiss her. “Guess I have to quit my job now.”

Wanda looked at you with a confused expression. “What?” she asked as she cocked an eyebrow.

“I told everyone that they’d be fired if they slept with you, so I guess I’ve gotta quit.”

“I love you,” Wanda giggled as she shook her head.

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

“So let me get this straight: we’re merging with Latte Love after you threatened to fire us if we talked to Wanda?” Sam crossed his arms as he sat on the newly reconstructed front counter. You had called the team together to announce the new business venture you were about to embark on.

“Okay first off I only threatened to fire you if you slept with her. Talking to her would’ve resulted in a stern talking to and overnight donut duty for a week. Second, it's not a merger so much as it is a partnership. Both businesses will operate independent of one another, but now we’re going to start carrying some of their baked goods,” you explained. Everyone looked at you in utter disbelief, unable to fathom your sudden shift in the way you viewed Latte Love.

“What changed?” Nat asked, tapping her pen against the table.

“Oh you know…stuff…things,” you murmured sheepishly as your face reddened.

“Oh my god!” Nat’s eyes widened in realization as she stood up. “You slept with her!”

“Dude what?! That’s so -” Peter exclaimed before Sam slapped his hand over his mouth to shut him up. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you looked up at the ceiling. Natasha was laughing at the irony of the whole situation before she lambasted you with questions.

“How long has this been going on? Wait, was it a one time thing? Oh, it was definitely the time I made you go over there to talk to her when we were ripping up the floor. And you told me you two just talked. Talking my ass…Is this a business deal, like sex in exchange for pastries? Are you two a thing? I should’ve guessed with how much time you’ve been spending over there and how you never want to do anything fun with me anymo-”

“Nat, will you please shut up?!” Her endless questions were exasperating. Yes, you and Wanda were in fact a thing but you hadn’t told anyone about it. You hadn’t even told Nat about your back office hookup even though it happened two months ago. There was so much going on with rebuilding the bakery and dealing with insurance claims that you wanted to keep this part of your life private. “I just think it’d be a good idea for both of us, maximize our profits, boost both of our busin-”

“Hey babe, is there any way you can come help me with the rest of the-” Wanda paused as she barged in on your team meeting. “Oh hi guys!”

“Mmhmm, it’s definitely good for both of you,” Nat smirked as she took a sip of her coffee. You shot her a warning look while Wanda stood utterly oblivious to the scene unfolding around her. “Go on, go help your girlfriend with whatever she needs. I’ll show Peter how to do the bagels.”

You smiled at Wanda as you headed toward the door. “So what do you need my help with?”

“Nothing,” Wanda responded as she reached for your hand. “Just wanted to spend some time with my favorite guy.”

“Don’t let Pietro hear you say that.”

“That’s okay, he already knows.” She squeezed your hand reassuringly as you crossed the street.

You smiled as her grip tightened around your hand. Six months ago there was no way to predict that the woman who ruined your life would ultimately become the greatest thing that ever happened to you. As you crossed the threshold from your bakery to her cafe, you were grateful to be able to call The Rolling Scone, Latte Love, and Wanda home.

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thatswhywelovegermany · 8 months ago

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Die Roggenmuhme

The Rye Aunt

The Rye Aunt is a female cereal demon and children's fright of German folk tales, who lives in grain fields.

The Rye Aunt wanders up and down in the fields, feeds on the grain and tears out the immature ears. If she is angry with the farmer, she punishes him by drying out his fields. In general, however, the appearance of the Rye Aunt in the fields is a sign of a good harvest. During the harvest, she flees into the last truss. The Rye Aunt receives a share of the harvest, which is either left behind or thrown into the field. This custom is to propitiate the Rye Aunt and bring about a fertile next year.

The Rye Aunt is generally thought to live underground, in the empire of the roots or in a cave.

The Rye Aunt punishes lazy maids, who have not spun off their spinning rocks in the Boxing Week. The breath of the Rye Aunt brings illness and death.

Appearance

The Rye Aunt is often described as completely black or snow-white, and of superhuman size. Her arms are long or made of iron. Her fingers are fiery or iron. It is also said that the Rye Aunt has claws on her hands, which may also be made of iron.

The Rye Aunt has unusually large breasts that are so long that she can fold them over her shoulders. She also has more than two breasts. These can be black, iron, wooden or silver. They are pointed and hard, have glowing iron tips or are fiery. The breasts are filled with tar, poisonous milk or blood.

The Rye Aunt is described as an old womanwith a wrinkled face featuring stinging awns, a crooked nose, and wears glasses. She is sometimes even described as headless or said to have an iron heart.

In addition, she can change her shape, for example into a turtle, a snake, a frog, a wolf, a black cat, a horned animal or a dog with a blanket.

The Rye aunt is often dressed in black, but has also been seen dressed entirely in gray. Her clothes are ragged. Sometimes the Rye Aunt also wears a red skirt, or she wears a red dress and a red cap. Sometimes, she wears blue coat and wide flowing skirts. Often the Rye Aunt wears a white headscarf like a reaper. Sometimes she walks on crutches.

The Rye Aunt is associated with several weather phenomena. When the wind blows through the cornfield, people say that the Rye Aunt moves over the grain. She is also traveling with the whirlwind.

The Rye Aunt appears in particular at midday between 12:00 and 13:00. If she encounters someone in the fields at midday, she kills them or frightens them, casting spells. If she finds women who have recently given birth in bed between 12:00 and 13:00 and between 18:00 and 20:00, she does the field work for them. If she does not find women in childbed at the specified time, a misfortune will happen to the mother and the child.

The Rye Aunt is often seen as a child scare. Her activities as a child-scaring figure are extremely varied.

In their tale no. 90 The Rye Aunt, the Brothers Grimm tell that the Rye Aunt swaps human children with changelings, but brings back the right child if the changeling is not suckled. Elsewhere it is said that she steals illegitimate children at midnight.

The Rye Aunt lies in wait in the field for all those children who want to pick cornflowers in order to scare and punish them. She also lures children into the field by waving her arms. She abducts children by putting them in her big bag or basket, of by taking the children under her wide flowing skirts to bring them to the empire of the roots. She may also pull children to her with an iron fireplace poker and has them guarded by a toad. She leads children astray in the field and lets them starve to death, or she comes with her flock of elves and lays the children on cushions of flowers, whereupon they fall asleep and never wake up again. The Rye Aunt appears as a witch when she casts spells or the Evil Eye on children, She may also appear as a nightmare when she sends evil spirits to disobedient children at night.

Children often have to suck on the breasts of the Rye Aunt. Sometimes, disobedient children get the big breasts beaten around their ears. The Rye Aunt is said to, hug children so tight that they are pressed against her breasts die as a result from suffocation or getting crushed in her embrace. The Rye Aunt also crouches in wolf form, hiding in the grain, and is accompanied by small dogs that lure children into her iron embrace. She is also regarded as the mother of the rye wolves, who eat the children.

The Rye Aunt chases children on horseback or runs as fast as a horse herself. In the latter case, she chases children to death in races. She can also fly and takes children to the sea to drown them there. If she accosts children, they must die.

The Rye Aunt demands that children eat a slice of bread spread with tar. If they do not comply, she cuts off their heads. She also smears children with tar from a bottle or covers their eyes with tar. She also scratches out children's eyes or blows out their eyesight. The Rye Aunt strangles children, twists their necks or cuts off their heads, and also cuts off their necks, noses, ears, or fingers. She also beheads children with a sickle, a knife or a saw. She cuts off the children's legs with a scythe. The Rye Aunt also tears off children's legs.

The Rye Aunt binds children into a bundle with a thread or ties the children to a thread and then beats them up. She pinches children with iron pincers or uses a pinch. She stabs children with pikes, of which she has three, one by the head and one in each hand. The Rye Aunt also stabs children with stalks or drives nails into their heels.

In her hand, the rye maid carries a rod or whip, which is to be regarded as a lightning rod. She also has a sceptre or an iron scourge, which she uses to beat children. She puts children in a nail barrel and rolls them around in it or drags them into a cave and crushes them there with a giant meat grinder. Otherwise, she also crushes children in an iron butter churn.

The Rye Aunt also bites and eats children. To get hold of children, she sets out traps. She slaughters and eats the children or kills and roasts them using her burning breasts and fingers. The Rye Aunt also throws children into a cauldron of hot water or sucks their blood.

All these stories were told children to deter them from wandering through the fields, which posed several dangers, including getting lost and freezing to death at night, encounters with dangerous animals, suffering injuries from farm equipment used on the fields, or merely the destruction of crops and yield loss by walking over the fields.

#german mythical creatures #roggenmuhme #rye aunt

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valoisfulcanellideux · 5 months ago

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The Greatbridge in its heyday

We all know it as this beautiful creation:

But I wanted to write about how it might have been in its heyday, when the Ancient Capital was alive and thronging with people. And so I did...

From These Stones Remember (ch.22) -

The great wooden gates lay up ahead, and beyond them he could see a bustle already arising. Carts rumbled past him, laden with wares, donkeys and llamas similarly packed with goods passed by more noisily. And, as he walked through the gates, the whole of the Greatbridge lay before him. Flanking the whole length of it, as far as he could see, stalls and stands were already set up and in the process of being stocked. Banners and pennants danced in the river breeze that also brought the scents of spices and incense smokes to him. Baskets and crates and sacks, fruits and grains and vegetables, the hot floury smell of flatbread baking in ovens, the mouth-watering sizzle of sides of pork turning over hot coals that nosed down from the far end of the bridge, the chatter and laughter of haggling already underway. To his left, a large balloon that floated in the air, tied down with rope. Occasional bursts of flame upwards into the stiffened cloth sphere made it rise to the limits of the rope, as well as the heavy net slung across the top of the sphere. Below it there hung a large square basket, from which burly men wearing brown leather breeches and white shirts handed down large crates to their colleagues on the ladder below, who cracked them open and set out their contents on tables and boxes. Stacks of books, both plain and with magical sheen, piled between shining ingots of pure iron. To his right, a great chirping, flapping, and squawking as a man and woman took birdcages from a small cart pulled by a third, hanging them beneath a joyously bright statue of a parrot. Two small children stood close by, hand-in-hand, watching and giggling. Beneath bright awnings, cooking oils by the jug and dried fruits by the waxen bag, seeds by the pouch for planting, buttons by the cone and ribbons by the measure of thumb to elbow. Beneath the llama statue, women crowded to haggle for the best and brightest from water-filled buckets of colourful flowers. Moving through the bustling crowd, delights at every turn, Paix gloried in the beauty and heart of humanity that thronged this place. Hawkers cried their wares, flattered and wheedled and flirted with their customers for another sale, jugglers and tumbling acrobats somehow managed to keep both a space about them and an entertained audience distracted before them. Devotees sang and sold wine and sugar beneath a floating quartz cupola that defied both gravity and sensibility. A redstone trickster held a small gaggle of onlookers rapt while his light-fingered accomplice relieved their pockets of coin. Mummers performed a comedic play, drawing roars of laughter from those crowded around their antics. Paix was offered samples of wine by the singing devotees, juicy hunks of roasted pork by odd little squat folk whose cloak hoods flared widely on either side of their heads and who tried to press him for an additional purchase of copper ingots, giggling when he demurred since he had nothing with which to pay them. More wine, followed by a hand thrusting a crescent-shaped meat pie toward him with a broad grin and a bellowed word that was lost amid the general clamour on the Greatbridge.

#pixlriffs #empires smp #empires s2 #esmp #esmp2 #esmpblr #the ancient capital #the greatbridge

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full-of-mercy · 1 year ago

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starter: desert rain

There are things that just don't happen in No Man's Land, this ball of dust spinning around two suns.

Case in point:

It's raining.

Sort of.

There was an earthquake.

Also sort of.

The clank and clatter of industry gave way to rumbling, to furrows and fissures appearing in sandstone streets. The populace only started to scatter out of Little Ticaboo's colorful central bazaar when the fry stall started spitting and spilling hot oil across the cobbles, igniting a blaze in the adjacent basket weaver's wares. That wasn't all, of course, but that was what prompted the first of many waves of confusion and panic.

Running toward the fire, running from it.

All of this coincided with deep chthonic cracking, a guttural wrench. A sidewalk split from its adjoined avenue, toppling awnings one after another in a drape of reds and blues, blurry smears amid rising smoke. It was all they could do to help people cross the widening, trembling gap, to keep the earth from swallowing them up.

Suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped.

Only to burst in a peal of thunder.

Muddy, burbling, and then fluting, trumpeting past the town's well-pump scaffolds, an unstoppable elemental force. The eruption soared in a plume of mist, drenching everything beneath it, scattering prisms in the cloudless sky.

Wolfwood ascended a stable building, perching on the slant of a tiled roof to watch the chaos unfold.

And here he stands, looking up, looking out. A stampede (ha) to escape debris and sinkholes has become a rush to open cisterns and barrels and every possible vessel to capture the falling bounty—a race to cap and control the flow, stem the tide.

Water scours dust from stone and skin, making streams of the streets, a benediction to upturned faces and open hands.

(And a bane to lit cigarettes. Damn it).

#verse: wayward wolf

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fanatic-writers · 1 year ago

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Arms Tonite

A/n: Little Frank Castle drabble, one-shot, whatever you wanna call it cause I got this thought stuck in my head and couldn't get it out. Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty, I promise there's a happy ending.

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: Angsty angst angst, violence, guns, death, unedited

Word count: 1762

The rays of the sun flashed in your eyes, a familiar silhouette showing through. You didn’t know how you’d done it but you’d managed to convince Frank to have a picturesque almost Pinterest-level date. You were leaning back on a red checkered cloth. The picnic basket was empty with the food you two had shared over lunch. Your sundress rested just above your knees as you lazily looked over at your boyfriend. His eyes drifted to your thighs. “See something you like Castle?” You teased, his eyes slowly dragging up to your face. You never thought you’d get moments like this when you’d first met him. You knew his reputation, you knew his story. The two of you had been friends for what felt like ages before you’d managed to get up the nerve to ask him on a date.

“I-it doesn’t really have to be a date.” You’d stammered out after you’d asked him to dinner. Frank’s face was damn near unreadable as you looked at him until a small smile crept onto his features. “You wouldn’t be so nervous if you didn’t want it to be a date.” He teased you.

The clouds darkened out of nowhere, rain opening up as you and Frank scrambled to put everything back where it belonged. There wasn’t rain in the forecast for the day so neither of you had thought to bring an umbrella. Instead, Frank took off his jacket and held it over your head as the two of you ran for some sort of shelter from the downpour. A sense of déjà vu filled you as you both huddled under the awning of a nearby shop. You clung to his warmth, not really sure what the both of you were waiting for. The sky had gone even darker than it should have, the rain slowing to a stop as the clouds separated and revealed twinkling stars. You looked up confused before you heard Frank’s voice from the doorway. “You gonna come in or just stand out there staring at the ceiling?” He asked and you realized you were in front of his apartment door. You nodded, a bit confused before you walked into the candle-lit living room. “Happy Anniversary sweetheart.” Your brows furrowed once more, you’re anniversary wasn’t for another couple of months. You weren’t great with dates but you knew you hadn’t missed it considering you’d put it in your damn calendar. Then you realized how familiar it all looked, the candles set on the table, the white whine bottle waiting to be opened. “I know red goes better with spaghetti but-“ “But I don’t like reds” You finished for him, remembering your first anniversary like it was yesterday and not almost three years ago. Something was wrong, something was really wrong.

---

Frank had heard the gunshot before he could get to you. You’d called him, nervous that someone had been trailing you a couple of minutes ago. You were just a couple of blocks from his apartment and he had been jogging to meet you. He heard your scream and began to run and the moment he heard the gun go off he broke into an all-out sprint. Skidding to a stop in front of the darkened alley way he wasted no time putting a full clip into your assailant. Of all the times you’d accompanied him, put yourself into his battles, he never thought he’d lose you to some petty criminal trying to get whatever cash you had in your wallet.

He called out your name, dropping to his knees beside your body. You didn’t respond. Your body was still warm, and he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest but he wasn’t sure just how long that would last. He pulled you into his arms, finding your pulse before lifting your body up. “Stay with me sweetheart,” He murmured as he carried you to his van. You wouldn’t survive this if he didn’t get you to the hospital and quick. You’d both had your fair share of gunshot wounds but nothing you couldn’t walk away from before. Nothing he couldn’t patch up himself. He gently laid you down in the back before pulling out of the lot to his apartment, racing down the highway like a bat out of hell.

---

You sat yourself down at the table and the scenery around you changed again. You were at the café across the street from the hospital you’d worked at. Combat medicine had only lasted so long when you realized you didn’t have a taste for war. It had led you to a nice scholarship for med school though. You’d worked in Hells Kitchen once you’d gotten out. “Hard day?” Frank’s voice pulled you from your thoughts “I think I’m dying.” You murmured, more to yourself than him, or whatever your brain had conjured up as him “Glad to hear it.” You supposed your memories weren’t exactly programmed to change their dialogue to different responses than what they remembered. You took a deep breath and looked around you, trying to remember exactly when you’d been put this time. You’d always hear the whole life flashing before your eyes thing, but you never believed it. What you believed was that you could stop it, that you had to stop it. You couldn’t die yet. You weren’t ready and you sure as hell weren’t going to leave Frank behind to deal with losing another loved one. You looked across the street and tried to come up with something, anything. Maybe you could get out if you just picked the right door. “You wanted to talk about something?” Your memory of Frank seemed to be speaking on autopilot as you stood up from your seat at the booth and began to look around. You began to notice little gaps in things your brain couldn’t place, maybe that was how you got out. “Didn’t think you’d ever want to speak to me again after everything.” “I like to keep up with my patients.” You responded out of habit almost before realizing you were sitting across from him, getting sucked back into the memory once more.

You stood up once more, this time racing for the doorway to the cafe, determined to leave whatever loop your mind had put you in. As soon as you walked through the threshold you were met with the chaos of your workplace. Nurses bounded down the hall past you as a man was wheeled down the hallway on a stretcher. You hadn’t realized you were moving with them until a nearby nurse began to throw words at you. You couldn’t hear her, instead focused on Frank’s face and the handcuffs that kept him locked to his spot. Everything went quiet for a moment, a smile on your face and you realized the fluorescent lights in the hallway seemed to be getting brighter and brighter. Your body seemed to relax despite the panic that surrounded you as if telling you it was ok, that you could let go now. You just had to give in to the feeling of nothingness, to let yourself ignore whatever pain was beginning to sear in your stomach and building in your chest. You almost gave in, almost, but then your vision focused back on Frank’s face. The peace that came with the man being unconscious, the small details you’d recognized the first time you’d met him fitting into their places. No. It wasn’t ok, not if you weren’t with him.

You blinked your eyes hard, squeezing them shut and willing yourself to push through whatever the hell was going on with you. When you opened them back up you were sitting opposite Frank, still in the hospital. You got up from your spot and moved beside his bed. You were the main doctor in charge of his care when he’d come in. You’d meet Nelson, Murdock, and co not long after this since they’d barge in on you while you were treating him the next day. You ran through the motions of checking over his vitals, even though the scene before you was a memory you were still worried something would be wrong with him. You looked to the clock, he’d be waking up in a couple of minutes. You remembered the feeling of distaste for the officers that sat outside his waiting room, waiting for any little issue to arise so they could tack it onto his sentence, or better yet, for them, have an excuse to shoot him. It was your job to protect your patients, to protect people like Frank who had no one else on their side. You remembered thinking that even if he was an awful person it was your job to keep him alive long enough for whoever he hurt to get the justice they deserved. You slipped your hand in Frank’s giving it a gentle squeeze as the beeping of the monitor began to grow louder in your ears. “Somebody needs to shut that damn thing off.” You grumbled, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “Y/n?” The still-unconscious Frank asked and you froze. That was new. “C’mon baby pull through for me.”

Your eyes blinked open, once again met with a bright light and you almost panicked that you’d come so close just to lose your fight right at the end. You turned your head to the side, eyes still adjusting to the light. “Frank?” You’re voice was soft and as you adjusted the way you were laying you were made acutely aware of the pain in your abdomen. A wide smile pulled at Frank's lips and he helped you to settle a bit “Take it easy hun.” He mumbled as he looked you over. You took the time to examine his face, noticing the redness of his eyes and the way they had swollen ever so slightly. “Were you crying?” You asked. Your tone almost sounded like you were teasing him, not understanding exactly how severe things had gotten. Frank let out a huff, leaning onto your bed, his hand never leaving yours. “Your heart stopped baby.” His voice was almost a whisper, like if he spoke too loudly it would happen again. “I thought I lost you.” “Well, you didn’t.” You didn’t really know what else to say, the visions you’d seen in your time between life and death already beginning to fade from your memory. All you really remembered was fighting it. “I wouldn’t let them take me from you. Not now, not ever.”

#frank castle x reader #frank castle/reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #hurt comfort #frank castle #frank castle fanfic #frank castle reader insert #punisher x reader #punisher/reader #the punisher #the punisher fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfic #mcu reader insert

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rotworld · 1 year ago

Text

2: Warped Reflection

(previous)

on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.

->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching

One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over.

Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now.

The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have.

Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]

There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush.

The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.

The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway.

The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.

Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.

You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.

He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.

Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her.

“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice.

The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog.

“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”

“Is it safe?” you ask him.

“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks.

“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?”

“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”

“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.”

“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?”

“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street.

“I should probably go, huh?”

“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.”

You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door.

“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.”

Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it.

“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?”

“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?”

Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat.

“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.

The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest.

Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.”

“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.

“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.

“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.”

You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes.

Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands.

“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”

She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.

“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.”

“Right,” you say weakly.

“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.”

“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—”

“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.

You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie?

Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #i promise this will not just be “weird vague things happen the novel” lol it'll start to make sense #hopefully. potentially. eventually

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