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teamatsumu · 4 months

Text

exclusive. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: A series of moments with Gojo Satoru, leading to the moment you realize you’re in love with him.

word count: 2,223

warnings: swearing, fem!reader, friends to lovers (?), jujutsu high shenanigans, this is pretty harmless fluff

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

Anyone who met Gojo Satoru for the first time had a visceral reaction to him.

Either they found him loud, obnoxious and annoying (both Shoko and Suguru described that as their first impressions of him), or they were starstruck by him. After all, he was Gojo Satoru. The wielder of the most powerful cursed technique in the Jujutsu world at present. The brilliant Six Eyes. And even at such a young age he showed potential that made the higher ups nervous.

And he was easy on the eyes too. Tall, lean, porcelain pale skin, hair like snow and eyes brighter than the blue skies. It was in the way he carried himself, shoulders set back, chin held high, imposing and demanding that all eyes met him. Girls were endlessly obsessed with him, with the idea of him. And he ate that shit up.

You however, would argue that you didn’t have any impression of him at all. He was just there. Okay, that was Gojo Satoru. Cool. Time to just shrug and walk away. He wasn’t exactly someone you had to interact with daily. He was a year older, in a different class. He had friends of his own. And he was quite literally famous. Why would he bother with you?

What you didn’t know about Gojo Satoru was that he didn’t need any reason to be obnoxious. He just was. Seeing someone indifferent to his existence lit a fire in him, and he was adamant on making sure you noticed him. One way or the other.

“So it doesn’t matter to you if I’m cursing you out? As long as I’m paying attention to you?”

You eyed him, watching as he leaned back on the two back legs of the chair he was sitting in until it teetered dangerously. The action kind of put you on edge but you would be damned if you let him know that it bothered you. Mostly because if he knew then he would never stop doing it.

He snapped his fingers and grinned in the affirmative.

“All press is good press.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, it sounds cool.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your textbook. A bout of silence fell on you for a few brief moments, before Satoru felt the urge to ruin it again.

“You’re not gonna fail.”

You didn’t look up. “Thanks?”

“So stop studying.”

You sighed, still not looking at him. You flipped a page. A hand grabbed at your open book, shutting it with a soft thud. You finally turned to glare at the boy. Over the curve of his shades, his eyes were as blue as ever. He grinned wide.

“There she is. Hey, pretty girl.”

Another thing about him, he flirted endlessly.

Your scowl deepened, trying to will away the heat that rushed to your ears. It was annoying, almost frustrating, how easy he thought it was to get under your skin. Saying shit like this as if it didn’t mean anything. Casual. Unserious.

Your train of thought broke when he reached forward and pinched your cheek hard. You yelped and pushed him hand away, wrestling against his strength when he tried to twist closer to you. By the time Suguru and Kento walked into the classroom, he had you pinned on the desk and was messing your hair up the best he could while you called him every colorful name you could think of.

Suguru didn’t bat an eye. Kento just sighed. This was, unfortunately, normal.

You, of course, didn’t fail your exam. Surprisingly, neither did Satoru, even though you had not seen him open a book once. Practical application was one thing (Satoru excelled in that of course), but how did he manage to get the theory right? He had spent every minute of his prep days either bothering you in person, sending you endless text messages, or lounging around in your room and watching TV. The fact that he passed and was now a third year was more surprising to you than the fact that you passed. At least you studied for it.

“You just wanted me to fail so I would be held back for the year and we could be classmates.” Satoru grinned, peeling open a packet of those overly sweet jellies he loved eating. You snorted, turning over in your bed and pulling your sheets up higher. It was nearly 10 in the morning, and Satoru had woken you up with the news that results were out and both of you had passed. Your body was still sluggish, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and residual sleep.

“Is that your breakfast?” You watched him lean back and shake the entire bag of jellies straight into his mouth from above. Your face twisted in disgust.

“Yup. Gotta start the day right.”

You didn’t bother to argue, shoving your face into the pillow and hoping it would suffocate you to death. You heard shuffling and then felt the mattress dip, grunting when you felt something heavy fall over your back.

“So what do you wanna do today?”

You let out a pained sigh, not bothering to turn and look at him, or his legs that were likely draped over you.

“I was planning to sleep in but I guess I can’t do that anymore.” Your tone was dry.

“Damn right. Let's go to the city.”

“Can’t you go bother Getou-san?”

“He isn’t as fun.”

You turned your head to look at him, just in time to see him pull apart a chocolate bar. Your eyes widened in horror.

“No!” You shoved him hard and he toppled off the bed with a loud ‘oof’, until all you could see was his legs hanging in the air.

“What the fuck?” His tone was more baffled than it was pained. You saw his messy head of hair pop up over the edge of the bed, his eyes wide, glasses nowhere to be seen.

“You’ll get chocolate on my sheets!”

“So you pushed me off?” Before he could pull himself back up, you rushed forward, trying to keep him down, slipping off the edge and falling right on top of him. You grabbed the hand with the chocolate, prying it from his fingers. You placed it carefully on your side table, finally sighing and leaning back, looking down at the boy before you. Or more accurately, under you.

Satoru was wearing a huge, toothy grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows. He seemed to have completely forgotten his chocolate. His hands rested on your bare thighs, fingers just shy of the hem of your shorts.

“You know what, you can keep the chocolate. I’m fine right here.”

You glared at him, standing up to walk away, but not before you dug a foot into his stomach. Satoru groaned, but still grinned, grabbing your ankle.

“You should just let things happen, baby. We’d be great together, you know?”

You didn’t let his words get to you, nor did you let your mind dwell on how soft his fingers felt around your ankle, or how his hands had felt on the bare skin of your thighs. You couldn’t think about it, because nothing Satoru did was real. He was just playing. He was a good friend who tried annoying you as much as possible. That’s it.

It didn’t matter that he whined your name whenever you ignored him, or how he would wrap his arms around you until you were curled under him, or how he would pin your arms down so you wouldn’t struggle when he laid sloppy, obnoxious kisses on your cheeks and forehead. Your couch was his permanent bed, and he claimed he was there because your TV was bigger than his. You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just buy a TV for his room. He was loaded.

You don’t know at what point everyone started assuming you were dating, but when Shoko vocalized this perception, you felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on you.

“We are not dating. What the fuck? I can barely stand him.”

You ignored the petulant ‘hey’ that left his lips, focused on your upperclassman across the table from you. Shoko was blank-faced, giving you a look that said ‘really?’. You didn’t back down.

“We aren’t! We’re good friends, yes, but-”

A snort from beside you, and finally you turned your head to glare at him. Satoru’s lips were twisted into an amused smirk, and the sight of it annoyed you. You felt like everyone at the table- Shoko, Suguru, Kento, Haibara- were laughing at you. Your face burned in embarrassment, so you lashed out at the one man who always bore the brunt of it.

“Why are you smirking? Wipe that off your face.”

He shrugged, ignoring what you said. “I just think it’s funny that you think we aren’t dating.”

“We’re not.”

“Sure.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re not! What the fuck are you on? We’ve never even kissed!”

Just talking about this was making you squirm uncomfortably, let alone in front of all your friends.

“You were practically in my lap in the car on our way here.”

You smacked his bicep hard. “There were six of us! And it was a tight fit! And- you offered!”

He was grinning by now, leaning closer to you. “Of course I did. We’re dating.”

You blinked, shocked into silence. A few moments passed. “This is gaslighting. You’re gaslighting me.”

You heard a snort and turned your head towards Haibara, who tried to disguise it as a cough.

“Okay, if we’re not dating, explain this to me,” Satoru began, pulling your attention back to him. You tried to will your heart into beating slower.

“Would you have put your legs in Suguru’s lap?”

You sputtered, feeling your face burn as you glanced at the man in question, he looked unbothered.

“No! That’s- no.”

“Nanami? Haibara?”

You didn’t answer.

“Shoko?”

“She’s my senpai.”

“I’m your senpai too.”

You rolled your eyes. “You sure don’t act like it.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Satoru continued, ignoring your quip. His voice was jovial, slightly teasing, and you dreaded where he was going with this. “There’s some stuff you would do only with me?”

You glared at him.

“Almost like…… being exclusive?”

“We are not dating.” Your argument was beginning to sound weaker and weaker. Everyone around you was staring at you with amusement as the gears turned at your head.

“Okay.” Satoru smiled, and you almost reeled back at how soft it was.

“We’re not.”

Oh my god.

……………………..

It took three or four days later to finally get your thoughts straight enough to talk to Satoru about the….. dating incident.

You had been over analyzing everything, trying to look at every interaction between you and him from a third person’s perspective, and you realized how abnormal it really was. No normal friends interacted the way you and Satoru did. Relentless teasing, touching, hugging. The unending push and tug. Caught in the whirlwind that was Gojo Satoru, you had not noticed how close you were to him, and how dependent you were on his presence.

Maybe he was right. In some strange way, you two were a couple.

You sat with this newfound information, feeling it burn and chip away at your skin, leaving you raw and vulnerable. How were you supposed to bring this up with him? You watched the figures on the TV before you bound around, not absorbing anything that was being said, your attention only on the slowly simmering pot of water that was your brain and your thoughts. When your door swung open with a loud squeak, you finally looked up.

Satoru was humming something to himself as he lumbered in, spotting you on the couch and grinning.

“Hey, what are your dinner plans? I'm craving Korean barbecue.”

You stared at him for a bit, as he toed his shoes off and tried to struggle out of his uniform jacket. It settled in you like a soft cloud, the knowledge that there was nothing to talk about. Your heart skipped a beat, and you stood up.

“I’m going to change.” Your voice was low.

Satoru looked up, lips pursed into a confused pout that you almost thought was cute. “Why? You look great.”

You muscled past the compliment, not letting it get to you. “I’m going to put on a nice outfit. And do my hair. And you’re going to go change too. Dress fancy. It’s a date.”

Satoru watched you, mouth open like a goldfish, as you puttered through the room and to your closet. He was frozen, dumbfounded. It was a new look on him. And you discovered that you liked it very much. You feigned innocence as you turned to look back at him.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were dating?”

That seemed to break his trance, and a cheshire grin took over his face. He didn’t even bother putting his shoes back on, gathering them in his hands and bounding out the door, making you laugh at how eager he was.

Talking was overrated anyway. This way was more fun.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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rustedhearts · 6 months

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let it snow (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: what happens when you're snowed in with your best friend (and there's a lot of sexual tension)?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ christmas carols ✶ the library

tags: fluff, mutual pining, best friend!steve

"oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go: let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!"

— let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!, dean martin

somewhere in indiana. december, 1976.

“That snow’s really comin’ down,” Steve mused from his bedroom window.

You glanced up from your book, splayed on your stomach against his duvet. “It’ll be fine.”

Steve let his drape drop back into place over the window, frosted with ice and fogging with the heat from his radiator. He wandered back toward the bed, flopping beside you and jostling the mattress. You huffed into your current chapter.

“Not worried about missing your date tonight?”

You shrugged, flipping the page that you haven’t even read. “Eh. He’s kind of boring anyway."

"Well, yeah," Steve scoffed, twisting to lay on his back. The blankets bunched up with his shifting. "His name is Peter."

"Your name is Steve."

Steve's head snapped your way to sharpen his eyes in a glare. "Hey."

A slow, sideways smile plucked at your lips. You turned back to your book and stifled a giggle, though it burst free when his fingers poked your side.

"Wanna go in the basement? I need a light and Mom'll kill me if she smells it up here."

You closed your book around your finger and gazed at him over your shoulder. "They won't be home for hours."

"It lingers, sweetheart."

“Gross.” You scrunched up your nose and tried to ignore the pulsing ache in your chest. Bless the cold for keeping the heat from rushing to your face. “Don’t call me that.”

Steve rolled off the bed and to his feet, rushing the door and paying no mind to your distaste.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he called, already halfway down the hall. "We can dip into some of my dad's scotch."

So half an hour later, Steve was on his second Winston—the first stubbed out in the glass ashtray on the coffee table—and you were nursing a mug of scotch. Your mug had Santa on it, and you traced his beard with the edge of your nail as Steve fiddled with the stereo.

"Don't have any Christmas tunes," he'd muttered once you settled in the freezing cold basement. "But we can break out the winter music."

"And what do you consider 'winter music?'" you asked.

He lit up a Winston and clenched it between his teeth, already rifling through his baskets of vinyl. "Anything as cold and dreary as this damn town."

Now, Steve was bopping his hips to a jazzy tune found on a very old record from early high school. You remember the day he found it at the record store. It was during his "blue period," where all he wanted to listen to was jazz and blues.

You hid your grin behind another sip as Steve made finger guns toward the ceiling in time to the trumpet of the song, though a giggle burst forth into a gulp of scotch. His head snapped your way, one finger gun coming to pull his cigarette away.

"I hear your giggles, Miss. Grinch," he teased, swinging his leg over the back of the sofa to sit on the edge.

You swallowed down the pungent liquor, wincing when it stung. "I'm not a Grinch. I just don't like Christmas the same way you do, you know that."

Steve blew a cloud of smoke though his teeth. "Yeah, never understood that, by the way."

"Not for you to understand, Hair."

Steve narrowed his eyes at you, pointing the ashed end of his cigarette your way. "Don't call me that."

You quirked a brow, chin tipping up defiantly. "Or what?"

Steve cooly mouthed at his cigarette a moment more. He carefully slid down the back of the couch until he was seated near your socked feet, leaning forward to stub his second Winston out. As it died out in the mess of ash, Steve hooked his arm around your knees and yanked you close.

"Steve," you warned, voice knocked a pitch up. "Don't!"

It took everything in you not to spill your scotch as Steve's thin fingers prodded at your sides. He knew just what spots to press on, just where to squeeze and jiggle to have you twisting and writhing in a fit of laughter. The kind of laughter that had you aching with soreness. The kind of laughter that sent you back to infancy together.

Steve swooped the mug out of your hand and placed it on the coffee table before it could fall—but only so he could ignore your giggled protests to stop as the pair of you slipped off the couch. You tumbled to the hard floor together, a mess of limbs on concrete.

Soon, you were pinned under his heavy weight. His hands stopped tickling and rested stilly on your waist. They slipped under your sweater in the commotion, and now his palms braced your bare flesh without barrier. You could feel him between your legs—the sheer size of him, pushing your thighs apart and stretching them to sting. The outline of him pressed against his jeans.

The laughter subsided to breathless sighs. You gazed up at his pink-cheeked face, splotched with excitement. Your stomach was in your throat. The record stopped spinning some time ago, and now the empty scratch of needle turn crackled through the empty house. The end of your nose was frozen from the cold, but the rest of you was on fire pressed up against Steve.

Steve: your best friend.

"You're so soft," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. His thumb started to move in odd patterns under your shirt. You were suddenly and extremely aware of your hands around his arms—and how firm his biceps were under his sleeves. Every breath that touched your face smelled like Winston smoke. There was a tear in the rug underneath you and it was tickling your cheek.

"Th-thank you."

His thumbs continued. The breathing shallowed. The record spun on an empty track. His eyes were such a pretty color—or, an amalgamation of many colors all in one pretty iris.

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. "I-I should go. Still...try to make my date."

Steve nodded, though he, too, was lost in your eyes. He never noticed how pretty the shape of your eyes were. How long and dainty the lashes were, how they brushed your cheeks with every blink. Did you know? Had you walked around with all this glorious beauty his entire life?

How could he have been so blind?

"Steve," you interrupted. "Get off me."

Steve scrambled to release you of his weight, rolling to his feet and brushing off his jeans. He helped you up—a gentle hand around your arm—and watched you grab your coat from the hook near the door. You've had that coat for years—the fur-lined collar and cuffed sleeves were full of lint and cat hair, and there was a button missing at the bottom.

While you were fishing for your gloves in the pockets, Steve moved the lace drapes over the back door and peered up the steps. There was about three feet of snow blocking the door, and as he watched, more piled over the staircase and across the yard.

"Uh...not sure you should go out in this," he announced.

You flicked your hair out of your face with mittened hands and huffed. "What?"

"The snow's pretty bad—"

"We live in Indiana, Steve. I've seen plenty of snow."

Steve dropped the snow and stepped away, arms folded over his chest. "Is Peter really worth getting stuck in a snowstorm?"

You cocked your foot out, mimicking his folded arms. "Maybe. He-he might be. I don't know."

It was the way his jaw tipped up at you, how his brows raised and nestled together, how his lip curled into a grin akin to the sixteen year old that never got told 'no.' It was the way your heart thumped in your ears with deafening force.

You weren't sure you could be around him right now. Not without wondering how his lips tasted. Not without wondering why he'd never told you he loved you.

"Really? What's his last name?"

"Good question. I'll ask him tonight." You rolled your eyes and whirled around, heading toward the basement steps.

If Steve wouldn't let you leave that way, you'd just go out the front.

"Hey—seriously, you're not going out in this."

"Oh yeah?" you huffed, stomping up the stairs. "Who's gonna stop me?"

A heavy arm hooked around your waist, knocking the air from your lungs with one quick pull. Steve hoisted you back down the steps, and it was only when he placed you back on your feet that you started kicking them. You got one good hit in the thigh before backing away to glare.

"What the hell is your issue?" you spat.

Steve threw his arms out—fucking Christ, his shoulders were broad. His hands were so big, and he had the prettiest pink flush to his face after all that play fighting and struggling.

"I'm not letting you go out in that."

It took everything in you to muster a squint and shoot it at him. You were sweating bullets in your buttoned-up coat.

"Well, I'm going."

Maybe you wanted him to grab you again. Maybe that's why you tried to push past him and dart up the stairs. Maybe you wanted to be chased, manhandled, held by those big, rough hands—Steve couldn't think of any other reason for your second attempt at escaping.

So, he snatched you up again. This time, you ended up dangling over his shoulder, and your feet were quicker to react this time. But your struggles were futile and adorable, and Steve chuckled when he brought you back to the cement floor and blocked off the stairs with a stiff body.

Once standing, you flicked your hair away again. Steve pushed his sweater sleeves up to his elbows. Cords of muscle flexed in his forearms—those strong, wide forearms. The scotch was starting to take effect. The room was getting smaller and hotter by the second, and you couldn't stop watching his lips grow pinker with heat.

"You have to stop touching me," you breathed out, so much softer than you wished it would sound. But you had no strength around Steve when he was at this proximity.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, swallowing. He almost seemed in pain. "Then stop looking at me like that."

Your mouth ran dry. The room regained its frigidity in an instance. The sizzle of saliva down your throat passed between you.

"Like...like what?"

There was an ache growing in your chest that you were starting to resent. A hollow, weeping ache that squeezed with all its might when Steve looked down and shook his head.

"Nothing."

You watched him a moment. Scuff his shoes through the dirt on the floor. Wipe at his nose the way he does when he's nervous. Tuck his hands into his pockets and roll his shoulders. Meet your eyes only to duck away again.

"What if I...just go home?"

Steve scratched at the back of his neck, tousling his hair. "I'll-I'll walk you."

You nodded. "Okay."

Steve bundled in his coat and scarf, slipping on a pair of ratty old gloves before you pushed your way out the front door. Though you only lived a few houses down, it as a difficult trek. You had to hoist your legs with every step, kicking snow up the back of your jeans and under your coat. The wind whipped flurries at your face and numbed your mouth.

By the time you made it to your own front door, you were shivering and no less flustered than a few minutes ago. You turned around as you reached for the knob, finding Steve at the top step, waiting.

"Thanks for walking me."

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. His smile was tight-lipped. "Sure."

You opened the door and slipped inside. Steve watched you kick the snow off your boots against the wall and shimmy your coat onto the hook. He watched you trudge to the steps and ascend them slowly, lost in the world of your own thoughts.

He stepped back and shuffled through the mound of white on your front lawn. He stopped in view of your bedroom window on the second floor, and watched the glass turn yellow in the lamplight. You passed in front of the window on your way to the bed.

Steve echoed a white breath into the air.

Maybe one day.

#rolly!#steve harrington #70s!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington au

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slutforslytherinx · 1 month

Text

stress smokes

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: the rule-following perfect student snaps and resorts to a late night smoke session with the infamous mattheo riddle.

warnings: marijuana, stress, slight angst, and that’s it?? super fluffy ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

a/n: this is my first time writing on this…. apologies if it’s bootyhole😞

the library was nearly empty, most students chatting in their common room with their friends. exams were still a moderate distance away, not near enough for the tables to be full of stressing teenagers.

you were one of the few there, tucked in the corner everyone knew was yours, hidden behind two bookshelves full of dust. the words had started blurring on the pages nearly an hour ago and your frustration nearing the point of a mental breakdown.

you re-read every sentence multiple times, yet your brain seemed as though it just couldn’t retain the information. angry tears swelled in your eyes and you slammed the book shut before any could drip onto the parchment pages.

this was bound to happen at some point. one person could only take so many books about lacewing flies and ashwinder eggs before they snapped. for the first time since you arrived at hogwarts 6 years ago, you were giving up.

your favorite professors always warned you to take care of yourself before you burnt out, yet you never listened. now you were screwed. aggressively shoving your belongings into your bag, you decided that you were going to be have fun tonight.

you were going to get your mind off of textbooks and study sessions, and do something you’d never done before. despite your irritation, you still gave madam pince a small smile and wave before exiting.

the moon was already high in the sky, stars appearing by its side, but you knew where he would be. you’d ran into him at this time on many occasions. with your bag clutched over your shoulder and a determined mind, you made your way up to the astronomy tower.

just as you expected, he was there. mattheo had a small joint dangling from his fingers, the end lit with small sparks of fire. you sat down next to him silently, and he lazily turned his head to look at you.

“hey princess, care to join?” you rolled your eyes at the pet name, snatching the roll out of his hands and inhaling swiftly. his eyes widened as he tried to steal it back from you. “what the hell?” he asked, finally pulling it from your grasp.

you exhaled the smoke into the air, coughing up a lung as you did. he watched you with an annoyed expression, waiting impatiently until you were done wheezing. once the coughs subsided, he flicked you. “ow! what’s your problem?”

he shrugged carelessly, “just making sure you’re real and not some weird hallucination.” you scoffed and turned your head to look back at the sky. he flicked you again, “okay, seriously? what the hell? what happened to ‘smoking is bad for you. your gonna get lung cancer and die.’” he mocked, raising his pitch to imitate a girly voice.

“stop flicking me!” you exclaimed, rubbing the skin of your arm tenderly. you tried to grab the joint again, but he pulled it back and raised his eyebrows in a way that communicated ‘you’re not getting anything until you explain whats going on.’

you sighed, rubbing your temples tiredly. he watched you the whole time, his confusion morphing to slight worry. “i just want to have fun. i want to stop thinking about stupid studying for one minute and be relaxed. i want to have a night where i think im worth more than academic success, so can you just help me out here?”

he stared at you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget the longer his gaze was on you. finally, he puffed out a breath of air, hesitatingly passing it to you. “thank you.” you muttered quietly, raising it to your lips. he stopped you before it met your mouth.

“don’t inhale a lot. you’ll start coughing again.” you glanced at him, nodding before following his instructions. true to his word, it worked, and you passed it back to him. you two sat in silence for a while, taking turns before it was gone.

the effects soon started to hit, making you let out a tiny laugh at the weird sensation. he looked at you with raised eyebrows, amused, as your tiny laugh developed into a full blown giggle attack. “if i didn’t know you’d never smoked before, i would now.” he murmured to himself. you chose to ignore that.

you soon stopped laughing, opting to stare at the moon instead. it was quiet once more, until you spoke up, almost too low for mattheo to catch. “thank you.” he nodded, and you turned to look at him.

“no, i mean thank you.” he tilted his head a little, bemused. “sometimes i feel like your the only person who doesn’t look at me like a walking cheat sheet. i like that. you’re real, you don’t just talk to me when you want something.” you grinned, not realizing the true depth of your own words.

he was quiet for a couple a long moment, his heart pounding faster in his chest for the oblivious girl next to him. “your a lot more amazing than people give you credit for.” your cheeks heated, and you looked to your knees timidly.

you and mattheo both had a feeling that you’d be seeing a lot more of eachother.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #oneshot #blurb #mattheo riddle blurb #fanfic #fluff #light angst

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devildomwriter · 5 months

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Children Listen, To Hear Sleighbells in the Snow | Others x Reader

2.5 K Words | GN! Reader | CW: children, slight nsfwish

Solomon x Reader

Solomon sipped on his “hot chocolate” as you sat by the fire. Every so often he asked again if you were sure you didn’t want any and you had to reassure him every time you did not want whatever that drink was.

You relaxed on the couch and listened to the pages flip in Solomon’s textbook. Not even during the holidays did he take a break from his magical research.

You focused on the movie which had just been background noise and noticed it was coming to an end so you prodded your husband’s shoulder.

“Hey, Sol.”

“Hm?” He asked still looking at his book.

“The movie is almost over, should we head to bed.”

He looked at his watch and shook his head. “You can rest on my lap if you’d like but we should stay up a little longer.”

“Why? What’re you waiting for?”

“Santa.”

You gave him a dumbfounded look and he laughed and set down his book. “Every year Saul and David stay up for Santa. I thought if we satiated their curiosity they might finally give it a rest and we could enjoy next year peacefully.”

You nodded along. “So…who’s coming?”

“Barbatos.”

You sighed. That poor demon had too much to deal with already. You heard a clatter in the common room and Solomon smiled and held a finger to his lips.

“Right on time.”

You peeked around the corner and saw your sons hiding behind the couch peeking over it to watch “Santa” place their presents. They looked at each other and grinned excitedly, shushing each other.

“They aren’t quite as devious as you,” you noted and he nodded.

“Agreed. I’d have never been caught.”

“Caught?”

“Well….I was going to have Barbatos ‘kidnap’ them for a while and put them to work at the ‘pole’…”

“No,” you glared and he sighed.

“But how else will they learn?” He pouted and you glared at him and grabbed both of your sons by the backs of their shirts.

They yelped and alerted “Santa” who proceeded to scold them for being awake. They apologized to Santa and you carried them off to bed while Barbatos gave Solomon an earful for his terrifying original plan.

Simeon x Reader

All was calm and quiet. The home was dimly lit by the strung lights and you were covered in a thin silk robe cuddling your husband.

Simeon ran his fingers through your hair and kissed your forehead. He gazed lovingly into your eyes and you kissed his lips gently, running your tongue across them.

He chuckled and pulled you in closer, slipping the robe off your shoulder and reaching for the ribbon to untie it.

You hummed happily, but were interrupted when you heard a gasp from the living room. For a moment you were worried your child had snuck into the room but you and Simeon didn’t see them.

You sighed, disappointed you’re Christmas Eve plans were being delayed. Using magic you quickly changed yours and Simeon’s silk robes into a set of pajamas you could wear in front of your children.

You passed by their shared room and saw all but one of them were still sound asleep.

“Simon,” Simeon sighed and you followed him to the living room downstairs.

Simon jumped when he heard the creak of the stairs and his innocent doe eyes turned up to eleven. Simeon shook his head disappointedly and guilt crossed Simon’s face.

You got to the bottom of the stairs to join Simeon who was crouched by your son.

“Simon,” he began gently, “didn’t your mother and I ask that you stay in bed until we get you in the morning?”

Simon nodded and looked down at his fluffy blue socks. “I’m sorry Daddy…” he said, lip trembling.

Simeon shook his head and picked up his son. Simon clung to his dad’s shoulders.

“I forgive you, son. All I ask is you don’t get out of bed again tonight, can you promise me that?”

Simon nodded and wiped his nose.

“If you feel so guilty being caught, don’t do it to begin with, okay?” You suggested to your eldest and he nodded and held up his pinky. You took it with your pinky and shook it.

“Pinky promise,” he yawned and leaned into Simeon’s shoulder, already getting tired.

Simeon put your child to bed and you waited for him under the covers dressed in your silk robe again.

Simeon entered and saw you. He grinned ear to ear and joined you in bed to end the night as you two had started it.

Raphael x Reader

Raphael placed the last gift under the tree. He’d been meticulously organizing them for an hour as you watched him from the couch, sipping hot chocolate.

Your husband had always been very particular about appearances, whether it be fashion, weaponry, aesthetics, or home décor. He liked things in a very specific way that you had yet to decipher even after several years of marriage.

He nodded and finally got back to his feet. He observed the gifts with a tilted head and stood farther away to get another perspective. He smiled to himself and nodded.

“Now it’s perfect,” he decided and you sighed in relief.

“Want some hot chocolate?” You offered.

He looked hesitant until you offered to make it like Solomon does and he accepted enthusiastically.

After making the concoction you brought it out to Raphael who looked disappointed and was staring down the hallway.

“Raph…is something wrong?” You asked and squeezed him from behind. He nodded and silently pointed out the door to your son’s room.

“Rafal?” Raphael called sternly and approached the door which shut loudly.

Raphael sighed and shook his head. “Let me get him,” you offered and opened the door. You found your son hiding under the bed with a flashlight.

You got down on the floor and peered under the dark bed. “Hey.”

“Hi, Mommy.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Waiting for Santa to infiltrate.” He said robotically and rolled the spear out from under his bed.

“How in Father’s name did you…” Raphael muttered and picked up his spear wondering how his son got this. “This was in my armory…”

“Infiltration was all too simple,” Rafal commented from beneath the bed.

Raphael stared at the spear and gave you a confused look. He had no idea if he should be angry or proud.

“Rafal, come on out. We can guard the chimney together,” you offered and he grinned as you slid him out from under the bed.

Raphael gave you a confused look and you shrugged and headed to the living room. Rafal gasped when he saw the presents and jumped from your arms.

“He evaded us!” He exclaimed and Raphael hid a smile until Rafal tried climbing up the chimney and required a bath.

After all was said and done, you fell asleep next to your husband who held Rafal tightly in one arm until he stopped squirming and fell asleep, safe in his dad’s arm.

Mephistopheles x Reader

Mephistopheles grinned to himself, imagining how excited your son was going to be Christmas morning. Christmas wasn’t a holiday that he experienced as a child and he wasn’t sure he should be celebrating at all, but it was part of your culture so he ensured it’d be the best Christmas of them all.

Every year he found a way to outdo the previous and this time he’d bought your son five new horses for his brand-new stable.

Most kids asked for a pony, but not everyone expected to actually get one. Mephistopheles being the kind of father he was, made sure his son would have much more than he’d asked for.

The child was spoiled, to say the least. Spoiled and very, very excited.

So excited in fact, that your butlers and maids had to keep warning you when he left his room so you could avoid ruining the surprise.

Mephistopheles directed one butler to set down the last stack of presents and made sure it’d been set up as it was supposed to when you both heard giggles from around the corner.

The head-butler approached you from behind quietly, “My lord, my lady, young master Claude has escaped his room once more.”

Mephistopheles smiled, “Let’s go settle him down,” he suggested to you and held out his arm for you to take.

You ascended the stairs and heard the pitter-patter of footsteps grow quiet as they ran away.

Mephistopheles smirked and with a snap of his fingers you both appeared on either side of your startled son. He was so surprised his wings and horns sprung forth and he let out a small shriek.

“Son?” Mephistopheles addressed and Claud bowed his head.

“Sorry father. Sorry mother,” he apologized immediately.

“What are you sorry for?” Mephistopheles pressed and you nodded.

Claud avoided your eyes and mumbled.

“Speak clearly, son,” Mephistopheles said firmly.

“I’m sorry for leaving my room when you told me not to.”

Mephistopheles nodded proudly. “Can you tell me why you did that?”

Claud’s eyes sparkled and he clenched his fists excitedly, “Why Santa of course!”

You chuckled and Mephistopheles grinned. “Well then, you’ll have to sleep if you expect to get anything? Don’t you know the story?”

Claud shook his head, “I forgot.”

Mephistopheles sighed and beckoned you to come over. “Why don’t your mother and I tell you again okay? Then you’ll stay in bed, understand?” Mephistopheles asked and Claud nodded.

You smiled and followed your husband to your son’s room where you’d recount the story of Santa once more.

Barbatos x Reader

Barbatos was glad to have you in his arms after the hustle of the holiday season. Finally, you both had a moment to relax. Deep in the castle through the many secret corridors was the room you shared with your elegant husband. The castle might not belong to you but this part of it did. It was yours, your husband’s, and your son’s little paradise.

Every door led to a house, yard, garden, art studio, or some other fun place in the world. But most led to other rooms in the castle.

When you heard one of these doors open, you and Barbatos shot out of bed and ran into the hall.

“Sebastian!” Barbatos called and ran in the direction of the noise. You followed but couldn’t keep up and waited for his word.

When he appeared before you again both he and your small child were soaking wet. Barbatos peeled a piece of seaweed off his shoulder and his expression said it all.

He handed you your sniffling son who stuttered out excuses. “I-I thought it was the door to the living room…”

“No sweetie,” you scolded lightly. “That door moved two days ago.”

“Yes,” Barbatos said sternly. “That specific door leads straight to the bottom of the Mariana trench.” He handed a soft towel to you and you wrapped Sebastian in it.

“Geez, I’m glad you’re okay! Sebastian I’ve told you the doors are dangerous, nothing is worth risking your life over.”

Sebastian cried for a while and when he’d calmed down you finally got the truth out of him. “I just…I just wanted to wait for Santa with Uncle Diavolo.”

Barbatos raised a brow, “what did Uncle Diavolo tell you?”

“I asked what he’d be doing tonight and he said he’d be hanging out with Santa.”

Barbatos sighed. “I believe what he said was Satan. They do sound very similar it’s a common mistake.”

Sebastian looked crestfallen and it broke your heart so you helped dry your son and husband off with magic. They were both good as new and with his anger soothed, Barbatos held your son tightly.

“One day I’ll show you how to master the doors, but not now. Right now you will stay safe in your mother and I’s bed while Santa delivers your gifts.”

Diavolo x Reader

Diavolo was more excited for Christmas than his own children. He sipped his hot chocolate and his foot tapped excitedly as he reached for another sugar cookie you’d iced yourself.

The gifts had been set up perfectly, everything was ready for tomorrow which meant there was only one thing left to look forward to.

Diavolo finished his drink and treats and set his tray aside for a butler to collect in the morning.

He turned over to you who was still sipping the hot chocolate until you noticed his devious grin.

You chuckled at your adorably needy husband and set the hot chocolate down. You’d just have to finish it later. You placed a spell over the cup to keep the contents warm and scooted closer to Diavolo.

He beamed and wrapped his arms around you, trailing his hands up to your chest as he began nibbling on your neck.

You giggled and leaned into his touch moving his hands where you wanted them when you heard the unmistakable sound of your daughter laughing.

Diavolo sat up straight and frowned. “We can leave them be can’t we…”

You shook your head. “They can’t just wander the castle at night who knows what could happen.”

“It’ll toughen them up,” Diavolo argued though he was worried too.

“And how many times did you almost die?” You reminded him as he sighed and relented. You both left your bed chambers and saw your youngest disappear around the corner.

You chased after them and they heard you and quickened their pace.

Your eldest son, Chao, chose not to push his luck and stayed behind when you saw him. Your youngest child, Timeo, hid behind a suit of armor, and your daughter Disarray, lived up to her name.

With a cackle, she jumped over the balcony railing and flapped her wings as hard as she could to slow the fall.

Diavolo wasn’t willing to risk that and dove after her. She was no match for the skill her dad had in flight and he wrapped his arms around her as she laughed and whined in protest.

Diavolo looked up at you, hoping you’d join him downstairs by the tree. You nodded and held your sons’ hands, teleporting you both to your husband’s side.

“Alright kids, what are you doing out of your rooms?” Diavolo asked, already knowing the answer.

“We wanted to see Santa,” Disarray exclaimed and her brothers nodded but stayed silent. This was clearly your daughter’s plan. She was always the mastermind behind anything wild the three of them did.

Diavolo shook his head, “I’m afraid you just missed him,” he said sadly.

“What!?” The three exclaimed in unison.

“But it’s not even midnight,” Chao observed.

“Well, we’re royalty, we get our presents first,” Diavolo made up.

Your children believed him and were returned to bed. Timeo pouted but fell asleep in a few moments. Chao apologized for the trouble he caused and bowed to you as he shut the door behind him. Disarray as expected grumbled for a long time before she wore herself out and fell asleep.

You rolled your eyes at their antics and turned back to Diavolo whose mischievous grin returned.

“So…do you still want to…” he trailed off and you wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Yes, let’s.”

#obey me drabble #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon x reader #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me raphael #obey me raphael x reader #obey me mephistopheles x reader #obey me Mephistopheles #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me as dads #obey me second generation #obey me fluff #obey me nsfwish

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 6 months

Note

Hiya Mo! Congrats on such an amazing achievement! If it's not too much trouble, may I request something for Alfie Solomons using the following prompts please?

"Can you please just shut up for once?" + “you fell asleep in my arms. it was kind of adorable.”

Thank you (no pressure though)! And congrats again ♥️♥️

Hi my darling V!! This was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy it my love!!!

100 Follower Celebration:

Evenings at Home

Alfie Solomons x Reader, Warnings: Language

Some people may think that a regular routine is something to be avoided. That the repetitive rhythm of life is synonymous to the shackles of a boring life which must broken as soon as it is noticed. But this isn't how you and Alfie saw your evenings together much less your life together.

The life as the King of Camden brought too many uncertainties. The business moved far too quickly in various directions, and the threats on Alfie's life were too numerous and too far reaching. The life of the King of Camden was anything but normal and ordinary and routine. Which is why Alfie craved and yearned for normalcy in his private life, and why he clung to your with all 10 of his bejewled fingers. You brought a sense of peace to his life. You brought an outlet where Alfie wasn't the Mad Baker, a ferocious man to be feared. With you he could simply be your husband. With you he could simply be Alfie. With you he could simply be a man coming home to his spouse and his dog after a day at the office. The tranquility and predictability of a warm home and loving kisses did more in mending his soul than any amount of riches and power and drink could ever do in a thousand years.

It was so that at 6pm on the dot that Alfie shut down the office and made his way to you, ensuring that no one would interrrupt any precious time with you. Dinner would be set, a fire would be going, and only candles would be lit to warm Alfie's bones and spirit. After dinner Alfie would drag you to the sitting room, with the radio softly humming in the corner, and your angelic voice reading from a book you both were working through. Alfie allowed himself the luxury of laying his head across your soft thighs, interrupting every so often to chastise the characters in the novel for being stupid.

This evening's reading was Wurthering Heights, a torrid and haunting love affair that expanded through the decades destroying the broken soul of a hardened man. The burning words on the page took your breath away, and you found yourself lost in the poetic and scorching story. Alfie however was lost in the way you breath hitched, and the dreamy way your voice wove the images into an ornate tapestry before his eyes. The voice of his angel and the feelings of your cool fingers through his soft thick hair was gently sending him off into a sweet sleep.

It wasn't until you heard the rumbling snores of your beloved below you did you realize that Alfie had actually fallen asleep in your lap. You smile softly, biting your lip to keep yourself from chuckling. He hates falling asleep in front of you like this. He would much rather kiss you to sleep in bed It's my duty as a husband sweet. The man doesn't fall asleep before his sweet heart and before he gives her a proper evening of affection.

But oh how you cherished these moments. You worried about him. Constantly. You wished he didn't have so much on his shoulders and on his brow. In the waking hours you did whatever you could to make his home sweet and comfortable and easy, anything to help alleviate the stress. But in sleep you could see the pay off. The softness of his face. The firm set of his mouth relaxed as melodic snores fall out of his lips. Those long lashes carressing his scarred cheek. You softly pet and carded your fingers through his hair and his beard, taking in his beautiful features. This in of itself was a treasure. No one else got to see him like this. No one else got to see Alfie Solomons as you did.

All too suddenly Alfie started awake, and you cursed yourself inwardly for possibly awaking him. With a quick inhale Alfie stuttered, "What happened? Did I fall asleep on ya?"

You bit your cheek, attempting to settle him back down in your lap, "Mmhmm. You fell asleep in my arms. It was kind of adorable really."

Alfie drug himself off your lap, "Adorable? Nah nah fuck no. Men are not adorable. Solomons are not adorable they are ferocious and and... handsome!"

You laughed at the sudden reddening of his cheeks. "While all that is true my love, the fact remains that it was sweet! You're very sweet in sleep."

Like a pouting child Alfie strongly disagreed, "You are out of line. Letting me fall asleep like that. Betrayer. What do I always say? You sleep first, then me. I'm the man yeah? I kiss your pretty head stupid and I fall asleep second. Now look at yeah. Completely changing the order of things. I mean is nothing sacred anymore? Next you'll want to run the rum house too eh?"

His rambling and ranting sent you into a fit of laughter. Because truly no one could be more ridiculous and ludicrous than your husband. As he was still raving you crawled into his lap, wrapping your arms around his heated neck, "Can you please just shut up for once?"

You pressed your lips to his, immediately silencing him, and feeling his strong and thick arms wrap around you, bringing you closer against his chest. Only when your body was begging for air did you pull away, seeing Alfie's eyes closed and chasing you for your lips again. You hummed in pleasure, resting your hand on his cheek again. Alfie's eyes opened to reveal all the softness and love in the world. All yours. He patted your thigh before instructing, "Why don't you head upstairs for me sweet? I'll clean up and meet you in the bedroom?"

With a shy smile you nodded, kissing his nose to seal your deal. He scoffed and shook his head, as if shaking off the kiss. You merely chuckled, skipping upstairs, excited to spend another evening in peaceful paradise with your love.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #talking with friends #100 follower celebration

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desmond69miles · 1 year

Text

Blood Letting

A Human! Huggy wuggy, Bendy, and Freddy Fazbear x Fem! Reader smut

this is... this is from my old blog and shit is it bad. I thought I should actually finish it before letting it simmer in shame in my drafts.

warnings: blowjobs, cunnilingus, DP, DP in one hole, non-realistic smut, fingering, cussing, demonic summoning, sir kink, daddy kink, breeding, suit kink, voice kink, hand kink, glove kink, light breathplay, size kink, all three of them are TALL ass motherfuckers, neck kissing, freddy has a dad bod, biting, hair pulling, marking, scratching, ink cum????

I had to read A LOT of f/m/m/m fanfictions for this. I got the initial part done, but had no idea of any of the dynamics so hopefully this isn’t shit.

You were a vampire And baby, I’m the walking dead

(hes judging you for your decisions)

You sat there, pentagram circled around your body.

The weird lady who had owned the occult shop down the street from your house had given you a strange book after a ten-minute questioning about your sex life, telling you to turn to page forty-six and do the spell. After paying, you waited until dark. Now, it was late at night: all of your neighbors in your shitty apartment complex were asleep. The red candles you bought at target circled around your body, lit with fire. You honestly had no clue what you were doing, mind still distracted with a fanfiction you were reading, an AU where three of your favorite games were mashed up. Sighing, you looked down at the dusty book and flipped to the page, thick black letters reading “INCUBUS SUMMONING.” Your eyes squinted as your lips tightened, did this old lady who you knew got no dick give you a book to summon a fucking sex demon? You paused, looking back towards your bedroom door, the vibrator still laying on the ground next to your bed. “God dammit.” You cursed, adjusting yourself so you were now kneeling against your heels.

You glazed the page over, swallowing dryly. You tapped your fingers over the Latin words, running the pads over the raised letters. Your mind tingled with a curious intent as you spoke the words, stumbling over a few in trying to pronounce them. As you spoke, you felt your tongue get heavy, fingers now more harshly gripping the book. Soon, the words stopped, your ears listening in for anything. After a few seconds passed, you cussed again and slapped the book shut, grabbing your phone off the side and standing up. “Time to go read some smut, that fucking dick lady.” You huffed, feeling stupid enough to believe that demons were real and that the book wasn’t some goth's doing. You walked into your bedroom and flopped down on the bed, your nipples gently budding in the cold air. Unlocking your phone, you went to safari and quickly flipped to the tab that was AO3, searching up 'Five Nights At Freddys' and adding reader as a tag, flipping the rating to explicit. Nothing some good ol' (fictional) animatronic dick couldn't fix.

After a good thirty minutes of browsing and flipping through pages, you turned off your phone and slapped it to the side, your glossy eyes staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Your mind pondered about Bendy and the Dark Revival, and if there was going to be another FNAF game, or how you still needed to buy Poppys Playtime. After a while, your eyes began to close, your body bringing you to the brink of sleep. Cold air comforted your skin, breathing deep an-

CRASH

You jumped up, skittering off the bed in the process. Something big had fallen from the kitchen, it sounded like the shelf you had all of your pans on had crashed down into the floor. You felt your stomach begin to climb up your throat, quickly swallowing it down and looking around for a weapon. Nothing but your "trusty" vibrator was seen. 'Why is it always the horny girls that die first?' You quietly thought to yourself as you crept towards your door, peering through the crack. Some laughter was heard from the kitchen. 'Three men, great. This is what I get for not taking those self-defense classes.' You cringed as you heard more talking, then heavy footsteps, a shadow appearing in the doorway leaving the kitchen. Yeah, that definitely wasn't your roommate. You mouthed the words 'oh shit', but instead of closing the door and hiding like a rational person, you continued to peer out into the messy living room. You were not rational, nor sane. If you died here, you prayed the police wouldn't find your toy collection.

Slowly, you opened your bedroom door just enough to slip past. You didn't care enough to close it behind you, too high off of fear. Slowly creeping past your living room in an awkward stance, shoulders raised up and hands gripped tight. Once you reached the kitchen, you carefully peered around the corner, cursing when you saw that there was no one there, just a large mess. You bit your lip, fingers roughly gripping the doorway. Suddenly, a cold hand was placed on your shoulder, your body quickly spinning around and tripping over someone's feet, falling backward and landing harshly on your ass. Your hands shot up to smack against your mouth to cover an incoming scream, hands soon lowering as your jaw dropped.

The spell had worked, but not in the way you intended it to. Instead of one demonic-looking incubus coming to have sex with you in offer for your soul, three people stood there, their designs all too familiar. Standing in front of you were three men, three men who have wanted to see in real life for oh-so-long. A confused look was plastered on the now-human Freddy, and the other two (now-human) Bendy and Huggy looking around your messy apartment. "Uhh... Buh-But i-uh.. huh?" Confused, you placed a shaking hand over your chest to try and calm your racing heart. With a tilt of his head and a snarky smile, Freddy spoke, "Why do you look so frightened, kiddo? We don't bite." His voice was smooth and deep, like a fine whiskey. It made you blush. He looked fancy, dressed properly in a cream-colored button up with a brown vest, a black bow-tie and tophat accompanying his suit. Little bear ears poked out from his hair thick with messy brown hair.

Bendy was similarly dressed to Freddy, expect in a black vest with a gray-button up and a white bowtie. His black hair was messy and tangled up, horns poking out from the top of his head. He was wandering off from the other two, touching and exploring around your apartment. Huggy Wuggy was less formally dressed, and instead only in a blue button-up shirt with dark blue jeans, with a clean white bow-tie. His hear was matted into horns, two red hairclips keeping his bangs out from one side of his face. He had red face paint drawn around his lips to mimic that of his game design. He aswell was looking around, but had preferred to keep his hands to himself. All three men had towered above you, all at least a good six foot three. It was honestly kind of exilerating, making your panties wet.

Snapping out of your transe, you peered into Freddy's brown eyes. "Uhm.? Hi?" You didn't mean for it to come out as a question, but in your nervous delirium, it had. Maybe you were sleeping, and actually dreaming peacefully in your bed? You hoped, scorching back a few inches, but running into someones legs. When you looked up, you were met with the smiling face of Bendy, his head tilted to the side. "Hello, darling!" He piped, hands reaching down to squeeze your shoulders. His pants were soft, connecting to your skin through your thin tank top. He walked away soon after, going to dIsturb more of your precious items. Huggy soon snapped his attention towards you, placing an arm around Freddy's shoulder and leaning onto him. "Ain't she a bit beautiful, don'tcha think?" The blue-haired male said, gazing at you through pretty yellow eyes. His voice alone made your pussy throb. "Yeah, they remind me of a little mouse, huh? Small and quiet, adorable." Freddy responded, an untamed blush resting on your cheeks, reaching towards the tips of your ears.

From your bedroom, you heard Bendy call out, "Whats this thing?" And soon after, a low vibrating hum and a small thump was heard, eyes widening as you jumped up, scowering towards your bedroom. "Don't touch that!" You hissed, picking up your vibrator and turning it off, pulling open your nightstand drawer and dropping it in, slamming it shut. Bendy's eyes were widened, smile still present on his face. Embarressment filled you, why did he have to go into your bedroom and find that? From your view, Bendy was towering above your chubby form, hands fiddling with your sweatpants string. You watched as Bendy's hands slid down and into his pocket. "Don't touch my things, alright? Or... Or I'll do something." You chalked up, crossing your arms and backing up a bit from bendy.

The dancing demon had seemed somewhat offended by your words, a look of confusion on his face. "'What?" He tempted, and when you had tried to walk back to the main room, someone pressed up against you. When you looked back, Freddy was standing behind you, his gloved hands moving down your arms and grasping your wrists. Huggy soon joined in on capturing you, sliding up next to Freddy as Bendy stalked closer towards you, lowering his face so it was only a few inches from you. You could feel his warm breath fan across your face, and you inhaled his scent. Bitter, like ink, but comforting, like firewood. A small whimper left your lips at the feel of Bendy's hands run across your waist, landing on your hips. "Trying to make threats are we, pet?" Bendy growled, pressing his chest into yours, boobs smashing up against him. You were sure he could feel your nipples poking through your tanktop. Heat radiated from all around you, skin aflame. A small chuckle was given from Huggy, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, above Bendy's and in between Freddys. Were you uncomfortable? Sort of. Was it all moving too fast? No. How many fantasies have you had of being railed by these men? And I mean, you kinda caused it on yourself.

Another whimper left your lips as you felt one of Bendy's hands come up and ghost over one of your breasts, gently circling your clothed nipple. "So fucking,, cute." Bendy whispered, you felt Huggy slip his hand down and onto your butt, gently squeezing. Freddy nuzzled his head into the nick of your shoulder, starting to make small hickies and love bites across the skin. A firework of arousal shot off inside of you, a squeal leaving your mouth as you felt Freddy lick around you, the other two men gently caressing your body. Bendy moved forward, meeting your lips in a soft kiss. His lips were soft, a faint taste of bitter ink on them. Huggy hummed, leaning back and watching you whimper and whine, his dick twitching in anticipation.

Hands still trapped by Freddy's bigger ones, you shuffled them back to grip against Freddys vest. You felt Huggys arms slip off of you, and Bendy's lips being ripped from yours. Huggy had gripped Bendy's hair and pulled him away, taking his place and roughly kissing you soon after. Freddy's hands moved from your wrists and to your breasts, gently needing the soft flesh in between his thick fingers, the pads of his fingers occasionally brushing against your nipples. Something, two somethings, were pressed against you, and a bit awkwardly, you reached forward and palmed Huggy in his jeans, a rough moan leaving his lips, the sound getting caught in your mouth. Bendy hissed, soon ripping both men from you and throwing you down onto the bed. You watched as Huggy narrowed his eyes at the Ink Demon, fists balling up. "Jelous, idiot?" Huggy hissed, brushing Bendy to the side as he pushed you down onto the bed, Freddy walking around to the other side, and Bendy joining beside Huggy.

"Now, are you going to be good for us, and let us use you?" Freddy cooed, hand on your shoulder and gently pulling you back so you were now laying back. Your head was hanging off the side of the bed, your hips on the edge. You felt Huggy guide your legs up so he could pull your sweatpants along with your panties down, the cold hair hitting your crotch, you shivered. You knew you were wet, inner thighs slicked and hole eager, fluttering. "Yeah, I'll be good." You purred, smiling at Freddy as he gently stroked the side of your face. Bendy and Huggy were quietly bickering, but soon stopped as your legs fell open, adjusting themselves so they were now propped up on the edge of the bed, knees bent. Quickly, you felt Bendy shove Huggy to the side as the ink demon took the place in between your legs. Huggy grunted, pulling himself ontop of the bed and to the side of you. You watched as Freddy unzipped his pants, pulling them down enough so his cock could spring out. He was thick, tip drooling with salty pre-cum. Knowing what to expect and what to do, your mouth fell open, inviting Freddy in. He smiled, you watched as the ears ontop of his head twitched in excitement.

At the same time that Freddy had entered your mouth, Bendy had started to kiss along your inner thighs, licking up your juices as he inhaled you. Freddy took his cock out, smearing the tip around your lips, and then reaching down to take your tank-top off. Instead of taking it off like a normal being, Freddy had gripped the top of the tanktop tightly and ripped it, stopping about mid stomach, just enough so your breasts were exposed to the three men. Huggy hummed, now unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down aswell, boxers going along with the pants. Huggy watched as your hand reached out to him, to gently stroke him, rubbing the tip against the tip of your finger. The blue-haired man watched your soft thighs flex and gently giggle with occasional jerks of pleasure, watching how your soft tummy was littered with stretchmarks. It was so pretty, knowing you were well-fed and knowing you'd be a good carrier for a baby.

Huggy was tired of Bendy still teasing, so he grabbed his hair, and mushed his mouth with your pussy, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your mouth at his actions. You felt Bendy roughly grip your thighs, pointy nails digging through his gloves. "Be gentle, she brought us here. Show her some compassion you dimwits." Freddy complained, gently rocking himself in and out of your mouth. Huggy groaned, Bendy whimpered. "You taste, you smell... So good." He dragged out the 'so', a gloved finger coming up to rub against your clit, the fabric feel making your stomach clench. Huggys hand came down to play with one of your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. Your hand came up to Freddy's hip, gently squeezing his soft, tan-toned flesh, encouraging him to be rougher. He had took the message, and brought his hand down to your neck, squeezing around your throat. His pace had also sped up, a wet squelching sound coming from your mouth every time he moved, followed by a small gag.

Soon, Freddy removed himself from your mouth, hand coming to wipe away tears and drool that spread across your face. Now without your throat being blocked, you openly moaned at Bendy's actions, feeling his tongue flick restlessly against your clit, one of his clothed fingers coming to rub against your slit. The dip of his first knuckle into your hole was enough for you to cry loudly, hole fluttering as you came for the first time that night. Bendy let you ride out your orgasm by grinding on his face before pulling away, delivering a soft kiss to the side of your thigh before he stood up, pressing his hard-on into your sensitive cunt. You shuddered, bringing your hand away from Huggy and instead squeezing your chest.

"Let me use her mouth," Huggy said, sliding off the bed and pushing Freddy to the side, the bear giving him a nod as he walked towards bendy. Your cunt throbbed, hands shakey with your previous orgasm. "Isn't she just so pretty, still shaking from my mouth?" Bendy said, humming towards Freddy as he ran a finger through your puffy lips. "She really is, so delectable." Freddy responded, Huggy joining in on the conversation, "I wonder if we get to keep her for ourselves once were done, then we could ruin her every day..."

"Stand up for a second, love." Freddy said, scootching you off to the side as he laid down, and then pulled you back ontop of his chest. You husked when Freddy's cock slapped against you, and when you felt Bendy's join the mixture, you moaned. Huggy had pulled your head back, hanging off off Freddy's shoulder, and stroked your cheek affectionately. You moved a hand to your mouth, wiping away stray drool, moving your head so it was leaning against Freddy's. "Are you ready, superstar?" You giggled at his nickname, rolling your hips against the boys, nodding. Bendy was the first to enter you, quickly and with ease. The air left your body when you felt the tip of his cock butt against your cervix. Soon after, Huggy gently slapped the tip of his dick against your lips, making you open your mouth wide. He easily slipped in, moaning at the feeling of your slick saliva coat his cock.

Freddy kissed your cheek, hand going down to guide his penis into you. "W-Wai--AH!" Instead of what you thought he was going to do, he pushed inside of your vagina, his cock snug against Bendys. You groaned loudly, head lolling back, the tip of Huggys cock meeting with the back of your throat. "Thats a good, good girl. Being so obident for your sirs." Bendy keened, hand coming down to wipe some tears away from your face. "I'm gonna move now, ok, my darling?" You hummed in response, nearly cumming then and there when you felt Bendy move his hips back, then slowly forward. Freddy groaned, his hands roughly gripping your hips. You were sure you were going to have bruises there in the morning.

While Freddy wasn't moving his hips, his fingers danced around your breasts, flicking and playing with your budding nipples. It took your might to not accidentally bite down, gagging on Huggys cock. Your hands gripped Freddys wrists for support, hips dancing in an attempt to get closer to that oh so tempting edge. Tenderly, Huggy ran his hands around your neck, giving you a tight squeeze. You groaned, muffled. Huggy's thrusts had turned frantic and he lost control, hands gripping tightly around your throat. Your vision had started to blur around the edges, hands squeezing impossibly tight around clothed wrists.

With a few more thrusts, Huggy had pulled out, stroking himself quickly and throwing his head back with a shout as he came all over your face. He had tried to aim for your mouth, but in an horny daze, he more so got it all over your chin and cheeks. It didn't take long for you to reach that edge either, cumming with a long moan as you squirmed. You were burning, hips rolling in waves as it felt you'd just been dumped into a pull full of aphrodisiacs. Bendy had came next, crashing down with a grunt as he spilled inside and on Freddy, the bear soon following after. For a good few minutes, you all breathed as one big human-ball, catching your breath as you tremored.

"Good job, you did so well. Your such a good girl." Freddy said, giving you a smooch on the side of your face.

now to ruin the mood

#bendy smut #bendy x reader #freddy fazbear x reader #freddy fazbear smut #huggy wuggy x reader #huggy wuggy smut

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kiwiraccoon · 6 months

Text

Our Own Story

Read To Me pt. 2

Yunho x reader

Description: Read To Me Pt. 2: “Put the book away, let’s write our own story tonight.” Yunho doesn’t hold back anymore, he’s waited long enough. Your story has been a slow burn, he’s tired of the glances, fluff moments, and boring nights thinking about what if.

Word Count: 1117 (unintentional)

Warnings: MDNI, female pleasuring (not descriptive), borderline smut (first time writer), petnames, dom!yunho x sub!femreader

part one

You set the book on your bedside table letting your need and desire completely take over your mind, you didn’t realize how deprived of touch you were until this very moment. His hands remained in their place, one dangerously slipping underneath the hem of your shorts and the other holding him up by his elbow while his hand softly touched the exposed skin of your stomach. “Yun, what-“

“Shhh baby, don’t ruin our story.” He says the moment our eyes meet, I can see the same desire I feel swimming through his innocent yet dangerous eyes. The heat from his body surrounds my being like a warm blanket, heating me all the way to my very core. We’ve spent so many times laying in the same bed just enjoying each other’s company, it’s all we needed to feel content. Now I know I won’t feel content until his body is connected with mine in a way neither of us have experienced together.

We would be breaking down a wall that would no longer leave us stuck on opposite sides of roommates. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles at my question, “I should be asking you that.” He takes a moment to scoot a little closer, invading my space in an intimate way that sends fire burning through every vein in my body. “Baby, are you sure?”

Not breaking the intense eye contact between us I move to push the blanket away from my skin, removing that wall myself, I refuse to let it get in the way any longer. I never wanted it there in the first place. “Write our story Yun, make the words on the page come to life please.”

He wastes no time in moving his hand from my thigh up my body to the side of my face to hold it tenderly while he leans in to connect our lips. The feeling is so much more than what the stories say. It’s not just fireworks or butterflies, no it’s euphoria, bursts of serotonin, complete and utter happiness, and the perfect amount of ecstasy.

The world around us disappears into nothingness, a void of darkness to swarm us in the moment that we both have been waiting so long for. He craved me almost as much as I craved him, and I would prove that. I move my hand to wrap around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair to give slight tugs at random times. Our kiss grew stronger with my actions, and when I heard the sound he made my whole body lit on fire.

The flames dance under my skin tickling spots with a needle like feeling to shock my nerves to life. I wouldn’t believe anyone who told me I was alive at this moment, I feel as if my soul is a million miles away in a paradise someone can only dream about.

His hand on my stomach moves up my skin under my shirt more at a pace that leaves whimpers escaping my throat to be swallowed by his kisses. I can feel the electricity building underneath my skin following his touch. It burns like the most beautiful bonfire underneath the perfect sunset of orange and purple skies.

I never believed I would feel the words I had read in so many different versions on pages from various books. But here I was having a book start something I had only dreamed about.

Yunho moves his mouth from mine against the skin of my jaw and down my neck to my collarbone. I can’t begin to explain the sensation I feel from his lip on my skin, it’s like I can see and understand paradise without knowing exactly what it means to me, it feels other worldly but that world isn’t known. I can but cannot explain the complete fulfillment. It makes all the sense in the world but my brain cannot wrap around it.

His hands make pleasure seem as if it wasn’t the easiest thing to bring to myself when in reality any other hands could never, mine absolutely could not. My conscious mind was only on the feelings and sensations he gave me, yet I still failed to realize he had moved his hands lower. One hand holding my side still in a comforting yet strong grasp, exuding dominance with a splash of care and comfort.

“Tell me how you feel.” I hardly register the words in my broken and fading mind. His voice held a rasp that made my legs squeeze tight around his one hand. Though he wasn’t having it as he used that hand to push my right leg down to the mattress with a firm grasp on my thigh. “Tell me, not show me.”

“Oh god,” was all I breathlessly said, not knowing exactly how to form a sentence. All he had done was kiss and touch me and here I was completely losing my sanity.

His chuckle makes my eyes land on him. He lowers his head to my chest as he chuckles before he looks up and makes direct eye contact with me. The few seconds of silence make my world feel like it’s ready to implode. Who he is now is not the cute puppy I want to squeeze and cuddle for hours on end. No this is a dog, one ready to pounce. “God?” He lets out a small chuckle again. “No, say my name baby.”

He pleases me in a way I’ve never felt before with just his hand making me take in a sharp breath and hold it in. I suck in my lips to bite down on them as I whimper louder than I have tonight. He gives me more and more, pushing my limits and making stars appear behind my closed eyes.

I can feel the pressure building in my core as it tries to break free from its hold, the walls cracking and bending against their will. The second his lips touch my skin again I can feel the walls give in, “Yunho!”

“That’s it baby, that’s my name. Say it again.” And I do a few times letting him know he was the one that caused my undoing that ripped the sounds from my throat and reached my core so easily.

Seconds pass before my consciousness comes back to me and I pull Yunho closer to me into a cuddling position we both love sleeping in. “Yun?”

“Yeah?” He asks while he tugs me in closer to him.

“What did we just do?”

His chuckles brings a smile to my face, making me dig my face into his chest to hide any embarrassment I feel. “That was only the beginning baby.”

#Jeong Yunho #Ateez yunho #Yunho x reader #Yunho #Yunho fic #Yunho imagine #Ateez #Ateez fic #Ateez imagine

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sae1549 · 26 days

Text

Tags: fluff, established relationship, after events of the final fight, Gale x female reader

Word count: 865

I have not written in a long time, but I wanted to write something sweet. I’m sorry if it is terrible. I also couldn’t get it out of my head that Gale would call his partner “Goddess”

————————————————————————

After the events of the elder brain, you and Gale settle down in Baldur’s gate. There was a large portion of time where Gale had never seen you so relaxed. When he would get home from work and would see you curled up with Tara while you were practicing your incantations. He adored watching you working so hard on something he also loved. He tried not to interrupt you while you were working. Quietly slipping off into the bedroom, to get into something more suitable for home activities. He hears soft whirring sounds and the words “Amicus Animalis” you say softly. Tara gives a soft hum.

“You look so similar to Gale when you do this.” She states. While Gale returns to you in the lounge. You raise your head to smile at the man.

“Hello goddess, how have your afternoon activities come along?” He asks while leaning down to pick up one of the many books lying about on the floor in front of where you sat.

“It’s been alright, I was reading over some Latin terms in that book to help pronounce my spells more accurately.” You answered truthfully to the wizard who stands before you.

“Ah, tricky sometimes. But with practice you will get the hang of things.” He smiled softly looking through the pages, dog earring a few of them to be looked through later. Tara standing up and stretching, before walking to the balcony to bask in the sunlight. You smiled, and slowly took the blanket that had been a soft bedding for Tara off your lap, folding it and setting it onto the sofa next to you.

“How was teaching today?” You asked, finally standing and stepping your way around the elaborate maze of books on the floor.

“Many of my students are coming along in their studies, a few are having trouble channeling the weave. But, nothing that time and effort will not fix.” He sets his hands on your sides as you hug him gently feeling the warmth of his body on your skin. He gently moved a few strands of hair away from your face placing a kiss onto your forehead. You take a step back, looking at him once more.

“Well it is getting late, how about we start to make something to eat?” He asked while taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen.

“And how about for some practice you conjure a helping hand?” He asked, he did enjoy helping you practice. Even if it was small things, so you could get acquainted with conjuring.

“I can try, but no laughing at me this time.” You say with a pout on your face. The last time you did this the hand dissipated within moments after lifting a bowl. Causing it to smash on the floor. He chuckles while opening the cabinet taking out a few different pans.

“Well, I didn't mean to have you hear me laugh that time to be completely fair.” He said while you held your hand out concentrating.

“Veniam luva me” you spoke, small blue sparks shot out of your fingers moments later mage hand appeared through a blue mist. The hand moves, opening the fridge, taking a bowl out of the fridge. You were able to hold it out longer than last time, at least making it until Gale no longer needed help.

“Goddess, you did beautifully.” He complimented, you sighed as mage hand dissipated into the same blue mist. He set a bowl down in front of you before he sat down next to you.

“That is a lot harder than it looks, I cannot believe how easy you make it look to do more complicated spells.” You complimented back as you both enjoyed the dinner that he had made for the both of you. Tara came back into the lounge once the sun had set. As it had started to become darker within the house. You turned to look at the fireplace. Small sparks had started to flow from your fingers as you got up and lit a small piece of branch on fire, setting it into the fireplace with the dried logs. The fire caught onto the rest of the wood.

“Wonderful, you have gotten quite good with that spell.” Gale spoke gently while he cleaned up after your dinner. You went around the lounge picking up the books that you had been reading much earlier in the day.

“What would you like to read tonight?” You asked, scanning through the countless books that were stacked on the floor and shelves.

“Hmm, I think I shall read The Annals of Karsus.” He responded after finishing with the dishes. You nodded, grabbing it from one of the higher shelves and setting it down on his side of the couch. You grabbed a different book from the shelves and sat down onto your side of the couch. He sat down beside you while he grabbed the book. You cuddled up next to him while Tara hopped up onto your lap and made herself comfortable. The rest of the night was spent reading and soft whispers and him showing you different passages as you did as well.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale x tav #gale fluff #baldurs gate gale

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amillieaway · 1 year

Text

prompt: meet me at midnight

“If I were a character in one of your books, who do you suppose I would be?”

Draco roamed the fire-lit room, running his fingers over burgundy and sage spines with silver and golden letters that reflected the flick of the flames.

Hermione lowered her novel to her blanket-covered thighs, chewing her lower lip. “Hm… The cruel prince, perhaps, cursed for his wickedness. Given a year and a day to find the love of his life to undo the spell.”

“Rather drab, isn’t it? Expecting a man to fall in love to repent his sins. What if he were to donate a fair amount of his fortune to charity? Or devote his time to brewing potions that cure deadly diseases?”

She shot him an affectionate look, though he was facing away from her and couldn’t see it. “Who do you think you’d be, then?”

He made a soft deliberating noise. “A romantic hero.”

She burst into laughter.

Draco tossed an irritated look over his shoulder, lips quirking. “I’m rather romantic, thank you very much.”

“Rather,” she confirmed, sitting taller and wrapping her arms around her knees. “Please go on, my romantic hero.”

“Yours then?” He lifted a brow, though they both knew he’d never truly belong to anyone else. “I’d be the sort who’s unliked by most. Underestimated always. I would lurk in the shadows and commit petty crimes for the fun of it. But also slip notes to the healer’s daughter, asking her to meet me at midnight so we can run away together.”

“And pray tell, where would you take her?”

He sat at the end of the spacious sofa, tugging her calf until she stretched her legs over his lap. His hand slipped beneath the blanket, thumb tracing a halfmoon over her bare kneecap.

“Anywhere she wanted to go,” he decided in a velvety voice. “I’m a romantic hero, remember? I care only for my runaway girl.”

“But she loves his ambition the best. The last thing she wants is a quiet life in the countryside. Or else she would have married her childhood sweetheart and had ten children on a duck farm.”

Draco wrinkled his nose.

“I’d make a fine prince, I suppose. Though not a cruel one.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “A rebel prince, but not the heir. A devilish spare. So I could marry the bookish maiden who rescues kittens from rainstorms and hands out loaves of bread to hungry children.”

“Not very rebellious of you. She sounds like a saint.”

“There’s a twist.”

“Isn’t there always?” Hermione was grinning widely now.

“She’s cursed, you see.”

“Oh dear.”

“She becomes a monster at night. Grows ravenous and eats his favourite pudding and demands he shag her until he can’t feel his bones.” He shot a pointed look at the lux cauldron cakes spread out on the rustic coffee table, more than half devoured alongside a pint of sparkling lemon cordial.

“Our poor prince.” She tutted, kicking his thigh with a mock-derisive look. “Perhaps she leaves him then. When he’s boneless and his pantry empty.”

“One would think…” He released her leg, encircling her wrist instead and coaxing her onto his lap. “But she loves him terribly.” His eyes grew soft, shining nearly as bright as the gilded storybooks encompassing them. “And he’s an ambitious bloke, remember?”

“Ambitious and romantic.”

He hummed in agreement, gaze dropping to her mouth. “He would do anything, give anything for her.”

“Anything?” she breathed, curling a lock of blond hair around her finger dotingly.

“He’d be anything for her,” he resumed, leaning into her touch. “The hero in every novel, or the villain if she wishes. The prince, the rebel, the romantic.”

The distinct, melodious chime of the antique grandfather clock resounded around them.

Twelve bold strikes as her prince, rebel, romantic spilled kisses over her like adventures on a page, one for every possibility, and one for the simple truth.

#amillieaway #dramione drabble #draco x hermione #dramione

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patheticallyinfatuatedwithu · 1 year

Note

hello!! can i request a valentines day one shot with minji hehe also please don’t rush if you’re busy or anything <3 thank you

one hell of an admirer, kim minji

you weren't exactly the looker, or so you thought when you were met with letter and a rose inside your locker.

"hey, any plans for valentine's?" your friend asked, leaning over her chair and peering behind your back, eyes trailing on your page before going back to her seat and scribbling the answer. "no. you already know that."

the sound of her scribbling stopped, feeling her annoyed eyes on you before continuing to write. "that's so boring though, spending your time in the library then at a coffee shop. you want me to set you up with someone?"

you sighed, "no thank you. your picks are terrible. i'm still traumatised from that blind date. besides, valentine's isn't until next week." she chuckled, throwing her crumpled paper on your back and landing on the ground with a soft thud. "who cares! it's not that terrible! you still enjoyed it!"

"that was a lie."

"what the fuck?"

your fourth period has just ended, and as usual you walked to your locker to place your unnecessary books back when a letter and a rose had laid neatly on top of your books.

the person next to your locker sneaked a glance inside, a smile creeped up on her face. "oh my. wonder who put that there." you shook your head, grabbing the letter and the rose and handing it to her.

"take it back." she looked at you with amused eyes, "it's not mine." you hummed, "your tone intended it." she placed her hands up in defence. "it really isn't! you're free to take money from me when you 'prove' me wrong."

"i'll take you up on that." you replied, walking past her with the letter and rose in your hand as your admirer watched from afar.

well... holy fuck.

"how many letters have they sent you now?"

"ten. it increased in amount yesterday."

your friend laughs, almost falling off her seat as you slammed the envelopes on the table with a slam. "you read them yet?" you shook your head, placing your elbow on the table and head on your fist for support.

"well that's dumb. maybe there'll be a hint for who it is and you'll never know because you never read it." a sigh escaped your lips, tired eyes locking onto a letter and grabbing it before tearing it open gently.

well... holy fuck.

"kim minji?"

"yeah, kim minji."

arms and legs crossed, her eyes narrowed onto you as you looked at her with fire lit in your eyes. "all right, let's hear it." you smiled and pulled all of the letters you've received out of your bag and placed it on the table neatly, straigtening a folded corner of one letter before parting your lips.

"here, all of the letters she's sent started with each letters of her name." you lined the papers up with each other, and your friend's mouth came ajar. "holy fuck. she's like the talk of the school and if that letter's for real and it's not someone messing with you, you've got yourself a valentine!"

you sighed, "what if someone's messing with me though and i've been played the whole time?" you grazed your fingertips over the written paper that told you to meet her at the cafe 5 minutes away from the school, lips pressed in a thin line. "then that's that. but you have to at least see for yourself."

"see for myself?" she pointed a finger at your chest and lightly pushed you, "that someone's capable of liking you. that you're not as bad as you think you are."

you impatiently tapped your fingers on the wooden table, accidentally nudging the corner when you reached for your bag that sat on the side of your chair in hopes of at least doing your work while waiting for whoever it is that may pop out.

"here's your order." the boy had said, placing your choice of drink on the table before turning on his heel. he looked tired, based on the way his shoulders slumped when he walked away.

you started to work on your homework, and when you were close to finishing it, a shadow casted itself on you and a voice startled you out of your thoughts. "i'm hoping the chair in front of you is for me?"

there in all her grace stood kim minji, hopeful eyes and a smile on her lips enough to make your tongue stumble out words. "uh, yeah." you gestured at the seat, packing your things away. "please."

the same boy came back to the table, but this time, he seemed lively, a big smile plastered on his face as he looked at minji. "happy valentines day, anything you would like to order?"

as soon as minji opened her mouth, everything around you was drowned out and it seemed like time played in slow motion. you caught the way the boy's smile started to get bigger (if that was possible) the moment minji's voice reached his ear, how she tried to pull out her card to pay but the boy had beat her to it saying it's on the house and especially how, you knew she was way too good for you.

"are you alright there, y/n-ssi?" voice like honey brought you back to reality for the second time, eyelashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts. "yes, uhm, i'm quite alright." you ran your tongue on your bottom lip, not missing the way her eyes flicked at it.

"anything you would like?" she asked, ready to call for the same boy the moment you reply yes. you shook your head, a small smile gracing your lips and minji was certain her heart stopped pumping blood. you gestured at your drink, "i still have this to finish."

she nodded in response, feeling her mouth dry up witnessing your smile and how you almost stammered talking to her. she couldn't help but think that she was the reason of that, that maybe she had made you uncomfortable or, just maybe, you were feeling the same feelings she does for you.

you acknowledged her lingering sight on your drink, pushing it to her with a larger smile. "you'd like some?" she nodded, her confidence slowly dissipating the more your velvety voice tickled her ear.

as you watched her place the cup to her lips, you couldn't help but flush when you noticed that she had placed her lips on the same spot you did, fingers scattered and head turned to the side in order to hide your reddened face.

"here's your order." the boy smiled, placing her drink on the table at the same time she placed yours back on the saucer with a clink. she flashed him a smile and he did the same. "enjoy."

as she took a sip of her drink, she placed it back down with a slight crease on her eyebrows, and you chuckled, minji almost choking when her brain registers what she has just heard. "i-is everything alright?"

"did he overdo the bitterness?" you queried and she nodded, and you pushed your drink back to her once again. "take mine. i'll drink yours so it doesn't go to waste."

she almost combusted there and then when your lips touched the same place as hers did like what she did earlier to your cup, swearing she fell again for you when she noticed you scrunch your nose in full revulsion before placing the cup down. "he really did overdo it." you chuckled.

minji knew that she has to talk about it sooner or later, and braced herself the moment she parted her lips. "the letters, did you mean it?" she closed her lips when she heard your voice, catching your eyes with a smile.

"yes." she replied, but it was almost hushed and gentle, just like then wind that kissed your skin elegantly that day which caused all of these feelings to surface. "but you're way too good for me. are you alright with settling for someone like me?"

minji felt her muscles tighten, why couldn't you see yourself the way she saw you? you were enough. hell, you're more than enough. "if i'm being honest, you're the one that's way out of my league. i saw those things you did for people, and don't you dare tell me that you're not enough. because you are. you really are. trust me."

you reached for her hand that held the cup's handle, tangling it with yours and smiling larger than you've ever had before. you gave it a light squeeze, bringing it up to your lips and giving it a kiss. "i'll make sure that you'll never be hurt in this relationship. because you had just made me see myself in a different light forever. be my valentines?"

she nodded, chuckling when she did. "i was supposed to be the one asking you that." you playfully stuck your tongue out on her, feeling your heart work faster than before seeing her smile whose brightness rivalled the sun's. "my bad."

broken records i'm so sorry anon this was supposed to be finished and posted at the 14th but i was srsly stumped on how to end this😭 IM SO SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME DKAJKAKZKKAQK

#kpop #kpop gg #wlw #kpop gg oneshots #kpop gg x reader #kpop x reader #new jeans x reader #new jeans #newjeans minji #newjeans #newjeans x reader #kim minji #kim minji x reader #minji #minji x reader

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wintersongstress · 10 months

Text

A Dream’s Winding Way

Part II — The Weaver and the Loom

Pairing: Arthur Morgan (high honor) x Female Reader

Summary: For as long as you could remember, you dreamt of falling in a love so whole and pure it was worth enduring the many griefs in your life. But the world, cold and cruel as it was, robbed that dream from you, and you believed you would forever be broken until you met a man who was scarred in his own way.

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: sexual assault trauma responses, murder, canon-typical violence.

A/N: Arthur will make his appearance at the end here ♥ thank you THANK YOU @the-halo-of-my-memory for beta-ing 💞

Part I | ao3 link

~ II — The Weaver and the Loom ~

Snick.

The bolts inside the cabinet lock slid free. Between your finger and your thumb, the tarnished key in your grasp opened a long-latched door, a swoosh releasing dormant air. Inside the stale cell, relics of the past awaited, felty with dust. A chatelaine belt rested on the shelf, ornate with filigree, alongside a satin pouch, a crystal hat pin, silver spurs with brass rowels, and a wedding bouquet, its once-white roses shriveled and decaying. You paused once, running your fingers over the cool rivets of a sapphire brooch, and overlooked it all, instead retrieving a new vase for the kitchen table—one that would not shatter into pieces when it fell—and a tattered recipe book.

With the book settled in your lap you opened it with a crack. Antique, creamy pages inked with words fluttered past your fingers, food stains mottling the margins alongside cursive pencil scrawls. A flattened sprig of poppy bookmarked the page for an oatmeal pie recipe. You tucked it back in for time to keep safe. A few gentle turns later you found what you were looking for and rose from the floor of your grandmother’s room, relocking the cabinet, and shutting the door behind you. You donned an apron and began your work.

The rugs, the curtains, all were taken down and rolled up, flapped outside, and beaten with the handle of your broom. You swept the floors of broken vase shards and stray leaves, replenished the oil in the lamps, trimmed the candle wicks, tossed out last night’s dinner, laid a new tablecloth, filled the silver ewer from your grandmother’s cabinet with water and fresh flowers, and scraped the ashes out from the fireplace. Wood clopped as you piled it up in a canvas carrier outside and lugged it in. Soap suds splashed your wrists as you scrubbed the dishes spotless. All the while the clock ticked on, from hour to hour, the day waning, until you could no longer prolong the inevitable, and commenced your grisly task.

You propped your family recipe book open on the counter and fetched a large stew pot from the wall rack. The cutting board hosted the full spectrum of ingredients you needed, so you set the pot over the stove flame and warmed a dollop of butter and olive oil. The yellow onions you chopped sizzled as you added them in, and, using a knife, you deployed your special ingredient from the cutting board. A few dashes of salt and pepper joined the mixture next, and once the onions popped their flavor, caramelizing, teaspoons of dried sage and thyme hand-picked from your garden snowed from your hand with clumps of chopped garlic.

Stirring, mixing, curdling, after a few minutes a pour of red wine and a splash of vinegar came next, making the soup bubble fragrantly. You scraped the copper bottom with a wooden spoon, stirring the browning bits of onion and garlic around, and drowned it all in three cans of beef broth from the general store. Two bay leaves fluttered in last before you covered the pot with a lid to let it simmer.

The Sheriff would have a fine last meal.

When the first three stars appeared in the evening sky, your cottage was aglow with soft light and welcoming with the scent of a rich dinner. Fine dishes and silverware sparkled on your table with a basket of bread in the center beside a lit candelabra. A fire warmed the hearth, and the alluring shimmer of dusk slipped in through the clean curtains. All was set. You sat in your armchair and waited, staring at the flames.

Hoof beats. Sweat chilled your palms as the sound drew nearer and you stood to peer out the window. The dot of a lantern bloomed in the distance. You tucked your shirt into your belt and clutched your shawl tighter, holding your heart to tame its wild beating, fingertips bumping the band of your mother’s ring, still hanging around your neck from a chain. The most important thing for you to do was breathe, slow and even, so your blood could thrum throughout your body as it was supposed to and give you strength. It flowed into your heart and you closed your eyes.

“Ease up,” a voice called. His voice.

A horse nickered, blowing out its nostrils. Leather creaked as he dismounted from his saddle and the bit tinkled as he hitched the reins, whistling. You could imagine it all, him fixing and grooming himself as he walked up, expecting a girl who would be so happy to see him and enamored with him that she made her home all nice to welcome him after a noble day of hunting outlaws.

The jingle of his spur was as foreboding as a snake’s rattle as it marched up the flagstone path. You positioned yourself in front of the stove, bending over the pot with a spoon and stirring the flavorful broth, a smile schooled on your face.

“Honey pie, you home? It’s me.”

The picture of a perfect wife, you thought, standing in your inviting home in a cooking apron. He would only see what he wanted, blind to you being capable of anything else.

“Door’s open!” You chimed, and the doorknob turned.

Some change at once went through the room. In a heavy, dominant rush it all came back, like the strong winds the night before that rattled the window panes and made the trees plunge and bow. You spent all day distracting yourself from the flashbacks of his lurid words, the fondlings, and the sound of his labored breaths. Anguish seized your throat at the footfalls entering your home once again and the pillar of strength you constructed within, had leaned upon, began to crumble.

You had a hangnail on your thumb. You discovered this while squeezing your fist tight, tethering yourself to the present. It was a welcome, soft twinge of pain for you to focus on and you picked at it, fixing your eyes on the window. The candle before it illuminated the glass, and you watched the sapphire heart of the flame waver, heard the little hiss of it, and glanced beyond. A sky wistful with waning blue, a sunset throwing gold on all that was green, a hush of wind passing through the leaves, and your reflection blending in between. To take it all in brought you forward in time, to a crackling fire and a bubbling soup, and a purpose hanging over your heart.

It is not happening again, you reflected. And it will never happen again.

You were safe, you reminded yourself, safe in the present, grounded, and irrevocably turned to face the man who hurt you in a way no one ever had. You looked at him without seeing him, a dish towel in hand.

“Come on in, I have some dinner on the stove. It'll be ready in a jiff if you want to hang up your things.”

“I would be delighted,” was his reply.

He took off his Stetson, hung it on the hook. The sound of his coat being tugged down his arms and his gun belt unbuckling made your heart beat fast and your fingers curl into your palms again. Shaking, you gripped the edge of the counter. Steam from the bubbling pot kissed your cheeks.

A chair scraped across the floor. “It smells delicious, sweetness. I’m downright famished.”

You breathed in and out slowly. He folded his leather gloves beside his table settings and you prepared a dish for him. With a gulp and a clench of resolution, you dipped the ladle deep and unearthed the chunks of vegetables, pouring them artfully into a bowl, spoonful after spoonful.

“Any luck tracking down that gang?”

He sighed, deep and tired. His elbows knocked on the table as he reached for the loaded bread basket.

“They slipped through our fingers last night, but we almost had ‘em.” Pulling the loaf apart, he ripped a piece and tucked it into his mouth.

You rounded the table and laid the baleful meal on his place setting, in a daze as he happily snatched up his spoon.

“Oh my,” he marveled. The polished silver of the utensil disappeared in the broth and came back up replete with the softened wild bulbs.

“These onions are quaint,” he commented.

The lie came to your tongue easily. “They’re called pearl onions. I have them growing in the back.”

And with a pleased grin, he feasted. You sat across from him with your own bowl, your spoon a special porous one so you could pretend to eat alongside him. He dipped his bread in the soup and drained his glass greedily, refilling it himself from the pitcher you set on the table earlier. Before long he scraped the bottom of the bowl and you replenished it.

You tried not to pay attention to his sordid aspect. The way he sniffed loudly and chewed openly, the dirtiness of his face from riding, the grease slicking his unwashed hair and the matted tips of his mustache, his eyebrows also unkempt and overgrown. You fixed your eyes to the grain of the wood instead, ate your bread with a slice of cheese and a handful of walnuts, munched on the salad of spring greens you prepared, all the while waiting for time to take its natural course as the toxins of the ostensible pearl onions invaded his system.

“You’ve been quiet,” he observed. His hunger appeared to sate as he scraped up the last dregs of his supper, affording his utmost attention back to his hostess. “Why won’t you look at me?”

You lifted your chin from your palm. Something in his expression shifted with awareness.

“Is this about last night?” he went on. When you remained simmering in your silence, he deflated. “Listen, I–I didn’t mean to get so rough with ya. I was drunk, and I’m sorry.”

Your insides twisted and flamed, refusing to be quelled. You shot up, turning your back to him and crossing your arms as you faced the window.

“You’re sorry?” you seethed. A drum pounded in your ears; it was the mad pulse of your heart. Tall in your judicial resolve, you whirled and directed your fury towards him in its full magnitude. “Not a bone in your body is capable of being sorry,” your voice shook, low in its tenor. “You saw an opportunity to take advantage of me and seized it. The way you spoke to me—degraded me—it’s impossible for me to believe you didn’t enjoy every moment of your vulgarity.” Split flew as you scoffed at him. “Regret is not within you. Not when I see now that you planned it. All along.”

He broke into a laugh of disbelief and leaned back to survey you. The worst kind of smile distorted his face, as if your fit of temper delighted him.

“Yer actin’ like you didn’t want it. Like your cunny wasn’t drippin’ wet for me–” you lunged forward, vision red and nostrils flaring, ready to seize his neck in your hands and crush his windpipe like the frail stalk of a vegetable, but stopped, grasping the back of your chair instead. You despised the idea of having to touch him and were reminded that you would not have to get your hands dirty to kill him. But you were prepared to. How much longer could you stand his gloating and his shameless iniquity? The wood of the chair’s cross rail creaked beneath your unforgiving knuckles. The Sheriff smirked at your little display.

“I think you’re just ashamed and don’t know how to admit that you liked it,” he argued, pointing his finger at you; then he shook his head. “What nerve you have, bein’ a little cocktease with me. But I didn’t treat you like those whores in town, no, I went out of my way to…to enamor you, bringin’ you flowers while you greeted me in your garden in your lace and your pretty smiles, a pie coolin’ on your windowsill. You know my dear Carolynn never blessed me with a child, and here you were,” he gestured to your frame and the home around you. “Takin’ on the responsibilities of housekeepin’ all by yer lonesome. All you needed was a man to take care of you, and I could be that man. Honey, I want to marry you. I could make you happy! Can’t you picture it?”

Flushed from his diatribe, he pleaded with you, half-rising from his seat until you thrust out a hand in warning. Surprisingly, he heeded your tacit command. Disgust curled your lips into a sneer.

“Marry you?” you echoed, hollow with disbelief. Your vision blurred and you blinked against the mounting tide of revelation washing over you. His mindset, his reasoning, it was unfathomable, and you struggled to piece together a sentence. “This whole time…that was your object? And you thought that by—by trapping me, and giving me no other choice, that I would accept you?”

His eyes rolled heavenward and frustration flashed across his oily face. “Lord knows I’ve been patient,” he gnashed his teeth, voice raising a note higher. “I didn’t want any other man to have you. What, you think you’re meant for one of those half-witted grangers in town? They don’t know the first thing about women, let alone how to keep one as pretty, smart, and pure as you. You know it’s downright sinful to keep such gifts to yourself.”

His words were worse than his touch. You had not one to describe your own sensations; the shock of his inflicted on you completely suspended your power to think and feel.

“Sinful…” you wandered over his meaning. “You’re a hypocrite.” Releasing the chair, you stepped away a few paces and shook your head, huffing to contain your brimming despisal for this man. You refused to listen to him any more. All throughout the day strands of thought had weaved through your head, firmly knotting into what the shame made you believe about yourself. That you were ruined. That you were worth less. He must have thought he was paying you some kind of compliment, saying what he said. The refutation rose in you to a forbidding height, like the dust before a whirlwind, and your lips parted to release your final judgment of him.

“You don’t know the first thing about me: about what I want, or what I need. What you did was assume. You assumed I wanted someone to come around and sweep me off my feet, save me from my solitude, and you assumed that I wanted you. A gluttonous, arrogant, entitled pig who can’t take responsibility for his own actions, who would rather blame them on the beast at the bottom of the glass,” you spat with venom. Emotion began to wrack your voice, lifting and dropping it like the swell of a wave, but you plowed forward, pinning him to his seat with the fearsome gleam in your tear-stricken eyes.

“The worst part about it is you could’ve made your intentions clear! I could’ve been spared from all this pain if you had only the stones to be straightforward. But I guess the prospect of your hurt pride was too much to endure. Deep down, you knew the only way you could have me was unwillingly.”

Your hand clutched at your breast, wrinkling your shirt and tangling in your necklace chain. You let go and charged forward again, and this time, the chair rail snapped in your hands at your final word.

“You had no right. You’re the most pathetic excuse of a man I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be glad to see you drop dead.”

At the crack of wood he sneered. No longer tolerating this speech, he stood, and for a fleeting moment you shrunk back. Until his hand—his fat, pallid hand, still bearing a wedding band—braced itself on the tabletop and he wobbled on his feet. Blood rushed to his face and a delta formed in his forehead as he blinked at the ground, as if his vision was filled with spots while his legs drooped unsteadily beneath him. He clenched his gut and groaned.

A griefless laugh croaked from you. “You know, they say that wishes and dreams have a winding way of coming true. It looks like you are gonna spend the rest of your life with me, Sheriff.”

His sight fixed itself on the bowl in your place setting, at the spoon resting in it, and how none of your portion was consumed. He had the look of a man who realized something too late. The vein in his neck fluttered and his breaths sawed in and out of his lungs. Sweat dotted his temples and a thread of saliva spilled from his wobbling lip.

“Wh–what did you d-do?” He choked out.

The compass of your soul spun and whirred, before the ruby-tipped point settled decidedly south.

“What I had to.”

As his knees gave out beneath him, the Sheriff clutched the table’s edge, and the peaceful, law-abiding chapter of your life ended. The scent of bile fouled the air as he retched and retched, his body rejecting every morsel of the Death Camas he had stomached, and the pallor of his skin colored to that of fish’s belly before the monger’s crude knife carves it open. Not a twinge of sympathy or regret rippled inside as he fell helpless to the floor. Not at his struggle for breath, at his uncontrollable muscle spasms, or the chunks of undigested food dangling from his chin. He would lie there, wheezing and convulsing in a mound of his own vomit, until his heart stopped. You had no desire to watch, and you had no desire to wait any longer for your meteoric flight from this tainted place of grief and despair.

You unlatched the trunk in your bedroom and sifted through your belongings. Two saddlebags quickly filled. You packed the essentials: bedding and a camp outfit, medicine and provisions, clothing for severe weather, and valuables to fence. Rummaging through the kitchen, yanking open drawers and cabinets, you moved mechanically, occupying your mind with a plan moving forward, all the while a man lay dying on your floor, twitching and choking, sightless and inert. His breath was a mere rattle as you dressed yourself for travel and long riding, laying your necklace with your mother’s ring inside a sack for safe keeping. This was not the time for thoughts and moral ruminations, it was the time for action.

It would buy you time–and perhaps forego a bounty altogether–if you buried the body. His absence from town would not go unnoticed, but—Oh, yours would not either. Regardless, your next course of action began to formulate itself. You would need a shovel, a rug or a blanket, and a lantern, for the sun had dipped below the horizon and would not light your path.

As the night closed darkly in, the sunset folded its wings over the rib cages of clouds; the last pulse of color on the shore of the world a glowing, molten shade of marmalade. Insects clacked and clicked in the dusk as you stepped out in your hunting jacket, hoisting your supplies over your shoulder on the dirt path to the stable with a lantern swinging in your free hand. White moths flittered around the light and followed in your grim, resolved wake.

You hung the lamp on a hook behind the creaking door, illuminating the hay-strewn space. Bridles, bits, and martingales populated the wall inside the stable, with rakes and shovels propped up from the ground. An empty wheelbarrow served as a temporary home for your provisions, setting them inside so you could perch yourself on a stool in the corner to strap on your spurs.

Willa shifted on her hooves to adjust to the weight of the various sacks and pouches you affixed to her saddle, but she complied with a trusting snort. You spoke to her kindly, stroking her forehead, knowing that she was listening in her own way and understood her importance to you. Without her, you would be alone. Without her your future, your freedom, it would all be infeasible. You led Willa out into the night, a shovel tucked under your arm and your lantern restored in hand.

An owl hooted and a pack of coyotes yipped and yowled, the sound carrying throughout the valley. Willa’s keen ears flicked, along with her long tail, and you gestured for her to wait behind the cottage, hitching her to an oak sapling. You intended to trudge through the muck of the funereal situation as quickly as possible while the night breeze slipped cool fingers through the forest and snuffed out the last tendrils of daylight. You marched back into the firelit house for the last time.

The stench hit you first. Foul and nose-wrinkling, you tugged your collar up against the smell and regarded the log of the Sheriff’s body, lying rigid. In death, he soiled his pants, as all men do. The body releases everything and the muscles stiffen and lock, blood stagnates in the veins, the skin purples, the tongue lolls out, and the eyes fix wide open to meet the unknown. Nature takes its course. Flies are drawn by some promising whiff of a feast in the air and consume the dead flesh in a quivering swarm of greed. Time passes. Maggots crawl. And bones will be all that remain, until, some day, they are dust for the wind to claim.

He was the one you rushed to when you found your grandmother cold in her bed. He was the one who arranged for the church to collect and prepare her body for burial beside your parents in the local graveyard. He was one of the persons who offered you words of comfort during the funeral.

He was the man who hurt you most in the world.

And he was no more.

It was a yawning, black moment, the one in which you stood, hesitating on some windy pinnacle, reflecting on not what will be, but what, long since, has been. Your throat choked around nothing. What has become of you? The future stretched out before you gray, interminable, and desolate. Thoughts crowded thick and fast in your mind, and you imagined carrying out the rest of this act—covering his body, dragging it across the floorboards, the weight of it, the slack look on his face, the creases of his fat fingers outstretched from his limp hand, and you knelt to the floor with a gathering horror of your deed, a tremor pulsing in your throat, your heart crumbling to the same ash dropping in the dim fireplace.

A numbness possessed you to pull up the corners of the rug, to nudge his body to the center of it with your foot, to wrap the carpet around his form and tuck him inside. To do what needed to be done. Your mind turned off. It had to, for it was the only way to endure. There was no choice left for you. But you wished you had listened. To the night, to the change in the wind, for the footsteps of fate and the creeping shadow of the terrible god of chance stepping into your doorway, eclipsing your hope of escape from this dire strait. A darkness was gathering in the hush; the kind something crouches within.

Fate is a weaver, poised at a loom; the spider over your garden gate. It works silently and unseen, amidst an intricate and silvery web, attaching invisible strands of possibility along a path leading to an inescapable epicenter. Fate, with its nimble clutches, spins and entwines, pulls one thread, wends the other, until the time comes when the unwary traveler reaches a pivot point, the moment when their life goes down one path or another, and the spider strikes the grappling victim caught in its web.

Back first, you dragged the carpet bearing the Sheriff’s body outside your door. His boots stuck out from the roll, thumping along the ground as you grunted with the effort of transporting him, using the strength behind your legs to shuffle farther along. The light from inside spilled out along the flagstone path, and as you stopped to establish a stronger, more efficient grip, your ears pricked at a pair of unfamiliar spurs clicking and scuffing to a halt behind you.

A pin-drop silence encased the air.

Your heart froze. Ice enveloped your ribcage and crystallized the blood inside their elaborate vessels, each breath serrating through your chest like a razor. For a time, only the stars moved with their twinkling. Slowly from the ground, inch by inch, you turned your head and your sight rose to the face of the intruder, the sole witness to your grisly act, and you almost laughed at how twisted fate could be.

A faltering deputy was fixed in place on the path, taking in the undeniable scene before him. He was no stranger. You recognized him in that slant of dandelion light by the curled tip of his nose, his ruddy cheeks, and the cleft in the middle of his chin. His beard was strong, a shade darker than his hair and not so red as his skin, and he had grown into his jaw, the line of which had become more pronounced and square. He wore wrinkled pants tucked into worn, dusty boots, with his lanky frame swallowed by a long duster, a vest beneath it buttoned all the way, and a gun belt sagging around his hips. Ungloved hands hung at his sides, fingers that long ago squeezed the curves of your budding body dangling emptily.

Though he scarcely looked it, he was the boy from the orchard with russet hair and dimples all those years ago, whose mother treated you like her own; but he had grown since that uncomplicated beginning. How a broken collarbone led to a friendship, which ripened into an affection and concluded in bitter resentment, was unforeseeable at the time. You never guessed that the two of you would end up like this.

“Gideon,” you breathed. “What are you doing here?”

The hungry, sweeping motion of his mouth against yours invaded your mind. In the blink of a moment like this, despite the current of the years that swept past and weathered away the discomforting, stony edges of the memory, you could relive the minutest details of your past with him: the sloppy tangle of tongue and teeth and the scratch of an adolescent mustache; the mopey, beseeching expression on his face, begging for more of you. A chill crept across your skin at the remembrance of his neediness and desperation, making it hard to look at him, shame rooted so deeply in you.

He uttered your name in the same stunned tone, his mouth agape until he swallowed his alarm. “It’s been a long time,” he said, and his eyes, murky, silver, and cold—like a pond in winter—cut to the sagging roll of carpet in your arms. An unmistakable pair of boots stuck out. “And I see much has changed.”

None of your muscles moved—but the weight of the deceased tired your arms and you ached to rest them. You slowly lowered the rug to the ground, your eyes never leaving one another’s.

“This isn’t what you think it is.”

A disbelieving scoff left him. “What I think it is,” he echoed. “I’m thinking that better not be who I think it is. I’m thinking ‘she went from breaking men’s hearts to stopping them altogether’,” his long legs carried him forward and your spine stiffened. His face came into the light. You shrank back. “Something tells me you don’t have one of Dutch Van der Linde’s boys wrapped up in there. See, I knew the Sheriff would be here tonight, and that’s his horse hitched there,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the animal. “You have five seconds to produce the man I’m looking for alive and well or I’m taking you in.”

You wished to heaven you could think of a way out of this. What vestige of freedom you could still secure was within your grasp and it made your teeth grit that the bitter waters of life would surge high once again at this crucial hour. It figured; the final wave for you to overcome came in the form of Gideon Taylor, the pouty boy who you had no remorse for jilting. Your fists clenched beside you and you lifted your head, standing tall, measuring and meeting the danger of his presence.

Holding his stare unblinkingly, you pitched your voice low, words growing frost. “You should leave.”

Though he had a gun and lasso on his hip and an inflated sense of superiority to empower him, Gideon hesitated.

“I will, once you tell me where the Sheriff is.”

His spurs jangled. He spoke to you cautiously, as if you were a skittish animal about to bolt for an impenetrable thicket, the flit of his eyes gauging your every move, and his hand rose out to you while he subtly reached beside him.

Before you a narrow avenue of escape flickered, shrinking smaller and smaller like the last sliver of the moon in the dark of an eclipse.

When lightning flashes, the precise amount of moments that pass between the initial burst of light and the thunder that follows measures the distance between the strike and the listener. A blink, a heartbeat, a slow breath. That was how much time you had to act, before the thunder came and the earth trembled. In that slow, blinking, beating instant, you knew how this would play out.

When his gun began to clear leather your instincts kicked in, quick as a snap. You leapt backwards into the house, throwing the door shut. Fumbling with the bolt, the rusty metal bar slogged its way through the lock, making you cry out in frustration as you strained to jiggle it forward. The bolt slid home the instant Gideon’s shoulder rammed against the boards.

Your teeth rattled at the battering of the frame. He charged against it repeatedly and your eyes, in darting about the room, snagged on a buffet table. Praying the old lock would hold, you rushed to push it in front of the door and the furniture groaned as you shoved it in place, only for Gideon’s attempts to break in to cease.

“So, we’re doing this the hard way?” Gideon yelled through the door. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears and your face grew hot at the rushing of blood. You moved to extinguish all the lamps and candles, flooding the room in darkness and the lacy scent of candle smoke. His voice came again a moment later.

“Shit, what the hell did you do to him?”

The body. Beyond the threshold. He must have peeled back the rug, looked upon the Sheriff’s vacant eyes and felt his clay-cold cheeks. A leaden weight sunk into the pit of your stomach. There was no escaping what you did. But a small chance remained to evade capture. You could sneak through the back window and mount Willa quietly, get a head start before Gideon gave chase. You could lose him in the woods near Lady Face Falls and follow the water north—

A bullet crashed through the window. You dropped to the floor. Moving forward, you crawled towards the bedroom, covering your head with your hands whenever glass shattered and chunks of wood flew. Along the way your foot slipped through a sludge of the Sheriff’s vomit and your knee banged against the wood. You bit your cheek so as not to cry out in disgust and pain and shuffled slimily onward by the heels of your hands.

Gideon fired off six shots in total before you made it safely to the other room. Quietly, tortuously, you unlatched the window and pulled it up by the handles in increments to prevent any sound while outside Gideon cursed to reload his weapon faster. You winced as it gave a squeak, but the noise was muffled by the breaking of a window in the front room. A heavy stone’s thump followed after.

Gideon called out in the dark. “Are you gonna come willingly or do I have to shoot you? There’s nowhere to go!”

The night air beckoned. Without another thought you swung a leg over the sill and ducked out, making a break for Willa. Behind the cottage, you slid down a slippery bank of pine needles until you reached your moonlit mare, grasping the smooth horn of the saddle and clambering astride to get a move on.

“Ya!” With a kick to her flank, Willa gave a jolt and a toss of her head before starting forward. Moments. You had bought yourself moments to escape, merely. Snatching up the reins, you seated yourself properly and urged Willa through the grove of trees, hunching low to dodge the lash of branches.

She moved with a swift determination beneath you. With hooves heavy upon the earth, she sensed your urgency. Twigs snapped and spears of moonlight shot through the pine canopy as you wove through a wide belt of trees, your breath coming hard and fogging in the air.

The lane of a meadow came into view and you burst through the tree line, into the moon-bright open. Willa vaulted over a fallen log and landed in the muddy grasses, your rear hitting the saddle hard while pellets of ice flecked your cheeks as she scudded over a sheaf of unmelted snow.

“Go, go, go!” Crying out, you nudged her flank again, and Willa obeyed, breathing hard. The prospect of speed and gaining distance from your pursuer outweighed the risk of exposure, riding in the open like this. Her pace transcended into a gallop. You clung tight, blinking against the cold air as it pricked your eyes. The thunder of her feet matched the beat of your heart and the landscape became a blur of stubby trees and boulders smudging past you. In the wind she made Willa’s mane flowed, and you trusted her completely to deliver you from danger.

A gun fired off in the distance. You were forced to let up, arming yourself with your father’s hunting rifle, the stock firm against your shoulder as you peered down the sight and readied your aim. A quarter of a mile off a glint of moving light came from a lantern, and it struck your heart with a pang to do it—to fix your sights on the pulse of it and fire with violent intent. The sound split through the valley. The empty cartridge ejected.

Astride his horse, Gideon shouted as it reared up. Your round pierced the dome of his upheld lantern and sent glass and kerosene raining. In the briefly purchased interval you prompted Willa onwards, back into the ponderosas that environed the open meadow and the darkness their bristling boughs afforded before he and his horse finished screaming.

The farther into the woods you ventured the thicker the trees crept in, until you were forced to a walk. Into the silence of the night you listened, straining for any sound of pursuit. Nothing, only the cold shadows, dim moonlight, and scaly bark of pines passing by your knees. You propped the rifle against your thigh and loaded another brass round into the breech before hopping down from your mount. If the necessity rose again, it would be easier to aim on solid ground rather than swiveling on horseback.

Pine cones and fallen twigs scattered at your step, and you took care to prowl lightly through the snowmelt. You held Willa’s bridle in one hand, her bit jingling, and led her until the murmur of flowing water pricked your ears. Miserable cold began to set in. At every rustle and riffle of leaf and breeze your eyes snapped to each corner of the woodland on high alert. More than anything, you wished for the warmth of your hearth—to be nestled in your favorite chair like any other evening spent in the solitude of your home. Not gripping a loaded gun in a dark forest, heart racing for your life.

But at home, you remembered, lay the body of a dead man. To return to such a place was to hold to your ear a shell from the sea of the past, filling you with the hollow echo of what once was and no longer is. Those chapters from before fluttered away—as the seasons did.

The soil turned mossy and spongy from the lush influence of the river, with trilliums springing up between tree roots and felled, sun-bleached logs. You let Willa walk on ahead, and the music of the water dampened the far-off sounds. Your breath came out slowly as you surveyed the wooded area behind you.

How smart had Gideon grown in the past few years? Could he track you, undetected? Was he stalking you through the woods, with the patience and guile of a hunter? In truth, you had no idea what he was capable of, and it made your fingers twitch towards the trigger. Then again, what were you?

The treetops stirred. A gale whistled down from the mountains, hauntingly cold, and spliced through your jacket, meanwhile the starlight twinkled on. The moonlight turned the river iridescent. Willa drank her fill of water and you settled back into the saddle to trudge downriver. Gideon would lose the tracks you had no time to cover once he reached the stream, but could easily piece together your route. You stowed your rifle and formed a grip over the reins, knuckles over, and moved to fit your boots into the stirrups to give Willa a kick.

You wondered how you could not have heard it: the low, whisking sound of a twirling lasso. By the time it dropped around your shoulders, it was too late. With a violent lurch you were dragged backwards from your horse into the numbing, snow-fed water. Hard and unforgiving rocks bashed into the side of your face as you slammed into the streambed, the taste of coins flooding your mouth as your teeth cut through your lip and tongue. You wrestled with the unyielding hold of the rope amidst the water flowing around you, the shock of which soaked ice in your blood instantly. Black flowers blossomed behind your eyes. A hard yank snagged the air from your lungs and pulled you free from the chaos of the current.

Coughing, spluttering, blinking and gasping, twigs and gravel scraped your palms and before you could brace your hands against the silt someone else’s pinned them together and pushed you on your stomach.

“You’re not gettin’ away now,'' a voice hissed. You remembered those hands on you years before, stronger since, and contempt flamed up in you, compelling the fight in your limbs to kick and scramble beneath Gideon’s hold.

“Quit makin’ this harder for me than it already is!” he snapped. With force, he wrapped the rope around your wrists in a tight bind. All that was left to fight him with was your ankles and you thrashed your knees to shake him off, but the solid weight of him prevailed.

“No,” you groaned, and it took all of your strength to. The rope bound your feet together, and a stupor sludged your limbs from the shock of the cold water. You were flipped onto your back, flinching at a face you were loath to look into. Gideon shook you by the shoulders and your eyes rolled.

“Tell me why! Why did you kill the Sheriff?!”

The river still roared in your ears. Water dripped down your neck, bunched in your lashes. You thought they might turn into icicles, like the great big ones that hung from the cottage roof in the wintertime. Senses dulled and dazed, you could hardly see from the blur of tears and cold, but you caught the echo of his question, and the vial of indignation within you overflowed past the chatter of your teeth and the shivering of your limbs, unable to contain the seething words any longer.

“You have no idea–” a cough interrupted your speech. “What kind of man you are defending.”

Blood from the cut inside your lip spattered onto his face and he only blinked as if it were water. His astonishment was beyond expression. By the moonlight, the dark of his eyes narrowed, and you wormed beneath his glaring sneer.

“He was a great man. Everyone saw the good he did. But you–” he yanked you up from the rocky bed by the elbow, your head lolling. “You were all he talked about. And I tried to warn him about you! You know what he did? He just laughed at me and said I wasn’t man enough to handle you.”

His statement stunned you into silence. Upright, your senses were slow to sharpen with the fog accumulating in your head. The idea of the Sheriff boasting about you to his fellow men sickened you more than the memory of his touch almost. But you had no time to harbor the thought before Gideon dragged you to his mount like a lamb to slaughter.

Within the narrow, binding circle in which your ankles could shuffle you were pushed along, stumbling over pinecones and driftwood. You were too cold and cut up by the rocks to fight him, but you dug in your heels as you approached the tan horse’s flank, the gelding’s tail twitching.

You rolled your shoulder as he shoved you harshly forward by the center of your back and searched for your horse desperately. Willa had taken off during scuffle, trotting down the opposite side of the riverbank. You whistled for her, and her head swung in your direction.

Gideon lost what little patience he had and pulled you up by your underarm. “Do I need to gag you as well?” You braced your arm against his horse’s side to keep your footing. “I think I should, since you’ll be savin’ your confession for the judge.”

“Gideon, stop. Please,” you wheezed. “There was a wrong done to me.” You hoped the pain in your voice would make him pause and see the misery in your eyes, think about the weight behind your words. Maybe he would remember the girl you used to be, and recognize that she was gone, wondering what took the light from her heart. A minnow of doubt darted across his face and his grip nearly faltered, until the breeze blew cold and snuffed any flame of apprehension sparking inside him.

“And you call what you did makin’ it right? Killing a man is against the law,” he elucidated. His spit sprayed across your cheek and you flinched. “But I’ve heard all that I have an ear for. You’re spendin’ the night in a cell.”

Gideon crouched and lifted you from around the legs, hefting you onto your stomach over the horse’s rump. Blood rushed to your head as your weight gravitated to your abdomen and your muscles strained to support it. The steed’s legs shifted underneath you and you lifted your head with a painful effort to speak your mind as he rounded the horse.

“The law doesn’t tell you what’s right and what’s wrong; it only says there’s a price to be paid for certain actions,” you snapped. Disdain pulsed through your veins, your blood humming with contempt.

“Yeah?” Gideon’s feet slotted into the stirrups and he gave a kick, gripping the reins and flicking them to the right. “And you are gonna pay—with your life. What’s that tell you?”

You balled your fists and squirmed, the weave of the rope digging into your wrists. Gideon started forward, roughly, back into the darkened forest. Your chin knocked against the horse’s hide and you held your head up again. “Men like the Sheriff bend the law in their favor whenever it suits them to get what they want and never pay that price. The law doesn’t protect those beneath it.”

“Spoken like a true degenerate.” He tossed you a look over his shoulder and scoffed. “God, if my mother could see you now.” At the memory of Mrs. Taylor and her old warmth towards you, you flamed up again, voice coming out in a growl.

“Oh, you don’t have room in your head for more than one idea!”

“I know better than to listen to this. I know you. A man’s heart is your joy to play with–”

“And it’s your joy to play the victim! Even now you can’t fathom why I despised you. You filled me with shame. Men like you and the Sheriff, all you care about is what I can give you. My heart, my feelings, they don’t matter. In the face of your desires they mean nothing. They don’t so much as cross your mind. The Sheriff took advantage of me and he would do it without a second thought over and over again unless I stopped it!”

“Shame?” Gideon turned back to you. The cold pinked the tips of his ear and nose, his knuckles also red from their place on the bridle. He went quiet for a moment before going on, the scenery passing by vaguely in shadows and shafts of moonlight. Your sternum ached at the pressure accrued from resting on it, and every time your head bounced along with the rhythm of the horse you glimpsed your bound feet on the other side.

He spoke softer this time. “You must not remember how sweet I was on you when we were together. But the way you turned so sour so suddenly, when I could’ve sworn you liked me just as much…it made my head spin more than anythin’. I didn’t know what I did wrong.”

The confession strummed a somber chord within you, twisting your expression grimly. You stepped out of the present, back into the years, while Gideon emerged from the cover of the woods and picked his way onto a pale ribbon of trail that wriggled ahead like a snake. A sign post at the fork heralded the one mile marker to the main road into town, painted white and chipping.

“We were so young. We were children, Gideon. It wasn’t love.”

It struck you that, at the age you spoke of, you did not know how to say no—the word not being something girls were taught. What you knew of women’s’ relationships with men was the expected role they fulfilled: giving. Giving affection, pleasure, children, companionship. In theory the rationale was not so terrible. Love was a dream. To be in love was everything. But your tryst with Gideon acquainted you with a breed of men who were used to taking what women were expected to give. Your kiss, your touch, your embrace and your body, these were all special to you; a gift to be bestowed, the chance to do so reveled. Not things you were expected to surrender to the first boy who looked at you lustfully, unconcerned with your true, inner value. You wished you knew that then.

The train of thought led you, for a glimmer of a second, to believe you could have stopped the worse act inflicted upon you by the hands of the Sheriff. As quick as it came it died. He would have found a way to get what he wanted, regardless of pleas, or strength, or precognition. You were not to blame. Bad people would always exist in the world and take advantage of others, and it was no fault of yours.

Gideon shook his head, sighed, and muttered to himself. Pivoting, he looked down on you with a pinched mouth, his eyes hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. “Yeah, well. We still knew what we were doing.” The cutting edge of his words dismissed you and he spurred his horse into a faster trot.

I think you’re just ashamed and don’t know how to admit that you liked it. A ghost whispered. The soft choke of his death rattle gripped your memory and you flinched from it.

The hardheaded hold Gideon held on his grievances made your teeth clench. If only the perfect string of words existed to compel him to release them, you would draw the strands from the air, thread them together into a net, and cast their influence over his mind to pluck his heartstrings and make him remember the boy he once was; the one who looked upon you so fondly. But the notion came to a halt at that, for was he ever a boy capable of thinking beyond his own wishes, considering the thoughts of others?

“You’re so selfish. You’ll never change,” you found yourself saying without thinking. But he did not catch your words, and you spoke up as your despisal surged anew. “Maybe you knew what you were doing when you groped me, and ground yourself against me, and kissed me slovenly, but I didn’t. Because maybe you’ve forgotten, but I just sat there. You only ever cared about making yourself happy.”

He scoffed. “As much as I know you’d like to think it is, this isn’t about what happened between us. I stopped thinking about you in that way a long time ago, along with asking myself why. What you offered—” Gideon cut a withering look to your frame and grunted. “Wasn’t that special. There’s plenty of other girls out there. I’m just glad I didn’t end up in a goddamn carpet.”

Further and further away your hope slipped. Your heartbeat pounded in your head, making it throb and ache as you hung over the horse’s side and your feet grew numb. Inevitably, water pricked your eyes. A chill breeze brushed past your nose and snot began to dribble from the end of it while your vision blurred and your voice broke.

“There is no getting through to you, is there?”

In reply, Gideon only spurred his horse to trudge an incline in the road and leaned back in the saddle, steering away from the deeper patches of snow. A knot formed in your throat as you choked down useless tears. He owed you nothing. His nature was not understanding, or reflective, or critical of himself. It was self-righteous and vindictive. The conviction rested in his eyes as unyielding as the laws of justice. An ounce of sympathy from him was as likely as drawing blood from a stone.

Bitterly, your head fell, and you sucked your quivering, gashed lip. One last time, you tried to implore him. One last time, you sought your freedom, because it was the only thing you had left to lose.

“You can let me go. I’ll never come back here! Whatever you’re trying to prove, you don’t have to–”

And he slapped you across the face to shut you up.

The strike stung like nettles and your ears rang. Shrinking away, your mind blanking with static and noise and blinding white despair, fresh blood spilled from your lips from the slap and your trembling body remembered how cold your dip in the river had been. Worse was the wind, billowing down from across the distant mountain peaks, and the shivers set in deep. The trot of the horse went on, up a hill and off the trail through the terrain once more.

In silence, in anguish, in defeat, you wept. Over the side of a horse, bound, slapped, and subdued, you wept and embraced the taste of salt. For your lost girlhood. For the grandmother who raised you and the mother who did not have the chance. For your life, for the ruination of your dreams, from the unfairness of it all. Was this the harvest of all that had been planted for you? Bone-weary, you slumped against the animal’s hide and let yourself rock with each step. If only sleep could take you. You were ready for all of this to be over, to be a dream you could wake from in a sweat and try your best to forget. Bleeding and shivering, you longingly ached for something to fetch you out of your present existence, and lead you upwards and onwards, but you had no heart left for anything.

Glancing up at the sky, a bank of clouds enveloped the moon. Over wood, over water, the flood of its silver radiance receded, the ensuing darkness weaving a mystery in every drop of dew and creaking branch. An owl hooted, but its mate did not answer. The stars did not have any either as you searched for them.

The tall trees rustled, violently unsure, and the night breeze carried a sickly sweet scent in its passing, as if stirring something hidden under rotting leaves. As Gideon passed beneath them, the ragged shadows cast from the spruces closed in, and in the gloom an old stone rose from the earth like a grave. It may as well have been your own. Darkened by the color of moss and damp, the granite ledge presided over the forest, sundered by some glacial movement from the mountains eons ago while death and rebirth churned in the woods all around.

Unable to face what was to come, you turned your head. But in so doing, you caught sight of Willa trailing you from a short distance, the spot of white on her forehead unmistakable, and your tears subsided. Your heart glowed and lifted; a wobbly smile dimpling your cheeks. Graceful and poised, steadfast and resilient, she trotted in the passing shadows like she was of its fabric, her coat the same shifting shades of moonlight while she moved like a river, the sinews of her forearms and chest a changeful, inky black above her socks of white. Her hooves were too soft to hear in the spongy dirt.

Willa’s softly brown and gleaming eyes held a star in them. Every journey you embarked on, she was beside you. She carried your bushels of burdock root and feverfew and fireweed back to your cottage without complaint, conveying you home through the forests and switchbacks countless times, and in turn you took care of her since the day your grandmother bought her from the livery.

The events which occurred in the past day loosened your foothold on your sense of self. But in that moment, pondering Willa, it came back to you. You remembered who you were, and what you believed you were meant to be. A girl brought up to respect the Earth and revere it, who kept hope in her heart always, and dreamed that she could be loved. With crystalline clarity, your mind broke free from its chains and a wind stirred a flame back to life inside of you.

From a drained well of will, you gathered your strength, braced yourself for another struggle and one last trial of endurance. While you raced to think of a way to cut your binds, Gideon’s head snapped around, and you stopped. His revolver was drawn in a flash and his horse whinnied and raked its hooves. He fixed his eyes on the tree line and you strained for any telltale sound while his gelding started to canter to the side uneasily. Something spooked it.

“What is it?” you hissed. He ignored you.

A twig snapped close by. “Who goes there?” he called out. Not far off, a ribbon of campfire smoke wove up into the night air and you squinted at the shadows.

Gideon tugged the reins hard to the left and clicked his spurs, venturing to investigate and evade the open clearing. Your head joggled with the movement and you grunted. A patch of ground ahead, though sideways from your point of view, appeared odd, misshapen, the thick carpet of pine needles too obvious to be natural. But Gideon was not watching his tread and aimed his horse’s walk right over it.

A dire creak made you freeze.

“Look out!”

It was too late.

A shrieking snap, and next, the wind was in your ear as the earth gave out from beneath. With a cry, the horse stumbled and reared and everything went upside down. Your heart seized during a timeless, weightless, airless second as a lattice of concealed logs collapsed beneath the load of Gideon and his horse, and you all fell in an outcry.

The sap and pine scent of fresh wood rushed up your nose as it cracked all around you. Unable to reach out for anything or protect your face, the sharp edges of branches snagged at your clothes and stabbed at your sides, needles scraping and stinging your skin. When the slamming force of the ground ended it all, a spike of wood tore a scream from you as it impaled your thigh.

The tumult fizzled to a static in your ears. You roiled on the dirt floor of the manmade pit, curling into yourself like a pill bug at the hot, pulsing throbs of pain in your leg surrounding the intrusion. You cried out at the unbearable and debilitating burning shooting throughout your body. Throat raw, vision white, breath sawing raggedly, your senses came clear enough for half a moment to observe Gideon, still astride his hysterical animal, gripping the bridle and urging the horse out of the pit. He kicked it harshly to vault over the rim back to solid ground.

He spared you one glance before riding off, and left you.

Tears stung your eyes and you wailed out your pain freely. Scratching at the rope around your wrists was useless, your nails only drew blood. All over, your body ached with bruises and fatigue, and it depleted all of your strength to focus on your breathing alone. Frustration and pain tangled in your chest like a mass of snakes, warring each other, and all you could to do alleviate the pain was roll onto your uninjured side. Your leg gushed like an oil-well.

Once everything started to fade, time ceased mattering, and you slipped in and out of consciousness. You blearily wondered why you were still fighting. A cold sweat chilled your neck and your chest palpitated unbearably.

Sounds from afar, beyond the pit, invaded your ears. There were hoof beats. The shouts of more riders, pursuing Gideon most likely. He would be rounding up what was left of the Sheriff’s posse, going after this gang that has been troubling this valley the past few days. No doubt this pit was dug by them, a trap for someone who got too close to where they were camped out. The whole town would be in a frenzy, meanwhile you...fading, languishing in the dirt…no one would find you in time…

With a quavering sigh, you began to let go. There was only so much your body could take; it would so much easier to sink into this grave than crawl your way out. To breathe became like listening to a lake lap a shore with its waves, growing fainter, quieter, and more still.

The moonlight was serene, and the coolness of this cavity of earth was welcome. Tree roots poked from the stratified layers of dirt, worms and centipedes clinging to the moisture therein. Above, a scuff of needles and a snort announced the presence of your most trusted friend.

Willa whickered, eyes finding your curled form in the pit. She paced around the edges. What remained of your hope ached. Through a glaze of tears you tried to speak, to soothe her, but no sound broke from you other than a whimper. But you were not alone. Never alone…in these woods…these mountains…with these familiar stars above…until unknown, male voices dispelled the cloud hovering over your thoughts.

“I’m telling you, I heard something. Someone in pain.”

Footsteps, a pair of them. You fought to stay awake, aware, but your willpower was slipping like the final sands through the waist of an hourglass.

“It’s probably another one of them law boys,” someone grumbled. “Maybe we caught one.”

“As soon as Dutch gets back we need to skip town without kissin’ the mayor goodbye.”

“You’re telling me. We should’ve left after that business last night.”

A haze began to drift over you again, sweeping you under the blessed numbness unconsciousness promised. Your eyelids were so, so heavy.

Willa nickered, the white of her eyes showing as the pair of men presumably approached her.

“Whoa, easy there.” One of the men regarded her, gently shushing and calming her in a matter of moments. In a way only you could—

“Look.”

“It’s a girl. Tied up like a steer.”

A gun being holstered, a thump of feet, and you were no longer alone. A shadow passed over the moonlight on your face. It was too dark to see, to know if you were about to be saved or damned by whoever was crouching over you. Dimly, you hoped you looked too powerless and broken to be mistreated.

“Pl—please,” your weak words tasted of copper. The apricot glow of a lantern warmed your face, and you looked up into a pair of eyes you trusted instinctively.

“What happened here?” The man who asked you this was older, with graying blond hair swept beside his temples. You had never seen him before. He had deep lines beside his shrewd eyes and his mouth was grim, but a kindness of understanding softened his countenance. It had been such a long time since any sincere compassion had looked at you through eyes other than your grandmother’s.

“Deputy—was bringing me in—left me here—“a spasm of pain interrupted your slurred speech. Wincing, you gestured to your thigh with your chin, seeing the pool of red darkening your pant leg for the first time. “Can’t move.”

The older man’s companion joined him in the light of his lantern. He was younger; tall and well-built, with a gun belt slung across his hips replete with ammunition, the brass of his bullets shining. A satchel hung from his side and he unsheathed a hunting knife attached to his belt. The quick gleam of it filled you with uncertainty.

“Easy, miss,” he raised his hands. “We don’t mean you any harm. I’m just gonna cut you free. Hold still.”

In a few saws of the blade the rope loosened its pitiless hold over your limbs; the relief of clutching your wound with your own hands was enough to make you sob. The men grew quiet, considering your condition. All of the blood was draining from your head, like it was all racing to escape out of your leg. The chunk of wood was buried in it, likely holding back a gushing torrent of crimson like the river miles and hours back. You wanted nothing more than to yank it out. It had not gone all the way through.

“We need to take her to a doctor,” the older man asserted, and his companion made a noise of protest. “I don’t know if Susan and Bessie can patch this up.”

“No—“ you cut him off, as forcefully as you could. “I can’t—I can’t go back there,” your breath began to labor and dizziness crept in as you moved to sit with your back against the packed dirt wall of the pit. “They’re gonna—gonna hang me, for killing that awful man.”

Clutching the wound, the blood oozed out warmly between the webs of your fingers, the dark, iron scent of it pungent in your nostrils. Air hissed out sharply between your teeth.

The two men looked to each other in mute discussion.

It left you in a sad whisper: “You should just leave me here.”

“We’ll help you.”

“We will?”

“Arthur.”

The fading began in earnest. You were incapable of protesting what came next. A pair of hands grasped your elbows, guiding you to your feet, which only stumbled because there was no strength left in your legs. Boneless, a broad chest caught you, your head lolling in the pillow of an arm, your nose grazing the fur of a jacket, and you burrowed into the scent of smoke and forest with a groan.

“We need to get back.” The lantern flame was doused, and the arms surrounding you lifted you in their hold. Your lashes fluttered to catch a glimpse of him, the man who held you, but his hat cast a shadow over his gaze and the night around him was dark with blue.

“You’ll be safe with Arthur, miss,” a voice said, but you were far away, lost to memories and hollow dreams. They dragged you down deep with pictures of bluebells in a water puddle, of lightning flashes through a curtain, of useless wrists beside you.

Your last awareness was of a sky made of woods and branches, with all of its stars perishing.

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