#i was giggling putting the cactus in . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themareverine · 2 months ago

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HI!! its the old man logan asker and im in love wt the way you wrote my previous ask, you are a godsent 🙏 i was wondering if its okay wt you, to write more of him.. i dont know sitting on old man logans lap and dressing up nice and pretty for him??!?!!?? please take it how you will, the way you write him makes me want to stupidly giggle

— I dream of you

A King & His Castle

oldman!Logan x fem!wife!mutant!reader

series summary: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, mutantwife!reader, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so, reader has curls, slight ⚠︎, breastfeeding, lactation, breastfeeding kink

a/n: i'm dedicating this to @bpmiranda, this is the spiciest it gets, honeychild!

navigation | series masterlist | previous let me know if you want added to my tags! ♡！

There’s very little like a south-of-the-border sunset.

It’s that something that rises up from the earth to meet the air, a cool that seems, almost, to simmer in the soil until that perfect time of day—the time between the sun sinking low and starlight. It sits in the atmosphere like a dance, spinning and twirling, lifting skirts—hopeful. Innocent. Skips along the bluebonnets and desert roses scattered among the mesa, reverent, almost like the pretty prayers of a virginal bride, awaiting consummation with night.

Perhaps his favorite fucking time of the day is this hour, after dinner. When the sky begins to transition in a way that kills the heat of the day, buries business hours. Rarely over the week can he toss his phone aside and forget the block of microchips and Big Brother that tethers him here, to his castle—to his bride, his home. Flesh and blood that cries out in the night and, five days a week, searches for him.

Fifty hours a fucking week he lives here, at home, through the screen of a cellular phone — something unthinkable even forty years behind him.

When he isn’t ignoring passengers in that fucking Chrysler and trying to act his perceived age and be all professional and shit, he’s dreaming about the right here—the small creek that’s a mile to the east. The cactus and bluebonnets that paint the desert mesa like a Monet, the open sky that shows him God every time he rises with the day’s colors.

Away more often than not, by the time the headlights of the limo splash along the perimeter fence, swathing this small slice of his in milky light, he’s borderline forgotten what the four walls and a floor looks like. How it lathes open his heart like a knife in hot butter.

By the time he takes a few deep breaths of the place, adamantium in his chest kicking out more poison that, somehow, hasn’t put him six feet under yet, he remembers. He longs, curses the days he’s away and silently vows to, in some way, never leave his fortress of solitude, this sanitarium of bliss. It’s bad enough working for the man and punching Uncle Sam’s fucking clock, logging driving hours under a license tethering him to the government like a honing beacon—worse yet, abandoning the so there of her arm draped along his chest as she crashes hard in bed, snoring slightly.

Prying himself away from warmth of fresh sheets, thick blankets that drive back the world. Slipping into the rig with the scent of her, the only true thing in his life the last four decades, clinging to his clothes like the lover he’ll never let her not be.

Kings were never meant to leave their castles, and he’s away too damn often.

Thick cigar smoke kicks into his chest as he takes a pull of the thing, sweet tobacco calming the hot edge of his blood as Logan drops his weight, fully, into a patio chair. Kisses of sunlight still linger in the cement apron beneath his feet, and the Wolverine stretches his toes fully against the concrete’s texture, relishing in the bite of it.

His chest all but collapses off a weighted sigh, tension from the cab of that fucking Chrysler bleeding off him like a shed skin, lost in the dwindling light of the day that quickly speeds towards evening—and he can’t not notice the sky.

She’s beautiful, the canopies of God. Looking down on him with a wink, a teasing that he anticipates with great relief to be finally home.

Tossing his lighter on the patio table beside him, which is rusting and cockeyed from a missing foot, he massages the bridge of his nose. Entirely ignores the rustling movement spilling through the propped-open door leading inside to the makeshift kitchen their thrown-together living conditions allows. He doesn’t have to glance over his shoulder to know it’s her, milling about the kitchen—putting things away, tidying spaces that activities of the day with children doesn’t allow.

Even from here, her bare feet on the oil-stained, once-refinery floors are unmissable—he’d been listening to her for timeframes he can’t recall, but every time, most of the time, feels like a new discovery. Rattle of pans and the soft hum of her voice carrying a tune floods him with a sense of domestic pride Logan has never felt—like a lion, basking in the sun of his lands, of his pride.

His.

Excitement jumps through his frame when her movements near the door. Her energy in the atmosphere cracks like a whip, bites at him in a way that ravines down his spine with molten, balmy good. Heat bottoms him out in the base of his gut, like it always does whenever he can smell her — and he can, body be damned, smell her.

Fresh out of the shower, Logan is a breath away from demanding her come, forcing her compliance in him licking the dew from her skin, feasting on the beads of water that fall from the ends of her curls. Practically able to taste eucalyptus and whatever else shit she works into her skin overrides the tobacco smoke hanging out under his nose, renders him a little dumb in his cock.

Taken aback to the first time Logan committed the scent of her to memory, the first time it became a core part of him, his jaw tenses a little with the effort not to groan.

It had been raining, the scent of earth so strongly that for seconds, it was all he could taste and think — until she’d brushed up against him, wet hair and saturated clothes accentuating every cut and line of her like an Aphrodite. He’d been so gobsmacked with her coming up under the arm he offered around her shoulders, Logan had transfigured. He’d never been the same.

A core part of his biology changed, smelling the sharp mints of her shampoo, the musk of rain and sweat on her skin—it’s all he wanted. He changed, she changed him—and moments like this, remembering, unlock parts of him Charles Xavier, Weapon X, the world had tried to chain like a creature.

Every damn time.

Takes reasonable amounts of willpower to keep his dick from twitching between his legs, but that’s never new. Skeptics waxed not-so poetic about honeymoon phases, sex—all shot out of a marriage union after the first five years.

Laughable fucking insanity.

Whoever they were, well—they were fucking insane. They’d been together four decades — he was 200 years old. She was pushing 70 but regen lied about it – she hadn’t stopped looking like the day he’d met her, young and stupid and pretty, and parts of him suspect she never will reach the same haggard and graveside appearance he does.

Hopes not, anyway — a twisted, sick part of him liked people watching them, pointing questionable fingers.

What the hell is a pretty thing like that doing with an old fuck like him?

It unlocked primal, animalistic tendencies he’d only ever feared, but kept him satiated. Their sex life was fantastic. Damn near pornographic.

You’re a sick fuck, Logan.

Familiar honey-thick heat drips from his core, down to his cock. Lazy fingers brush at the buckle of his belt, toying with the idea of jacking off to imaginations, to fantasies — to live they’ve lived, love already signed and sealed. Logan doesn’t bother, there’s a full world of the unexplored to discover with her underneath him, chanting out his name—he need only ask.

She never denied.

“You want a beer?”

Her voice snaps him from his consideration of his feet, propped up on the edge of the patio table. Of course he wants booze, she knows that — but finds the need, the will to ask anyway.

Before he can properly respond, a chilled bottle taps his shoulder, cool glass managing to cut through the layers of suit jacket and shirt as it dangles between her near-boneless, lithe fingers.

“Here, enjoy,” from behind his shoulder she dips low, angles her head to kiss his cheek sweetly. “I’ll be right back, gonna check on little man.”

It’s the sweetest sound in the world, truly.

And if mention of his son doesn’t ever manage to stop making his chest swell with pride, his bones ache, it will be too soon — it’s never really anything he’d ever envisioned for his life, fatherhood.

Two centuries alive did things to a man. A good woman, religion — the first cry of his son ripping apart the air around their room had devastated him. Ripped away the old shell of a man and stitched together a new man of dust and heart in a way Weapon X could never explain.

The day-to-day of her growing with his seed, glowing with innocent, new life in her womb had been transformative—unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Religion didn’t even properly describe it—poetry, song, story. Nothing compared, he was sure. Logan, for one of the maybe-handfuls of time in his existence this side of the grave, had cried the day he’d held his child—his son.

He could weep again, replaying the memory of her nuzzling his baby against her breast, drawing him to the place beside her, “Get over here, Logan—be here with us,” it still visits him in the night, when he dreams. In the quiet of a mute limousine cabin area, when the night is still.

A perfect cocktail of them together, of mutation and humanity not yet touched by the outside world—their innocence, born again. Breathing.

His son. His own son.

Logan kept the picture of her nursing for the first time, post-delivery sweat and gall, as the background of that fucking cell phone, and he wouldn’t deny that he looked at it often. Thought about knocking her up again, just to have another — to have a series of photos that never outgrew that post-delivery quiet, the reverence of that moment.

They hadn’t talked about another kid, not since his birth—Laura and Eli kept the house alive, were handfuls Logan couldn’t even imagine in five years from now. Laura was just beginning to enjoy schoolwork, to approach the new baby.

Their “whoops” pregnancy had complicated enough, another would be chaos on a level he couldn’t fathom.

But damn, if he didn’t enjoy the thought. Logan was not too big to admit that he was proud, another new trait he found himself admonishing. A photo of the three of them tucked into the ventilation slots of the dash often triggered break-the-ice conversations with his passengers — your wife and kids? They’re beautiful.

And fuck him if he wasn’t the proud husband and father who didn’t stop talking about them like a babbling idiot, which so wasn’t him in any universe he could understand or imagine.

Mhm, sure is. Laura, she’s almost twelve. And Eli—little man is just learning to hold ‘is head up, little tank of a thing — growin’ fast, faster than I want, the both of ‘em, and Mare—there ain’t words for what kind’a momma she is—

And truly, there never, will never be, enough words to adjective this feeling.

Basically, he'd turned into a regular Mr. fuckin’ Brady.

Attention triggered over his shoulder by the creak of the door’s hinges, Logan cracks open the beer, tosses aside the cap to the table like it’s nothing. Pulling long on the bottle, the tick of plastic knocking against itself draws up his brow, only making sense when she steps into his peripheral — a sight that drops his feet off the table with gusto.

Snaps him to attention like a fucking soldier.

Fiddling with the all-too familiar breastpump gizmo that’s basically attached at her hip with how often of a presence it maintains, all moisture evaporates from the back of his mouth as she stands there, hip cocked, in little more than that tiny stupid satin robe that makes him lose his fucking mind.

Curls of hair frame her face from where they’ve fallen from the lazy clip she’s thrown into her hair, her skin fresh and adew, still, from that moisturizer she has him bring home. Even untied, the robe hides more of her than he wants, barely able to clock the neon fucking thong clinging to every curve of her hips for dear life.

Very quickly Logan recalls that he’s been away from home for five days, every one of them pistoning hot blood that laps for revenge in his cock. He’s hard in a way that aches, in seconds, and she doesn’t even bother to notice, too busy with that damn machine that gets far more VIP access to her tits than he could ever dream.

She’s close enough to reach, and he does, thick fingers tugging at the front of her robe with purpose.

“Havin’ a time with that, sweetheart?”

Cigar hanging low against his bottom lip, his other hand waves her to come hither, her eyes lifting from her handiwork to oblige him, “Give it ‘ere.”

Taking it from her, he sets it aside on the table, beckoning her forward to stand between his knees. The look on her face is defeated, almost disinterested. Tired pulls at the corner of her eyes, though there’s still a trace of sparkle in the depth of her ocean blues.

His hand brushes open the robe, fingertips skimming over the expanse of her abdomen, bare and pale in the fade of the sun.

Entertaining the idea whether or not he’s going to choke on the smoke of his cigar at the mere sight of her, his fingers brush the material of the thong flossing the meat of her hip, eyes cutting to consider her breasts, now, bared before him at eye–level.

Fuck fuck fuck—

Swollen and full, visceral fingers of pleasurable ache grip his low spine, toying with his blood like it’s a plaything. It is, it’s her toy, her to do with what she pleases — and she knows that, most days. When she needs to.

And Logan knows there isn’t anything innately sexy about what needs to happen, here — she actively hates this, this required thing of her. Has told him so, on multiple fronts, despite his best attempts to change her mind.

Logan, there isn’t anything sexy about this — it hurts, it’s time consuming, I feel vulnerable—

Which, he concluded, was exactly why it was the single most beautiful thing that lapped his mind at all hours of the day, when he was off his game.

There wasn’t anything like it in the world, a woman’s body. Never had understood until she’d given a son, until he’d been privy to watching the design of a woman’s anatomy actually at work. How it could receive, how it could multiply — how it could sustain a life, produce lifeblood. Nutrients not found naturally anywhere else, intimacy of its own kind.

Such vulnerable beauty stirred a desire to protect, to defend, he hadn’t experienced before — and it was sexy as all hell. Robbed him of sensible thought, of sanity. When he was alone, when he wasn’t, he starved thinking about it—hard and lusting.

Enough to drive a man to his knees in worship.

A low, hungry moan rolls around the adamantium in his chest, hands moving to gently take the weight of her tits in his palms. Electricity may as well rip through him like a current, because every time is like the first when he touches her —it’s never the same. It’s always new and unique, always leaves him starving and curious.

But her hiss is sharp, features twisting in a hot writhe as her hand finds his shoulder. Strong fingers biting into his muscle tells him that this is familiar pain — that this is anything but what he’s experiencing, anything but what he’d give his right arm for it to be.

It crucifies him, nearly.

A crying shame. “You’re full, darlin’,” and if that doesn’t ignite something in the pit of him, he doesn’t know what, “didn’t do this today, did ya?”

Lack of reaction says more than words ever will, no. Overseeing Laura’s schoolwork and tending to their son, while also managing what shambles of a home this shelter actually provides keeps her busy — he works, and she maintains life here, this refinery, this shell of a life he’s managed to provide. While she'd never complain, it is far from the white-picket fence American dream he’s supposed to strive for, provide. It’s a slippery slope into hell, trying to keep them all safe. Alive. Well.

Mutants living the shell of a mutated life—fucking ironic.

Gently and with care his hands form around the curve of her breast. It takes everything he’s got not to touch, to feel, to play, but the look on her face—the way she nearly cries, gives him pause. Hesitance.

“Easy,” she brushes at his hand, thumb gently grazing over one of her sensitive nipples, “please,” her murmur has grit, but isn’t viscous—like a dog whimpering from receiving care, she squirms a little beneath his touch, “that hurts.”

“I can see that, sugar,” leaning forward, he pulls the cigar from the corner of his mouth and outs it on the arm of the steel patio furniture, slips the remainder in the front pocket of his jacket.

Logan gently brushes his nose against her breastbone, able to scent the sweetness beneath her skin. He tries to forget what it tastes like, hands instead slipping around her middle to gently knead the burning muscle of her shoulders, knots that are hot to touch, “You need somethin’ from me?”

It means everything and nothing, stirs his dick like a fucking ocean.

Her voice is resigned, small. “Not that, not right now," fingers card through his hair, a small smile teasing the corner of her pretty mouth, “can I just talk about some things, for the weekend? V’missed you.” Her hands move to gently skip her nails through his beard, Logan’s fingers tracing the line of her thong, temptingly.

“Sit back, honey. You’re crowding my seat, Wolverine.” Wolverine. Always her Wolverine, she’s always his. Two Wolverines.

Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the idea would be so good.

Logan doesn’t need to be told again.

Shifting his hips forward, making room on the spread of his thighs, she swings a leg over him and gently seats herself on the plush of his thighs. Reaching past him for the pump, Logan relishes in her weight, how it straddles the cradle of his hips something beautiful, how it manages to constrict his chest to barely breathing levels of oxygen deprivation.

Keening, head spinning, she begins to hand express, the soft whir whir whir of the pump beneath her hand taking up more space in his ears than should be considered righteous.

Staying busy on her body is never a problem—his hands grab at the meat of her opened thighs, fabric of the thong at the juncture of her legs pulled so tight he’s liable to snap in half.

Dizzy on the cocktail of scent—of her core, her skin, the saccahrine sweet of milk, eucalyptus in her hair—he can’t even manage a drink of his now-lukewarm beer. Sweat seeps through the layers of his clothes, riling up his skin — he’s hot to the point of overdrive. Redline and it’s stupid.

Fairly certain that he’ll bite the inside of his cheek until it’s shredded to nothing, Logan is all but a little dizzy when she takes his chin between her fingers.

God, please — don’t ever let it not be like this. “Logan? You listenin’ to me?”

Her brow peaks, his hand lifting of its own will to her opposite breast. Mostly ignoring his touch, she bites the corner of her bottom lip—he feels her bristle under the attention. Pull of muscle in her legs is unmistakable, God Himself could see it.

“Hey, focus, will you? I’m asking you something, here.”

He hasn’t, not truthfully. She said something about the lady's group at the little church down the way inviting her somewhere, probably for the weekend. He’s too selfish to let her go but could deny her nothing — something about Laura swims through the back of his head, but he isn’t sure.

How she expects him to think straight, dressed so pretty in hardly anything, he’ll never understand.

His lifted brow and cocksure smile gives her pause, she pushes at his shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Good God, Logan, you’re impossible,” and she goes to swing off his thighs, but his hands at her hips hold her fast, drags her down to his lap. A little harder, until her full weight drops.

He groans, but tries not to growl —it’s a sad attempt, really.

“Baby, please, this is important t’me —”

Oh, and he knows. “Mhm, I know that,” his chuckle is breathless, airy—turns into a twisting, dark growl when he pulls at the line of her thong, snaps it against her little rolls that he’s been dreaming about for days, “mmm—nrgh—but darlin’ —”

“I’ll suck you off later, Logan – but I’m talking to you about Eli. You know, our son? Would you concentrate just a little, please?”

Aw, hell—Nothing about her tone is serious, but mention of her tight mouth on him severs his last bit of composure.

God only designed a man for so much, he was within Biblical grounds for fucking her within an inch of her precious, regenerative life.

His head snaps up at attention from the back of the chair, and with a dark glint of a smile, he drives her hips down hard on his thigh, her gasp a little too strong to be that surprised.

And he holds her there, knuckles white with the effort to drive her weight fully against the line of his muscle.

“Talk like that is li’ble to get you fucked out of your mind, darlin’,” sitting forward, he presses a hot kiss to the curve of her unoccupied tit, fighting her hand away from the pump to manage it himself, harsher than necessary, “I am this close to losin’ my fuckin’ composure, baby, so be nice.”

Mean, he rips her robe down off her shoulder to suck a hard, dark mark onto the top of her breast, and she all but collapses against his chest, the taste of her pearling sweat almost savory against his tongue.

“You’re so mean, Lo,” breathless, her lips skip over the throbbing pulse in his neck. “Just want you to distract me,” sing-song, feigning innocent sobriety, his pretty wife’s tongue lathes at the pool of his collarbone, tongue dragging at the sheen of sweat drawing up on his skin at her touch, low against his Adonis belt.

“It hurts, you know,” now it’s quiet, an admission. It should whip him into shape, but instead, it takes him apart.

“Just wanna talk.”

Logan’s mocking chortle is dismissive, if not a little cold.

“Fuck me,” breathless, his hand finds her hair and pulls her up, into a hard kiss that’s wet, hungry. Her breathy moan is shallow, and Logan forgets all about the busyness of his hand at her tit.

“You wanna talk. Fuck, darlin’— it’s been five days.”

“You’re such a kid,” matching his meanness is one of his favorite ploys, it’s enough to driving him over the edge of sanity. “Can’t live five days without me — whatever did you do before me, Logan?”

Taking her face in his hands, he pulls back, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Dreamed of you,” the corner of his mouth ticks up in a quicksilver little smirk, “I still dream’a you, darlin’, whenever I ain’t here.” Kissing her slowly, unhurried, her taste is like honey. Her body like home, an extension of him he can’t even begin daydreaming of without wanting to weep.

Giggling, awwwws him like a child. “I suppose I should give you somethin’ to dream about, huh, Lo?”

And his dreams have never been so alive.

@sidkneeeee

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@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

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amelee23 · 11 months ago

Text

My hero | Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x female reader

Genre: Married fluff, (a tiny bit of angst)

Word count: 2.400

Requested: yes

Warnings: mention of a stomach bug (very briefly) insecurities (both), self-depricating jokes (both), some marriage difficulties, caring for a child, they're EXTREMELY in love, tooth-rotting fluff

Both you and Chan loved to have your crazy fun, but to a certain limit. A limit you both understood so well, as if it was truly a shared items between your minds. Therefore, after your long awaited wedding ceremony, where tears were shed, dances were danced, cake ended up on the floor and someone's shirt, the bouquet throwing almost knocked someone out, and fortunately no relative started a fight - you both drove peacefully, home. No long flights to Honolulu, no rushing for any 5 star hotel reservation. Just a long, deep sleep.

You awake and instantly chuckle. You barely remember that you basically threw your wedding dress on top of the bedroom door last night instead of finding a hanger. Slept with the door open and all, but you were so exhausted you don't remember even washing your teeth. You turn around gingerly and find your newlywed husband, Chris, to be slightly salivating on the pillow. Nose half shoved inside the fluff, hair every which way and his cute ears poking through, his silver earrings still on. He was a sight to behold, and this sight was truly now yours.

You brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes, and as you accidently touch his ear he shudders. You procrastinate for a good five minutes, in which you gently pet his hair, and then lean to kiss him on the forehead before you get out of bed.

"No, don't leave." He calls out to you, his voice raspy and his accent thick. You give into the temptation and lay back down next to him.

"Good morning, my husband." You say, and it's so cheesy it makes you giggle.

"Good morning, my wife." He says with a toothy grin. You just married him, and you have a lifetime ahead of you to admire him and love him, and yet you're impatiently urging to jump on him and smother him in kisses for how adorable he looks. Cuteness agression and all.

You decide you won't be eating Chris alive one kiss at the time, and instead you lay your head on his outstretched arm and allow him to wrap the other one around your back, bringing you one breath away from his chocolate eyes admiring you sleepily.

"So, what will be our first important decision taken as husband and wife?" Chris asks you, and you furrow your brows. Does he mean something like deciding to paint the room green or getting a cactus?

"Deciding what to eat for breakfast?" He chuckles at your answer.

"The most important meal of the day! Yeah I think that's a very big decision to make. And as your husband, to showcase my deep trust in you, I allow you to have complete power over this first decision." He speaks so eloquently, you slap him on the arm and he begins to giggle.

"You're just too lazy to help me think!"

"What? Me? Neveeeerr."

"And I'm guessing you also want me to go get said breakfast if you're letting me decide what we eat." Chris pretends to gasp.

"How did you know? See, we're perfect for each other! You can read my mind." He makes that usual tutting noise as he winks at you and you go from adoring him to wanting to shove a pillow in his face. But most marriages are like this, you imagine.

"Fine, I'll do it. Under one condition."

"Anything my wife desires."

"You have to answer why you chose me. Like, as your wife. Why me and not anyone else?"

"Why not?" Chris answers with a laugh and you're reaching for the pillow and he doesn't even try to dodge.

"No but really, why did you?" You try your hardest to not show that this is a real question for you. Not just a joke to put your husband in a tough spot for fun, but an actual curiosity that makes you insecure. And Chan hates it when you're insecure.

"I chose you as my wife." You squint at him in a feeble attempt to understand his words.

"Yeah .... you did, since we just got.... married... But why me?" Chan laughs and flails his arms, probably realizing his words didn't come out very coherently.

"No, I chose you as my wife the entire time. It just took me a very long time to realize it.

When I needed an opinion on a song, for some reason I chose you instead of, y'know, the people who produce music with me. When Seungmin caught that stomach bug and I needed to get him to the hospital, I chose to call you to come with us. When I needed to have a serious conversation with someone, I'd call you up even if I'd be surrounded by 15 close friends in physical range of me. I used to choose you even if it was irrational, even if I was a burden to you-"

"You were never a burden to me, Chris."

"I hope I wasn't." He laughs awkwardly, almost as if embarrassed. "But anyways... Yeah. In the beginning I thought I was just being silly, but then I started to notice what I was doing. When my parents asked me if I've met anyone new, I chose you to talk about. Literally yapped for hours - you should have seen their faces! They knew I was in love way before I did. And when I was tasked with writing a love song...I chose you to write about. And then the next morning I chose to start sending you good morning messages every day. Then when I pictured Valentine's day... There was no other option other than spending it with you. So I chose to ask you out before Valentine's so when the holiday comes I could spoil you. And then I just... Continued to choose you. Over and over again." He finishes with a smile, in contrast to you who started crying many sentences ago. You thought you were done crying after yesterday's ceremony, but Chris is a man full of surprises.

"You even chose me over your career a few times..." You say as more tears escape you, a feeling of guilt washing over you. Although the fact that he sacrificed the thing he cares the most about in this world for your sake should prove his dedication, it also still makes you feel guilty to think about.

"And I'd do it again." He leans closer, wiping the tears off of your face, then taking your hand in his to lay tiny kisses on it. "So you see how I just... Chose you? From the get go? It's like I knew I could rely on you, trust you, love you eternally. From the day we met. So it's not... Anything you said or something specific. I just chose you. All of you. To be mine. All mine." He pulls you into a tight embrace and you feel the way your body wraps around his by instinct. Like you were molded to blend together. "You're mine." He kisses the side of your forehead and butterflies wreck your tummy. "My wife."

"But you could have chosen anyone else..." You still mutter unsurely, but Chris shushes you and pats your head.

"But I didn't. And I won't." He reassures you, rocking you left and right in a calming motion. He truly wishes he would be better at showing you and telling you just how much he loves you, how much he wants you in his life. He could never blame you for having insecurities about yourself, but at the same time he feels although he's failing as a lover if he lets those those thoughts invade your mind. He truly wishes his love could seep into your bones.

"So you don't just want me for my spicy chicken recipe?" You try to joke, to ease the atmosphere, bringing Chan out of his thoughts.

"I mean ... The spicy chicken is included in the package, right?" He continued the joke, but underneath that pearly smile he gave you, Chan was set on making you the happiest wife on earth. Whatever it took.

Even if that meant some arguments, some bumps down the road, and making you uncomfortable with affection and attention until you allowed him to love you well. That was a part of marriage no one warned you about, something you had to figure out along the way - that sometimes you have to make each other uncomfortable in order to grow. Sometimes you have to push some limits to become happier.

And so many years into the future, after the birth of you first son, you pushed a limit that wouldn't even seem humanly possible to Chris. You somehow convinced him to go on tour and leave you alone to care for your son. He was two seconds away from quitting his job and becoming a convenience store worker upon hearing just how many months he'd have to away from you and your four year old son, who needed very much to be around his dad at that age. But you convinced him, reassured him everything was going to be okay in his absence.

"Dada's out there spreading happiness into the world." You whispered to your son, who was sleeping in the same bed as you ever since Chris left on tour.

"Like a superhero?"

"Exactly like a superhero, baby. To every single city he goes, he makes people so happy he saves their lives."

"Dada's so cool." Instead of being able to calm him down to get him to sleep, it seems your son gained energy from the conversation instead. He was now flailing his tiny limbs around.

"Do you wanna watch Dada perform?" There is a video of Chris you have saved up on your phone, from a solo stage he had during a concert where he sang a lullaby. It was the most children friendly performance you had, plus it matched the melodicity of the songs Chris used to sing to you at night to soothe your pregnancy pains.

Your son always falls asleep listening to his father's voice, almost through magic.

When his breathing evened out, you thought it was finally time you kick back and relax with an episode of your favorite show while enjoying some not-so-recommended late night chocolate. As you headed into the hallway, you spotted Chan leaning on the wall and had to glue a hand over your mouth to not scream and wake up your son.

"Chris, you scared the shi- .... heck outta me! What are you doing here?"

"We have a few days off in between stops and I couldn't just sit in a hotel for three days while I was dying to see you two."

"So you're telling me you spent 10 hours on flight, to stay here for one day and then fly back to god knows where?"

"Exactly." He says, face full of dimples and his eyes sparkle in the dark shadows of the hallway.

"You're insane." You laugh quitely.

"No, I'm... a superhero...? That saves lives...? You gotta let me know what you've been telling him, or else he might be disappointed in me when he finds out I can't fly."

"You don't need to fly to be a superhero."

"Oh yeah? Then care to tell me what makes me a superhero?" He flirts with you, gently pushing your hips into the wall behind you as he leans over you. You keep an eye on the door to make sure your son doesn't wake up and walk in to see how big of a flirt his father is. He'll have decades to cringe over it later.

"Remember when I used to feel bad for all the nice things you used to do for me? All the help and the gifts?"

"Mhm." The limits Chris used to push and how they bothered you - they resulted in a lot of friction early on in the marriage.

"And you told me that I need to allow you to make me happy. And since then... I chose to. Just how you chose me to be your wife... I chose to let you make me happy. I chose to allow you to be my hero. It's tricky, because heroes need sleep too ..." You softly caress his cheeks, and even under the dim atmosphere of the hallway you can see the dark bags under his eyes. "and they can't always save the day... but I swear to God you make the world a better place. You make my world a better place. You're my hero."

Chris leans in to kiss you in the same way he did when you were young and unmarried. It's a kiss that burns you, a kiss that makes you feel like a woman. A kiss that made you want to be married. A kiss that teaches you to breathe underwater.

"You call me a superhero when you're literally managing a house, a job, a kid, a long distance relationship, a social life and yourself all at once. And somehow nothing is on fire and you're not losing you mind even when your good for nothing husband doesn't call or text for days."

"Don't talk about yourself like that!" You slap him on the chest, but unfortunately he's not in a joking mood.

"You're the superhero between the two of us, honey. If there's one thing I've learnt along the years it's... That the reason why I chose you as my wife.. the one you were asking me about all those years ago? Maybe there was actually a reason. That you were always stronger than me."

"Me? You're joking, right?"

"Not at all. You're the hero, I'm just trying to be the wind behind your wings. I'm sorry for missing your calls and not video-calling more often, and just.. being gone in general. I've missed you." You decided to drop the subject since Chris seemed too emotional to be coherent. You weren't mad at him for anything, and he surely was undermining himself by calling you the strong one.

Unfortunately, it's not like you would accept the title of hero and he wouldn't accept it either.

The one thing you didn't realize is that you were both superheroes. But it's okay, since your son was onto you a long time ago. He'll protect your secret, and hopefully, also grow into a superhero himself.

©amelee23 do not copy, translate or repost

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✂️ ------------------------------

I'm back bby

Please comment and reblog, a feedback a day keeps a writer's dread at bay!

Soft hours open! Send me your fluff fantasies so we can go delulu together!

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 1 year ago

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This is what I think living with Beefy!Bucky would look like:

THERE ARE TWO PARTS, SFW AND NSFW (please read the warnings before you start reading, and lemme know if I missed anything!)

Warnings: allusions towards sex, allusions towards unprotected sex, shower sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, spitting on v and Beefy!Bucky being hot (yes that's a warning). Please feel free to DM me if I missed anything :) SFW:

Bucky would walk around only in sweatpants (of your choice, obvi🤭). His muscular chest and back are on display 24/7, and he'll only wear a Henley (you bought one in every colour for his birthday) during the winter.

You would only wear either one of his T-shirts or Henleys around, with a pair of underwear and that's it.

Ya'll cook dinner together every night. Bucky bought an old record player so, he could play all the old records you got him for Christmas. And while dinner is cooking, he'll pull you to the side by your waist then slow dance with you to either Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra.

"C'mon, doll. The rice is not going to get burnt. It's jus' one dance. F'me?" He smiles, as he pulls you in by your waist. You smile at your man begrudgingly, and place your palms on his bare chest, "fine. But just one song." You say in your playfully stern voice. Bucky laughs and presses a kiss to your hairline, "anything for you, doll."

You sweep and dust, Bucky mops and vacuums.

He'll let you get any household accessory for ya'll's apartment, whether it be a trinket, a fake cactus, or a picture frame.

"Are you sure?" You ask, holding onto the snow globe with a little glass dachshund inside of it. Bucky laughs and rubs your back, "s'fine doll, I think it'll look great next to the record player," he gives in to your want to buy the snow globe. You squealed when you first saw it, and Bucky knew he had to get it immediately.

You'll be singing a song with headphones on, making some coffee in the kitchen, and just dancing wildly. And Bucky would just lean against the wall of the hallway, just staring at you lovingly.

Laundry day is actually fun, you would fold the cleaned and dried linen and clothes. While Bucky would put them back in their drawers and shelves (using his astonishingly tall height).

NSFW(alright here we go):

If you're bending over the counter to wipe a specific mark that won't go away, Bucky won't be able to hold himself back.

You bite your lip in concentration and scrub at the mark with a wet sponge, but it doesn't go away. Suddenly, you feel two large hands grab at your hips and pull you back. "Fuck me, doll. You can't do that," he growls into your ear, slowly shoving your underwear aside. You giggle and ask what does he mean. "You can't be bent over the counter and then not expect me to fuck you," he shoves his own sweatpants down. You roll your eyes, as you feel the tip of him at your entrance. "Bucky," you whine, slightly pushing your hips back in his direction. "Yes, sweetheart?" he smirks, pressing his lips against your neck. "Buck, I need you," you softly moan and throw your head back against his shoulder. "Oh I know baby, me too," he whispers in her ear.

When he comes home after a long day, and hear's you in the shower, he will not hesitate to jump in with you.

He drags himself to your shared bathroom and hears the creaky pipes of your shower being used. He smiles and walks into the bathroom. You smile when you see him, "Hey, love. How was your day?" He smiles as he starts undressing before hopping in the shower with you, "better now that I'm here with you." He kisses you passionately before pushing you up against the wall, he slightly bends and grabs the back of your thighs. "Jump" is the only word he growls against your lips. You giggle and jump slightly, and your legs are wrapped around his waist as he uses his godly strength to hold you up against the wall. You moan, as you feel him rub his tip on your sensitive button. "Bucky, baby, please," you whine as you grip onto his broad shoulders. "Oh doll, you don't have to beg me. I going to fuck you either way."

Morning sex is an everyday thing that happens at y'all's apartment. He'll either wake you up to the scene of him in between your thighs. OR. He'll wake you up with his cock inside of you. Either way, you're not complaining.

You stir at the tingly feeling between your thighs, and you open your eyes groggily to see Buck (and his beefiness) wrapping your thighs around his head. He winks and smirks at you, "mornin', doll." He licks a thick strip up your slit, and you arch your back at the sudden sensation, "ah! Bucky!" Bucky continues to swivel his tongue over your clit, knowing how much you love it. Your moans slowly get louder, as Bucky soon pokes at your hole with his thick fingers. Soon you're wailing in pleasure, and grabbing at Bucky's hair begging him to make you come. "Come f'me, princess," he says before spiting harshly on your pussy.

🎀🎀🎀

Please lemme know what you think, this is my first piece of work 😊.

If you have any feedback, feel free to DM me.

Thank you for reading lovelies!!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #mcu bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes and reader

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frostedsugarcookiehearts · 10 days ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ you're a part time lover + a whole time friend!

slimecicle donated!

$50

i like yur bow :D

୨ৎ

"aww, char, thank youu! i appreciate it— how are you doing?" a smile spread across your entire face as you situated your co-streamer (fufu, your stuffed bunny plushie) on your lap, ruffling his hair. your eyes raced across the screen, trying to read every single chatter's words. you were actually known on twitch for having one of the more respectful, kind and loving chatters. mostly because your demographic was mostly girls, the lgbtq community + charlie slimecicle.

slimecicle: good !!1!! do you want to hop on the smp??

oh yeah, the smp!! recently chuckle sandwich had decided to create an smp together to fill in videos for when the three of them couldn't all fly out to meet up. they invited you, because you were connected to all three of them. you and ted were mutual friends, and you're the one who inspired his "watching all the barbie movies" video, since you were an avid barbie fan, and you and schlatt had done a stream together a few months ago playing hello kitty island adventure. (also with charlie!)

and then the chuckle smp was born, aka the csmp. many other creators made cameos on the smp, including you! your first day on the smp was as expected— you started making a cute little starter house! schlatt yelled at you though for "raising the property value" of the neighborhood, because all he had made was a dirt shack so far, and he'd been on the smp for like a week!

as you booted up your minecraft (chock-full of shaders), you spawned in your cute little cottage. you hopped on a discord call with charlie as you two joked around and started traveling to find more cherry wood so you could create a little barn for your pink sheep.

"onward! we must commence our journey to find more cherry wood." charlie puts on a mock-serious voice, his minecraft character punching the air as you two started running off in a random direction.

an adorable confused expression crossing your face, your brows knit together and your nose scrunches. "wait, can't we use like, coordinates or something? to find the forest."

charlie lets out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. "that's not how that works, cutie. that's if you already know where it is, but we don't."

"oh!"

he snickers, affectionately rolling his eyes. you two stumble upon a village, and you just fall in love with a cute little calico that's patrolling the rivers near the village. "aww, it's so cute! it's mine now." you cooed, crouching and slowly stalking towards it. you were a little rusty at minecraft and forgot that you're supposed to hold fish to tame a cat, so you accidentally hit it. "NO!" you cried. "i want to tame it!"

charlie, upon hearing this, immediately dives his minecraft character into the lake and finds you fish at a record-breaking pace, running back up to you and handing you three cod. "here. now you can click it, to tame it. you need fish." he assures you gently, smiling to himself.

you do as he said and tame it with one fish! you gasp. "it's meant to be." clapping, you burst into amused giggles. "i'm gonna name him..." you punched a cactus, putting into a furnace and mixing it with white dye. turning the cat's collar green, you proclaim, "charlie."

so (cat) charlie became a permanent fixture on the chuckle smp. he was part of numerous bits and mostly liked to sleep on your pink bed in your cute little cottage. you even made (human) charlie a little room in your house to sleep when he was over. and he was over so much, chat genuinely forgot he had made his own base when he first started the smp. eventually the shipping got so bad that you two decided to get married.

in minecraft, that is! and charlie totally didn't freak out and put on an actual suit, putting on cologne— even though it was over stream— and fixing his hair. he even polished up his glasses for this! ted was charlie's best man while your maid of honor was (cat) charlie, and everyone unanimously decided that schlatt should be the flower girl. and so he was!

you walked down the aisle on a llama (who was canonically your dad), and charlie broke out into a huge, embarrassing grin upon seeing your minecraft character. he was head-over-fucking heels, and it was a little embarrassing. it was a minecraft skin after all, but he knew that you were the face behind it, and that was the best part. sometimes he woke up with a grin on his face from the fact that you even gave him a second look, let alone were his friend!

"do you, charlie slimecicle—" tucker, the officiator, said in a mock deep voice. "take this lovely person here to be your partner forever?"

"i do." his voice wobbled.

a grin spread across your face, and charlie's eyes were locked onto your face cam. you'd also gotten dressed up for the occasion in a cute little white outfit. "and do you take charlie slimecicle to be your partner forever?"

"i do."

tucker grinned, gesturing to charlie's minecraft character. "you may now kiss the groom," he drawled.

your two minecraft characters crouched and smooshed into each other's faces in a weird, kiss-like action. the "rings" you exchanged were a pink hair tie for charlie that he quickly slid onto his wrist and a green matching one for yourself. it was picture-perfect, and you supposed, good practice for when if you actually got married.

after the beautiful minecraft wedding, you made a teensy tiny little offhand comment that made charlie's heart pound and his head fucking spin. you two were joking around and you quipped, "charlie, i told my mom i was getting married, and now she said she has to meet you. make sure you're up to par, ya know."

"m—meet her?" he stammered, eyes wide. "uh, i mean— okay." charlie's voice cracked at the end as if he was twelve and not twenty-six.

well, the editors went crazy with the whole thing. the wedding, the 'meeting-your-mom' part and especially the matching hair ties the two of you never ever took off. you two had taken the whole by storm for getting married on a minecraft server!

୨ৎ

divider creds @bernardsbendystraws

this is what inspired a good portion of this fic (smp bit) go check them out they're SUCHH an inspiration omg :D

#celeb crush #fluffy fanfic #schlatt #jschlatt fanfic #ted nivison #charlie slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle #charlie slimecicle x y/n #charlie slimecicle fanfic #slimecicle x reader #slimecicle fanfic #slimecicle fic #slimecicle x y/n #fanfic #rpf

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kedsandtubesocks · 8 months ago

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blood on your name

Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: Texas 1885 - the town’s ranching competition brings in new souls out from the desert, one unfortunately happens to be a ghost haunting you & he’s still as handsome and dangerous as ever

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY. MDNI, old Wild West AU, slight enemies to lovers, very morally!gray Ezra, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy pronouns, one moment of spit kink, allusions to p in v, scoundrel but soft!Ezra, themes of violence & reader enacting violence on another, use of guns, blood & injury, morally!gray reader, time period views of marriage & shaming women (brief use of derogatory terms against reader), minor character deaths, light gender language usage, use of nicknames

word count: 7.2k

a/n: here’s to finally putting my 7th grade tx history lessons to some use plus I’ve been really missing west texas so here we are lol! Fun history fact - Pecos prides itself as the birth place of the rodeo so this competition is the inception of that! It took me a while to get here & this truly wouldn’t be here without @gasolinerainbowpuddles @julesonrecord & @perotovar i can’t thank you babes enough, and to you, if you decide to read this too, thank you so much ♡

The newcomers that blew into town stand around the edge of the fence.

Pecos had become famous for hosting this rope wrangling event, and you’re not surprised it’s brought others in to observe the spectacle. Just last week it seemed like more wagons wandered into the edge of town.

You’ve been living here among the desert’s harsh eyes with your aunt for a few years now. When your mother unleashed her wrath after she found you with an unmarried man who had drifted into town, you fled with the caravan heading out west. So far west it brought you to the Pecos River. You’re thankful your aunt welcomed you with open arms. The desert proved to be a harsh host. But you’ve managed.

The actual event in town wasn’t taking place until the end of the week. Except so many already want to see the cowboys proudly warming up, showing off.

It’s why you even stop on your way home from the tailor shop.

Duke Williams currently tries his hand at practicing. The handsome young star all the way from Austin shows promise while he maneuvers his threadbare rope with ease.

He lands a solid catch against one of the practice sheep running around, and the crowd claps already impressed.

His bright face, angelic almost, brightens when he smiles triumphantly. When he spots you among the on looks, he beams even wider. You smile back politely.

However, Martha, the mayor’s youngest daughter, nudges you.

“I don’t know why you haven’t let that man swoop you up yet?” She giggles with a slight tease however, her words sting.

Duke’s been pursuing you ever since he came into town last spring. He reminds you of a newly built chapel, lovely coated in pristine and full of holy hope.

Yet, you don’t care for him.

You understand you should be married by now. Especially at your age, you’re becoming a dusting antique on the shelf by the town’s whispers. You even understood your mothers anger after discovering the man she caught you with had simply scurried away without another word.

Everyone in town seems to see Duke almost as your god blessed savior on a white horse sent to rescue you from a desolate destitution.

But you don’t hold any sense of attraction towards Duke. Even as you watch how handsome and sturdy he looks, a fierce cowboy among the other competitors, you simply admire his skills. And that’s it.

You wonder if you’re simply destined to the life of a happily secluded cactus like creature.

Something tickles against your skin, a sensation of being hyper aware of being caught in another’s gaze. Living in the desert has brought you a heightened awareness to make sure no critters lurking among can strike you.

So your eyes flicker around and find the crowd still enthralled by the sight of the cowboys.

Until you find one man isn’t.

One of the newcomers.

Sun kissed skin, an absolutely striking hawkish nose, sparse facial hair and then, the deepest dark earth eyes you’ve ever seen stare straight at you. The dusty black cowboy hat he wears casts a strange shadow across his features, cloaking him almost sinister.

Your breath hitches fast like it’s stolen from you.

You know this stranger.

One of the other newcomers nudges against him drawing his attention away from you. But your face stays stuck on him.

The men discuss with each other low and close, clustered together like a pack of desert weeds sprouting fast.

Except after the mystery outsider relays something back to the group, his eyes flicker back to you.

There’s a simmered wildness to him.

The commotion of spurs clinking comes and so many giggle around you, drawing your attention away.

Duke moves towards you with a shining grin on his face.

A desire to scurry away tugs at you. So with a polite smile, you silently duck away and decide to head home.

“Hey! Why ya leaving so soon?” He calls out. “Did you see me?”

His voice is so bright but also, so slightly arrogant, as if he can maybe keep you from leaving.

“Yes, you were incredible.” You’re truthful in your words.

Thankfully the others all around begin greedily vying for his attention.

As you turn to head home, that strange itch crawls over you again. Someone’s watching you.

So glancing around you think it must be Duke, but his attention is preoccupied.

However, it’s the handsome black cowboy hat stranger who again blatantly stares so direct at you.

A moment passes of you simply staring back at him.

However you break the contact first, needing to head home. But the entire way you sense his eyes blazing a hole on your back.

By the time you hit the edge of town towards your aunt’s cabin, the day creeps into early evening.

Above, vultures circle around high. However… there isn’t any sign of decay nearby.

- ☾𖤓 -

Your walk towards the tailor shop passes by the large stretch of land where the cowboys practice. Duke cries out your name excited. Politely you turn to greet him good morning only to find he’s not alone.

Other cowboys of course have come to wrestle in their skills. One of them surprises you.

The man you saw a few days ago is here.

His deep midnight eyes flicker to you immediately. That handsome face of his stays entirely composed.

Duke rattles on about his day. Yet you pay no attention as the new cowboy has stolen all your focus. The black cowboy hat he wears is dusty, weathered, and for some reason, you feel as if it both does and doesn’t suit him.

Duke chirps out your name again. Apologizing, you blame your dazed attention on lack of sleep.

Your night has been restless

“Hope ol’ lady Julie isn’t working y’too hard at the tailor shop.” He grins boyish and charming.

“Oh, Duke.” A smooth twang of a voice floats out. Waltzing in besides the cowboy, the newcomer arrives.

“You didn’t tell me your bird was so lovely.” His voice is curled with a smile and his voice, a deep drawl, draws an acidic venom in your mouth.

“I’m not his bird.” You politely reply.

“Not yet.” Duke adds warm, shy. But that only causes your stomach to squirm even more.

“Name’s Ezra, dear honeysuckle.” The newcomer introduces himself with a tip of his hat.

You nod back quietly giving him your name.

“Ezra came for the competition, traveled all this way just to try his hand at it!” Duke, ever the competitor, explains excited for the new competition.

Your eyes unfortunately stay on the newcomer rider.

Compared to Duke, Ezra’s frame is lithe. Then again, Duke with his incredibly tall stature is built like a terrifying boulder. Ezra’s broad shoulders and his striking sleek build makes you think of a river, fluid yet quietly powerful.

As unfortunately handsome as he is, his frame does not seem like a cowboy’s build.

Instead he reminds you of the traveling con man you once knew.

Duke continues rattling on and on about how proud he is to show off the town and this event.

You however hate the way Ezra’s eyes still on you make your skin tighten.

Excusing yourself with a soft nod, wishing them both well, you return on your way to the seamstress. Your body burns the entire way.

The day goes by slowly at the shop. After working on a few ruined blouses, Julie, the elderly shop owner, keeps you busy with tidying up. When the sun starts setting, the door clings open, and you wonder who’s coming in so late.

Ezra saunters in, and your throat tightens.

“Welcome in, newcomer!” Julie greets with a grandmotherly grace. “What can we do for you, good sir?”

Ezra smiles with all the charm of a gilded cactus.

“Seems I am in need of a new stitch for these gloves of mine.” Ezra explains pulling out worn gloves.

Leather frayed along the straps speak of the weathered and worn attention they’ve been given. But they seem too big for his hands. You even swear you’ve seen them before on his old business partner. But you don’t want to think too much on it.

Good dear sweet Julie chatters with the man. You simply stay quiet, not even turning to greet or address him.

You don’t even work on his gloves, deciding to let Julie handle them.

You even hide out in the back room, not even listening to when Ezra leaves.

Julie ends up heading home, and you’re left to close up. The sun sets a dusty fading apricot against the shadow of the tailor shop.

As you pass by the alleyway, suddenly you’re handed into the dark shadows. You’re about to scream, maybe even yelp, until a hand goes flying across your face, silencing you.

“Now now, pidge, don’t need you making too much of a holler.” Ezra.

Anger seethes in you, boiling. Violently and with a harsh yank, you tear yourself away from his grasp. You’re almost tempted to storm away.

“Didn’t think I’d ever be graced by your beauty again. That mother of yours still got that shotgun she threatened me with?” He smoothly asks with the amount of dangerous charm a rattlesnake would carry.

“What? This your last attempt at selling that watered down snake oil you call elixirs and tonics?” You snap back razor sharp.

When you first met Ezra, which now feels like lifetimes ago, he was a smooth talking traveling salesman. A drifter, as your mother so harshly called him.

Instead of the cowboy hat he wears now, he looked more stately in his bowler type cap.

He charmed so many of the women in town, trying to sell them the secrets to youth, vitality, beauty, and anything else he could promise in his elixir vials. You however, were not interested, saw right through his ruse.

Though, you realize now you were just as foolish as the others in town rapidly buying his lies. Because you had been just as charmed and fooled as they were.

This man, who’s sharp wit intrigued you, who spoke to you as an equal, became so dangerous because you were willing to give him everything.

Your heart, your body - all of you should have been reserved for your husband. Instead you freely gave everything to this thief.

The swindler swore he would take you with him, make you his wife. But when your mother’s fury came, he fled like a petrified jackrabbit.

You suppose he is more coyote than jackrabbit, greedily stealing anything he can then sneakily moving on.

Ezra’s composed grin on his face flickers, like all the history resting between you and him resurfaces within him.

“Didn’t you hear, pidgeon? My elixirs were plundered. Even my poor partner, god rest his dear soul, was shot down in cold blood!” Ezra explains with sorrow.

You had heard about that. At the edge of town, on the dirt road leading out into the hills, one of the sheriff’s found the large carriage and Ezra’s associate dead. The carriage crashed, run off the road. The damage screamed of the work of bandits. However, Ezra was nowhere to be found.

“I’m just supposed to believe you miraculously made it out of there alive?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

You don’t want to say it, but your instincts twist dangerously in your stomach. You wonder if Ezra did the deed himself, killed his partner and took the valuables.

Ezra shrugs sheepishly.

“That’s the way the desert works, honeysuckle. It’s a harsh landscape that only protects those who can survive its wrath.”

You forgot how much he spoke like a preacher sometimes, so elevated and otherworldly. You hate how badly your heart races just being this close to him again, hearing his voice again.

“So you’re telling me you came all the way here just to try your hand at the competition? Never even seen you ride, much less thrown a rope. Can’t imagine a con-man like you being a cowboy.” You reply skeptical.

He barks a laugh. “You'd be surprised. I’m a man composed of many unrevealed talents.”

You knew that very well.

Cautiously, treading like he’s approaching a mountain lion, Ezra steps closer to you. Out of instinct you step backwards closer to the other shop beside the tailors.

“Now don’t tell me you’re pondering the idea of telling everyone about my past life, pidge?” His voice is low, calm but brewing like an approaching storm.

“Because it pains me just imagining the repercussions that could arise if ya did.” He mutters, and your throat gets tight.

There's an underlying threat below his words.

Fiercely, stubbornly, you glare at him, refusing to speak. But you know you won’t say anything. He must know it too. You’ve left your past far back at home. And you don’t want him reviving your ghosts either.

Suddenly the back of Ezra’s hand gingerly, barely touching your skin, grazes against your cheek. He whispers out your name.

“The years out here have made you bloom, like a beautiful desert petal.” He mumbles with hazed eyes.

Out of spite you snap your face away and scowl even harder at him.

“I have to get home.” You snap angrily, managing to finally remove yourself from him.

“The motel houses me for the time being,” he declares from behind in the shadows.

“Unless that blonde Galahad cowboy of yours is keeping your bed warm now?” Ezra adds almost amused.

Rage bursts a furious fire in you, and it consumes you in its heated path.

“Rot in hell.” You snarl whipping back to him.

“As long as you keep me company, beautiful.” Ezra replies coy.

You’re about to curse his soul when he stomps towards you, fast and steady. His hand flings to your face, pulls you back to the shadow of the tailor shop.

He kisses you with the fierce intensity of a sudden dust storm. It even shakes your soul, spins you around, as if you were caught in an actual twister.

He tastes like the faint hints of a cigar, but something still so deliciously sinful and him. Your knees want to buckle when he easily slips his tongue inside and immediately coaxes his against yours.

You whimper, don’t even realize he’s maneuvered you to the wall of the shop, until your back gently hits the cool wood building.

It’s like your body is imprinted to his, completely answering his call, willingly and wanting to be closer to him while your hands clutch at his broad shoulders.

His body pins you firm against the building, and already he grinds his hips into you.

Then the laughter nearby bursts the bubble, snaps your attention clear.

You scramble and rapidly shove Ezra away. You don’t say another word and simply walk away.

However your lips continue to sting, as if bitten by a bee. Your hands ache empty like they’re missing the presence of his body in their grasp.

You can’t fall for this trap again.

But by the time you arrive back home, greet your aunt warmly, the lie spills from your lips before you can stop it.

“Julie wants to start the inventory sooner. So I’ll be heading back and staying over at the shop.”

Your aunt doesn’t question you, simply grins sweet and wishes you a safe trip back to town.

The sun barely sets in for the night over the horizon. The sky is a dusty blue, the softest color before bleeding into a dark midnight. The desert at night is another creature entirely. Even as you walk into town, you try to stay aware and low from any curious eyes.

The motel approaches fast. The caretaker gives you a curious look but before he can, he’s called away.

Ezra already waits for you at the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows but still so distinct among them.

He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t even greet you. His presence seems so different with how intense he stares at you. Simply moving to intertwine his hand with yours, he guides you to his room. Inside it’s like the world melts away. It’s only you and him.

He devours you, ravenous, like trying to both make up for lost time and also feel like not a day has passed. Your hands run through his hair, knock off his cowboy hat.

You hate how badly you’ve missed this, missed him. He’s the only man your body has known, and the nights you’ve ached for him your fingers never did him justice.

When you’re bare among his bed, and his fingers slide into your wet core, you whine against his lips.

“This cunt still mine, pretty girl?” He asks mutter.

You wearily nod then all thoughts shatter when he rubs against that certain spot you can never reach. Your body crashes in a climax so shakily fast you have to catch your breath against him.

Ezra kisses the top of your head over and over.

“That’s my sweet peach,” he says in awe.

You greedily now pull him towards you, aching even more for him to be inside.

But he’s not finished with you. Ezra greed swallows your sigh before his lips move down your bare body to your core and kisses you with reverent devotion.

Your body melts into the sheets feeling his tongue trace paths among your wet cunt.

Ezra firmly calls your name. It sounds like your soul is being brought back. Wearily you sit up to see him peering up at you between your legs. Slowly he lifts himself away from your cunt, his face glistening with your arousal.

Those obsidian eyes of his blazing in the candlelight lock you in their gaze. Keeping eye contact with you he suddenly spits down to your wet aching sex, and your mind spins.

It’s obscene, you should be disgusted and horrified. You even wonder if you’ve been transported to the brothel a few ways down the road. But it feels absolutely divine especially when he does it again.

“Oh she likes this.” Ezra coo’s then presses ever the softest kiss against your soaked throbbing pearl. “This pretty little cunt, my lovely lady, ache for me huh?”

You don’t argue with him. You don’t want to. He makes you come again and a creature raw and hungry awakens in you. You claw at him, now needing him inside.

It’s like a piece of yourself returns when Ezra slides into you. It’s hot, heavy, frantic but feels sacred.

Ezra must sense it too, because he doesn’t last long. When he spills over your tummy, his hands become claws and keep you caged in his grasp. Your con artist kisses every inch of you he can.

Sweaty and tangled in him, you still feel a tinge of sadness creep in.

“You left me.” You whimper against his lips.

“And it will haunt me until my dying breath.” Ezra sighs back, his voice weighing heavy. “I was planning to come back for you, my bird. But your mother…”

She had put a bounty out on your drifter, managed to get the sheriff on her side. You knew even in your anger at Ezra leaving, it was smart of him to escape.

His hand cradles your face, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. Those endless eyes shimmer in the low light.

“But I’m here now, pidge.” Sincerity radiates from him.

You’re now able to bask in his beauty - his gorgeous jaw, his beautiful nose, the striking streak of blonde hair that has been hidden under his hat and you’ve been dying to see.

You nuzzle your face into his palm.

“What are you doing here? Truly?” You ask.

“I told you,” Ezra says, drawing your face towards him to kiss you tender again. “I’m here to try and prove myself victorious.”

You’re not sure you believe his words.

But you end up staying with him. Early morning, before the sun reaches over the desert, his fingers trace your face waking you up.

“Dawn bathes you in her glory.” He mutters. Embarrassed at his words you burrow your face into the pillow.

He doesn’t chase you, but instead lets his fingers draw aimless shapes against your shoulder.

“There wasn’t a day where you did not occupy my mind, even after all these years.” Ezra admits low, as if he didn’t realize those words escaped him.

Slowly you turn towards him and discover those deep eyes hazed over staring at you.

“I hate you.” You tell him without any malice. In fact an emotion something very opposite of hatred soaks your words.

“I know. I’d hate me too.” Ezra agrees muttering then leans down to kiss you gingerly.

You have to leave before the town wakes up, and to seal your alibi.

With a final kiss goodbye, you head to the tailor shop.

Julie finds you in the shop when she arrives and applauds you for your diligence and wanting to get a jump start on inventory. You’re thankful the lie worked out this way. You even manage to convince her to let you finish inventory the rest of the week. Of course she happily agrees.

Ezra drops by to pick up his riding gloves and winks at you shamelessly. You roll your eyes but hate how badly you fight against a grin.

The next few days are spent between the shop and the motel. You already brace your heart for Ezra’s departure approaching once the tournament is over, but you try not to face that.

“You’ve been in a rather good mood.” Your aunt notices when you stop by to drop off goods for her.

“Thought you hated inventory.” She comments.

“Guess not.” You reply with a shrug.

This blissful cloud you’re walking in however does cloud your mind. It makes you sloppy. Instead of taking the longer path to the motel, the one that kept you away from the views of the main road and town, you walk straight into town.

Running right into Duke Williams.

He says your name bright and clear. Dread dawns on you fast.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round. Heard Julie’s got ya working extra hard.” Duke smiles.

You hate this small town and the small whispers that spread like wildfire.

You reassure Duke you’re fine and are even glad you can help Julie.

All his friends, in their sleek cowboy hats, and dusty spurs, stand off to the side snicker. They crowd around each other like an ominous pack of wolves.

One of them even calls your name.

“Might wanna enjoy this freedom while it last!” He proclaims, and your stomach twists.

The other guys snickers, shushing him playfull, and even Duke turns around to reprimand him.

“What does he mean by that?” You cautiously question.

Duke simply waves the conversation off instead offering to walk you to the tailors.

You politely decline.

“Aw come on, sweet thing like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” Duke smiles but even with his sweet eyes you’re reminded of a crocodile now.

“Well gentleman, that’s why i’ll accompany this lovely bird to her destination.” Emerging from the shadows Ezra grins warm.

He must have come to find you after you hadn’t shown up at the motel.

The men including Duke go eerily silent. Ezra is older than Duke and the younger men. So he holds seniority now. But besides that, Duke now seems wary, and you don’t blame him. Ezra is a man that radiates a sort of unpredictable energy.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk ya back now?” You almost appreciate the slight genuine worry leaking into Duke’s voice. But shaking your head you move to walk with Ezra by your side.

You do hate how all eyes are on you, even walking away from Duke and his mindless followers.

“Just remain calm.” Ezra mutters.

You do especially with him by your side. By the time you open the tailors you thank Ezra, worried Duke and his men are still watching.

You whisper for him to meet you behind the shop, and he does. Your swindler willingly steps into the back room with you.

“Not my ideal choice for our evening, but I do love a good change of scenery.” Ezra comments amused browsing around the storage. Playfully, you throw a ball of yarn at him.

You’re surprised he even helps you with the small bit of inventory you do.

“That young buck…” until his voice comes out low. “He’s fond of you.”

“Unfortunately.” You reply back unamused.

“Earlier at the saloon…he was boasting.” Ezra continues with the same serious tone.

“About enjoying the last days of being an unmarried man.”

That causes you to pause.

“Must mean he’s gotten over me.” You sigh, thank goodness.

“No pidge…” Ezra stops to turn towards you. “He was proclaiming how you were to be his bride.”

Your stomach drops.

You think of the way the boys just now snickered almost knowingly, and that strange comment one of themselves said -

All of it makes your stomach sick, and you have to sit down.

No. There was just no way.

“I’d never accept his proposal.” You snap out hating how badly your body feels frantic, almost skittish like a cornered road runner.

Ezra kneels before you rubbing your hand with his, a strange solid comfort.

Eventually he gathers you into his arms and calms you with soothing soft words.

“We’ll figure out a solution.”

You still don’t know if you can trust his words. But that's all you have. Your drifter stays with you overnight in the tailor shop. You even feel sinful fucking him in the back room but it’s deliciously sinfull all the same.

Sitting and resting against the work desk you fade in and out of sleep. Tender fingers brush against your fingers, ghost like. Ezra is gone by the time you wake up and Julie’s entering the shop jolts you awake.

Her eyes are frazzled.

“Did you hear? Mister Johnston’s eldest son was shot down early this morning.”

You hadn’t heard. Dread fills you fast when you realize Johnston's boy was the one who had made the joking comment to you last night.

There’s talk about postponing the competition. But others in town, especially Duke, argue to continue the tradition in a way to honor the fallen young man.

An ominous terror looms in you.

Later that night, you return to the motel. Too many thoughts swarm in your head, and Ezra even seems distant. He even slides his duster jacket one before kissing you.

“I have some personal matters to attend to, pidge. Get some respite here.”

His boots echo down the hall and then down the stairs.

You can’t sleep. So you move to slide open the window and let some of the night air in.

The faint mutter of discussion very close outside in the alleyway floats into the room.

It’s muffled at first, but once you step closer and concentrate, you pick up the very familiar cadence of a certain drifter.

“No no, I have it covered. As long as you make sure to double the bets on me tomorrow.” Ezra explains in a hush.

The others with him explain the different amounts they’ve collected, and it hits you.

He’s gambling on the competition.

That’s why he’s here.

You knew the men at the saloon often bet, but this feels heavier.

A new clicking of spurs arrives.

“Y’know, you fellas look like a dangerous bunch all here hidden in the shadows.” Duke.

Panic prickles all over your body.

“Now young buck, we’re just here partaking in a fun and friendly wager.” Ezra with his smooth talking skills deflates the tension easily.

“Waggerin’ on what?” You’re surprised Duke immediately quickly jumps in to gamble.

Ezra and the other men begin conspiring on how to make sure Duke wins to favor the odds of their bets.

“I like the sound of that.” Duke grins.

He makes a hefty wager on himself to win, the price even makes someone whistle.

They offer to place their wagers on him as well and with Ezra even in the competition, he’s argued to be an even better reassurance that the outcome falls in their favor.

Ezra even swears by this.

They’re fixing the match, going to cheat. You don’t know how to feel about any of this.

They end their discussion, and you quietly slide back into bed. Before long Ezra returns, the smell of tobacco and the cold air lingers in the room.

His fingers dance against your shoulders while your back stays to him.

“You’re only here… to make money, and cheat.” You mutter hollow.

His fingers stop.

“You overheard.”

You don’t reply to him. Ezra sighs.

“Indeed I am. But I’m no different than the gentlemen that place simple wagers on a game of horseshoe.” He explains low, under the whisper of the candle flicker.

“But it’s like you’re wanting to play with a weighted or lighter horseshoe.” You argue back.

“Is it not in our best natures to make sure Lady Luck favors us by any means possible?”

You don’t know how to reply to him.

“…I’m doing this for you, for us.” He adds.

You turn to him, your face scrunching up in fury.

“Bullshit.” You tell him.

“Believe me a liar, but I’m honest in my endeavor.” His face becomes a firm steeled frown.

You can’t look at him anymore, turning your back again to Erza in bed.

“My hope was to gain enough funds to pay for the bounty your mother placed on me, return for your hand, and make our way into a new life together.” His voice is steady.

“Unless you wish to stay here and wed that Duke.” He offers.

You whip back to glare harsh at Ezra.

There’s a silence heavy and ancient like the desert that settles between you. But it doesn’t last long before Ezra leans down and sweeps in to capture your lips

The discussion dies immediately as passion burns in its place.

You don’t think of gambling cowboys, or of your mysterious drifter, only of the moment consuming you now, and you almost pray you never leave it.

- ☾𖤓 -

Late in the night, wearily half sleep, the bed shifting jolts you awake, and you even hear the door creak open. Before you can ask Ezra if he’s alright, your eyes so sleepy flutter close for a moment. Then he’s sliding back into the warmth pulling you close into his arms. You fall right back to your dreams.

In the early hours of the morning, Ezra kisses your jaw.

“My lucky charm, are you going to observe our tournament today?” He mutters.

The competition was today.

“You nervous?” You had never seen him ride much less try ranch hand work.

“Never.” He says smoothly.

Eventually he slides out of bed and lets you get ready. But soon Ezra walks over and places something in your hands.

The pistol weighs heavy, cold. And your eyes snap open wide now fully awake.

“Why-”

He cuts you off gently. “You know how to fire, yes?”

You nod weakly.

A small smirk tugs at his handsome lips. “Figured as much, after seeing your mother.”

It’s an attempt to tease, but too much terror bubbles in you.

“I just need to know you’re protected.” Ezra reveals, but with a croak you ask why.

“Cause unfortunate as it might be, it’s even more dangerous for a criminal like me to cherish something.”

Your eyes water. There are too many questions in your head, but the day will be starting soon. You need to leave before you’re spotted.

“Tell me you have another gun.” You snap at him.

Ezra simply taps the side of his head. “Don’t need another firearm when I have this weapon.”

You angrily throw the pistol down back to the bed, refusing to take it. That’s when he snaps your name, hard and serious.

You’ve never heard his voice raise like that.

“Take it.” He grabs the firearm and hands it back to you. His midnight eyes are ominously serious with no room for argument.

His hand grabs your face firm in his hand. Your eyes search his endless midnight lake eyes.

“I call you pidge, my little pigeon bird. But I’ve known right from the start you’re a fierce creature. Don’t ever forget that.”

Ezra’s words are beautiful but barbed. They rip up tracks in your heart. He kisses you quick, fierce and short. You hate how it feels like a goodbye.

With shaking hands and confusion, you slide the gun into your satchel. You walk back to your aunt's cabin in a daze. So much so that you barely notice she’s already awake when you sneak back in.

“You have fun at the motel again?” She asks, and fear freezes you.

“I wasn’t-”

“Mac, your uncle’s good friend, gave me the heads up.” She cuts you off softly.

Mac, the innkeeper. God damn this small town. Venom, anger, indignation, they all swirl violently in you.

“Whatever you’re doing there, you’re only gonna find danger.” She says somber, and you stay quiet.

Your aunt sighs.

“You’re lucky this hasn’t gotten out yet. What would young Duke say if he found out?”

Frustration bursts in you, and you snap furious about why would you even need to care about that man’s opinion of you.

“Because he plans on weddin’ you, and I plan on letting him.” Your aunt fires back and her words shoot right through you.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, even have to steady yourself against the nearby chair.

You thought your aunt understood. She’s been alone, a widow since she was around your age, longer than your mother had been a widow. You thought she’d never fall into the trap of forcing marriage.

“It’s for your own good.” She argues, watery urgent m. “You need protection, a home, a husband to provide for you.”

You rush out of the house even ignoring the screams from your aunt.

You’d have to think of a plan fast. Maybe leave with Ezra once the competition ends today. It’s all too much. You swallow back a sob and walk back into town.

The competition was today after all.

The day at the shop is very short. Julie doesn’t even notice your somber atmosphere as she’s completely caught up in the excitement of this day. So many more wagons stretch around the edge of town.

Pecos flutters alive with life.

But there’s already commotion, a dangerous kind that chokes the competition tense.

Duke yells loud and furious. The sheriff along with his deputies are nearby. Thankfully you spot Martha and quickly move to ask her what’s going on.

“Duke’s horse is missing.” She whispers.

From what Martha says, when Duke went to the stables this morning the gate was open and his horse was nowhere to be seen. His trusty companion, you even knew how serious an issue this is.

“Well young buck, if you’re that upset then maybe you shouldn’t partake in the festivities.” Ezra, out of thin air, offers.

He looks confident as he strolls up.

“Or you simply ride with another mare?” He proposes with a coy optimism.

“Fuck you!” Duke snaps at Ezra and even looks as if he’s going to lunge.

Your heart hammers hard in your chest. Thankfully the sheriff settles the commotion down.

Angered but stubborn, Duke declares he’s staying to compete and will simply use another horse. He is favored to win after all.

Other cowboys from out of town have blown in like packs of tumbleweed. So many of them are excited to participate and try their hand at showing off their rancher skills

Some are good.

But it is Ezra who proves to be the dark horse, the surprise underdog.

Watching him on his stallion, your throat goes dry seeing how effortless and strong he manages his horse. You never knew he could ride. The way he maneuvers and stays a quiet presence, he reminds you of an outlaw.

“Moves like a bandit.” Someone in the crowd even whispers.

His rope throwing skills however surprise everyone, including yourself. The calf he manages to wrangle takes you by shock. A dangerous lust slithers over your body watching him wrangle the animal with his strength and sturdy form.

But you realize -

This wasn’t what had been planned. From the discussion given last night, Ezra was meant to perform poorly to make sure Duke did better.

But this is exactly the opposite.

He’s the lead runner for champion of the competition.

And then Duke’s turn arrives. The crowd mummers curious, on edge waiting for the favored cowboy to make his move.

The horse he uses is not cooperative. Duke screams, unable to hide his frustration in wrangling the creature.

But once he stabilizes a manageable ride, he goes to lasso the calf. His rope lands and the crowd cheers. He’s already faster than Ezra.

Until the frayed rope snaps and the calf yanks itself free.

The crowd gasps.

It’s not an immediate disqualification, but it doesn’t look good. Duke argues that his rope was frayed and that someone must have slowly started cutting at it. However it’s a long shot argument. There’s no way to prove that and even the sheriff seems a little wary of the accusation.

“That’s just the way rope is son, you just gotta keep an eye on it.”

Duke screams in anguish canyon splitting anger. You’ve never once seen him like this. It’s like it’s a whole new man, or maybe, his true self being revealed.

He’s offered another rope, but it’s almost horrifying to watch that one as well snap. The crowd again gasps.

This wasn’t the outcome meant to happen.

“Duke’s cursed.” Someone mumbles.

The crowd is in disbelief, you even are. The last remaining competitors try their luck, but none can beat Ezra’s speed.

You can’t believe it. But he won.

And Duke is livid. The crowd tentatively applauds Ezra’s win because of the somber mood clashing.

“You bastard! You goddamn cheated!” Duke screams at Ezra while the deputies try settling him down.

“Poor boy,” Ezra says sympathetically before turning to find you in the crowd.

There’s a gleam of something proud shimmering in his dark eyes.

You don’t question it, don’t want to.

Ezra truly is a man of many facets, dangerous ones, like looking at a raw gemstone that could cut your fingers.

The competition spills into the nearby saloons, and the festivities only seem to intensify as the sun starts setting. You can’t even reach Ezra from the groups swirling around him and want to get as far away from Duke as possible.

So you return back to the tailor shop. Julie urges you to join her and the other women at the mayor’s large property, but you decline.

You simply sit in the store trying to muster up a plan. But in a blink, the night arrives and you have to find Ezra.

So after locking up the shop, you head to the motel.

Until the sound of Duke’s screaming and the rage of violence roars nearby.

You freeze, terrified.

Until someone wearily coughs. “That’s what ya get for gamblin’ with bandits, boy.”

Your swindler’s distinct twang drawls smug and now your body rushes to the secluded alleyway.

You swallow back a scream at the sight you stumble upon. Duke with blood fists has Ezra pinned against the wall, like a mythological creature, terrifying and large looking over with violence in his wake.

Ezra’s face is bloody and one of his arms even hangs limp.

“Pidge.” He coughs, and your heart aches.

Duke whips around to see you and barks for you to leave.

Shakily you snatch down to your bag, and whip out the gun to point it to him. Duke’s face falls a bit confused.

“Honey this man wronged me, I’m only enacting my justice.” He argues.

You snap at him to let Ezra go or else.

That’s when a sinister evil darkens Duke’s golden boy face.

“So, ya little god damn whore…you’re workin’ with this man aren’t ya? I knew I should’ve listened to all the rumors about a slut like you.” He spits with venom leaking from his voice.

“Don’t you touch her.” Ezra snarls, but Duke pays him no mind keeping his sinister eyes on you.

“What?” Duke slowly mutters. “Do ya really think you’re gonna shoot me?”

Tears fill your eyes. You don’t want to, but the way your heart races like a terrified Jack rabbit it screams at you to flee. But… you also wonder if your heart races because it’s urging you to attack, to bare your fangs.

Instead of releasing Ezra, Duke moves to grip his coat harder. He slams your drifter hard and fast against the wall. A painful crack-like smack comes, and you scream.

You fire the gun instantly.

Duke blinks, you even wonder if you landed a hit.

Until deep dark crimson, almost the color of dark sludge, leaks across Duke’s side. He crumbles like a fall leaf.

You cry scrambling to Ezra who thankfully is still standing. Duke wheezes out obscenities and even tries hollering for help. You’re however too worried about Ezra.

“M’fine,” your drifter reassures with a wheeze.

“Hand me the gun, dearest.” Ezra somberly mutters. When you do, without hesitation Ezra fires the gun point black down at Duke. And your eyes shut hearing the pistol strike. Duke goes quiet and stays silent.

“Come on, we gotta hurry.” Ezra urges.

Supporting his body, you manage to get him into the tailor shop to tend to his wounds.

Ezra coughs out your name. “M’dearest, I need to make my escape out of town once more.” His breathing his heaved, he needs to rest.

“Don’t leave me.” You cry sharp, unable to focus on anything now.

His hand slides to your face and he cradles you tenderly. You clutch at his wrist as you blink back tears starting at him now.

“It will not be a pleasant life, staying with a devil like me.” He mumbles.

Doesn't he realize, you’re just as tarnished as him now? Blood is on your hands. You simply turn to kiss the palm of his hand feeling more reassured than ever.

“I’d rather be with the devil than live without him.” You speak soft into his skin while tears dry on your cheeks.

He barks a hollow but watery thick laugh as he says your name. “You foolish bird, my lovely dangerous creature.”

The desert is unforgiving to those who do now learn to grow fangs or become just as fierce as its landscape. You wonder if that’s what has become of you. But you don’t question it. You simply gather all you can, steal one of the horses from the saloon and keep Ezra close to you on the saddle.

If Ezra is a devil, then you’re grateful he saved you from your hell. And for him, you will gladly stain your soul.

Under the eternal eyes of the desert, you wander into the night keeping your bandit close to you.

In the distance a lone coyote howls aching at the moon.

You don’t look back once.

#hi howdy yeehaw if you’re reading this cowboy Ezra & I think you’re the bees knees and I thank you truly!!#cowboy!ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra x you #prospect fanfic #Ezra 🤎#pedrostories

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idkwhatever580 · 9 months ago

Text

Admiring

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Prompt/Request: I would like a sweet Natasha x reader @cactus-cuddler

A/N: I hope I did it justice!! And lmk if you want to be added to my permanent tag list!!

Y/n’s pov

I roll over when my alarm goes off.

I quickly turn it off because it’s annoying as hell but whatever.

I then turn back around and tell myself I’m staying in bed for five more minutes.

Then I furrow my eyebrows and peek my eyes open when I realize the other side of the bed is still warm.

I see my redhead sleeping soundly and I squint.

I close my eyes and try to think although it is hard given I just woke up.

I double check the time to make sure I didn’t set the wrong alarm and when I see it is proper time for me to get up I am even more confused.

Natasha is never in bed this late. Like never.

Unless she’s sick.

Shit. Is she sick?

I reach over and place my hand on her forehead to feel if she’s warm and she is not.

I go to wake her up but then she looks so peaceful so I just decide to cuddle her a bit.

I end up staring at her. She’s so pretty. The way her nose crinkles a bit every now and then. And how her lips fall open slightly.

Her beautiful red hair. God I love her hair.

“Staring is rude you know?”

She mumbles out.

I roll my eyes and say

“I’m admiring. That’s not such a crime is it?”

She smiles and peeks her eyes open and I say

“Are you feeling alright?”

She nods her head and says

“Why?”

I shake mine and say

“You never sleep in unless you’re sick. So I was concerned.”

I pause briefly and then say

“You’d tell me if you didn’t feel alright would you?”

She giggles and nods her head and says

“I just wanted to stay in bed. Have a chill day.”

I raise my eyebrows and say

“Natasha? Skipping training? Now I know she’s really sick.”

She chuckles at my quip and says

“We should skip work today”

I tilt my head and say

“Baby. I can’t. We have things to do”

“Ugh but it’s just one day! I never ask for this. Please baby?”

She whips out the puppy eyes and I can’t resist them so I say

“Okay fine, but when I get in trouble you’re answering to nick for me”

She smiles and says

“We will just call in sick”

I smile and say

“I like that idea.”

I give her a quick kiss and then I say

“Well. If we’re ‘sick’ then we should go back to bed and sleep in more huh?” I’m

She nods her head and says

“I like your thinking”

I straddle her lap and lay down resting my head on her chest and I breathe in a sigh of content.

I am unable to fall back asleep but I bask in Natasha’s warmth while she gets some much needed rest in.

After about another hour and a half Natasha starts waking up again as I am just playing with her hair.

She smiles at me and I don’t notice that she is awake yet since I am still resting my head on her chest.

Then she moves her hand to my chin and pulls me toward her for a kiss and I obviously kiss back.

And the initial kiss turns into something more. But I push her away and she pouts and I shake my head.

She doesn’t question it like a good girlfriend but she does say

“Are you alright?”

I smile and nod my head. I usually am in the mood so she makes sure to check on me if I ever refuse her advances.

“We’re having a chill day remember? Sick day? Those activities are neither chill nor are they sick activities”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. Then she gets a mischievous glint in her eyes. I raise an eyebrow but before I can think anything else she tackles me into the bed and starts tickling me until I tap out.

We end up watching a few movies until we can’t watch anymore and nat says

“Ugh. I’m bored”

I nod my head and she says

“What should we do?”

She props herself up on her elbow and I do the same to face her. I say

“I dunno”

Then I get a great idea. I smirk and say

“Give me a show”

She raises her eyebrows and sits up.

“A show?”

I nod my head and sit up a bit too

“A show.”

She studies me and says

“What kind of show?”

I smile and say

“Not a dirty show. Sing for me. Make it fun. Put on a show!”

She chuckles at how my eyes light up at the thought of a funny show with a song.

“I don’t know about that one detka”

“I love your voice. Oh please please puhleasee”

I beg her and she gives in almost immediately. She chuckles and says

“Okay but you’re gonna have to cover your eyes until I’m ready”

I nod my head and cover my eyes faster than she can see and she goes to the closet to get herself ready.

I hear her rummaging through our stuff and I also hear her open a box. I can only assume she’s getting out the props I keep for team nights. We like to have props sometimes.

Then I see a hand come out of the closet and set down our speaker. That same hand turns it on and some music starts playing.

I immediately recognize the song as take me or leave me from rent.

I love singing that song with her and it is one of my top favorite musicals.

She sticks a leg out and I see that she put on some fishnets and I smile.

Then she steps out and I drag my eyes up her Fran and she’s wearing a cute and sexy outfit but she’s holding a fake microphone and she has a pink wig on that makes me burst out laughing.

“Every single day. I walk down the street. I hear folks say ‘baby’s so sweet’”

I chuckle as she sings the part that I usually sing. Whenever I make nat sing with me I usually take Maureen’s part and she takes Joanne’s but apparently she’s taking it.

“Ever since puberty everybody stares at me boys girls I can’t help it baby. So be kind and don’t lose your mind just remember you’re my baby!”

I smile and start singing the chorus with her

“Take me for what I am who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn take me baby! Or leave me”

She walks around the room and sways her hips to the beat having fun with it. I just smile and admire her. And I sing the part that Joanne has.

When it gets to the bridge, Nat sits on my lap and we go back and forth like Maureen and Joanne do in the musical.

I’m having so much fun and it’s so funny to see her with this pink wig on.

She finishes the song and we both say their parting words in unison.

“Guess I’m leaving. I’m gone”

Then she stands up at takes the wig off. I start clapping a lot and she bows for me and then when she stands up I give her an eyebrow and say

“So…”

She then says

“So?”

I smile and continue

“Are you gonna take me? Or leave me?”

I dramatically throw my head back with my hand on my forehead and she says

“Oh I’m taking you.”

I smile and say

“Chappell roan?”

She gets my reference and says with an affirming tone

“Hot to go”

I smile and say

“Good luck babe because I heard that this one is tough to love”

Then Nat straddles my waist and says

“But when she loves. She loves hard. And the outcome is so worth it”

I smile and pucker my lips for a kiss. I wait patiently but my kiss never comes so my lips form into a pout as I open my eyes to see what could possibly be hindering her from kissing me and she is just staring at me.

Well. Not really at me. It’s more like she’s zoned out so I wave my hand in front of her face and say

“Staring is rude y’know?”

She smiles and copies my earlier statement

“I’m just admiring”

I smile and my cheeks heat up a bit from the feeling I have under her loving gaze.

“I love you Nat. You know that right?”

She smiles and finally kisses me and when she pulls away she says

“You have proven to me that you love me over and over again. Of course I know it.”

I smugly smile and say

“And I’ll keep proving it until it is written on the walls of your heart”

She smiles and kisses me softly.

“I love you too detka. More than you’ll ever know”

I smile and kiss her nose.

“Good because if you ever decide you don’t and you want to leave me then I have pictures of you singing rent and dancing for me”

She scoffs at my sinister smile and says

“Good thing you won’t have to blackmail me with that. And if you ever do I will probably deserve it.”

I smile and we finish the day with lots of cuddles and movies.

As Nat and I are falling asleep in each others arms as our night is closing. I think to myself.

I’m gonna marry her one day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope you like this one!!!

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #fanfic #avengers #natasha x reader #fanfiction #black widow #mcu #fluff #cute #wlw

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leossmoonn · 1 year ago

Note

Hope you’re having a good day! Can I request a blurb of Abby seeing your place for the first time?

yes!!! I hope you’re having a good day as well :D

————

“are we almost done yet?” abby groans as she climbs up what she hopes to be the last flight of stairs.

“one more, honey,” you say. you grab her hand and try to help her as her little legs feel like jello. you turn to mike who is trailing behind you two. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know the elevator would be broken.”

he shakes his head, smiling a little while panting. you can see some beads of sweet form on his upper lip. “i love cardio. in fact, this is right on par with what i do at the gym.”

you giggle as you know he does not have a gym membership and he’s stopped running outside since it’s become so cold. even if he did keep up with exercise, stairs are a different type of workout.

“we are here!” you exclaim at the top of the step. abby jumps up for joy, suddenly re-energized with the excitement of seeing your apartment. you open the door leading to the hallway and the pair follow you halfway down the hall. you type in your apartment’s pin number and open the door, going in and setting your purse down and slipping your shoes off.

abby runs in, skipping through the room.

“abby! behave. we are guests,” mike says. “oh, it’s okay. there’s not anything she can harm,” you say.

there’s a little meow that comes from your bedroom. your head turns and you spot your cat. “except for cornelius, maybe.” you walk over and pick him up, walking him over to abby first. she gasps, her big brown eyes seeming to fill up her whole face. she tentatively puts out her hand, letting your car sniff her. cornelius ducks his head under her hand, rubbing his cheek along her palm.

“he’s so soft!” abby gushes. “he seems to like you,” you grin.

she turns to mike with the biggest pout you think you’ve ever seen from abby. “can we get a cat?”

mike chuckles softly and shakes his head. “i don’t think we can afford one, abs. i’m sorry.”

she frowns and turns to you, scratching cornelius behind the ears. “can i live with you?”

“maybe someday soon, hm?” you take a peek at mike who’s obviously daydreaming about a building a home with you.

“yeah, maybe someday,” he smiles softly. he starts looking around your apartment, taking in everything.

it’s a cute little place that you have. the first thing you see when you come in are two walls, one with a few doors along the side. the first door leads to your bedroom and the second leads to the bathroom. the third one is a small room that contains the washer, dryer, and litter box.

further into the hallway is the living room and kitchen which are connected. the cabinets in your kitchen are all white with marble granite covering the countertops. the kitchen table you have is a little bar with three chairs all lined up seemingly perfectly. you have a few plants on top of each cabinet with a little cactus on the bar counter near the wall it’s connected to. you have family pictures all over your fridge, as well as some with mike and abby.

your living is by far your biggest room. you have a gray couch with a wood coffee table and another wooden table by the far corner of the couch. there’s a plant right in the middle of the coffee table as well with a picture of you and mike. the tv is sitting on top of a dresser that’s filled with all of cornelius’ food and toys and other necessities. there’s a window by the tv and couch, letting a great amount of light in. the wall behind your couch is a navy blue along with your rug.

by the window is a cat tree and a basket of cat toys. there are a few shelves on the wall that are ascending. on them are pictures of your cat, family, and little souvenirs you’ve managed to pick up while traveling.

mike’s been here before, but he’s always amazed at how homely it feels. it doesn’t have that stuffy feeling to it like his house does. it’s not depressing and disappointing to walk into. it’s lively even with just the three of you here standing in silence. it feels exactly like how you make him feel: calm and happy.

“i like your plants,” abby says, inspecting the calathea on your coffee table. “we should get some, mike.”

“it’s a small investment,” you say. “they will probably die in my care,” mike snorts.

“i’ll help,” you offer. he shrugs, “we’ll see.”

“are you guys hungry?” you ask, walking into your kitchen. “not really,” abby answers.

“mike?” you turn to him. “a little, but i can wait until i get home,” mike says.

“nonsense. you guys plan to stay here for a little, right? unless you want to walk down seven flights again.”

“no, please!” abby groans. “that’s what i thought,” you chuckle. “you good with eating some chinese takeout? i have leftovers that will go bad soon.”

“anything you have is fine. thank you,” mike says. “awesome,” you hold your fist up like you won a game. “oh, abs! i wasn’t sure if you wanted to watch anything while you were here, but i bought you some coloring utensils and coloring books as well.” you start to warm up the food in the microwave and go to your bedroom, coming out with a couple of boxes full of coloring supplies and a few books.

“oh, you didn’t have to,” mike sighs. “i wanted to,” you say. he watches with a smile as you sit on the ground with abby and look through the books with her. his heart warms as he knows you love abby like she’s your own blood and flesh.

you and mike are sitting on the couch while abby is laying on her stomach in front of the tv, paying most of her attention to her new coloring book. you managed to convince her to eat an egg roll, which she surprisingly liked, and some fortune cookies.

mike takes your plates once your done eating and begins to wash them. you follow him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his shoulder.

“you didn’t have to,” you say. “you fed us and let us hang out at your place. plus, you got abby some new stuff. It’s the least i could do,” mike says.

you peck his cheek. “you guys are always welcome here. even if I don’t formally invite you, you guys can just show up if you know i’m home.”

“don’t let abby know that. before you know it, she’ll be packing a suitcase and sleeping here.”

“well, there is an apartment upstairs with two bedrooms.”

mike gently sets down the plate in the drying rack. “you don’t have to move just because my little sister wants to live with you.”

“what if i want you guys to live with me?”

his heart skips and his body stiffens under your. “really?” he mumbles. you hum and nod. “whenever you’re ready, just say the word. i love you, mike. and abby. you two are my family away from home.”

mike smiles and turns to place a kiss on your lips. he cups your face, leaning into the warmth of your body. you both hear a thud continued by a small meow. mike feels something furry against his neck and shuffles away, a little startled, only to find out it’s cornelius.

“if we move in, you might have to get rid of him,” mike says.

you gasp with a smile and slap mike’s chest. “that would be like getting rid of abby.”

“yeah, but abby is a human and can talk and feed herself. and use the bathroom without me having to clean it up.”

cornelius meows once again, batting mike’s shoulder. he then lays down on the counter, showing his belly and pushing his head into mike’s arm. you can’t help but awe.

“i think he likes you.”

mike brings a hand up and scratches the side of his face. cornelius starts to purr loudly, rubbing his head further into mike’s hand.

“he’s not so bad,” mike says. “see? you’ll get along perfectly fine,” you smile.

you and mike go back to watching tv for another hour or so before mike tells abby it’s time to go home. abby whines and begs to stay, but you assure her that you’ll see her bright and early tomorrow.

“i love you.” mike hugs you, holding you close and tight like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. you close your eyes as you relax into him, feeling yourself melt against his body. “i love you, too, baby. drive home safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

mike nods, grabbing abby’s hand after you kiss her head goodbye.

“are you sure we can’t get a cat?” abby asks. “i’m sure,” mike says.

“what about a dog?”

“no.”

“a bunny?”

“no.”

“hamster?”

“abby, no.”

“what about a chicken?”

“where would we even get one of those?”

“i want a fox! josie has one in her backyard that visits sometimes.”

mike looks down at abby with a you’re crazy face. she giggles and starts to him to herself. mike sighs, knowing he’s going to have to deal with abby’s questions about pets for the rest of the week. but honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fluff

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years ago

Text

Garden of Secrets [35] - Verbena Flower

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: One can find a home in their chosen family.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence.

Word Count: 3200

Series Masterlist

You weren’t half as restless as you thought you would be, considering the recent events. If it were the beginning of the season, you would have been horrified at the idea of your parents being back but now?

You felt strangely safe, which was rather unexpected.

“Y/N!” Teddy rushed into the drawing room, almost breathless with excitement. “I have a surprise for you, and Benedict helped!”

You tilted your head, putting your book to the side and sat up straighter in the sofa.

“A surprise?” you asked, already smiling. “Is that why you two didn’t let me go in the studio?”

“Yes!” Teddy said, still holding something behind his back as Benedict appeared by the doorstep.

“Did you plan this?” you asked and he shook his head, grinning slightly.

“Completely Teddy’s idea.”

“Guess what it is!” Teddy insisted while Benedict leaned sideways to the door and you turned to Teddy.

“Hmm,” you pretended to think. “It’s a…is it a drawing?”

Teddy shook his head fervently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Benedict will teach me how to draw but not yet!” he said, obviously pleased that you couldn’t guess it right. He giggled, then held up the small sculpture figure.

“Here!” he said, “It’s for you!”

“Oh my goodness!” you gasped, taking it from him and stealing a look at Benedict. “This is absolutely wonderful Teddy! A figure of a huma—cactus!” you corrected yourself mid-sentence when Benedict shook his head and mouthed it without Teddy seeing him.

“A cactus yes!” Teddy exclaimed, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said with a huge smile. “Thank you so much Teddy! I will keep it forever.”

“I’m going to make them for uncle and auntie as well!” Teddy said and ran out of the drawing room, wheezing past Benedict. You suppressed a laugh, then looked down at the small sculpture again.

“Where are the needles?”

“He said putting those on it would make it a classic cactus and that he didn’t want that,” he said as he walked inside to fling himself on the armchair. “It’s a different cactus, he says.”

“Artists…” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head slightly and took a deep breath. “Hey, Benedict?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said. “For you know, spending time with Teddy.”

“He’s family,” Benedict stated, making you smile. “You don’t have to thank me at all.”

“It’s just that—he looks up to you so much,” you said. “No one else really taught him anything about art.”

He gave you a grin. “I’m telling you, he will be a very successful sculptor.”

“I just hope he will be happy, that’s all,” you said and bit down on your lip. “How’s your hand by the way?”

“Oh it feels much better,” Benedict said, curling his fingers as if checking for the pain and you cleared your throat.

“But should you even be painting or sculpting?” you asked him. “I think you should be resting your hand, no?”

“It’s fine, I promise,” he assured you. “Hey, you do know he can stay with us as long as he wants, don’t you?”

Your head shot up. “Hm?”

“Teddy,” he said. “You’re worried because he’s staying with your aunt and uncle and you think your father and mother might show up there again.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Can you read my mind or something?”

“Or something,” he said with a smile. “Seriously though. He already has a room here, it’s his house too.”

You pulled your brows together in deep in thought before you shook your head slightly.

“I should probably see how it’s going to go before taking those precautions,” you said. “I don’t want him to get all confused and such and even though I want him close, uncle and aunt have been doing a great job so…”

Benedict nodded. “Whenever you want.”

“But I was thinking,” you said. “Perhaps I should tell your mother about some of it.”

Benedict tilted his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“No I won’t—obviously I won’t tell her about the details, just that…just that my parents are here and we don’t have the best relationship,” you said. “Knowing my parents, they’ll try to meet your family and I honestly don’t want that.”

“Do you want me there with you?”

“I was thinking you could inform Anthony actually?” you asked and hissed in a breath. “Because you know, he and I don’t exactly have the friendliest relationship.”

“Hasn’t escaped my notice, surprising as it may,” Benedict pointed out, making you giggle. “He already asked me what happened to my hand.”

“And?”

“I told him I had an accident with a palette knife.”

“But your palette knives aren’t exactly sharp?”

“You say that like Anthony knows what a palette knife is,” Benedict said, making you bite down on your lip to contain your laughter. “It has the word knife in it, so he didn’t exactly question what happened.”

A giggle escaped from your lips.

“That’s smart of you,” you said and tilted your head. “I suppose you’re not merely looks after all.”

He shot you that lopsided grin that always managed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Well—”

“Benedict!” Teddy’s voice carried into the room, cutting Benedict off. “Can you come and check if these ones look good please?”

Benedict chuckled and got up from the armchair as you cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “I can—”

“To repeat, he’s family,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss on your head. “Let me know when we’re leaving hm?”

“…Alright,” you said and watched him walk out of the drawing room. You stared at the door where he disappeared for a couple of seconds, his pleasant scent still in your lungs and pressed a hand over your chest to at least soothe your fast heartbeat that had got crazy the minute he kissed you. You slid a little on the sofa, then threw your shoulders back and grabbed your book, trying your hardest to focus.

When you got to the Bridgerton House, Benedict dragged Anthony and Colin outside, leaving you to talk to Lady Bridgerton comfortably. Lady Bridgerton had always been incredibly nice to you before or after your wedding to Benedict, and though you hadn’t gone out of your way to spend a lot of time with her, you hoped she knew how much you respected her.

Besides, it was likely that she assumed you and Benedict were still in your honeymoon phase so she didn’t mind.

“I’m so glad you came for tea Y/N!” she said. “Eloise will be sorry to have missed you, she went to visit Penelope.”

“It’s alright Lady Bridgerton,” you said. “I was actually hoping to talk to you alone.”

She gasped, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Oh my goodness, I hope this is not about what was on Lady Whistledown yesterday!”

“It’s—sorry, what?” you asked, suddenly distracted. “What was that?”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Oh I assumed…” she trailed off. “I assumed this was what brought this on.”

“I don’t read Whistledown,” you said. “Neither does Ben—what was on it?”

“Just some unfounded rumors,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Nothing important.”

“Can I see?” you asked and she motioned at the paper on the small coffee table.

“Third paragraph,” she said helpfully, and your eyes skimmed the lines.

Speaking of newly married couples, we sure hope that our favorite artist Mr. Bridgerton’s love for his wife is not turning out to be an infatuation like many assumed it was. He seemed like he had a lot to talk about with Lady Margery Sutton the other day at the park, and as it was noticed by a lot of members of the ton at the park, the two seemed like they were having quite fun while Mrs. Bridgerton preferred the companionship of Miss Harlowe, soon to be Viscountess Bridgerton. We trust that it was just a friendly conversation between two ladies rather than Mrs. Bridgerton finding herself in the same position that Miss Harlowe once did if the rumors were true; being heartbroken by the same man.

“What the…” you trailed off and shook your head fervently, frowning at the paper before raising your glances from it. “This is not true. Everything is fine between me and Benedict, and Margery is a friend, that’s all.”

“Of course,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Benedict is in love with you, everyone knows that.”

You held up the paper, trying to ignore that uncomfortable sinking in your stomach. “Not everyone.”

“Don’t mind Lady Whistledown,” she said. “She has her whole attention on Anthony and Lottie nowadays, these rumors will go away before you know it.”

You tried to shake off the image of Margery and Benedict together, then cleared your throat.

“I am so happy for Anthony and Lottie by the way,” you said. “I can’t wait for the wedding.”

“Neither can I,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m just glad they’re finally together, after years.”

“They’ll be very happy together.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked and you took a deep breath, running a hand over your face.

“Lady Bridgerton, um…” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not quite sure how to explain this situation actually but I thought you should know before anyone else, and Benedict kindly agreed—”

“Oh my God!” she gasped, covering her mouth. “Y/N, you’re with child!”

“Wh—no!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you shook your head. “I’m not! It’s not like that Lady Bridgerton, I assure you.”

“Oh,” she lowered her hands. “My apologies.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you fixed the silky skirts of your gown.

“So I’m sure you noticed that my parents weren’t at the wedding breakfast or the engagement or anything,” you started. “And I know I said it was because the road would be too difficult for them from the countryside to here but it wasn’t the actual truth. They weren’t here because I didn’t invite them to any of it.”

She pulled her brows together in confusion.

“Why not?”

“My parents and I…” you trailed off, nibbling on your lip. “We don’t have the best relationship.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“While I was growing up, they—” you paused for a moment. “They’re not like you or my aunt and uncle, they weren’t the nicest while me and Josie were growing up. That’s actually why my uncle took us in, me and Teddy.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I’m telling you this because they’re in town actually,” you forced yourself to say. “They might approach you or Anthony or—I don’t know. I’m not certain, but I wanted you to know, just in case.”

She reached out to hold your hand in hers, offering you an assuring smile.

“Does Benedict know?”

“Oh yes,” you said, nodding your head. “He has known for a while now about…my home life growing up. And he also knows that they’re in town, he’s telling Anthony as we speak.”

“And are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said almost automatically. “Sure.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s just that they’re not…” you thought for a second. “I don’t want them to put you or your family in a situation you do not want to, Lady Bridgerton, and I will do my best to make sure—”

“Y/N, you are family,” she said and you bit down on your lip.

“You don’t have to say that just because Benedict and I are married.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, squeezing your hand in a loving manner. “You became family the moment Benedict fell in love with you.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes and a teary laugh escaped from your lips.

“Might not have been his best decision.”

“I disagree,” she said. “It makes me so happy to see you two in love and happy, and please know that you are a member of our family. We will always love you and protect you, no matter what.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to blink back the tears.

“Thank you,” you rasped out. “It…it means more than you know.”

“Of course,” she said and patted your hand. “By the way, does this have something to do with Benedict’s hand being bandaged?”

You raised your brows, then shook your head.

“Uh no,” you said. “A palette knife accident, that’s all.”

�� *

After having tea with Lady Bridgerton, you decided to go to the pastry shop and sit down alone with your book for an hour or two before going back home. Your parents being back still managed to make you feel rather tense especially after talking about it with someone else, so you ordered some coffee and a slice of cake and opened your book, desperate to get away from your thoughts.

Yet, you wouldn’t be so lucky.

It hadn’t even been a couple of minutes since the shop owner brought you your tea and cake that you heard the chair opposite to yours being pulled, the noise making you look up and as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach.

She looked exactly like you remembered her. Her clothes were different, probably thanks to the money your uncle kept sending them every month, but other than that, it felt as if it could’ve been yesterday since you had last seen her. Your jaw clenched and you dug your fingernails into your palm before gritting your teeth, rolling your shoulders back to sit up straighter.

“Hello mother,” you forced yourself to say and she clutched at her chest, shaking her head as if she was overtaken by emotions.

“Y/N,” she said. “Oh my dearest daughter…”

A scoff escaped from your lips at that and you leaned backwards in your seat as soon as she took a step towards you.

“Do not,” you growled and she paused for a moment, then sat down on the chair.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes darting over your face before lowering to your dress. “You are a young woman of the ton now. A proper lady.”

You arched a brow. “What are you doing here?”

“Well I had to see you of course!” she said. “My little Y/N, an actual member of the ton now… I cannot believe it, I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be, you had nothing to do with it,” you pointed out and she heaved a sigh.

“Let’s not start that, shall we?” she said, making you raise your brows. “At least wait a while until you start being so bitter.”

“So bitter?” you repeated, letting out a dry laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

“How is Teddy?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare and she let out a breath.

“There it is, that glare,” she said. “Some things do not change at all. You were like this when you were little as well, just sitting there and judging people, glaring at us as if you were better than us.”

“I mean that’s not very difficult,” you pointed out. “It’s not as if you’re setting the bar high to be honest.”

“Y/N, for old times’ sake,” she said. “Let’s catch up first before you attack me.”

“Oh sure,” you said, “What old times are we talking about by the way? The time father threatened to kick Josie out of the house, or when he slammed my head to the wall and you stood there doing nothing?”

She shook her head fervently. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You clenched your teeth, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I forgot you did that,” you muttered more to yourself and she cleared her throat.

“How is your husband?”

“My husband broke your husband’s nose a couple of nights ago,” you said. “Did you not see? Or has that prick not come home still, drinking himself to oblivion somewhere?”

“I’m sure that fight has an explanation.”

“Father disrespected me,” you stated. “That’s the explanation.”

“He may have lost his temper, some old habits die hard but,” she said, “he’s a changed man, Y/N.”

You tilted your head. “Of course,” you said. “I’m sure he is. He is a changed man after his fifth drink, then after eighth he becomes who he is again.”

“Well you and your sister didn’t help,” she said through her teeth. “What with Josie always badmouthing him and you always glaring. You both were always up to something, showing him disrespect, of course you needed a firm hand—”

“And you did nothing.”

“He’s my husband.”

“We were your children, mother!” you snapped and shook your head. “Actually you know what? None of that matters now.”

“You’re married now too,” she said. “So what if I let him discipline you? You have a husband now, you know how—”

“Benedict would rather die than raise a hand to me,” your voice came out as a growl. “Don’t ever disrespect him by trying to lump him together with your husband.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Naïve as always,” she said. “And so very sensitive.”

You could feel the anger boiling at your throat but you pressed your lips together.

“You know,” you trailed off, running your fingertip over the fork on the table. “In my nightmares I’m back home with you two. I suppose it’s because my mind cannot conjure up anything more horrifying than that, but then I wake up and I realize that I never will be back in that hell. It’s quite relieving, really.”

She held your gaze for a couple of seconds, then tsk tsked.

“All this grudge is not good for you, Y/N,” she said. “Especially concerning your family. I’m worried about you.”

You gawked at her, a calmness washing over you as you let the words sink in, then took a deep breath and closed your book, smiling at her.

“Oh don’t worry about me, mother,” you said, pride clear in your voice. “Honestly. Because after this little, unpleasant conversation, I’ll get in my carriage and go home to my husband who happens to be the most handsome and talented and amazing man in the ton—scratch that, in the world— and who, if I may add, is completely in love with me. And while we’re eating dinner in our huge mansion that uncle gifted us as a wedding gift and then going to the next ball or social outing only to be surrounded by the people I actually care about, I won’t be worried about you. I won’t be thinking about you at all.”

She looked almost frozen by the impact of your words and you reached into your reticule to take out a couple of coins, then put them on the table and got up from your chair, putting your palms on the table to lean in slightly so that she could hear you.

“I already have a family,” you said, your voice nearly a hiss. “And you and your husband are of no use to me or my real family. Go back to the hellhole you crawled out of, and leave us all alone.”

With that, you walked out of the pastry shop, a proud smile curling your lips as you approached the carriage waiting for you by the street.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Home please,” you said as you got in the carriage without sparing a glance back to the pastry shop window. “Thank you.”

Chapter 36

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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acesofspadess · 5 months ago

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Cactus Practice

Ace Giovanelli x Lando Norris

warnings: absolute fluff

summary: Ace and Lando play some more McLaren games

“Professional swimmer.” Ace looked at Lando with an ‘oh my gosh what is he doing now’ look on her face as he put the final rings around his arm. He held out his arms with a smile and Ace just laughed at how unintentionally cute he was being.

“Alright, mon cœur. 5 for the back one…” She pointed. “Only one point for this one?!” He asked, shocked. “Well it is closer.” she shrugged and he looked at her with his lip pursed. She shrugged again before side-eying the camera.

Lando started to throw the blow-up rings and continued missing. “Oh, baby.” He pouted. “Yeah… how’s this going for you, love?” He continued throwing until he was out, “This isn’t going very well.” He placed his hand on his hips. “Zero points.”

Ace chuckled. “Zero points, you’ve set the bar high.” She walked over collecting all of missed rings. “Oh thanks.” he looked at her bored. “WHeres this imaginary line you’ve set?” She asked and he hugged her waist pulling her much farther than he was. “Okay you can go.” He said still wrapped around her. “Lan!” She laughed as he swatted her hand down when she threw the ring.

He burst into a fit of giggles before letting her go and letting her actually try. “Come on you can do this.” Lando cheered her on as she continued missing the back cactus. “You’ve got this, baby.” He continued. “See, I’ve got the- the, how do you say it, the air?” She asked Lando. “Yeah,” He smiled, “the float.” He corrected. “Way more than I did.” He admitted.

She missed her last one and ran to pick it up and slam it on the cactus but still missed. Her and Lando laughed as she picked it up off the floor and walked back. “Oh this is not… as quite…” Lando said as he was still missing in the second round. Only two throes after did he manage to land one. “Oh, there you go!” Ace cheered hands coming from her hips to clap for him.

“Pressure is on now.” He teased. “Yeah sure.” She teased back confident in her abilities. “This isn’t fair now she knows what to do.” Lando groaned while laughing. Ace threw her first ring and managed to get on the cactus first throw. “Awe no.” Lando slapped a hand to his face as Ace laughed.

She missed the second throw, but landed the third and teasingly looked at Lando who clapped his hands together as he groaned teasingly. “Can you get another one?” He asked and she threw it confidently while loosing at him. “No you can’t.” They both laughed as she more than missed it.

“Well, Ace won. She absolutely dominated the McLaren Games today. “Yep.” She nodded distractedly as she balanced the rings on his hat. “I think the best part about this was watching Lando use them as floaties.” Her dry-ish humour shone through. “Well, that was it. You got to see our ring throwing abilities.” She said.

“It’s a lot harder than it looks, little disclaimer,” Lando informed. “I don’t think we were that bad.” He finished. “No, we were bad, just not that bad.” Ace admitted and Lando shrugged knowing she was right. He threw a ring from his head at her and the video ended with him running from her chasing him.

Comments:

ln4acegio the way they look at each other>>>

forzaag5 not Ace using Lando’s head as ring holder

mcnorelli best duo on the grid

norelli45 admin knew what we wanted after the mess that was austin

mclaren we listen….

#lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #f1 fanfic #lando norris x black!reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 x driver!reader #f1 imagine #ace giovanelli #ace writes #acesofspadess

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wonbriiize · 1 year ago

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pairing; wonbin x reader

genre; enemies to lovers (?)

warnings; a little bit of cursing, suggestive (a bit)

note; i‘m not 100% satisfied with this but i hope y’all still like it !! also omg i love talk saxy,, riize really went off with it

keeping distance

in which you have art class with wonbin and you two have to put your hatred feelings for each other aside when the teacher puts you in a group together…

“this can‘t be happening,” you say to your best friend shotaro who‘s sitting next to you. for him, this whole situation is hilarious.

“you will never get rid of him,” shotaro giggles and you glare at him before you put up your hand and ask the teacher if you’re allowed to switch your partner. the teacher strictly shakes his head.

“the partners can’t be changed.”

“but we don’t get along,” you look over to him, the person you don’t like.. and he doesn’t like you either. he always makes sure to let you know that he’d rather kiss a cactus than be in your presence.

“maybe you two can take this time to learn how to get along then, right wonbin?” the teacher smiles at wonbin and then looks back to you, carrying a very provocative smile on his face. it angers you.

what angers you even more is that, when the teacher said this, wonbin just scoffed. what is he scoffing for? you think. if you want, you can be a really nice person. wonbin just has never gotten to know this side of you because he also has never shown you his nice side.

“just.. ignore him if he‘s being too annoying,” shotaro whispers to you before you stand up to walk over to wonbin.

he doesn’t even look up to you when you’re standing right in front of him.

you cough to get a reaction, but nothing happens.

wonbin keeps looking at the big canvas in front of him, on which the two of you have to draw something for this project.

“okay well i tried,” you say, turning around. you were ready to walk away but wonbin stops you.

“what are you expecting me to say?”

rolling your eyes, you turn to him again.

“maybe.. hello? since we have to be civil and mature with each other. for now.”

“can you stop being so dramatic and just sit down?”

you notice wonbin staring at you. analyzing him back, you can’t deny the fact that he is truly the most attractive person you know. if it wouldn’t be for his character, you would for sure like him.

maybe even a little too much…

you shake your head to avoid those thoughts and sit down on the empty chair next to him.

“i think we should divide the canvas in two and then each of us has their own side,” you suggest proudly. you like that idea; keeping distance between wonbin and you because not even on a canvas you two would match well together.

“that‘s stupid. we need to work together for this,” wonbin disagrees. his eyes are back on the canvas and it looks like he’s envisioning something.

“we are. just on two different sides but still on the same canvas.”

“and you think you’re being mature?” wonbin turns to you. the two of you lock eyes and you can’t help but to stare at his face.

why does he have such beautiful eyes? and apart from that, his lips are also so perfect…

you stop yourself from thinking about him in that way (again), but being this close to him is making this hard for you.

“well what’s your idea?” you bite your bottom lip and turn away as fast as possible.

wonbin chuckles. he knows that you’re trying so hard to not just stop and make out with him. he clearly wouldn’t say no to that..but he would never let you know because he likes this little disliking each other game that the two of you play.

“we should just go for it, like draw whatever comes to our minds,” he says.

you decide that instead of having a discussion with him about this right now, you should just agree. be more mature than him.

the two of you start drawing on the canvas, unconsciously staying on each of your sides.

it’s been a few minutes and you can’t believe that it’s actually working; wonbin and you are working. together. without fighting. somehow this puts a grin on your face.

“hey, we are actually doing goo- what the hell?!”

you wanted to compliment wonbin for working so well together but he suddenly paints a black star on what you’ve drawn.

“why did you do that??”

“it looked boring. now it looks cool,” he goes back to drawing on his side.

you can’t believe that he just did that. you grab after the red paint, move closer to wonbin and paint all over his drawing.

before you could go even more wild, he grabs after your hand and pulls it back.

“are you serious right now?!”

“you destroyed my painting!”

“i was helping you! it was boring!”

“you know what else is boring?” you grab the paintbrush (with the hand that wonbin isn’t holding), dip it in blue paint and then go all over wonbin‘s white apron.

wonbin lets go of you because of how shocked he is that you did that. he licks his lips before he grabs after his paintbrush.

“no no no no,” you say, a smile sneaking on your face. you stand up from your chair and run straight out of class, knowing that your teacher will probably scold you later on.

thinking that maybe wonbin won’t go after you since you’ve ran out of the classroom, you lean yourself against the wall.

you don’t know why but you start laughing. you should have taken a picture of wonbins face when you painted his apron because his expression was just too hilarious.

okay, you calm down, maybe it’s time to go back.

and just as you walk around the corner to go back to your class, you feel someone grab your waist to turn you around.

“you didn’t think that i’d let you go this easily, did you?” wonbin smirks.

he‘s still holding your waist, keeping you close.. so close that you can hear him breathe.

“you started it,” you could slap yourself for sounding how you do right now, so unsure and shaky.. all because of wonbin.

“you went overboard. so don’t you think it’d be only fair if i also draw on,” his hand moves down to your apron. he lightly pulls at it. “this?”

you gulp, not knowing what to do or to say. you’re trying your hardest to fight off all those thoughts that are going through your mind right now.

“lost your voice, have you?” wonbin‘s smirk just grows bigger and bigger.

“we should go back to class,” you say.

you could totally free yourself from wonbin’s grip but you don’t want to. you are actually enjoying being this close to him.

nevermind the fact that you said there needs to be distance between you and him. hell, if you could you would even close this last bit of distance between the two of you right now.

“that’s not really what you want to do, is it?” wonbin slightly pulls you closer. too close.

it’s getting dangerous. so dangerous that you don’t know if you’re able to hold yourself back. and you hate that he knows.

wonbin moves closer to your face and puts your hair back on the right side. “tell me, *y/n*, what is it that you really want to do?” he whispers into your ear.

“honestly, i just really want to paint all over your face,” you’re happy that your voice is sounding more confident again.

wonbin tries hard to not let you show that this wasn’t what he was expecting you to say.

“but i also want to kiss you,” you whisper, looking down at his lips.

now, wonbin’s mouth forms into a smirk again. this is what he has been waiting to hear. since forever, actually.

you don’t know that wonbin only annoys you because that’s what he does when he likes someone. he was never sure if you actually dislike him or if you feel the same way until today, when the teacher put you two together. that’s when he saw that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

“so do it,” wonbin whispers against your lips, which seconds later, collide with his.

wonbin has made you feel so many things throughout the time you’ve known him, but today, right now, while you’re kissing him, whatever you’re feeling because of him is.. different. it’s new.. and exciting. it’s like there’s thousands of fireworks exploding inside of you.

and it’s all because of wonbin.

the person you didn’t really dislike that much, after all.

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chilling-seavey · 3 months ago

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Winter Warmers: Day 16 — Secret Santa

↳ Summary: George receives his F1 Grid Secret Santa gift. Technically, it's partially for his son and entirely supposed to annoy the hell out of George.

↳ Word Count: 748

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

George felt utterly ridiculous wearing a Santa hat in the hot temperature of Abu Dhabi, sat on top of the Mercedes motorhome with a camera and microphone in his face. He wasn’t the biggest fan of media duties but he was a good sport about it nonetheless. Plus, he was now officially the world champion so a goofy little game of F1 Grid Secret Santa would certainly not damper his long-lasting good mood.

In all honesty, he was a little excited to see what ridiculous gift he got this year, knowing he had the title of ‘World Champion’ ahead of his name so maybe that would equal a better gift. Was that egotistical to assume? Oh, well.

Clearly he wasn’t entirely correct because as soon as he ripped off the wrapping paper, he was face to face with the most ridiculous looking cactus plush toy printed on the size of the box.

“What in the world-” George mumbled with an amused smile into the microphone, turning the box over in his hand to read the back, “‘Dancing Cactus — Kids Toy Talk-Back Mimicker’.”

He slid his fingers into the box and opened the top, peering inside to see the plush cactus in a plastic bag. The camera crew was patient as he opened the entire thing—undoubtedly wanting a good reaction for the content—and soon the smiling plush cactus was in his hand, batteries already in, and power on.

“What do I do with it?” George asked no one in particular, glancing at the interviewer.

Suddenly, the cactus in his hand wiggled and threw his words right back at him in a pitchy almost mocking reply, “What do I do with it?”

His eyes went wide as he looked back at the cactus, “Oh my…goodness. That’s…”

The cactus wiggled again, with another mimicked, “Oh my…goodness. That’s…”

George laughed a little and the cactus mimicked him right back.

“Who do you think it’s from?” the interviewer prompted, holding the microphone back out to him.

“Well,” George thought aloud, “someone who enjoys giving annoying gifts…”

The cactus mocked him, “Well, someone who enjoys giving annoying gifts…”

George stared at the goofy smiling plush toy for a second before answering, “Charles?”

“Charles?” the caucus mocked.

The interviewer laughed, “That’s it!”

“Ah, I knew it.” George smiled politely, “Yeah, the kid is gonna have a field day with this one.”

And right back at him came the unflattering pitchy version of his voice, “Ah, I knew it. Yeah, the kid is gonna have a field day with this one.”

Well, he certainly wasn't wrong because your two-and-a-half-year-old son was entirely entertained by this ridiculous cactus toy. For the first while since George returned home, it was amusing to watch your son’s innocent reaction to the way the toy would mimic his every babble and every word. The expressions he made in response had you and George thoroughly entertained.

But then the kid got far too into this toy to the point where you couldn’t escape the pitchy robotic echo of every word, every sound, within its microphone’s radius. You and George shared the responsibility of making dinner and your son sat on the kitchen floor with the cactus in his lap, just screaming at it just to hear the sound be echoed back to him, causing him to burst into giggles.

George crouched down in front of your son, “Alright, mate, let’s put Mister Cactus away for supper.”

“Alright, mate, let’s put Mister Cactus away for supper.”

“No!” your son wrapped his little arms around the plush pot the goofy cactus was sitting in.

“No!” the cactus joined in, just as whiny and pleading.

“Yes, come on,” George slipped a hand under the cactus and blindly flipped the power switch with ease so the toy wouldn’t make a sound, “Mister Cactus is tired. Let’s tuck him into bed and then we can wash up for supper.”

The silence from the toy had your son looking at it expectantly. When there was nothing, the little boy looked up at his father with a confused pout.

“He’s tired.” George reiterated, “You tired him out.”

“Aww.” your little boy frowned but then relented and stood up, cradling the goofy looking plush cactus in his arms.

As you stood at the stove, mixing the content of the simmering pot, George stepped past you to take your son to wash up, drifting past with a hand on your lower back, muttering into your ear, “I’m going to kill Charles.”

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

#🩵#twig mini drabbles #twig winter warmers special #george russell x reader

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blackdolphincoffee · 1 month ago

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Idk what I am doing but it seems funny. This is how I think hayaryuu will draw each other.

Hayato drew Ryuu:

I think he will do his best to make him look cute because he's cute. He put a love effect on him to show Ryuu how lovely he was. (Also showing his love)

Ryuu drew Hayato:

Okay, my hc is Ryuu actually can draw but not that pro. He can only draw cute things like animals or whatever. I can't stop giggling at how ridiculous his hair was. Looks like a cactus but with a lot of big spikes. Ryuu also tries his best to make him look cool because he's one of the prince charming, right?

Bonus:

They go dating

#gakuen babysitters #hayaryuu #kashima ryuuichi #kamitani hayato #art #what

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jgabriel1920 · 3 months ago

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The Archivist’s Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 7

Synopsis: You discover a new friend and the pieces are put in motion.

A GABRIEL NOTE: WARNING, THIS IS CANON AND WAS GIVEN TO ME BY GOD ( @sparrowrye ). She had some problems with the internet; we tried posting on her account but couldn't for some odd reason, so sorry for the late posting and different place. I hope you all enjoy the chapter (I certainly did, muahahaha)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woman, by the name of Rosie, arrived shortly after my conversation with Alastor. I had remained rooted to my spot in the corner of the living room, unwilling to go anywhere near him as we waited.

She was tall and thin, and her pale skin contrasted her black eyes. Her white hair was pinned in a tight bun but allowed a few curls to poke around her cheeks. She wore a flowy maroon dress with black accents on the side. A black belt cinched her waist and the dress continued over her chest and down her arms. Clearly she also enjoyed the shades of red like Alastor.

I wondered if he forced his people to wear colors of red. I certainly wouldn't let him put me in those awful colors.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, dearie," she greeted with a polite handshake. Her fingers felt boney. "Alastor hasn't stopped talking about you since he came back. We owe a lot to you for keeping our lovely cactus alive."

Rosie's wide smile and cheery attitude coaxed a nervous smile on my face. "Cactus?" I asked.

"A rather bothersome plant in this region," Alastor said as he came to stand beside the woman. "My dear, this is Rosie. The most darling, delightful, and dangerous woman in the whole city." He then introduced me, placing a red hand on my shoulder despite my effort to avoid it.

Rosie clapped her hands together. "Everyone is very excited to have an Archivist again. You're the hottest news of the century."

Great, I thought grimly. How many other Archivists would learn that one of their own is in Pentagram City?

"Come come, we have much to discuss and a lot of work to do." Rosie gently pulled at my borrowed clothes.

"I will leave you to it." Alastor bowed his head to her, casted a small smile in my direction, then swiftly left the tower.

Rosie watched and waited for a moment, then turned to me again. "Now, dear, I want you to be honest with me..." Her tone grew very serious as she said, "I'm sure you've seen a lot and had some pretty tough conversations. But I can see something happening behind those pretty eyes of yours." She paused, letting the silence weigh on the seriousness of her question. "Are you okay?"

The question caught me completely off guard and my own reaction to it, as well. My mouth tried to form words, moving around but letting out not a single word or syllable. Tears suddenly crawled in my eyes and dripped down my face. I touched at my wet cheeks, utterly stunned at whatever reaction I was having.

"Oh you poor thing." Rosie gently pulled me into a hug and I instantly reciprocated it. It had been so long since I last hugged anyone—since I was last hugged by someone. If I kept my eyes closed I could imagine my mother squeezing me and planting a kiss on my head.

My temple felt like it might explode from trying to keep my cries silent. My fingers grabbed at the soft fabric of the woman's dress. How had she known? Was it a magic thing? A woman thing? Did she have children of her own?

She eventually pulled me away and I hurriedly tried to wipe away my tears, avoiding a look at her shoulder that was damp from my tears.

"Come sweetheart, let's get you a warm bath, some fresh clothes, and hot food. It'll cheer you up." She put her hands politely under my chin and gave me a gentle smile. "And you can tell me all about what has happened to you. Alastor may be a friend but I'm not blind to his antics. Who do you think keeps the men in line around here? Us women do."

That last part brought a smile to my face.

She giggled at my reaction and took me to the bathroom on the second floor where I met Niffty. Rosie confirmed that she was the housemaid, always eager to clean anything and everything for a pretty penny or unique bug. The bathroom was lined with stone tiles and the ground was at a slant leading to a drain at the center.

"Undress while I start the bath," Rosie instructed. With a twist of a handle, hot water steamed out of a pipe from the ceiling. It touched the bottom of the bath and began to fill the tub with steaming hot water. My mouth dropped open at the contraption.

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand before Rosie gently pulled off the white long sleeve. I wasn't overly comfortable at being bare in front of someone strange but she was acting as if this was a daily occurrence for her. Perhaps it was.

I didn't want to draw attention to it if she was unbothered so I let her help me undress the rest. Fortunately, her questions distracted me as she helped me into the hot water.

She asked about the bunker, asked about the forest, asked about the communities in my region, and asked about my family. I revealed only my mother, opting to leave out my grandmother and brother for the sake of withholding information. She used a tough sponge to scrub away the years of mud, sweat, and build up. Her nails painfully scratched my scalp when she worked on my hair. She had a comb that she repeatedly tried to pull through the knots.

The conversation took a more somber turn when she asked about the time I spent with Alastor. I gave short, curt answers and nothing more. She read the cues and switched the topic around to talking about the city.

Pentagram City started as nothing more than a large community hiding away in the safety of a ravine. Storms were deadly in this region and the rock faces saved them from high winds, pockets of lightning, and dust storms. Rosie said there was a lot more history between that time and when Lucifer took over, but it was lost to the sands of time. She remembered the 'turning of tides' when the community turned from just that—a community—and into a city. Districts were formalized and trade deals were made between them.

The current districts were as followed: agriculture, technology, entertainment, military, and magic.

Alastor was Lord of the Magic District and Rosie the Lady of Agriculture. She and Alastor met as children before the districts were made. They were good friends until their fathers became the first leaders of their district. Years later, when her father passed, she became the first female leader of a district.

I had to stuff down my extreme interest in learning more about the city's history. I shouldn't care. I wanted to leave anyways.

Rosie let me dry myself off while she grabbed some things. She returned with a small bag and sat me on the edges of the bath. She combed through my hair again, silently noticing the way I closed my eyes at the more comfortable sensation.

She moved to my nails next. She had a metal stick with a small hook at the end. It pulled out a shockingly large amount of dirt from under my fingernails. Then she used a flat item and rubbed it against the tips of my nails. I watched as the white on my nails grew smaller and smaller.

She used her hook on my footclaws to get pieces of dirt that had been stuck in the grooves of the bone. Luckily she left that more sensitive part of my body alone and didn't try to file down my claws. Her next task was trimming my hair, claiming that removing the dead-ends would make it more healthy. So long as she wasn't cutting it all off, I didn't mind.

Once she was done, she brushed through it once more. When I opened my eyes again, I found my hair completely dry. She winked at me and put her tools away. I followed her out of the bathroom, still holding the towel around my chest, and up another set of stairs to a different room. This one seemed like the top most room of the entire tower.

The stairs we came up on were on the far side of the room with a railing to prevent any missteps. A beautifully carved desk sat under a round window, sunlight beaming through the glass and warming the small room. To the left of the desk was a bed built into the wall. My eyes immediately recognized my grandmother's quilt folded at the foot of it.

A small fireplace sat on the same wall and stacks of books covered the rest of the room. All my books were put in crates, but I could tell there were a lot missing. Where was the rest of it?

Rosie pulled me into the center of the room then went to the wall opposite of the round window. I finally noticed a closet behind the book stacks as she walked back with a couple different fabrics in hand. She first gave me fresh, white undergarments. The material was soft and far more supportive than what I was used to—than what was handed down through generations.

"I suppose you don't take well to dresses?" Rosie asked as she laid the clothes on the bed.

"I uh...we never really needed them."

"Then we'll start with something you're comfortable with."

The first piece of clothing was a black half skirt, half pant. The pants were sewn to the skirt that covered the whole thing. The pants cinched at my shins and a leather belt hugged my waist to keep them from falling down. There were strange patterns and symbols etched in different shades of red at the bottom.

The second piece was a loose, maroon long sleeve. The edges hugged my sleeves and waist. The collar was a small, narrow V-neck that had little black ropes that could loosen or tighten it. She topped it off with a small clip to hold my hair out of my face.

"What do you think?" She pulled me over to the closet and opened the door, revealing a mirror hanging on the inside. I had never seen a mirror that big and the person that stared back at me was someone I didn't recognize. I rubbed the soft material between my fingers, unable to fork any words. I was stuck between shock and politeness.

Then, turning around, I looked around at the room again. It was covered in wood planks and little bits of my home had been strategically placed.

"Feels like a dream," I said softly. What I really wanted to say was nightmare. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt...wrong. I turned my gaze away and grabbed my own arms.

"Dearie, what's the matter?" Rosie asked so gently, so carefully, as she closed the closet. I felt the tears building again and had to cover my mouth. "Sweetheart, what's happened? What else is there?"

I didn't want to trust her. I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to be anywhere near her. And yet, when she touched me with a gentle hand and caring tone, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother, like she was possessing this woman to help me.

I fell to my knees and curled inward on myself. Rosie put her long arms around me and let me cry in the bend of her arm. Her fingers moved in circle on my back—exactly how my grandmother used to do it—and whispered that everything would be alright.

"How do I even make sense of this?" I mumbled into my hand. "It's all gone. It's all...I've lost it all. My family, my home, my freedom. I've lost it all."

"Oh sweet thing, you haven't lost it all. You still have that clever mind and that fighting spirit. Archivists are strategic people, are they not?" Her words were taking over my mind and distracting me. "Your people are known for turning the worst things around. Hell, you know how bad Humanity's shortcomings are but you've been finding ways to keep it alive."

I was quiet for a moment as I processed her words. Niffty appeared out of the blue with a box of tissues and Rosie handed one to me.

"I just...I thought...I thought I was doing the right thing," I admitted. "I couldn't just let him die in front of my door and not do anything. I thought I was doing a good job at preventing him from knowing where my bunker was and still heal him but...clearly I didn't."

"It wasn't your fault, dear." Those simple words dared to lift a generations worth of guilt off my chest, but reality pushed it right back down. "Once he knew what area you were in, he wasn't going to stop until he found you."

"I should've just let him die," I said firmly, not caring for the look on her face. "I should've covered his body with branches and let him bleed out. But I was stupid enough to heal a dangerous stranger bleeding at my feet."

"You saw a man in need and you helped. That's not a weakness, dear."

"Sure feels like it."

"Come here." She helped me to my feet then sat me on the bed. She pulled the chair from the desk over and sat across from me. "Alastor may know how to charm his way through just about anything and make you believe in him wholeheartedly. But that doesn't mean your trust in him was misplaced."

"He's the Radio Demon. I've listened to his broadcasts for five years. He's a ruthless leader and I'm just his tool."

Rosie sighed then took my hands. "Alastor may be complicated and a bit cynical at times—trust me, I know. I've known him since he was a boy. But...he's drawn to you for more than just your knowledge. He's bound by his duty to the city but that doesn't mean he sees you as just a tool. Just like you're bound by that oath of yours."

She patted my hands then sat back in the chair. I looked at the unfamiliar clothing over my legs. "I...I don't trust him. Not after he tricked me like he did. Not when he's asking me to just forget my oath."

"Well, sounds like you two need to talk more. Your expectations of each other are a little different than you might think." After a moment she added, "And don't hesitate to ask for me. I'm here for you, dear, even if it's just an ear to listen. Understand?"

I nodded mutely.

-----------------

Deep in the heart of the city, in the protection of the stone walls of the palace, a meeting was taking place to determine the fate of everyone's lives. The room was far underground and closed off to the rest of the world.

A round table sat in the middle with a map spread out in the center of it. Sitting at the edges of the table, each in their respective chairs and adorned in their colors, were the Lords and Ladies of each district. Lucifer, the king of Pentagram City, sat at the head of the table with his daughter beside him.

Rosie was the last to enter. She expertly avoided the lanterns hanging on the ceiling from being naturally tall. She sat in her brown and green chair beside Alastor. She gave him a knowing look and he growled softly, ignoring the look that referred to the woman in his tower.

"Now that we're all here, it's time to discuss the elephant in the room," Lucifer began. He didn't look as small as he actually was when he sat in a chair level with the rest of the leaders. "We have our first living Archivist who holds ancient knowledge that may save our city."

"Remind me why we need a historian to 'save our city'?" The woman who spoke, Velvette, was filing her nails from her criss-cross position on the chair. She was the co-leader to the Entertainment District. Her co-leader who sat beside her, Valentino, seemed just as bored with this. Their chairs were decorated in flags of red and pinks.

"Because the Old World was more advanced than us," Vox answered her. He sat on Velvette's other arm. He was technically a co-leader as well but his main priority was his Technology District. His flag was an electrifying blue just like his claws.

"But they died off," Velvette flapped her hands out in a shrug, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone.

"They made some amazing things before they did," Vox replied. "All the electricity in your District? Came from them. All the pipes and steam engines for bathhouses and factories? That's from them too. And any rumor you hear about some mysterious, massive invention is probably also true."

"Which is why we believe her Archives might have the answers." Lucifer drew their attention back. "But we have to decide where her efforts need to go first."

"Am I ever gonna see this Archivist? Or does Alastor get her all to himself?" Vox asked, looking pointedly at the Magic Lord.

"Until she's adjusted and cooperative, she'll remain with me," Alastor returned cooly.

"The people's well being should come first," Rosie kickstarted the debate. "So we should focus on securing our resources."

Vox, naturally, argued first. "Old tech should be prioritized. We can revolutionize how we manage and maintain our resources."

"Our people are dying of starvation above all else," Rosie countered. "Our crops are always struggling as much as our livestock. I've heard stories about manmade greenhouses that can grow food without soil."

"What about our borders?" Carmilla voiced. She carried professionalism and power in every room she walked in. She was the Lady of Military, her colors a bright white and dark black. "The White Angels keep pushing through and sneaking around the edges. We believe they're using Old World weapons and it would be helpful to know how to combat those. Otherwise they'll get through and tear our city apart."

"I don't really think the people are itching for another speech about rationing and defense tactics," Velvette remarked. "All this doom and gloom is making people want to join your district less and less."

Carmilla narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to make a remark but Alastor beat her to it, "While it's charming to see you so concerned about morale, we need to keep our priorities straight and the threats as real as possible. People want truth and solutions."

"Like you old wizard?"

Alastor was unfazed by the bite. "You seem to forget that my district has been solving everyone's little problems for years now. Wood and oil are saved for warming homes and cooking meals instead of wasted on lanterns and bathhouses."

"The stability of the city is paramount," Lucifer added himself. "Our ravine is crumbling and that landslide last season is only the beginning. Alastor's people are already stretched thin and they can't keep reinforcing our walls forever. The storms will reach us soon and we'll be worse off than before."

"But we can't ignore the needs of the people either." His daughter, whose hair was as blond as his, put her hand on his arm. "Maybe we can find a way to address all these issues together. We don't know what knowledge the Archivist has or how fast she can decode them."

"We don't have time for her to decode them all," Vox argued, arms crossed like the two beside him. "The longer we wait to discover Old tech, the more we fall behind. They were advanced because of their technology."

"We all want what's best for the city," Rosie said gently and professionally. Alastor could see her underlying impatience from the way she held her hands on her lap. "So maybe we can find a compromise that satisfies everyone. Charlie's right, we don't know what kind of knowledge the girl has."

"Maybe we can do a little of each," Charlie offered, "You know, have her decode bits about agriculture, bits about old tech, things like that?"

There was silence among the leaders. No one had any arguments.

Lucifer met Alastor's eyes. "Do you think she can do that?"

Alastor straightened a fraction more. "I have no doubt. I'll make sure she knows what's at stake."

"Very well. I trust you'll see those texts translated. I want weekly updates sent to all of us."

There was a reluctant nod of agreement, each leader mentally preparing their secret agenda and the challenges it would present. The decision made was setting the stage for the city's future, the risks and challenges hiding just beneath the surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Happy Holidays!! Big thanks to @jgabriel1920 for posting this chapter for me. I am on vacation and the wifi doesn’t allow me to access Tumblr for some reason.

My A03 curse is getting worse. I am very very sick and couldn’t write anything special for the holidays, but I hope everyone is enjoying it!

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #archivists oath #alastor the radio demon #hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer

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