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edenesth · 13 days

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TWTHH Spinoff: Little Touch of Heaven [1]

Pairing: physician!Yunho x herbalist!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Dedicating his life to his work, Yunho had never bothered to entertain the idea of settling down. Despite encountering many charming women throughout his career, none had sparked his desire for companionship. But everything shifted when he met a certain herbalist whose medicinal knowledge seemed to surpass even his own. What began as mere intrigue might have gradually developed into affection.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Are you still here, sunshine? It's way past closing time. Come on now, let's head home soon. Your mother will be worried if we take too long," your father called out from the backdoor of his apothecary, where you were diligently working in the backyard farm responsible for growing and harvesting all the herbs he required to make his medicines.

You sighed, gazing at the new batch of seeds you had just planted and still needed to water, "Uhh... you go on without me first, father. I'll join you as soon as I'm finished with this latest batch of ginseng."

The elderly man shook his head in resignation, "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. Be prepared for an earful from the lioness at home if you're late for dinner."

Chortling, you playfully stuck your tongue out at him, "Worry about yourself first! I'll tell mother dearest you called her a lioness," you waved him off as he sputtered in disbelief, panicking and giving you all the reasons you shouldn't say such a thing. But you only shook your head, finding your old dad incredibly adorable. That's why you couldn't resist teasing him every chance you got.

"Go home, father. I was just teasing you, geez," you reassured with a cheeky grin, watching as he huffed and grabbed his bag, "I'm going then. Hurry up, sunshine. And be careful on your way home."

"I will. You be careful too. I'll see you in a bit," you said, quickly returning your attention to your work. It was only then that you realised your stomach was beginning to growl with hunger at the thought of your mother's cooking. With no time to waste, you hastily completed the remaining tasks.

After finishing up, a contented sigh escaped you as you dusted off your hands and admired the fruits of your labour. Despite years of repetition, you couldn't imagine ever growing tired of this routine. Your father's apothecary had been a fixture long before your birth. Your mother had been one of his loyal customers, initially seeking medicine for her ailing father. However, as time passed, her visits seemed motivated by more than just medicinal needs.

It didn't take long for them to realise their love for each other, and they soon married. In the early days, your mother continued to assist your father with herb growing and harvesting, even after your arrival. Growing up, you spent your childhood amidst the sights and smells of the apothecary, playing and observing as your parents toiled away.

As you matured, your curiosity blossomed into genuine interest, prompting you to actively participate in and learn about herbalism. With your mother's growing age and declining health, she was eventually advised to retire and stay home, leaving you to take over her responsibilities in the apothecary. However, unlike her, you insisted on handling the planting of herbs alone, sparing your elderly father from further strain. Instead, he managed the less physically demanding tasks such as medicine-making and store management.

Locking up the apothecary doors, you began your trek home, you observed the families and couples passing you with a small smile on your face. While you couldn't exactly relate to most people, having spent most, if not all, of your time in the back of your father's store growing up, you couldn't be any happier than you are now.

You had no desire to venture out, make new acquaintances, or seek friendships. Your simple life brought you contentment, and you cherished the strong bond you shared with your parents. Grateful for the absence of hardship and discontent, you had no yearning for wealth or extravagance. Engaging in what you loved, even if it meant remaining within the confines of the apothecary indefinitely, filled you with immense satisfaction. You were perfectly content staying right where you were, surrounded by the familiar warmth of your family and the comforting aroma of herbs.

I could do this forever.

"I'm home!" you called out cheerfully as you stepped into your humble abode. It was a decent-sized house with all the essentials, providing everything your family needed. Despite the success of the apothecary and its financial stability, your parents saw no reason to move to a larger residence. Attachment and sentimental value outweighed any desire for more space.

Everything in your home remained in excellent condition, thanks to your mother's meticulous care, and that was all that mattered. As soon as you entered, she cooed and rushed over to envelop you in a warm hug, "Oh, my dearest little sunshine is home!"

You grinned at your father, who rolled his eyes in mock jealousy. Unlike you, he had returned home only to be lectured for allowing you to walk home alone instead of waiting for you. It was almost ironic how he had warned you about being scolded, only for the roles to be reversed.

It didn't take long before a smile spread across his features; your father was one of the sweetest men you'd ever known. But you hadn't met many people, given that most of your time was spent in the back of his shop. Even then, one thing was certain: he was good to you and even better to your mother.

You had never witnessed him raise his voice, regardless of how upset he might be. He always remained patient, letting his wife do all the yelling. And at the end of the day, he would go to great lengths to make her smile again, ensuring she never went to bed angry. If you were to find a husband, you'd want someone like your father.

Fortunately, you inherited his cheerful personality when you were born. You were truly a bundle of joy since entering this world, earning the nickname 'sunshine' from your parents. No matter how bleak their days became, your bright presence would always illuminate everything. You couldn't recall ever having a particularly bad day, and you hoped things would stay that way forever.

As you settled into your seat at the dining table, your bowl was instantly filled to the brim with your favourite dishes. Your mother chimed in, "Eat up, sunshine. You need to replenish all that energy you've lost from working so hard." The aroma tantalised your senses, and you couldn't help but salivate, "Thank you for the food, mother!" you exclaimed, immediately digging in, feeling famished to the point where you felt like you could devour an entire cow.

"Woah, woah, slow down. They're all yours, silly girl," your father cautioned, shaking his head at your unladylike eating habits, "I'm telling you, no guy will be attracted to you if you eat like that in public."

You pouted, retorting, "If he truly loves me, he'll accept me for who I am." Your mother gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "While that's true, I'm starting to worry that you might never attract anyone at all, since you're always at home or hiding in the back of the store," she confessed, setting down her chopsticks, "I've been feeling slightly better lately. Maybe I could return to the store occasionally, and you could finally go out and meet some boys—"

Shaking your head, you cut her off, "Nice try, mother, but that's not happening. Be good and stay home if you don't want me and father to worry. Besides, I don't need a man to complete me. I'm content as it is. All I need is the two of you by my side."

Unbeknownst to you, your parents harboured fears about exactly that. They knew they wouldn't be around forever, and once they were gone, who would take care of you? The thought of leaving their precious little girl behind all alone in this world filled them with dread.

The elderly man pondered for a moment, unwilling to let go of the topic so easily, "How about you come and help in the store once in a while? That way, you'd still have the chance to interact with some of the customers, and who knows, you might meet someone the same way your mother and I met each other."

You giggled, watching as they exchanged affectionate glances, their hands intertwining on the table, "That's cute, but no thank you, father. The farm isn't going to tend to itself, and before you offer, I refuse to let you perform such hard labour. Your body can't handle it; please don't make me worry. I'll be just fine, I promise."

You're fine, sunshine, but we're not.

Your parents sighed, disappointed by your refusal. At this stage, they could only hope for some miracle to happen, allowing you to meet a kind man who would care for you when they no longer could.

But maybe that miracle wasn't as distant as they thought. Maybe there was no need for your parents to be so concerned. Maybe things were about to change very soon. Perhaps your parents had prayed earnestly enough, and perhaps the heavens had finally chosen to answer those prayers.

"Tell me what you need, and I'll assist you," Jongho offered as soon as the physician finished briefing the head maid on all the tasks she would now have to handle, especially with Lady Park's pregnancy encountering difficulties and depending on him. With a shake of his head, Yunho smiled at the assistant, "It's fine, I've got it covered. Eunsook knows what to do while I'm away. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably head to the apothecary for some herbs."

As the doctor made his way to the apothecary where he sourced medicines and herbs for his clinic, his mind raced with plans on which herbs would best suit the case at hand. It had been some time since he last treated a pregnant woman or dealt with pregnancy-related issues like this, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit rusty in this area. If only he had foreseen this, he might have brushed up on his studies, but the urgency of the situation caught him off guard.

He could still recall how urgently he had been summoned. Jongho had barged into his clinic, leaving him with no choice but to close up immediately. He wondered if he should have anticipated the pregnancy, especially given the general's desire for alone time with his wife. Perhaps he had been foolish not to prepare beforehand; he should have seen this coming. But there was no time to chastise himself over it now. His focus needed to be on ensuring Seonghwa's baby safely reached the three-month mark.

"Ah, finally, we're here," he murmured to himself as soon as the familiar store with the sign 'Ryu's Apothecary' came into view.

Without hesitation, he entered the establishment he knew like the back of his hand. This was the only place he trusted for all his medicines and herbs; he had known the owner for years. Mr. Ryu truly was one of the kindest apothecaries, never overcharging him and sometimes even offering discounts and deals for his loyalty. Just when Yunho thought they were close enough for him to know everything about the elderly man, today seemed to prove otherwise.

Perhaps he didn't know nearly enough.

"Mr. Ryu, I'm afraid I'll need all your raspberry and peppermint leaf supply for the day. Lady Park hasn't been doing too well in the early stages of her pregnancy," the physician announced upon entering the apothecary where he regularly obtained his medicines and herbs, his eyes busily scanning around for anything else that could be useful.

"Is that so? You might want to consider our latest batch of Codonopsis root imported directly from China just a week ago. It's highly effective in boosting vital energy and reducing fatigue during pregnancy."

Yunho's head shot up in surprise.

First of all, why hadn't he thought of that before? More importantly, the feminine voice addressing him sounded nothing like the elderly man who usually managed the store. He turned to find a young woman behind the counter, his eyes widening in astonishment.

"O-oh, um... hello there. I didn't realise Mr. Ryu had such a young wife," he blurted out before cursing himself, feeling embarrassed for making such a hasty assumption.

Your face immediately twisted in disgust, "Goodness gracious, you're severely mistaken! I'm his daughter!"

Way to go, you complete idiot!

The physician immediately bowed, overwhelmed with embarrassment as he offered his apology, "I-I apologise, Miss Ryu! I don't know what made me say that. It's just that I'm used to seeing only your father here. Seeing someone else caught me off guard."

Blinking rapidly, he hoped he wasn't visibly blushing. He had known the elderly man for so long and hadn't the slightest clue he even had a daughter, and such a pretty one too. Making such a mistake on their first meeting was unbelievable to him. He rarely found himself flustered and struggled to maintain his usually composed demeanour.

Good lord, did he really just say that?

You could only sigh; this was precisely why you didn't want to be out here in the store. It was only your first time in your father's place, and this was the first thing that happened. Off to a bad start already, you wouldn't be surprised if this trend continued with some of the other customers later on. It felt like your father had jinxed it at dinner that evening; shortly after, your mother fell sick, leaving him no choice but to stay home and care for her. In the meantime, you were left with no option but to manage the store.

Determined to put the incident behind you, you shook your head, reassuring the physician, "It's fine, sir. My father has to stay home due to an emergency, but fear not, he should be back in a few days to man the store as usual. So, would you be interested in those Codonopsis roots? I could pack some for you as well."

"Y-yes, please. Thank you for the recommendation, Miss Ryu; I really appreciate it," he said, stepping over sheepishly towards the counter.

"No problem, sir," you responded politely, busy packing the raspberry and peppermint leaf he had requested along with some of the Chinese herbs you had suggested.

You calling him 'sir' only reminded him that you still didn't know his name. For the first time in forever, not knowing what to do with his hands, he intertwined them behind his back and cleared his throat, "Uhh... my name is Jung Yunho, by the way. I'm the—"

"Oh, so it's you!" you cut him off, nodding in recognition with raised brows, "I know you; I've heard plenty about you from my father. I know you're the great General Park's family doctor," you continued with a shrug, "But of course, I should've figured that out when you mentioned a certain Lady Park's pregnancy. Huh, it's good to know they're having a baby soon. And before I go off on a tangent, more importantly, you're known to be one of the best physicians in town."

With a light chuckle, he shook his head modestly, "Well, I'm clearly not the best if I couldn't even think to use Codonopsis root."

Furrowing your brows slightly, you countered, "I don't see how that has anything to do with your abilities. That's because you're a physician, not a herbalist. Experts like me are here for that. While we may know which herbs are best used to treat what, herbalists obviously cannot diagnose patients. See, that's our difference and why we coexist to help one another."

Listening to you speak, Yunho felt thoroughly impressed. He couldn't deny that he had always believed he was the smartest person in the room, given his medical expertise and role as the famous general's personal doctor. People often revered him for being at the top of his field. At some point, he had almost convinced himself that there was nobody who could teach him anything new.

But your words made him reconsider.

He hadn't expected to meet someone who could humble him and make him realise he still had much to learn. Especially not a young woman like you, the daughter of an apothecary, a herbalist.

"In that case, Miss Ryu, what else would you recommend for an unstable early pregnancy? You see, the general's wife suffered from severe malnutrition throughout her childhood, and her body is now lacking enough nutrients for both her and her baby," he asked, deciding to set aside his pride and seek help. Seonghwa was relying on him, and he couldn't risk anything happening to Lady Park or the baby.

Finishing up the last of his orders, you hummed in thought, "Actually, there is another medicine that could help. It's a well-known Chinese herb my father has sold to some customers facing similar problems," you explained as you retrieved a box of medicine from the cabinet behind you. Opening it revealed a brown block of medicine he had never seen before, "This one also arrived not too long ago from China. It's called Colla Corii Asini, and it nourishes the kidney while preventing miscarriage. Perhaps this is what Lady Park needs."

"Thank you so much, that sounds perfect," he breathed out in relief, finally feeling a glimmer of hope. You shook your head with a small smile to indicate 'no worries.' As he prepared to make his payment, he asked, "Um, I was just wondering... why haven't I seen you before? I mean, you're Mr. Ryu's daughter and—"

You shrugged, "I'm in charge of growing and harvesting all the herbs we sell, so I'm usually on the farm at the back of the store."

"Ohh... so, you are the genius behind all these herbs," he nodded slowly in wonder, standing there after completing his payment, hands full with the herbs you'd packed for him. Intrigued by your knowledge, he mustered the courage to ask, "I know I'm probably asking too much, but... w-would it be okay for me to come over frequently and learn more about herbs from you? You know, to improve as a medical practitioner."

You shrugged again, "Sure, suit yourself."

Yes, she said yes!

Deep down, he didn't want this to be his first and last time seeing you. He rationalised it, telling himself you were simply an intriguing person. He hadn't encountered anyone as passionate about healing and herbs, someone who possessed more knowledge than he did. He was just eager to learn more.

That had to be the only reason.

It had to be.

"Has the mistress been feeling any better?" the physician inquired eagerly, anxiously awaiting Eunsook's response. He had returned to the general's estate a few days after administering the first batch of the medicine you had recommended.

Beaming, the head maid exclaimed, "Oh, those medications worked like magic! The fatigue and morning sickness improved immensely just a day after she started taking the medicine. You're amazing, Physician Jung! I knew we could count on you!"

It wasn't me at all, it was all her.

"That's good to know, Eunsook! I couldn't have done it without the help of a very talented herbalist. Well then, I'll be back in another few days with more of those herbs," he said eagerly, already looking forward to returning to the apothecary to share the news with you.

The elderly woman bowed, "Of course! And please extend our thanks to this kind herbalist friend of yours, we definitely could use more experts like him around—"

"Her. She's a female herbalist, and you're right, we do need more talents like Miss Ryu around," Yunho quickly corrected.

Blinking rapidly, Eunsook nodded with a slightly knowing smile, "Oh, my apologies. I shouldn't have assumed her gender, but yes, please offer Miss Ryu our sincere gratitude."

"Don't worry, I will."

As he approached the apothecary, his heart seemed to quicken at the thought of seeing you again, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why. Perhaps he was simply eager to make a new friend who shared his passion for medicine. Besides, he couldn't deny his admiration for your extensive knowledge of herbs, despite your young age. You seemed to surpass even some of the more experienced practitioners in his field.

Truthfully, he genuinely desired to learn more about herbs from you. The prospect of befriending you held great potential for him; he envisioned you as a valuable ally who could aid in his continuous growth as a physician. Together, with his medical expertise and your herbal knowledge, you could make a formidable team, contributing significantly to society together.

"Oh, Physician Jung! How can I help you today?" Mr. Ryu, your father, greeted him upon his entrance. For once, the doctor seemed rather flustered as he approached the counter, "Oh, uhh... I'm not here for medicine today. I came to see your daughter. Please don't take this the wrong way!" he hurriedly added, "She said I could come to learn more about herbs from her, so I—"

Your father's eyes widened in excitement as Yunho rambled on. While he didn't like the fact that his wife had to fall sick for him to finally be away from the store, it must have been a blessing in disguise because now his daughter had finally met someone, and not just anyone, but the amazing Physician Jung. Oh, he would be able to die happy if this was to be his future son-in-law.

With a little snicker, the elderly man nodded, "Ah, I see you've met my little sunshine while I was away. No need to explain yourself, I believe you. Now if you'll come with me, she's just at the back of the store."

"Here, just head straight ahead, and you should find her somewhere within the plantations," your father said, nodding his head down the hallway leading to the back of the store, "I'd take you there myself, but I don't think I should leave the store unattended."

"I've got it, Mr. Ryu, thank you."

As he walked down the hallway as instructed by Mr. Ryu, the physician wondered how the elderly man would have reacted if he knew Yunho had mistaken his dear daughter for his wife during their first meeting. That would surely ruin the image of perfection he had consistently been upholding.

But why would that matter?

The apothecary would continue to value him as a customer. Why was he suddenly concerned about how your father would view him? The direction of his own thoughts was beginning to baffle him.

Before he could become lost in his thoughts, he reached the farm and was struck by its beauty and meticulous upkeep. His admiration for you swelled, knowing that it was your work that had created such a splendid place. Ryu's Apothecary was known for its top-notch herbs and medicine, and now he understood why. His respect for you grew immensely, realising that you were the mastermind behind it all. After taking in the full view of the farm, he finally spotted you.

Is that what a fairy looks like?

The moment he spotted you amidst the herbs you were planting, he felt as if his breath had been stolen away. He already thought you were pretty before, but now, seeing you in your white and blue hanbok among the lush greenery, passionately engaged in your work, you looked even more enchanting to him.

"Ah, Physician Jung, you're here!" you exclaimed, pulling him out of his reverie with a wave of your hand, "Hurry over, I'm about to harvest this batch of Sophora roots. There's probably some valuable information here for you to learn from this."

"Right away, Miss Ryu!" he replied eagerly, rushing over to join you.

Without delay, you plunged into your work while explaining the herb to him, "This, right here, is the Sophora flavescens, native to China and Japan. Its antibacterial, antiviral, and antifungal properties make it useful in treating conditions such as damaged livers, jaundice, eczema, ulcers, and more. I know it looks nothing like the completed product you're used to seeing, but that's because it requires several seasons of drying after harvesting before it's ready for use."

While he knew he should focus on the herbs, he found it difficult to tear his gaze away from your face. The subtle furrow of your brows and the delicate bite of your lips when you weren't speaking—adorable. Wait, did he really just think that? He'd never had such thoughts before. Sure, he'd treated plenty of beautiful ladies throughout his career, but this occurrence was a first.

"Interestingly, this plant can grow up to 5 to 7 feet tall. Even taller than you, isn't it quite amazing?" you remarked, noticing his lack of response. Frowning, you turned to him and sighed when you realised he wasn't paying attention. With a gentle nudge on his shoulder, you snapped him out of his trance.

"O-oh, sorry, you were saying?" he muttered, embarrassed to be caught zoning out.

"I... never mind. Could you please fetch the root puller from that tool rack?" you requested, opting to delegate rather than have him kneel in the dirt beside you. Perhaps he was starting to regret coming here, realising it wasn't his cup of tea. Not that you minded; he could leave if he wanted to. After all, he was the one who asked to be here. The least he could do was listen.

"Absolutely!" he responded, heading toward the tool rack to retrieve what you asked for.

Making his way toward the tool rack, he chastised himself for leaving such a poor impression. It was only your first session together, yet he was struggling to stay focused. Gosh, you must be judging him so hard right now, and he couldn't even blame you. You were kind enough to share your knowledge of herbs at his request, and here he was, lost in daydreams instead of paying attention. Determined to redeem himself, he resolved to be more useful.

Pull yourself together, Jung Yunho.

However, the doctor was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the patch of ground still damp from your earlier watering. You did a double-take when you saw him unknowingly heading towards the wet path instead of taking the drier route.

"Wait, Physician Jung! You'll slip and fall if you go that way!" Your words of warning went unheeded, and you sprang up from your position on the ground in alarm, "Yunho! Yah, Jung Yunho!" In a panic, you dashed toward him, your eyes widening as he stepped onto the wet soil just as you reached out to grab his arm and redirect him.

But it was too late.

"You bloody idiot!" Your shout echoed across the farm as he let out a yelp, his arms instinctively encircling you as he toppled backwards, shielding you from the fall as he landed on the wet ground.

Your breath caught as you landed on his chest, faces mere inches apart, hearts racing. Huh, how have you not realised how good-looking he actually is? Wait, what? Before either of you could react, your father's voice rang out from the entrance, "Oh dear, what's with all the shouting, sunshine? Is everything alright—"

"F-father, I can explain..."

The apothecary blinked at the unexpected sight before him: his daughter atop the handsome and intelligent Physician Jung. God must have heard his prayers. With a grin, he chuckled, "Well, well! Seems like everything's more than alright! I won't intrude any further. Back to work for me!"

"N-no, Mr. Ryu! It's not like that at all!"

With a gulp, he turned to face you again, only to find you glaring down at him, "Let me go," you muttered, and he immediately loosened his grip, "O-oh, my bad." He moved to sit up as soon as you were off him, only to smile sheepishly up at you when he felt the back of his outfit completely soaked. Not only did he fail to help you with anything, but he was now causing you more trouble.

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you raised a fist threateningly towards him, "I'll get you some new clothes to change into. Stay here and don't move, or else..."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

« Preview of Part 2 »

"Oh, my poor Yunho. I can't believe that happened," Lady Park cooed, trying to suppress her laughter as she comforted the flustered physician after completing her weekly check-up. He was really beginning to regret his decision to confide in her.

"I shouldn't have told you about it, ugh. And to think you'd be the only one not to tease me," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from her.

Lady Park softened, "I'm not teasing you, silly. You're always so serious and uptight, it's just refreshing to see you like this for once. Besides, there's nothing wrong with having feelings for someone, especially at your age. You should really consider settling down."

He scoffed, a blush creeping up his cheeks, "What? That's funny, I-I didn't say anything about liking anyone, my lady."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your handsome face," she smiled knowingly, "Hwa has that same look often, so I think I'd know better than you, Physician Jung."

Perhaps she had a point; he still couldn't shake the memory of that incident from his mind. The sensation of holding you close lingered, strangely comforting. He started to grasp why couples found solace in such intimacy. Maybe the idea of settling down, and having someone to come home to after a long day wouldn't be so bad. Maybe—

"What are you two talking about? Didn't the check-up end ages ago?" the general's voice jolted him back to the present.

"Nothing at all, my lord," he stammered, caught off guard.

Seonghwa arched an eyebrow sceptically, "You really expect me to believe you'd spent an hour talking about nothing with my wife? So, what were you doing together then?"

"Oh my god, nothing! We just talked, okay?"

"Right, now fill me in. Suit yourself if you don't want to. My wife will tell me everything eventually; just so you know, we don't keep secrets from each other."

Slapping a palm against his forehead, the physician wished he'd kept his mouth shut, "Alright, but promise not to tell anyone. If Hongjoong catches wind of this, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Deal."

Holy sheeeet, thank you all so much for 1.7k followers! I was sleep-deprived asf while proofreading lmao I hope this one was decent HAHA I promise the next part will be more interesting!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/9): Tumblr is a bitch and won't let me mention more than 5 users in a single sentence, so now my tag list looks like a complete joke🤡

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #little touch of heaven #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #historical au #joseon era #yunho x reader #yunho x you #ateez fic

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wynnyfryd · 5 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 37

part 1 | part 36 | ao3

cw: depression, ptsd, references to canonical death and horror

Chapter 9

December

The smudged feeling comes back.

Which sucks, if he's being honest.

Despite the new thing with Eddie and the breathing room in his budget; despite everything going fine with Robin and work and the kids, his good moods never seem to hold. They keep getting muddied up, can't shine through the grubby handprints that threaten to blot them out.

And sure, it's not like he expected one great make out session to change his life (and it was a great one, to be clear; a great make out session and an even better handy later that night in Eddie’s van), but he just…

Shit.

He doesn’t know.

He thought it might feel easier. Life, adulthood; everything. Like the lightness and warmth he felt that night might carry over, might drift through to fill the cracks in him like a blanket of fresh snow.

But they don't, because they can't.

They can't touch the fact that he has no clue what he’s doing. That Steve Harrington's got no purpose, no direction and no point.

Most mornings he's got nothing but his creeping paranoia and a bone deep sense of dread.

The new year closes in like a wet tongue up the back of his neck; hot breath of a drooling grizzly getting ready to take a bite, and the long winter shadows around his house are growing fangs, rows upon rows of razor teeth in petal mouths.

His nightmares tastes like rot and lilac. Something heavy in the air.

And in the mornings he feels stupid when he wakes up shivering in cold sweat, foolish and young and alone. He clutches at his nail bat and peers through the cracks in the blinds, and he feels like a lunatic because there’s nothing out there. Nothing abnormal. Nothing wrong-side up. Just the shadows and the strays; the scurrying of house mice and the skitter of dead leaves.

It’s over now, they told him. It’s over, kid. We won.

They said it all three times.

—

"Uh...”

Eddie's standing in Steve's doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms loosely folded over his chest, a weird smile on his face like he's deeply fucking confused by what he's seeing but is trying so hard to be cool about it.

Which, like. Fair.

It's mid-morning on a Sunday and Steve is crawling on hands and knees in his gutted disaster of a living room — ripping up the edges of his terrible burnt orange carpet without even pausing to say hello — and the kids will be here any minute to help put up the Christmas tree, and he hadn't meant to do this; knows he looks completely manic, sweat dripping into his eyes, knuckles bleeding from the tack strips, but he woke up trembling from another nightmare and decided that everything had to go.

The nightmare felt too real. Long claws and sharp teeth, squelching muck and snaking vines; a flash of Chief Hopper bloody and shorn in a frozen wasteland, but the chief is dead and everyone's dead and Steve is so tired of being haunted by their ghosts, and in his shaken, post-dream haze he convinces himself that it's this place.

This place is the fucking problem.

This godforsaken tin can with spirits crawling in the walls.

They're clinging on like static just before a thunderstorm. In the floorboards, in the rug. Steve can feel them with each step. How many footprints buried themselves in these worn fibers? How many exhausted treks to the fridge and frenzied rushes to the phone; how many angry late-night pacers and visitors overstaying a welcome?

"Stevie?" Eddie clears his throat.

Steve just wants them all gone. The whole haunted circus — wants to strip it to the bones, start fresh with something new.

So far all he’s done is make the place smell like his nightmares. Like dust and death and lilac as he pulls the carpet up. There’s an oily stain on the subfloor from where he smashed his mom’s perfume, and a green-black mystery splotch by the kitchen that could be water damage, or it could be the remnants of a liquified rat. Or a person; so many people, melted meat monster smashing through the city blood and gore in a demodog's jowls the walls pulsing with membranes like some fucked up rotten womb and—

"Hey." Eddie's boots come into view. Calm commandment in his tone, stepping right into Steve's space. "Look at me," he sighs.

Steve sits back and wipes his brow. The sweat stings his cut-up hands, and he wishes he weren't so busy being a nutcase, because Eddie looks good like this. Standing over him, petting a hand through his damp hair. Making him kneel down at his feet. It’s hot. They could do something with this. Steve could—

"You want to tell me what you're doing?"

Tears prick up in Steve's dumb eyes.

What's he supposed to say? There were ghosts in the fucking carpet?

He shakes his head and sniffs, and Eddie steps in a little closer; moves his hand to cup Steve's jaw. "No?" he lifts a brow.

Outside, tires crunch over the gravel, the kids making a racket as they pour out of the Wheelers’ car. Goddammit.

Steve huffs and gets to his feet; lets Eddie steady him. They share a look. The kids are shouting on the lawn. "Can you take us to Home Depot?"

—

part 38

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic

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lokirulzart · 8 months

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WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

#welcome home #wally darling #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #Eddie dear #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #sally starlet #welcome home oc #cowboy AU #western AU #wild west AU #horses

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myrskytuuli · 4 months

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I've seen few dreamling Star Trek AUs, but I keep thinking about canon dreamling in the Starfleet era future.

The moment humanity makes first contact, Hob Gadling obvioulsy makes it his next goal to get up there and start exploring as soon as possible. New Frontiers! New species! New experiences!

Which great. He's good enough at being just the most normal (surprisingly lucky and durable) red shirt, just there, doing his job. Nothing weird to see here, no sir. Too bad that he managed to get a job at the Enterprise, the galaxy's most ridiculous incident prone ship. And as the Enterprise incidents(TM) keep happening, so does the niggling feeling that there's something fucking funky going on with Ensign Gadling. he has....a very surprising range of skills and knowledge. And that boyfriend of his...is always there when they have shore-leave, no matter how implausible it would be for him to travel the distances with the speed he does with Federation spacecraft. Nobody can sus out what his job is, but it has to be some very high level federation one for his and Gadling's shore-leave's always to align.

But the most disturbing thing about the boyfriend(TM) is how the first glimpse any of the crew gets of him is always always just a bit fucked up.

For a second, before he blinks and realises that that is just Gadling and his partner sitting down on a spaceport café, Spock could have sworn that sitting across the man was Run S'haile made flesh, appearance just like the statues now gathering dust in Vulcan ancient history museums. And the andorian officer could have sworn that for a blink there she saw the Sparkling King of All Fantasies walking hand in hand with Ensign Gadling, before the image settled to two humans walking side by side. And one calm night a tellarite engineer spots ensign Gadling snuggling and star-gazing by one of the ship windows with The Great Nightmare Beast of Sleeping Terrors and decides to get the fuck back to her own quarters and try to never think of it again.

And it really doesn't help that while your average sentients aren't anymore impressed by Gadling than the agressively boring and normal man warrants, it has been more than once that the Cosmic Entity With Unimaginable Powers of the week has gotten suspiciously polite when Gadling enters the scene.

In a normal Starfleet ship Gadling might be able to fly under radar, but USS Enterprise is not a normal ship and the crew is starting to get the heebie jeebies...

#dreamling #star trek #crossover

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hunnylagoon · 5 months

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Wayfaring Stranger

PREMISE: After your husband refuses to check a concerning sound outside, you do it yourself only to find a beautiful stranger bloodied up on the beaten road beneath moonlight. The events that follow soon after turn your once quiet world on its head.

DISCONTINUED

A/N: Forgive me if there are typos or confusing sentences. I was high asf writing this and I am high asf posting this. I have a series outline posted on my page right before this post, idk how link it, I’ll figure it out sometime. I’m releasing another Ellie fic tomorrow, it’s a modern AU and will be two parts. As always, thanks for reading!

WARNING: Murder, mentions of violence and injuries

The night hung heavy over the isolated homestead, a sea of inky darkness punctuated only by the sparse glow of stars scattered across the expansive canvas of the western sky. You, wrapped in a weathered shawl, stepped cautiously onto the creaking wood floorboards leading to your bedroom window. The pristine planks groaned under the subtle weight of your movement, echoing through the stillness of the night. "Sawyer, did you hear that?" You ask, turning your head to look at your husband who lay with his back to you, His blonde curls falling upon the satin pillowcases. "Sawyer!" You hiss, trying to capture his attention.

"It's just some cattle," He dismissed, not bothering to look at you; in fact, he pulled the covers even farther up his figure to conceal himself from you.

"Can you go look?"

"Why would I do that?" He groaned, it was a genuine question. He couldn't figure out why you would want to investigate a concerning sound.

"Because it sounded like gunshots and screaming, someone could be hurt!"

"All the more reason to stay inside."

"Well, I'm going to go see what it is if you refuse to." You spat, grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside stand and using your shawl to clear it of debris. You swipe a match across its box, watching it ignite, small sparks dancing around your fingertips. You move the match to light the exposed part of the wick before blowing it out and discarding it on the spruce floors.

"Okay, don't get hurt," He said flat, nuzzling back into the feather pillows.

A solitary oil lamp, its flame shifting with every step, cast feeble shadows that clung to the edges of the wall like silent sentinels. Under the flickering light, you made your way down the stairs and slipped on a pair of worn leather boots, dusty from the day's toil. As your boots met the uneven wooden surface of the porch, you shivered, you hadn't anticipated just how cold it would be.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of sagebrush and the distant whispers of the unseen nocturnal creatures that inhabited the wilderness. A coyote's distant howl painted the night with an eerie soundtrack, a reminder that the untamed landscape surrounding your home was both beautiful and treacherous.

As you descended the porch steps, your eyes, accustomed to the darkness, scanned the horizon. The landscape unfolded before you in nothing but shadows and silhouettes, the distant outlines of distant hills and mesas barely visible beneath the cosmic tableau above. The isolation of your homestead, far removed from the flickering lights of the town, cocooned you in an otherworldly silence, a solitude that carried the weight of the untamed frontier.

You looked back towards your home as you moved down the dirt road; weathered limestone walls, adorned with ornate ironwork, bore witness to years of harsh sun, and dust storms, though the relentless passage of time wasn't easy to spot as Sawyer had constant maintenance on it. Standing proudly against the dark backdrop of endless prairie, the mansion's presence was a testament to opulence in the rugged west. The home sat on the top of a hill, the trip down being somewhat steep, though the main path was easy to trek, other ways down would send you tumbling.

A soft breeze rustled through the grass dunes, creating a gentle whistle that you liked to believe carried every secret ever whispered in the town.

With a deep breath, you ventured beyond the perimeter of the homestead, your silhouette becoming one with the night. The crunch of your footsteps on the gravel path echoed faintly, a lullaby for the wilderness that watched over you. You move with hesitation, trying to consider that your husband may be right and you should've ignored the clash and tucked yourself back into the king-sized bed, despite this, you keep moving, leaving only the echoes of your presence behind.

You were surrounded by almost nothing but darkness, you could only see the shapes of rocks and cacti reflecting the moonlight along with whatever was immediately around you, thanks to the shine of the oil lamp.

Writhing in the rocky dirt path you saw a figure. It hadn't been an animal or an article of clothing that somehow found its way to you, it had been the slender silhouette of a person, just as you suspected, someone was hurt. As you carefully approached you could hear their shaky breathes that made you sure it was a woman. Her chest rose and sunk as she shuddered in the cold air; she was soaked through with blood, you had never seen someone in worse shape. "Ma'am?" You ask, your heartbeat speeding up. She looked visibly startled, trying to grip the ground and crawl away from you out of fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, I can help you." Your eyebrows furrowed in skepticism at the sight before you.

"No," She shook her head, the woman could hardly get words out of her mouth, just ragged breaths.

"You're shivering," You slowly crouched down, gingerly sitting her up, she winced in pain when you did so "I'm sorry," You hooked an arm around her waist while she slid an arm behind your shoulders, she used her other arm to clutch at a wound in her stomach, you ignored your shaking at her additional weight leaning against your own, you just had to get her up the hill. "SAWYER!" You shouted as loud as your lungs allowed you "SAWYER!" You screamed again, waiting for your husband to be standing on the porch.

You hauled the woman to your porch just as Sawyer finally emerged "What do you- WHAT IS HAPPENING!" His annoyance quickly turned to panic when he saw who was clinging onto you, behind him the door was hanging open letting the light from the foyer break apart some of the darkness. In the light other than the moon you finally got a better look at her. You couldn't even tell what colour her hair was beneath the blood matting it to her head, streaks of red ran down her freckled face and soaked almost every inch of clothing she adorned.

"Ride into town, get the doctor and bring him back here." You ordered, pushing past him, into the living room where you laid her gingerly onto the white gold crested sofa, feeling relief of the added weight gone.

"Well, there goes my coach-

"Sawyer!" You yell again, urging him to leave, he finally does, slamming the door behind him. You run around, hastily lighting candles to brighten the room; you bring a bucket of clean water to her side, drenching a rag in the water, you bring it to her face and begin to wipe away the blood. You noticed her shudder at the touch of cold water on her raw flesh "It's okay," You muttered, in an attempt to comfort her. You weren't quite sure what to say, she must've been terrified but it's not like you were feeling okay with the whole situation, you just didn't want to worsen anything.

More than anything, you wanted to know what had happened to this woman. Of course, you weren't going to ask at that moment, you didn't have to ask though, it's like she read your mind.

"I'm, Ellie," She said between ragged heaves. Just when you were beginning to make up your own backstory for the wayfaring stranger. The picture you had formed in your mind was that her name was Maybelle and she had taken a loan from a gang, and gotten herself into some serious trouble. Nope. Her name was Ellie and what was most logical was that she had been robbed by bandits.

You smile softly, trying to put her at ease. You thought back to all of the ways your mother used to calm you and your little sister "Well, Ellie, doctors gonna be here any minute and you'll be stitched up, good."

Ellie could've sworn that she made you up inside her head. She had heard stories of people on the brink of death imagining an angel guiding them to security just to be told when they recovered that person never existed. She was sure that she would get some rest and would wake up in some clinic with you nowhere to be found. You looked like an angel too, features illuminated in the soft candlelight. "Are you real?"

Her words had you thinking she was ebbing closer to the brink of death, blood loss making her woozy. "I sure am," You said, indulging her "I can tell from your accent that you're from as far west as west goes."

"That you would be right about, ma'am," She smiled with half-lidded eyes, her head lulling back and forth from the spot it rested on the sofa arm.

You soaked the cloth again, wringing it out in the bucket, the once clear water already becoming a foggy reddish hue. You used your free hand to push hair away from Ellie's face, with your other hand you held the cloth and gently wiped the blood from her forehead, clearing the way for you to see more of her freckles. "There we go," You moved your free hand to the back of her head to support it, now using the rag to wash away at the grime on her cheeks and button nose. "I can finally see that pretty face."

"pretty," She murmured, eyelids fluttering.

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls like ghostly spectres, and the air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood. The wounded figure lay sprawled on the once pristine white sofa, the echo of a recent struggle still reverberating through the stillness. Moonlight filtered through tattered curtains, casting an eerie glow on the scene of desperation.

A crimson pool formed beneath Ellie, soaking into Sawyer's beloved couch. The rhythmic breathing echoed in the silence, a macabre lullaby that seemed to accompany the fading pulse of life. Ellie against the encroaching darkness, the battle for consciousness etched across a face pale and drawn.

Every breath was a laborious effort, a struggle against the body's betrayal. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and distant, glistened with a mixture of pain and determination. Beads of sweat clung to a furrowed brow, evidence of the fevered fight within.

Trembling hands clutched at the wound, desperate to stem the relentless flow of a life's essence escaping through her fingers. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through the body, threatening to pull the fragile thread of consciousness even thinner. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of mortality, and every passing moment whispered of the inevitability of the abyss.

Amid this struggle, fragmented memories flickered like distant stars in a fading night sky. Faces and places, fragments of life now hanging in the balance, flashed before weary eyes. The pulse, once strong and steady, faltered like a distant drumbeat threatening to fade into silence.

Yet, amidst the darkness, a fierce will to survive burned like a defiant flame. The wounded soul summoned reserves of strength, drawing upon reserves untapped in ordinary times. Each laboured breath was a testament to an indomitable spirit, a refusal to yield to the encroaching void.

The room itself seemed to pulse with a quiet urgency, bearing witness to a solitary struggle against the inevitable. Shadows clung to the edges of consciousness, threatening to pull the wounded figure into an abyss from which there might be no return. She saw your lips moving but the words fell upon death ears, she couldn't make out whatever you were frantically telling her, all she knew was that she was tired and she couldn't fight to stay awake much longer.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Though Ellie had believed you to be an angel, you proved yourself to be real.

As the first rays of the Southern sun began to pierce through ornate curtains, casting a warm golden glow upon the opulent bedroom, she stirred beneath the layers of soft, embroidered linens. The mattress cradled her like a sanctuary, and the pillows plumped to perfection, offered a haven for dreams. The room itself exuded a rustic elegance, with intricately carved wooden furniture standing proudly against the walls adorned with rich tapestries. The air carried the subtle scent of cedar, a nod to the untamed wilderness just beyond the ornate windows. Lace curtains danced in the morning breeze, revealing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills and vast plains. The room, a luxurious oasis in the heart of the frontier, embraced her in a cocoon of comfort, providing a stark contrast to the rugged landscape outside. As she slowly opened her eyes, the lavish details of the room unfolded like a dream, and for a moment, she forgot about the events of the night before, until the throbbing pain of stitched wounds hit her once more.

Ellie was no longer in the drenched clothes from the previous night and was no longer nose-blinded by the sickly sweet stench of blood. Though she didn't remember everything from the night before, she remembered you

What had woken her up was the incredible smell filling whatever room she was in. Cast-iron fried bacon, its savoury perfume mingling with the tantalizing scent of freshly steeped tea that wafted through the air. The aroma of flapjacks, golden and perfectly griddled, hung thick, inviting all who caught wind of it to indulge in a culinary celebration of the morning.

A bounty of farm-fresh eggs scrambled to perfection, adorned the table alongside a bowl of vibrant, sun-ripened tomatoes and sliced avocados, their colours mirroring the vivid hues of the sunrise. A basket brimming with flaky biscuits, warm and buttery, beckoned with promises of melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

In the center of it all, a heaping pile of wild berries and succulent peaches offered a burst of sweetness, a reminder of nature's abundance even in the rugged expanse of the frontier. A jar of homemade preserves, bursting with the flavours of sun-ripened fruits, awaited its turn to grace the breakfast spread. All of it meticulously placed on the breakfast tray beside her.

She had never been blessed enough to get such a thoughtful breakfast, or meal, or anything for that matter. Ellie had grown up around ruffians who showed love through gunpowder and chewing tobacco.

Every bite tasted just as good as she had anticipated, most people wouldn't have thought it smart to eat a meal in a stranger's home that magically appeared to wake her up and maybe Ellie wasn't smart but she sure was hungry.

In the corridors, you hummed along to a song you used to sing on the piano when you were a girl while you rearranged and tidied bits and pieces of your shared home so everything was in its place. Your ears pricked up at the sound of rustling, it could have only been one thing. You knocked on the door of one of your guest rooms.

"Yeah?" She said through a mouthful of food.

You pushed the spruce door open, closing it behind you "Good mornin'," You smiled "Or afternoon, I suppose. Feelin' any better?"

She felt embarrassment well up in her throat, there you were looking so effortlessly stunning and she was a half-baked mess laying in one of your beds, swallowing back the food you slaved away to prepare. "Ma'am, I am so very sorry for imposin' on ya' last night, I will be out of your hair in no time."

"Stay as long as ya' need," You dismissed her "Truth be told, it gets a little lonely in this house, Sawyer goes away all day and when he's home he's too tired to speak, so it's just me."

She furrowed her eyebrows "You own a house this big and you haven't got a maid or servant or something?"

You shook your head "We used to have one but Sawyer fired her, said I needed some chores to keep me busy. We do have a stable boy, name's Jerry, nice kid just can't speak English all that well. He comes by a couple of days a week and has tea with me during his breaks. I won't keep ya' here if you don't want to though."

"I'd just feel too guilty eatin' your food and givin' you nothing," Didn’t seem guilty one minute ago. She moved the tray of food from its spot on her lap to the empty bedside table. She began to push the covers off of her, trying her best to ignore the ache in her bones. When her feet hit the ground she felt extreme agony course through her body like a million little knives swimming through her bloodstream. She crumbled over into herself on the ground.

You rushed over to help her back up "Easy," You say, your tone soft "You're hurt, remember?"

Ellie couldn't even stand on her own at that moment, her legs shook with each step she tried to take, you leading her gingerly. "Can't feel a thing," She lied through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?"

"Nope, I need to sit back down," She said and you helped her to sit on the side of the cushioned bed. She couldn't remember feeling that weak for a very long time, not since she had been a child. Ellie almost wanted to laugh at how stupid she felt, needing you to help her take a few steps like she was elderly, instead, she looked up at you "How did I get so lucky as to have you take care of me?"

"Sometimes we just meet someone at the right time." You shrug. You were no longer able to bite back the question that had kept you up all night "If I may ask, what happened to you last night?"

She sighed, scootching herself back in the bed to get comfortable "I'm nothing more than a travelling merchant ya' see, last night while I was headed out of Palecliff, I was raided by a group of bandits, took my horse, my wagon, everything I've ever known gone in one night along with my dignity."

Your eyes went wide and you clasped a hand over your mouth "What did they look like?"

You had a million questions for her and you didn't waste time in showering her with them. It had been so long since you had someone to talk to, not your stoic husband, not a fourteen-year-old who didn't understand your language, but a woman your age who indulged your questions and laughed at your jokes, adding her witty remarks to them. When you married Sawyer it was like you were thrown into the life of someone you did not know, it went from sixteen-year-old you playing piano every night, serving food, chatting up locals to being isolated in a stark mansion on top of a hill, watching the ghost of what your life used to be from what felt like a cage. You were allowed to enter town once a month, beyond that you would sneak off to the creek and the far-off forest where there was no one to report to your husband, his father was the mayor so out of fear they would never keep their mouths shut.

It only made you ecstatic when Ellie had agreed to stay with the promise of doing house and stable work when she recovered to pay you back in whatever ways she could.

Mornings with Ellie began with the aroma of herbal tea and the comforting crackle of a wood-burning stove. You, now a dedicated caregiver, tended to the injured woman's wounds with gentle hands, your touch a balm for both body and soul.

Conversations flowed like the pages of a well-worn novel, each chapter revealing the layers of their respective histories. Shared laughter echoed through the homestead, a melody that resonated against the backdrop of the vast wild wind. In the quiet moments, as the injured woman gazed out of the window, she found peace in the sight of the rolling hills and endless skies.

Through the nuances of daily life—shared meals whispered confidences, and the unspoken understanding that transcended words—the two women became intertwined, bound to one another almost.

Sawyer wasn't fond of how his wife had come to spend her time. Something about the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls had angered him, knowing that he wasn't the one who made her laugh.

Sawyer, a figure of striking contradiction to his gentle and nurturing wife, cut a commanding presence beneath the harsh sunlight. His tousled locks, framed a face chiselled with the unforgiving lines of both nature and a life forged on the frontier. A mane of wheat-gold hair fell over piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating like the steel of a Colt revolver. His tall, lean form moved with the languid grace of a predator, exuding an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance. Dressed in the finest of suits, Sawyer's appearance belied an innate cruelty that simmered beneath the surface. A well-defined jawline, framed by the hint of stubble, spoke of a man who had faced the harsh realities of the untamed West, and yet, it was the glint in his eyes that hinted at the darkness that mirrored the vast, shadowed canyons of the frontier. In the presence of Sawyer, the air seemed to thicken with an unspoken tension, a reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

When Ellie had healed enough to hobble around the house and assist you with chores as well as join you and Sawyer at the dinner table, he had made sure to be vocal. "Ellie, I think you could ease up on the help a little as much as we appreciate it," He said across a table of food you spent hours preparing "I don't want my wife to forget to be grateful for the life that's been handed to her if she relaxes too much she just slips away into some progressive madness."

You look towards him, a subtle rage simmering inside of you "Sawyer, I'm not being ungrateful, I'm just tired from-

He raised a hand to stop your talking "I don't think we want those womanly emotions to get in the way, do we?"

You pushed yourself away from the table, slamming your serviette down and storming out.

Sawyer only chuckles at this, turning to look at Ellie who had found herself constantly having to bite her tongue around him "Just wait until she has children, she'll cry every day and make up even more things to complain about." Before Ellie, he had never felt such a sense of possession over you, typically he just treated you like an ornament.

All good things must come to an end and so they did; Ellie had healed almost completely after two months, the Southern winter had passed and spring was arriving. You both lied to yourself, pretending that it was still sensible for Ellie to be living in your house. You convinced her to let you take her to your favourite spot.

In the early embrace of spring, a hidden gem sat in the heart of nature—a beautiful creek that meandered through the landscape like a serpentine ribbon of liquid silver. The air, still sharp with the vestiges of winter, carried the invigorating scent of damp earth and awakening foliage. Along the banks, delicate shoots of vibrant green grass peeked through the remnants of melting snow, heralding the arrival of a season draped in renewal.

The creek itself murmured a gentle melody, a harmonious symphony composed by the bubbling riffles and the soft percussion of water cascading over smooth stones. The water, crystal clear and pure, reflected the azure canvas of the early spring sky, creating a mirror that captured the fleeting beauty of budding trees and the emerging wildflowers that lined the water's edge.

Beneath the surface, the creek harboured secrets—shimmering pebbles, polished by the tender caress of the water's passage, and tiny aquatic organisms that stirred with the promise of life. The sunlight filtered through the burgeoning leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the creek's surface like nature's stained glass adorning a cathedral of serenity.

On the banks, clusters of delicate wildflowers began to unfurl their petals, their hues ranging from the soft pastels of violets and blues to vivid bursts of yellow and pink, something you didn’t see much in the South. The air resonated with the hum of awakening insects, drawn by the allure of this watercourse oasis. Overhead, the first tentative flights of butterflies painted the air with ephemeral strokes of colour.

As the creek wound its way through the landscape, it carved miniature canyons and pools, inviting creatures to quench their thirst and revel in the burgeoning abundance of the season. The stones lining the creek bed, smoothed by centuries of flowing water, became stepping stones for adventurous critters and skipping stones for the whimsical heart.

The beauty of the early spring creek lay not just in its visual splendour, the soothing melody of flowing water, the caress of a gentle breeze, the fragrance of blossoming life, and the dance of sunlight playing upon its liquid surface. This pristine sanctuary embodied the very essence of renewal, inviting all who encountered it to immerse themselves in the sublime poetry of the changing seasons.

The pair of you just sat in silence, neither wanted to say what had to be said so you decided to drown beneath the weight of the words that went unsaid.

"I can't stay here anymore," Ellie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She sat on the lush grass with her knees pulled into her chest. Her chestnut hair, the colour of fresh earth, cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, occasionally stirred by the whispering winds that danced across the plains. Almond-shaped hazel eyes, reminiscent of the vast prairie skies, held a depth that spoke of an untamed spirit. Ellie's sun-kissed complexion bore the subtle traces of a life lived under the relentless Western sun, and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks hinted at days spent amidst the open range. Clad in practical yet well-worn attire she had borrowed from you, her hands, calloused from the rigours of the mysterious life she lived before meeting you, spoke of a resilience that mirrored the vast landscapes she navigated. In the unforgiving wilderness, where strength and grace were as vital as the air one breathed.

"I know," You said back just as quietly, you both looked at the creek ahead of you, not able to meet each other's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you."

"I can't leave." You said, a newfound sense of sadness washing over you. It had just hit that you would return to the dull life you lived before her, days filled with nothing more than silence, loneliness, and regret.

"I wish you could," She picked at the grass, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Silence stretched between you like birds on a wire "Just stay, one more night and then I'll let you go for good, I won't pester you anymore."

She smiled softly "Sure, I'll stay another night."

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You had left town at the crack of dawn that morning to gather supplies for Ellie before she left, and the night before you had babbled on and on to Sawyer about how excited you were for your plans before you turned in for the night. You had used the only day that month that you were permitted to leave to do something special for Ellie. After paying a brief visit to your father and sister you began the trek back up.

After you returned home from the short trip you had intended to go into the house and bundle up your goodies for Ellie but you had been detoured by a sound from the stable. You hadn't expected Jerry to be there, it was one of your days to man the stables, not his. Despite the confusion, you followed the crashes and bangs from the stables.

As you approached the stables, the familiar sounds of horses' hooves and distant howls of coyotes were overshadowed by an unfamiliar murmur and groan. A knot tightened in your stomach, foreboding lingering in the air like an impending storm. Pushing open the creaking door, your gaze fell upon a sight that froze her to the core.

In the muted light of the stable lanterns, you saw your husband, a man you slept beside every. night, entwined with another woman. The hay-strewn floor became an unwitting witness to the betrayal unfolding before your disbelieving eyes. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on their entangled forms, revealing a scene that would forever alter the course of your existence.

The air hung heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the stifled gasp that escaped your lips. The two figures, caught in an embrace that spoke of deceit, turned to face her with eyes filled with shock. The other woman, a fleeting presence in your life until this moment, bore the weight of her transgressions. Horror pushed tears from your eyes "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" You screamed, watching as the two shamefully and frantically dressed themselves.

"Can you blame me?" Sawyer buttoned up his trousers "You're always sad or angry around me, I love you, I just need a break sometimes-

"You make me feel that way!" You felt sick to your stomach like you were going to vomit "I have turned myself inside out trying to love you but I don't even like you!"

You could see your words hit him when his jaw began to tense up, the familiar tell that he would be raging soon "I don't even think you like me!"

"I don't!" You shout "I hate you I wake up every morning and I feel so empty when I have to look into those dull eyes of yours!"

"You won't even touch me."

"You only show me a sliver of kindness when you want your dick taken care of." You spat, the look of complete rage on his face made you smile; that was when he struck you. His backhand landed firmly on the side of your face, forcing you to stumble back, shuddering at the stinging sensation.

He put his hands up, trying to show you that he wouldn't hit you again "I'm sorry-

Before you could finish your sentence you were screaming, grabbing the shovel from its resting place on the stable wall and slamming it across his head. Sawyer didn't even stand for a moment, the second the shovel made contact with his head, he flopped to the ground. You audibly squeaked, watching blood ooze from the newly formed gash in his head.

"Sawyer?" You crouched down, poking at his limp body with the shovel to see if he would shift. Nothing. His eyes fell lifeless along with the rest of him. The shovel clattered to the ground as you brought both hands to cover your mouth.

You stood over his body, your actions registering in your head, you had killed him. You had taken the life of someone.

You were only snapped away from your thoughts when you heard a thud. Your head snapped to where the sound had come from, only to find the black-haired woman he was cheating on you with stumbling back up from her fall, she cast a look back at you, terror written across her pale face.

Feet moving faster than your mind, you ran after her, she had already got a good headstart on you. She was beginning to rush towards one of the steeper sides of the hill, you knew you wouldn't catch her in time; so instead of pursuing her, you grabbed the gun off the front porch and aimed it at the woman.

The metallic tang of gun oil hung in the air as you cradled the shotgun, the weight unfamiliar in your hands, you were only going off of what your father had shown you all those years ago. The overwhelming sun cast long shadows across the open range, painting the world in hues of amber and gold. With trepidation etched on her face, you squared your shoulders and took a deep breath. The gun felt cool against your trembling fingertips as she aimed at a distant woman. The tension in the air was palpable as you squeezed the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the vast expanse. The recoil startled you, and a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty danced in your eyes. At that moment, as the echoes of the shot reverberated through the silence of the frontier, you felt a seismic shift watching the raven-haired woman fall, now rolling down the hill.

Still gripping the shotgun, you ran over to the spot where you had seen the woman collapse.

When you bore down the hill, her body was nowhere to be found.

Your head shot up to search the plains for her but you didn't see a sign of where she had gone, aside from the small pool of blood, seeping into dead grass where she had initially fallen.

"What's wrong?" Ellie shouted, running over to where you stood, frozen in fear for what lay ahead of you "I heard a gunshot."

"Ellie I-" You were stiff where you stood, grasping the shotgun so tight that your knuckles had turned white "Sawyer was cheating on me in the stables and I saw him and I was just so mad that I-I hit him with a shovel, I didn't think he would die, I just wanted him to be as afraid of me as I was of him. That woman he was with, she saw me kill him so I shot her but she got away and now I'm good as dead."

Ellie didn't seem as mortified as you thought she would be, she took the shotgun away from you, slinging an arm around your waist with her free hand and guiding you back to the house "It's okay, not as bad as it could be, you took care of me now it's my turn to take care of you."

"It's not okay, I'm gonna be strung up at the gallows in front of everyone, I killed the mayors son." A breath hitched in your throat "My dad's gonna watch me hang."

"Only if they catch us," Ellie said nonchalantly, steering you up the porch "Pack what you need, we'll be out of here in no time. It only feels fair to tell you now that I’m not actually a travelling merchant.”

#ellie williams #wild west #ellie williams x you #cowboy #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us #the last of us ellie #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #cowboy! ellie #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader fluff

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 month

Text

be your hallowed ground

Demon!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: 1700’s. the journey home before you is long, weary, and you are alone… but not for long

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. colonial era inspired AU, inexperienced!reader, religiously raised reader, historical/societal period negative views of women, major supernatural elements, religious discussions along with Christian imagery & mentions of scripture, Ezra’s use of petnames, heavy corruption kink, possessive!Ezra, finger sucking, wound kissing and one small moment of blood consumption, Ezra lifts reader with his demon strength (reader has no physical description), intense kissing & spicy moments, f!oral receiving, light overstimulation, briefest mention of Ezra watching/stalking, sacrilegious themes, dark & spooky vibes

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so this is my first Ezra fic & i blame this AU on my ex catholic school kid roots along with playing too much cult of the lamb bcs here we are lol I wouldn’t be here without the ones who paved the way/inspired me to take the jump to write Ezra so thank you @morallyinept @julesonrecord & @lowlights for being true lovely guides, also to @pastelle-rabbit @haylzcyon & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream/cry about this lol I love each & every one of y’all - and to you, if you decide to take a peek and read, thank you so much ♡

The forest stretches out far, daunting.

Twilight glimmers on the last of her heels and you hope to return home soon. You can almost hear your father’s anger at your stubbornness for not staying at the inn for another night and for simply being on this journey in the first place. You should’ve saved up for a carriage ride home.

Now, alone in the woods, you fear the tree branches will soon reach down to claw you into their canopy cluster above.

Deeper and further you walk through the forest path. You haven’t prayed much recently. But you faintly remember words urging you to not fear the terror of night, nor the danger that prowls in the darkness, and you’re gently eased. You also think of the early spring blooms scattered among the town waiting for you.

Then a branch cracks behind you, the sound of someone stepping on it, and you stop.

The trek has been silent, eerily so. Not even bird chirps or the wind’s breeze has filled your space. Yet it now sounds like something approaches.

You whip around.

No one stands behind you. Only the dirt and dust linger in the air.

The woods must be clouding you with unnecessary dread. You’ve walked these roads alone before and you will walk them again even though the forest seems darker now.

Determined, and slightly frightened, you spin on your heels to quickly return on your journey.

“There you are, turtle dove.”

The voice startles you so suddenly you almost collapse. Strangely accented, the thick drawl flows heavy with a twang of someone from the wild southern territories.

Your heart beats fast like a petrified rabbit and your eyes snap towards the source of the voice.

Leaning against a large tree is the most exquisite man you ever believe to be crafted.

Dressed in a striking coat, a beautifully sharp nose and dark facial hair, he’s ethereal. You also spot the most interesting tuff of white blonde hair against his dark chestnut locks. What’s startling are his magnetic inky eyes staring at you.

“I don’t know you, good sir.” You politely reply.

The man smiles like a fox creeping around a chicken coop.

“Ezra is my given name, turtle dove. Now we’re no longer strangers.”

His name - Ezra.

Like his name suggests you wonder if maybe he’s here to provide aid, your personal blessing.

Yet his words flutter out duplicitous and heavy like something dangerous chains around them down.

“Then good day to you, sir.” You nod, a polite reply, and decide to withhold your name.

“May I accompany you on your journey?” He suggests surprisingly gentle, his words olive branch-like offers.

You ask him where he is even headed, and for what brings a well speaking, slightly suspicious, man as himself into these woods.

“The same as you, sweet bird,” Ezra replies simply. “We all have our journeys to be upon. Mine just happens to coincide with yours. A rather fortuitous blessing if I do say so myself.”

Your eyes narrow. Something scratches at the back of your mind urging you to keep walking and pay no heed to this man.

But then the wind picks up.

From a soft breeze it quickly transforms into the strangest howl, like a warning of the dangers lurking all around. In a slight panic your eyes survey your surroundings. This man might be a stranger, but having company might not be such a bad choice.

“Come now.” Ezra comments reassuring and steady even among the howling winds. “These woods are wild and deep, ain’t no place for a treasure such as yourself.”

He is handsome, the most stunning man you may ever see. And the glimmer in his eyes seems to beckon you.

After you quietly nod, your journey expands by one.

With a gracious bow of his head, the man from the shadows falls into step beside you.

The wind suddenly, but thankfully, settles. However, tension prickles against your skin and a strange warmth blooms from the center of your chest.

“So, what’s a lovely angel like yourself doing here, a babe in the woods?” Ezra begins.

Your fingers tighten against your cloak while the truth stays sealed tight.

The man chuckles.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweet dove,” he teases.

You huff annoyed. However, seeing as how you will be traveling with him until you return home, you decide to engage with him.

Your dearest friend moved to the next town when you both became fully grown. She fell in love with a married man in a loveless marriage to a cruel woman. Because of that your friend was condemned to banishment. Now, she’s with child. Some even whisper the child was maybe even convinced due to witchcraft.

However, with the recent passing of your town’s relentless head clergyman, you hope this will help improve the situation.

Ezra listens patiently, letting you quietly explain everything.

“And so you traveled to visit your dear friend like a kind emissary.” He notes. “Your town must be in an uproar over you visiting her.”

“They are.” You answer stiffly.

Your father absolutely detests it. Even the governor’s son, who has shown interest in courting you, has made it known that your lenient position doesn’t help towards a marriage possibility. But you won't falter in your loyalty. Especially after your faith has been so shaken from seeing the harsh treatment given to your friend.

“A fair decision.” Ezra agrees. “All those upset are fools anyway. Seems they forgot the good book even mentions how cherished a gift it is to forgive others just as the lord forgives us.”

He quotes scripture so passively it surprises you. He doesn’t seem like a spiritual type. If anything, Ezra seems like a man who slinks around the shadows late at night among the thieves and brothels hidden at the edge of town.

“You’re right,” you agree with him. “Who are we to judge others on simple matters of passion compared to our lord, especially to condemn it?”

“Lust is considered a grave sin though, dear birdie, so I understand why.” He quietly answers while his words scurry over your skin. “After all, look at the predicament it entangled your dear friend in.”

“And don’t passions of the flesh wage war against the solemnity of the soul?” Ezra politely answers lightly referring to scripture and you wonder if he is a man devoted to the good book.

So you reserve your words again.

“Please… do not silence your song, biride.” Ezra coos.

“Now, tell me your thoughts,” he whispers low.

As you swallow hard, your skin feels tight against your bones. But you decide to speak freely, as dangerous as it may be.

“It’s true that my friend committed a terrible sin.” You begin with a shaky sigh. “I understand her punishment. But for others to be so cruel when faith says to forgive and embrace salvation feels hypocritical.”

“True indeed. And as you said, all this for the sake of condemning passion? There are worse commandments to shatter under heaven’s watchful eye.” Ezra drawls out.

“Exactly.” You agree with a firm nod more at ease with your new companion.

“Besides… isn’t the act of creation an offspring of passion?” He challenges and the thought stuns you.

The stranger is correct and his perception moves you.

You’ve never engaged in such discussions like this with anyone before, especially not with a man. You noticed he speaks to you like an equal, never diminishing your ideals or fully trampling on your opinions.

Something greedy urges you to slow down your step and spend as much time with your new companion.

“So, is there a husband of yours waitin’ at home to meet you with passions, dear dove?” Ezra asks with the curl of intrigue in his voice and you almost choke on a gasp.

“A rather forward question to ask a stranger.” You snap back sharply and glare at him.

Ezra keeps his abyss eyes drawn forward and doesn't seem bothering at your reply or the discussion matter he brought up.

“Thought we established we’re no longer strangers?” Your stranger mutters back.

“We’ve discussed religion, the ways of the hearts and their passions. Only good friends touch on such topics, yes?”

He’s unbearably confident, and he knows it. You want to storm off, maybe even demand him to leave. But you can’t do it. You almost can’t endure the thought of him leaving now.

So you reply stiffly. “No. I have no husband at home.”

“Truly?” He now squawks confused.

“Ain’t that a damn shame.” He purrs. “A creature lovely as yourself deserves to be worshiped every minute you’re here among this green earth.”

Your heart thumps erratic against its cage.

“Are you mocking me, good man Ezra, for not being married?” You deflect with a shaky voice.

“Never, turtle dove.” He reassures. “I believe the ultimate sin is to be denied any shade of passion.”

“Especially for a beauty marvelous as yourself.” He exhales and his voice dances devilishly.

An uneasiness settles into your legs, like your body could give out at any moment.

“What you say is blasphemy,” you manage to reply, however your voice wavers. “A heathen's words.”

“I could’ve recounted the same about you moments ago when you spoke your thoughts.” He mutters back.

Your heart drops. He’s correct. This man has your thoughts tied up in so many knots and you cannot find a path within yourself.

“No need to worry.” Ezra says. “Treading into heathen’s territory is never frightful when you have a companion.”

You don’t know how you feel about this conversation or where it seems to be heading towards. Your gaze turns to Ezra. He continues staring ahead composed.

He’s a strange unorthodox man, an anomaly, someone you never believed existed.

“Now tell me… have you tasted desire, my sweet turtle dove?”

His eyes now move to you, catching you staring red handed. Like an exposed thief, your gaze flies away from him.

His question, as if composed of thorns, constricts around your throat refusing to let you answer.

You’ve tasted it on the tips of your tongue. One of your old childhood friends became a courtesan at a brothel. During her nights off, you’d sneak out to visit her. She recounted with giggles about the various sexual escapades she’s experienced. It made your mouth water wishing for the embrace of a lover, to understand what it meant to be truly desired.

You’ve been tempted to fall into bed with the blacksmith’s brother but once you discovered his cruel treatment of the women in town you were soured by the thought. So during the late nights alone your fingers slipped under the quilts and you would find a sticky taste of passion.

Getting caught up in your thoughts keeps you quiet.

“When I was a younger man and lived in France.” Ezra begins with a sudden gentle musing, the voice of a storyteller almost. “Even when I migrated here to the southern territories, I learned of an interesting turn of phrase.”

“La petite mort.” The words flow from him beautifully, rolled with such finessed precision. Hearing him speak sparks a jolt up your spine.

“I’m not quite sure you know of it, but do you know what it means?”

Your eyes that had glazed over are now back on Ezra. His devastatingly beautiful face remains serene.

“The literal translation is ‘a little death.’” Ezra continues. “But what it speaks of is the little moment of feeling as if you’re dying when experiencing true orgasmic release, something that makes us see god.”

His words, hanging with a thinly concealed desire, rip through you and a slickness slowly pools between your legs.

Now his eyes flicker to you.

“A pleasure so rapturous we taste a little death.” He mutters looking so intently at you that you want to scurry and hide away.

But you can’t. You’re drawn into his gaze, a poor moth entrapped by his erratic flame, and you’re not quite sure if this fire is hellfire.

Rationale within you screams this man could be a robber or could be leading you into his sticky web to simply harm you. Yet it seems like he could vanish into smoke.

You also notice you and Eza have both stopped walking. Now staring into his eyes, you discover storms in them.

Until an oncoming storm arrives all around. The wind erupts into howls. It whips around fast and you tug your cloak closer trying to stay warm against the gales.

Your face even scrunches up at the drastic change in the weather.

A firm hand moves to your back pulling you closer until you rest within the shade of a firm body. Ezra has drawn you into his side, lifting his cloak to cover you, and your eyes become full moons.

“To keep you sheltered from this weather. Though, we may need to hunt for some sanctuary soon.” He mutters.

He smells of pine, like the forest itself gave him to you. However you also catch the smallest hint of something smoky, like he slept too close to a campfire.

But, his words confuse you.

“Terrible weather? It’s simply just bad wind.” You yell against the wind and glance around the forest.

That’s when you notice how terrifyingly dark it’s gotten. The tree branches now stretch above like monstrous limbs crawling along the darkness.

How long have you been out along the trail? You haven’t even reached the halfway point to town. The woods now loom incredibly dark like a chasm ready to swallow you whole.

Then the drum of thunder comes, and the skies open up, as if on command by Ezra’s prophetic words. The rain unleashes a downpour. You squawk like a petrified bird at how soaked you’re getting even being covered by his coat.

“Come!” He cries over the storm keeping you close. “I believe there is shelter close by.”

So through the darkness you go, led by him off the path and deeper into the thicket.

How did he know a shelter was nearby? Shouldn’t he have come here earlier and left you on your journey? Or did he maybe sense the storm was coming and wanted to keep accompanying you.

The rush of the rain along with how quickly Ezra moves you and him feels as if you’re flying through the forest like your feet never once touch the ground.

Your body stops and out from the darkness, among the rain, stands the faint shape of a building.

Ezra guides you inside and you exhale relieved you’re out of the storm.

The stale smell of dust greets you first and makes your nose crinkle.

Looking out to your new makeshift shelter, you find yourself standing in a very abandoned church. Dried dead leaves scatter the floor. Vacant pews hold a hollow ghostly emptiness. You didn’t even know this chapel was here.

“How did you know of this place-” you turn to ask Ezra but discover you’re alone.

So focused on soaking in the church you didn’t even notice his departure.

“Ezra?” You call for him and silence replies.

Where could he have gone?

“Worry not.” Ezra’s voice floats out an echo. From the side of the sacristy, beside the main congregation hall, he emerges.

How did he get there without you noticing?

In his grasp is a lit candle. The flames create interesting shadows upon his handsome face as his molten eyes stare at you.

“Apologizes,” he reassured you with the ease of a saint. “Went to scavenge for some light.”

“Seems you were unsuccessful.” You dryly tease, walking towards where Ezra stands at the front of the congregation.

A slight tug of amusement comes over his heavenly face.

“We shall make camp here until the storm quells.”

No better place to find sanctuary than in a chapel, even though this one has seen better days.

Outside the wind continues rattling the windows while the rain creates a soothing melody. Yet, there is an emptiness here, like you can’t sense any sacred spirit within these walls. You wonder if the Lord maybe has even abandoned this space.

“Come rest with me, turtle dove.” Ezra beckons to you as he sits casually on the floor up besides the altar.

“You can’t sit there!” You whisper urgent.

“Why? Who is here to stop me?” Ezra counters with raised eyebrows and amused crinkled eyes.

“This is sacred ground! You can’t simply sit in the sanctuary like it’s some sort of encampment!” You argue.

“Biride,” Ezra begins. “This momentary shelter is merely a building. The same way all buildings are just simple creations of stone and labor.”

“Not buildings like this, especially when our lord resides here.” You reply like a dutifully faithful follower.

Ezra now sits up from his lax position to glance around. His eyes survey every inch of the space.

“You say our Heavenly Father is here. But tell me, turtle dove, do you sense his presence here?”

He noticed it too.

Your tongue becomes metal, heavy and bitter.

“Come,” he urges again, kinder now. “Rest. Your legs need their strength for the rest of your journey. It will be much more comfortable than those stuffy pews.”

You narrow your eyes at him, still hesitant. Defiant, you try sitting in one of the vacant pews only to find clusters of spider webs creating a slightly unnerving barrier. And you didn’t want to check every pew for availability. You were too tired.

Refusing to meet Ezra’s eyes you step past the pews, into the sanctuary, and delicately sit a small space away from your companion.

“See? Not so hard, and you didn’t even combust into flames sitting here.”

You glare at him while Ezra grins triumphant. Silence settles. But with a man who readily embraces the gift and curse of gab, it feels dangerous.

A small gurgle of a noise rumbles out and your face heats up horrified. You didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten this entire journey.

“A bit peckish, dear dove?” Ezra chuckles a smokey thing.

You’re about to grumble under your breath annoyed until he again peers around the abandoned church.

“Rather unfortunate there doesn’t seem to be any source of subsidence here.”

You quietly reassure him as you shift your cloak to reach for your covered satchel. Thankfully, your morsel of a wrapped loaf was spared from the rain.

“I have this for us to share.” You quietly announce.

Ezra gasps small but surprised.

“Divine goddess, you are salvation.” He breathes out.

“I am no goddess. No one person is divine in such a way.” You correct him.

The man hums. “If the maker created man in his image does that not mean we are shades of god in our own ways?”

Midway unfolding the bread out of the paper, you halt.

You never thought of it that way. It made sense. Slowly, it feels as if a wagon wheel is turning in your head leading you towards something you cannot reach.

“Sweet turtle dove,” Ezra calls to you. “Would you be so gracious and let me consecrate our feast?”

You’re stunned by the heartfelt request. This man seems to be a never ending labyrinth confusing you with no end in sight.

You slide closer to sit fully beside him. Readily you hand him the wrapped bread and try not to jump at his hand brushing yours. His skin is soft, warmed, and your knuckles tingle from the simple exchange.

“Thank you kindly.”

Now holding the bread in one hand, Ezra moves the other to lightly hover above the morsel. Closing his eyes in prayer, Ezra begins.

However, he mutters low and so fast that you can’t even catch a word of his prayer. You wonder if he even is saying anything or is simply mocking the form of prayer.

You’re about to chide him until he quickly finishes. Dreamily opening his eyes Ezra then simply breaks the bread into two.

“To break communion with someone lovely as you is an honor.” With a gracious grin, your stranger hands you a piece. You thank him with a soft mutter.

The storm continues its wrath and you arrive at a bleak conclusion. Your night will be spent here in this eerie abandoned church with this strange mysterious handsome man.

Resigning yourself to that, you sigh and take a bite out of the bread.

The bread was a simple one you got from the neighboring town’s bakery. It’s nothing special. You’ve even thought it rather stale at times.

However, the bread you taste now is indescribable.

It melts in your mouth, wonderfully soft and warm. There’s even the sweetest taste like a whisper of a fruit that reminds you of apples. An uncontrollable moan of satisfaction escapes you.

But your eyes widen realizing how you just acted.

Embarrassment floods you fast and you anxiously gaze at Ezra who smirks at you.

Unable to stare at him long, you turn back down to your lap. The bread looks exactly the same as it always does.

Is your mind so exhausted it believes this stale morsel now tastes this heavenly?

You must be imagining things.

Besides you, Ezra shuffles. Out of curiosity your eyes lift towards him and find the man shrugging off his coat.

He even removes his waistcoat to reveal his simple white slipover. Rain still lingers on his skin allowing the pristine white cloth to stick to him. Without the coat you’re given clear sight of his glorious neck.

A thought flutters into your mind.

You imagine sinking your teeth into his beautiful flesh and lapping up all the rain droplets.

Dread fills you.

How could you think such thoughts?

“Turtle dove,” Ezra’s voice shatters the silence almost making you jump.

“If you could create a world of your own, what would it look like?”

The question stumps you, even brings in a twinkle of curiosity. What would bring on such a question? You suppose it must be a way to break the silence and pass the time.

In thought, you hum a small noise.

“I think…” you quietly utter and let your thoughts flow.

You think of a world built on compassion, one without hunger or war, of one filled with peace and justice.

“And without sin, I suppose.” Ezra gently comments and your eyes turn to him.

He stares towards the ground with a peculiar look shadowed over his handsome face.

“Yes of course.” You answer. Sin is the root of all evil and corrupted humanity’s souls.

“What if I told you some sins are not all evil? And that what you long for, dear turtle dove, is not a world void is sin, but one free of guilt from it.”

Your face scrunches up a bit confused over his nebulous words.

“Should we not all live in indulgence?” Ezra adds, clarified in his words.

“Indulgence leads to corruption.” You reply parroting all the countless sermons that discussed this.

“If our creator didn’t want us to indulge, then why did he indulge in creating such a world so lush as this one?” Your stranger offers.

You try gathering a reply, thinking of all the lessons about how this world is meant to be seen in awe and appreciated. Not to indulge in. But now all your arguments seem to fall short, not even sound correct in your head.

Before you can press the discussion further Ezra leans closer towards you. Your thoughts and body become completely petrified.

You should lean away, lean back from his casual intimate movements.

But you can’t. Or, within the deep terror of your heart you know the truth. You don’t want to.

His thumb moves towards the corner of your mouth and you transform completely into stone.

Ezra’s ink eyes haze over while his thumb gently swipes against your skin.

“Crumbs.” He mutters, answering for his actions. Yet, his hand doesn’t leave.

You don’t shove him away or demand him to go. The downpour rattling the windows becomes the church’s only noise while you and this man sit in the stillness.

Ezra’s attention falls to your mouth.

His thumb now strokes the corner of your lips. You believe it’s to wipe more bread crumbs away. Then his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and a sharp inhale escapes you.

His eyes and yours find each other.

“You deserve to live in indulgence,” Ezra whispers deviously rich.

Your skin feels ablazed and your throat dries. Out of instinct or perhaps something darker you wet your lips. In that movement your lips press against his thumb and your tongue manages to swipe at his skin.

You’re rewarded the faintest taste of him, a crumb of his salty golden skin, and it’s like a thread slowly catches fire.

You want more, need it.

Possibly possessed now, your mouth opens up and simply slips more of his thumb into your mouth.

The moment the salty taste of him hits your tongue your eyes close.

Feeling his finger in your mouth against your tongue, against your teeth, is divine. His flesh must be coated with ambrosia because your mouth waters aching for more.

Heaven, or this must be a slice of it.

Until horror strikes you and you realize what you’re doing. Terrified eyes now open, you’re about to pull away and yelp horrified.

Ezra’s hand rapidly moves to cradle your face firm and slide his thumb deeper into your mouth.

“Oh my sweet bird,” he coos now closer to you. “You’ve tasted the pleasure I can give, the magic I can conjure. Don’t deny yourself this.”

His beautiful nose presses into the side of your face nuzzling against your skin and your eyes close. Bliss overtakes you.

“Now” his voice drops a dangerous lulling whisper. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and suck in.”

You do as told and the groan Ezra lets out vibrates deep past your skin. You even let out a whine.

You’ve heard the noises men make in the waves of passion, but this was decadent. You never knew a man could sound this beautiful.

You wanted to hear him even more. And knowing you did this to him? A syrupy drunken pride courses through you intoxicating.

You suck harder, allowing your tongue to caress his skin and Ezra exhales heavenly.

Before you can indulge any further, a creature screeches into the church and shatters the sensual spell. You shriek in terror and scramble. Wings furiously flapping come and out of reflex you cover your head.

Then a solid body collides into you and your world falls over.

You hit the floor of the sanctuary with a soft thud. It would’ve been a harder fall if not for Ezra’s hand cradling your head to soften the impact. Your eyes look up to find Ezra covering you, protecting you from whatever flew in.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears, a horrible drum drowning out your thoughts. His broad shoulders, firm frame, he really is a man crafted out of pure beauty and desire now that you’ve tasted his skin.

“Blasted bats… must’ve been nesting in here.” Ezra comments with a mutter while his eyes stay watching out.

Now you faintly hear the familiar chirps of the creatures. You hope they all leave soon or move to another area within the church.

Slowly the rustling settles. Ezra does not move from his post above you, a shield keeping you safe from the interrupting creatures.

His large hand cradling your head holds you gently but with a firmness that speaks of his control.

The strangest clash of sensations arrives. Like Eve awoken out of her blissful sin, you’re keenly aware of the cold clothes sticking to you. Particularly your wet cloak weighing on you sends a chill crawling up your skin making you squirm.

Ezra’s eyes slip back to you. The candlelight highlights the shadows of his face and his eyes seem deeper than before. Candlelight doesn’t even reflect in their abyss.

Until his obsidian eyes go wide in a slight panic.

“Your wing, turtle dove.”

Now confused you shift to lift your arm up. A small cut has ripped through your cloak and blouse sleeve. You didn’t even notice or feel it. Must have cut yourself on the old wooden floor below.

The church didn’t seem this dilapidated to have rotten wood floors. However, without upkeep, it only makes sense everything begins to splinter and decay. Thankfully the cut isn’t deep but dark crimson does stain the cloth.

“Oh,” you even mutter a bit stunned.

Gently Ezra shifts to help you up while being cautious of your wound.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, concerned.

“No.” You shake your head, truthfully telling him you didn’t even notice the cut.

Ezra delicately moves towards your arm. “May I?”

You nod quietly.

Gingerly, your mysterious stranger places his hands on you to further inspect your wound.

“It doesn’t hurt.” You reassure him.

Surprisingly, Ezra stays silent. His eyes remain on your arm. As if you’re an injured sparrow, he folds up your blouse sleeve delicately.

The faintest touch of his thumb strokes your bare skin and your throat constricts tight. This unknown mystery of a man tenderly touching you clutches at your soul.

“My creator, so heavenly in his wisdom,” he suddenly speaks low, like his voice is dipped in sticky honey. “Taught me this is how we heal wounds.”

Then Ezra draws your arm up and he leans down. And in that swift moment, he presses his lips to your wound.

A tender kiss.

Your breath hitches, tripping over itself. You indeed had his finger in your mouth moments ago. But this opens a chasm in you. Especially as you watch him lick away your blood at his lips

Then his lips return to your skin, on your wound, and it feels like devotion.

There were saints that kissed the wounds of your lord and now how angelic, reverent, Ezra’s face looks, you imagine him as one.

However, his lips start kissing all across your arm, quickly becoming greedy. Like a silent thief, he continues kissing up your arm with deliberate nips.

If he is a robber, this thievery is divine. You even squirm, squeezing your legs together because a slick wetness leaks between them. You wish to quell this burning urge to be touched.

Your mind only focuses on Ezra’s lips that you don’t even notice he unclasped your cloak until the heavy cold weight drops off you like shackles unchained.

However, an awful breeze across your skin makes you shrink back from the cold and snaps you into awareness.

You can’t do this with a man like this, a stranger.

A fanged piece of yourself urges you to simply give in, especially with a man not known in town. The internal struggle vanishes when Ezra’s breath tickles against your exposed neck.

“Do you wish me to stop, my turtle dove?” He coo’s. “I believe you deserve to taste this indulgence.”

“I don’t know you.” You croak out. Yet your voice doesn’t even sound convinced of your own resolve.

“Oh but you do.” Ezra pleads, his voice drenched in gilded desire.

“You know me.” He urges. “This is what you wanted. Your heart summoned me. I heard your call and here I am.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice cracks, an unsteady foundation.

“The hidden truths in your heart,” Ezra whispers and his breath dances upon your skin a ghost’s hymnal.

“The festering jealousy of knowing your dear friend found adoration, even out of sin…you wished to know of such delights. And your anger of this world for damning you to such solitudes, of being so constricting - it all called to me.”

Fear captures your heart. This couldn’t be true.

“Oh but it is,” Ezra answers you.

You don’t even know if you spoke those words aloud or if this man has now slithered into your thoughts.

“All those nights you longed for a lover,” he mourns sympathetically. “All alone with just your fingers in your sweet sex.”

You choke on air, gasping for some sort of relief from this terror drowning you.

“Oh and I’ve watched you for so long, my bird.” He bemoans. “Ached for so long to claim you mine.”

“You…you’ve seen me before?” You stammer.

“Indeed I have. I know you’ve partaken in sin. And the guilt you hold consumes you. Let me be your redemption,” Ezra continues with a pure temptation crawling from his voice.

You should be concerned at how this man has seen you before. Yet…With his mouth simply a breath’s pace away from you nothing seems to matter. Because your mind only wants him to kiss you, ravish you.

“You must say it, my angel.” He mutters.

Do you dare jump off the ledge and plunge into this molten fire?

A light terror runs across your skin, like hearing the hiss of a snake yet not seeing it. Something is afoot with Ezra. You can’t pinpoint it…

But you also wonder if this doubt is born from the chains of your faith holding you back?

“Ezra.” You mumble his name, a choked noise.

“I await your command.” The man reverently responds as if in a mass himself.

“Please….” You whimper out.

“Please what?” He murmurs and his twang clouds his voice even more.

“Please….touch me.” You croak while your voice trails.

It unleashes a monster.

Ezra’s lips dive onto your neck, kissing upon your skin with a possessed fervor. Even while sitting, the sudden rush of his lips, the scrape of his facial hair against you makes your body collapse.

It only allows for Ezra to sweep you into his arms.

Yanking his face away from your neck, you’re about to mourn the loss of him against your skin until his lips swoop in to consume yours.

You’ve kissed others before. In the hidden shadow of buildings after dark, you’ve even recently shared a kiss or two with the blacksmith’s brother a handful of times. They’ve been wonderful but secret encounters.

This however sets your soul on fire.

His tongue swiftly maneuvers into your mouth and now tasting him from the source, you never want to know a day without this, without him.

You moan, yanking at him closer, and try to slide your own tongue against his now. It’s messy, wet, a clash of bone and spirit but it’s delicious.

Sliding his arms under your legs, Ezra lifts you up with ease as he stands. You squeak against his lips, but then your eyes roll back when the man suddenly begins sucking on your tongue.

Your body feels like it will crumble at any moment.

That’s when you notice you’re being laid upon something cold and flat.

Wearily you find you do rest high upon something.

And now, the church is lit.

You panic looking around. The torches lining the walls burn with warm flames and illuminate the space in amber light.

How? Ezra did not leave you for one moment. Was there another here? And if so, how did you not hear them?

A warm calloused hand moves to cradle your face and your eyes snap to Ezra who peers down at you with smoke filled eyes.

“Don’t fret, my dove. We are only here.” He reassures, leaning down to kiss you again and your eyes shut once more.

“And if you’re not simply focused on me, then I’m not doing this correctly.” He mutters against your lips.

A wanton drunkenness comes with how consuming he kisses, especially as his mouth pulls from your lips to lick against your jaw.

He hums a satisfied groan.

“Oh my darling turtle dove, you were born to be worshiped by me weren’t you? And I blessed to simply be your devout disciple.” A revered holiness oozes thick from his voice.

“Let me venerate at your holy temple.” Ezra exhales against your throat kissing your feverish skin.

This is more than you can handle. It’s tremendous. It’s too much, yet not enough. It’s building something just out of your grasp, a flame that can’t be extinguished and scorches so fierce.

Blinking out of the haze, you find instead of being beside you, Ezra, like magic, now stands by your feet.

His hands slide up your legs and yank you closer towards him.

A yelp of surprise squeaks out from you. Any other noise or thoughts get swallowed up when Ezra’s hands snake under your skirt and up your legs.

Your eyes close under the sensation of his calloused warm hands.

“Do you know what true sacrifice cleanses sins?” Ezra asks with gravel in his voice.

“Hm?” You mumble, unable to create a response with how wonderful his fingers feel caressing your thighs.

“It’s to offer up one’s life. That’s the ultimate form of sacrifice.”

His words terrify you. Is he insinuating what you think he is? Are you to be made a lamb to slaughter because of the desire consuming you?

“Shh…” Ezra notices your worry and soothes you, rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

“Fear not, my dove. For I shall bring you redemption just as you’ve brought me mine.”

Slowly, he hoists your leg up and your eyes widen. He shifts to stand between your legs. Keeping his gaze on you, the mysterious man kisses your calf, a calming balm that also ignites a heat brewing in you again.

“Tell me,” Ezra asks, speaking into your skin. “Has anyone tasted you…here?”

Suddenly his fingers graze against your sex and warmth floods your face at just the thought.

You heard of such a thing from your friend at the brothels. However it was a rare occurrence, almost seemed mythical.

“No.” You breathe out.

“Shame.” Ezra mumbles. “All for me I suppose. A wonderfully ripe peach, all mine to consume.”

His inky dazed eyes flicker to yours.

“Will you let me take you to heaven, my lovely? May I swim in your ocean and taste your pearl?” Ezra offers like a man asking for your atonement.

The terminology is not missed on you and lust crashes in a dizzying tidal wave.

Quietly, swallowing thick, you nod yes.

Pride grin tugs at Ezra’s lips and his eyes twinkle like a creature lurking out from the woods.

Softly closing his eyes, he returns to kissing your skin. Except this time he moves up your leg with a purpose -

Like he’s on a holy pilgrimage.

Almost bewitched you watch him kneel down and push up your skirt to reveal your under garment. It’s a sight you want seared into your memory.

Then Ezra presses forward and kisses your covered sex. A gasp rips wild from you and your eyes roll back.

With a fast rip, Ezra takes apart your undergarments. Bare to him, his tongue then licks against your cunt and the most debauched sound you never knew you could even make escapes you.

“Do you enjoy? Wish me to continue?” You don’t know how Ezra’s voice swirls around you, a caress in the whispering wind, but you nod frantically.

“Ezra please… more.” You whimper.

And he does as you command.

Ezra pulls you apart with a wet devotion and frenzy that feels like you’re being devoured. He’s feasting on you.

You whine, even slap a hand over your mouth to silence how loud you’ve become when he sucks hard on the pearl of your sex.

“No.” He mumbles wet within your molten heat. “Let me hear you, my lovely.”

You don’t deny him after that.

The storm now rages outside, violently ramming into the windows. It mixes with the cries of your pleasure ripping through you.

When your climax arrives and knocks you out of this realm, you scream Ezra’s name while your legs shake.

“Beauty divine,” Ezra sighs, devout and borderline drunk.

Breathing down from your high with your back fully now flat against the floor surface, it hits you.

You’ve been lying on the chapel’s altar this entire time.

The offering is you. You indeed are the sacrifice, one of vitality. The throne of ecstasy is a form of life…

And did Ezra not tell you passion is also a tiny death itself as well?

Before you can gather this, Ezra dives back into you again and you squirm unbelieving this man can want more. He’s a man possessed like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out, devouring you until he reaches your marrow.

“Ezra.” You whimper. It borders too much, but you also don’t want this to stop.

“Let me feast, my dove.” He growls back and you catch it.

Ezra’s voice sounds distorted, fluttering between his twang and now a jagged danger sounding monstrous.

Wearily, trying to stay aware among the heat of building rapture, you exhaustedly lean up.

Between your legs Ezra is a sinful sight. His broad shoulders keep your thighs open as his tongue dips into the caverns of your cunt. You melt, unable to keep your eyes open.

But you want to watch him, want to remember this for as long as you can.

Especially now that the storm rages all around. You even wonder if the decaying church’s roof might be ripped off.

So your eyes open.

From between your legs, Ezra glances up.

His mouth stays stuck to your sex, except his eyes are completely hollowed out.

Drenched in darkness, like ink spilled entirely into them, they’re unholy and inhuman.

A scream rips from you but you can’t tell if it’s born of fear or pleasure. Or maybe both have blended together.

Your hips rise galvanized more and more, unable to stop their grind into his lips. Ezra’s grip keeps you secured and grounded.

Yet the sensation of sharpened nails now scrape against your skin.

You discover there are indeed claws, gruesome and monstrous claws, that form Ezra’s hands and arms.

“What- what are you?!” You sob.

Ezra hums and peers up at you.

“Salvation, my lovely. Yours and mine.”

A second orgasmic high hits and from the overwhelming pleasure your vision goes white. You wonder if this is heaven.

Or perhaps it’s hell.

Maybe you have died.

You should scream in terror or pray for absolution. But it’s so hard when this tastes so incredibly intoxicating, a most potent elixir.

As your body crumbles back against the altar, the overstimulated sensations become numbing, fogging your mind. Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling of the chapel.

You cannot find your god anywhere in the shadows.

The back of Ezra’s clawed hand gently strokes your cheek.

So tired, barely able to stay awake, your exhausted gaze flickers to him.

Those eyes of his, dark chasms of hell, should be soulless. But instead he looks at you with utmost tenderness.

The blazing lights of the church cast a warm glow outlined around Ezra, almost like a halo.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful in the terrifying way a fire is.

The mystery known as Ezra suddenly whispers out your name and you realize…

You never once gave it to him this entire time.

He is the last sight you see before your vision finally falls into the darkness.

When you awake, you’re among your quilts and bed.

You’re home.

Rapidly you look around so confused. How did you end up here? Was it all a dream?

“You’re awake!” Your father cries relieved and rushes to your side.

He thankfully answers all your questions.

You had arrived the morning after the storm. However, you hadn’t been alone.

“You had fallen ill on the road.” Your father explains. “But, thanks be to God, the new pastor sent to our town discovered you and carried you home.”

Now you’ve been resting ever since.

Had that experience been a fever dream, a temporary temptation conjured from your heart’s dark desires?

That had to be a dream, one brought on by your sudden sickness. So you rest and stay in bed for most of the day. From your window you admire the beautiful clear skies, the wonderful weather, and wildflowers growing so lovely.

You also notice your arm is completely healed, like you were never cut to begin with.

Midafternoon, a knock arrives at the door.

Your father calls your name. “Someone here to visit!”

Your mind sorts through all the possibilities of who is here to see you. You never expected your dearest friend to enter in with tears in her eyes. Overjoyed emotion washes over you as she rushes to embrace you.

“How can this be?” You hiccup, wiping away the tears. She was rarely allowed back home, especially now with her early pregnancy.

“The new pastor,” she smiles wide. “So holy and forgiving, he spoke to the judges and they are all redetermining a new sentence for me.”

You almost whisper out a prayer of thanksgiving. You hoped in your heart this would happen. She doesn’t stay long, wanting you to rest and you urge her to do the same.

By twilight another knock at the door arrives.

“Seems we are quite popular today.” Your father teases out from the main quarters.

Then he exclaims in excitement at seeing who’s arrived.

“Oh we are so blessed to have such a considerate clergyman coming by to visit!”

The new pastor. You’re beyond interested to meet this man and now you will.

When your father enters your room, Ezra waltzes in behind him.

Fear seizes your soul.

No. It couldn’t be.

This must be a man that looks like him down to his beautiful sharp nose and white patch of hair.

“Pleasure to see you again and under better circumstances.” Ezra’s clear twang rings out low and twinkling within your room.

Your heart rages rapidly and wild.

“Don’t look so terrified.” Your father chides soft but you still can’t believe this sight before you.

“Might I have a moment of solitude with your dear offspring?” Ezra asks with all the humility of an apostle.

Your father readily agrees, shutting the door behind him.

Now in the confines of your room Ezra slowly saunters towards your bed, a creature approaching its prey.

He exalts your name on an exhale.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out and Ezra moves to kneel beside your bed. His eyes twinkle with patient and pious understanding.

“Shh…no need for words, my dear turtle dove.” He quietly soothes you.

So many emotions clash in you, a tremulous onslaught you can’t handle.

“Have you come to kill me?” Fear manages to escape your lips and Ezra’s glorious face drops.

“Oh no, my beloved birdie. I’d never lay a hand on you with any violence or killing intent.” He reassures, a tender caress. “I’m here to free you. For us to set everyone free…did you not hear of what I did for your dear friend?”

His hand graciously cradles your cheek.

You should be terrified this man, this creature, is here. But you’re not.

Instead consuming relief and dangerous glee fills you. He is real. It was real.

Your hands clasp onto his and you hate how much you lean into his touch

Ezra leans forward and places a kiss against your forehead.

“What are you?” You ask barely above a whisper.

“The shadow of an angel, perhaps a monster to some.” He replies back. “But yours, nonetheless”

And you want him to be yours.

This is wrong to feel so greedy, to want a creature this dangerous. But were demons not once angels who deserved forgiveness and love?

So shifting your face you turn and place a kiss against Ezra’s palm.

Now when you hear the sermons, when you hear Ezra preach, you will think of Eve with sympathy because you understand.

You too fell for the serpent.

After all, evil never looks so beautiful as it does holding you. And desire never tasted so divine, never felt so holy.

Outside your window, the wildflowers begin to rot and the sudden rumble of a thunderstorm rolls in.

#sorry my ex Catholic school ass jumped out in this one & I need to go bathe in holy water now holy shit #anyway me and demon Ezra love you very much #ezra x reader #demon!ezra #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) fic #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra 🤎#pedrostories

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xlovely-liviix · 1 month

Text

Remedy: A Huskerdust Fanfiction

Hello and welcome to my new fanfiction: Remedy!

I asked a fellow Tumblr...Tumblree?? I asked @masculinemiracles to borrow their AU because its just so-- it's something that makes me happy to a point where I can't describe it.

So without further ado, please enjoy this Huskerdust fanfiction that holds dangerous amounts of fluffy love.

"I'll see you tomorrow, angel cakes.." Valentino's voice sounded from across the room. "and Angel?" Angel Dust halted his trek towards the door and pivoted around, flashing a fake smile.

"Yes, Val?" Valentino creeped closer to the spider demon. "Don't be late again." the demon moth warned, his voice deepening.

He blew a cloud of blood-red vapor into Angel's face, as the arachnid-demon coughed and faced away from the toxic substance. "Yes, Valentino..." Angel muttered, before turning back around and exiting the studio.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Angel Dust pressed both flaps of his blazer together as the cold air pressed up against an exposed area of his chest.

It was a cold, dark night in the city. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional car passing by. Angel walked briskly down the street, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was tired after a long night of work, but he was looking forward to getting home and resting.

He huffed, flicking his lighter multiple times in order to light a cigarette. Once he successfully managed to get a flame, he pressed the fire to the tip of the dart, breathing in a long drag of the chemicals before exhaling.

The spider continued walking, the bottom of his high-heeled boots scuffing against the pavement, that was soaked with rain from the night before. Raindrops coated the sky, falling down in a steady, yet heavy mist.

"Fuckin' Val always-- fuckin' up my life," Angel mumbled a slur of different curses as he recalled his previous interaction with his boss.

He sighed and looked down at his feet, taking another long drag from his cigarette, the orange ember casting a faint glow in the darkness. As he continued making his way down the streets that were covered in a thick layer of fog, he was suddenly snapped out of his stupor at the sound of footsteps behind him.

He quickened his pace, not wanting to get involved in any trouble. The rate of the mysterious persons footsteps only increased as Angel's did. The rhythm of their footsteps, mixed with the light tapping of Angel's purse against his thigh created an ensemble that only further activated Angel's fight or flight instincts.

Angel's heart started to race, and he began to panic.

He turned a corner, and the person behind him turned too. He was getting closer. He was close to running, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the person's heavy breathing behind him. They were gaining on him.

Despite having a near-running pace, the person wouldn't back down, giving Angel one last option. He couldn't take it anymore. Stopping abruptly, he turned to face his pursuer. Reaching into his mountain of chest fluff (?), he pulled out his habitual pistol.

"Alright, the fuck do ya want wit' me?" He growled as a warning, pointing his gun towards the ferreter.

The person, who was a demon with a bat-like appearance, clad in a dark turtleneck, jeans, and an orange fedora, took a small step back, although he never showed any signs of fear. "Easy there, slut. I come in peace."

This only caused Angel to cock (teehee) his gun, inching closer to the man.

"Aw c'mon, baby. I only want ya services. You do anything for money, now don't cha?" he smirked, eyeing the spider-demon. Angel cringed at that, tightening his grip on the weapon before exhaling and lowering it.

"Sorry ta disappoint, but i'm off duty," Angel shrugged, turning around as he began to walk away, turning his back on the demon.

"Oh come on, whore. You'll do anything for a quick buck." The demon's petty smirk only got larger. This statement caused Angel to stop in his tracks, turning back around.

"Listen here ya little desperate fucker," Angel began to approach him, holding out a slim, gloved finger as he pointed at his stalker. He bent down to reach his height. "I said i'm off duty. Niente sesso per stasera. So why don't ya go and choke on ya own cum? That might satisfy ya little fucked up cravings." the arachnid poked him in the chest a few times, causing the demon to lose his grin.

The man remained quiet, as Angel stood back up to his full height, rolling his eyes as he turned around once more and began walking. The stalker growled, stepping forward as he suddenly grabbed Angel's wrist.

Before he could even get a word, Angel instinctively brought his arm around, firing at the demon. His body dropped at Angel's feet. The spider sighed exasperatedly, kicking his limp body to the side as he began walking once more.

Living in a place like this could change a person. He had been living a dangerous and risky life for years, selling his body for money and getting involved in all sorts of illegal activities. He had become numb to the violence and the darkness that surrounded him, and killing someone was just another day in hell.

Even when he was alive, Angel was no stranger to the life of crime. Growing up in an italian mafia, crime was all he knew. But that's a story for another time.

Although he felt no remorse for what he had just done, he couldn't help but think about his previous encounter.

This.

This isn't the life that he wanted. Ever. Not for himself, not for...Whitney.

He flinched at the thought of his daughter, the air becoming significantly colder. Shivering a bit, he rubbed the sides of his arms, creating friction between the two surfaces in hopes of sparking some form of heat.

This wasn't the type of upbringing he wanted his daughter to have. She was an innocent soul, who deserved good parents-- well, a good (other) dad. She deserved someone who didn't suck dick for a living, one who could make money without having to take off his clothes, one who could be there for the important moments of her life.

Angel pulled his phone from his purse, squinting his eyes at the glowing screen. He opened his text conversation with Husk, scrolling through their past messages.

He chuckled softly at an image of Whitney and Husker, where the two sat on a couch, the spider-kitty sitting on her dad's lap as they both drank from bottles. Husk's booze, and Whitney's milk. The image had a caption labeled as: "Drinking Buddies"

He scrolled a little further, looking at all of the pictures and videos sent by Husk to Angel. His giggles slowly turned into waterworks as he shut his phone off, stuffing it back into his purse as he viciously wiped the tears from his face.

It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't fair that his daughter had to be born into this fucked up place.

It wasn't fair that she had to have a shitty papa.

He doesn't deserve her. He doesn't deserve Husk, he doesn't deserve Whitney, he doesn't deserve Charlie...

He doesn't deserve anything.

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"..And they all lived happily ever after...the end.." Husk mumbled, not even bothering to describe the accurate ending to the story as he had stopped looking at the book.

"I wanna noder..." Whitney whined, tugging at Husker's facial fur. The toddler attempted to gain his attention by "climbing" her father, gripping on to his fur and wrapping her hands around his neck. "Nene, please..." Husker groaned, his eyes remaining closed as he leaned his head back against the cushioned armchair.

"No!! I wanna noder...." Whitney continued to wail, smashing her tiny head onto Husker's cheek. "Ten piedad de mi alma…." the feline demon muttered, opening his eyes once again as he shifted in the armchair. "No more books, Nene. It's way beyond time for bed." he said, beginning to stand up, picking up the infant.

"No, no no!!" Whitney shrieked, attempting to free herself from her fathers' grip. "Whitney!" Husker snapped, but then regained composure.

"Whit, if you don't go to bed now, then you'll be tired tomorrow." Husk tried to reason with the small feline, but it didn't seem to be working.

"I want papa...." she wailed, pressing two sets of tiny paws to her eyes.

"Whitney, please, daddy is here now. You don't need to cry for papa," Husk said, trying to soothe her.

But Whitney continued to cry, her little face turning red with frustration. She had been waiting for Angel to come home all day and she wasn't going to sleep until he was home.

As her cries turned into sobs, Husk felt a pain in his heart. He knew how much Whitney adored her papa, and how she always needed him to be there when she went to sleep. But her papa was out at work, working ridiculous hours thanks to that fuckhead.

Valentino. Always messing up Angel's life one way or another. If Husk could ever have the chance, he would skin the moth demon alive and dump his body into a pool of-

Husk's thought train was interrupted by Whitney's screams. She shrieked, making noises that Husk himself thought was physically impossible for a living organism to make.

Desperate to put an end to her cries, he tried negotiating.

"Okay, shh, shh. Hey-- hey, Nene, if you listen, then i'll-" his voice could barely reach her ears due to the screams. "Whitney." he said, this time with a much louder voice, overpowering her screams.

She ceased the nonviable screams for a moment, pausing to listen to her father.

"Listen, if you stop crying, we can go downstairs and wait for papa, okay?" the toddler contemplated her father's proposal for a moment, before wiping her eyes with a singular fuzzy paw, agreeing to his offer.

Husker smiles, grateful that he was able to but a stop to her ruckus.

Shifting the spider-kitty in his arms, he took her downstairs, venturing to the bar, where he usually spent most of his time.

He sat Whitney on the counter as he poured her a glass of warm milk. He pulled out his personal bottle of cheap booze, and began chugging it from the bottle.

As the two sat there, sipping their beverages, they remained silent. Husk was afraid that the slightest movement would set her off and Lord knows that that doesn't need to happen again.

Husker sighed as he continued gulping down the alcohol. He looked up at Whitney, who seemed distracted. He sat up a little bit, hesitating to touch her.

Just as he reached out, the small felines ears (that were way too large for her) twitched, and pointed in the direction of the door.

"I think papa's home.." Husk sighed in relief. Whitney immediately set her milk down, squeaking a little bit as she begged her father to put her on the floor.

Husker chuckled, picking up the spider and placing her on the ground. As soon as her little feet hit the floor, she immediately sped off, running as fast as her little legs could take her.

"Papa~!!"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Angel sighed, trying to wipe away the remainder of his tears as entered the hotel. He quickly turned to the wall closest to him, sticking his cigarette into his mouth as he disarmed the silent alarm.

"Fuckin'...stupid..." Angel brushed a hand through his hair as he tried his hardest to remember the code the the alarm. He had always been a forgetful person, especially to the more..unimportant things in his life.

His stream of profanity was cut off by a sweet, recognizable voice shouting: "Papa!!" and a force colliding with his lower leg.

"Cupcake!" Angel exclaimed, immediately picking up the small kitty and spinning around with her, quickly putting his cigarette out with the bottom of his foot.

Angel smothered kisses on Whitney's soft, fuzzy face as Husker walked up, disarming the alarm.

"You two waited fa me?" Angel raised an eyebrow, giving Husk a quick kiss as he made his way over to the bar, Whitney still in his upper set of arms.

"More like she waited for you," Husk chuckled, walking back behind the bar counter as he retrieved two glasses, grabbing Angel's favorite bottle of whiskey.

"You stayed up just fa me, cupcake?" the arachnid smiled, lifting Whitney up to his face as he nuzzled her, nose-to-nose.

"Yeah papa...I cried..ce--cebause you weren't here.." her big ears lowered a little as the kitten recalled her behavior. "Awh, snuggle muffin'..." Angel's smile dropped, as he kissed her forehead.

"Ya don't have ta cry fa me...okay? I'll always be wit' you..even if i'm not..physically wit' you...okay?" the spider gave his daughter a small smile. Whitney noded, sniffling a little. Angel was quick to wipe away any other tears that she had.

The arachnid-demon buried his chin into the top of Whitney's head as he sat down on one of the stools. Husker slid Angel's glass towards him.

"Thanks, Husky..." Angel gave his partner a tired smile as he quickly downed the drink, placing it on the counter. Husk poured him a round two, but Angel didn't drink it right away.

"Open, Nene.." he looked down at his daughter, as she opened her mouth, showing a set of barely-there teeth. Angel took off one of his gloves, dipping his bare finger into the small glass, bringing it to his daughter's mouth as he rubbed the alcohol onto her gums.

Husker's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it once again. He knew that Angel would never intentionally hurt his daughter, and for that reason, he trusted his actions...

....even the more.....questionable ones of the bunch.

Such as this one.

Angel chuckled a little bit to himself as he noted Husk's demeanor. "It's ta help 'er go to sleep and stay asleep." he giggled.

Husk raised an eyebrow. Out of all his years being a bartender and his...out-of-hand relationship with alcohol, he hadn't known this. Despite this, he brushed it off.

"What? Am I making a face? I never said anything!" Husker exclaimed quietly. "Ya body language says it all, baby."

Angel downs the second drink, wiping his mouth before cautiously getting up, shifting Whitney in his arms as he gently, yet firmly, pressed her miniature body to his.

He took the small demon upstairs to her room, gently placing her down in her bed as he planted a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Goodnight, cuddlekins..." Angel whispered, smiling as he slowly walked out of her room, making sure to turn on her projector nightlight before he left.

Once he was back downstairs, he went back over to the bar, where Husker wiped down the counters, closing up for the night.

"Every day.." Angel groaned, carelessly flopping down onto one of the stools. Husk prepares himself for Angel's upcoming rant, hanging up the cloth he used to clean the countertop.

"He's always on my fuckin' ass. In the sexual way, and the "my-boss-is-a-bitch" way. I can't take it anymore!" Husker chuckled at Angel's choice of words, before regaining composure.

"Tell me all about it..." Husker goes over, taking a seat next to Angel as he allows his partner to lean into him, testing his trust with the small stool.

Angel hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh and launching into his story. He talked about the long hours, the never-ending workload, and the constant pressure from Val.

"You've had a long day, baby..." Husker frowned, caressing Angel's side with his claw.

"Fuckin' tell me about it! I'm exhausted." Angel groaned, slamming his head down onto the bar counter with frustration.

He let out a muffled noise, that caused Husk to take his hand, sliding it in between Angel's chin and the bar counter, lifting his face up. Angel avoided his gaze as Husk spotted shiny tears pooling in his eyes.

"Baby.." Husk started, before he was cut off by Angel.

"I just-- I don't want to drag Whitney into alla this shit.." he wiped at his nose before continuing. "I don't-- I don't deserve ha....she deserves someone so much betta..." he let out another squeak, trying to dab away his tears.

"Baby...you..you do deserve her. I don't care what the fuck Valentino says, or even what you say to yourself. You deserve Whitney as much as you deserve the world." Angel opened his mouth to protest, but Husk was quick to press a finger to his mouth.

"So know....even if things are as fucked up as they are...it doesn't change how much you love her, or your capability of taking care of her." He gives Angel a soft, warm smile.

Angel leans forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I fuckin' love ya, Husky.."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This took me.....way longer than it should've.

I'm honestly disappointed in the ending but...whatever. I was in a rush, LOL. There's so many things I hate about this, such as the length, but...whatever. (I said that already, I know)

It doesn't really take me long to write fanfiction like this, but for some reason, I decided to be lazy, and write like, two words per day. (silly me!)

Anyways, if you can't tell, I LOVE me some fluff and fem/mpreg! I don't know why..some just say...I was born this way (Ooh, there ain't no other way babyyyyy). ANYWAYS let me stop-

I hope y'all enjoyed this short little fic. As I mentioned before, this is a borrowed AU from @masculinemiracles so...consider checking out their blog!

Also, if you liked this, then consider sticking around, because I have some other Hazbin Hotel (mainly ship and mpreg) fanfictions OTW!

Bye now!!

~xlovely-liviix

Word Count: 2,769

#Hazbin hotel family au #Hazbin hotel family #hazbin hotel fankid #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #huskerdust #huskerdust babies au #angel dust #husk #angel husk fankid #stealing their AU because FLUFF #@masculine-miracles #This was a request!!!#GO FOLLOW THEM OR I'LL FIND WHERE YOU LIVE #huskerdust mpreg #huskerdust family #Whitney #xlovely liviix

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mollymauk-teafleak · 1 month

Text

but I'm more than a need

So. What happened was @minky-for-short told me about her idea for a painter Husk/model Angel AU and things spiralled from there. Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcoholism, mentions of sexual abuse

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed!

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Angel Dust had expected this to be easy. Wasn’t it his job to be stared at?

When Valentino had told him his schedule was being cleared of clients two days a week for a ‘special assignment’, his tone had been sickeningly magnanimous, like he expected his star performer to fall to his knees and shower him with thanks at the prospect. And Angel would, if he didn’t know better.

Being taken off the roster did mean a break from an otherwise endless parade of men with bad breath and bruising hands, reeking of the alcohol they’d needed to overcome their shame at wanting to fuck another man, a break from being so buzzed that he’d disconnect entirely from it all, not noticing how they’d hurt him until he came crashing down. But at least that was the devil he knew, intimately enough to know the taste of its tongue in his mouth.

Time away from the brothel usually meant that Valentino had something much worse in mind.

So when Angel finally arrived at the address on the card, after trekking across what felt like ten fucking blocks from the spot Valentino had him kicked out of the car, and saw it was an abandoned looking brownstone on a shady street corner, he wasn’t surprised. That part of him that never learned to sit down, shut up and accept his shitty life told him to turn and walk away.

But whatever was in that house, Valentino would be worse. So he’d gone up, knocked on the door and was thoroughly surprised when a paint streaked, grouchy man appeared, blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks and growling that Angel was late, did that asshole pimp not know that paint fucking dries?

And Husker hadn’t stopped surprising him since.

Angel still rolled his eyes at it. Of course Valentino wanted a fucking portrait of his favourite whore, the creep was probably going to hang it in his bedroom. It was so like him, wallpapering this old money aesthetic over the newly minted wealth he’d gained selling other people’s flesh. Angel wouldn’t even mind that Valentino had made a small fortune pimping him out, or how he spent it, if he didn’t treat him so cruelly. He’d signed on willingly, at first, believing the sugared words and promises of finally being free to fuck how he wanted without shame, of being able to drown the nightmares left over from the war in as many drugs as his body could take. But those promises had dissolved away to nothing on his tongue, leaving his teeth rotted and his nerves shot worse than ever.

And now Angel’s pain would be immortalized in oils and hung in a gilded frame.

But at least it would be a proper break. And it would be easy, all he had to do was stand there looking gorgeous, pinned under the gaze of an older man who never had a bottle far from his hand. No different from his usual job except he got to keep his head clear and his clothes on, if the costume Valentino wanted him painted in had enough fabric to count as clothes.

And it was easy. But not for the reasons he expected.

There was really only one reason actually and his name was Husker, Husk for short, an odd name but he hadn’t given Angel any other. At first he’d thought it was a good fit, the painter was grizzled, surly, his eyes hard and his tongue sharp, with hands that shook unless they held a brush or a bottle. He was a hell of a far cry from the rich businessmen and upper class bankers who paid for Angel’s time, who tried to impress him with gifts that Val would take and sweet words that didn’t soften their hands any, but apparently his paintings had once sold for thousands.

Angel couldn’t possibly comment at first, the cramped little studio space had oddly bare walls, but when he’d gotten glimpses of his portrait, he realized just how great Husk must have been back in his day. In nothing more than rough sketches, he was making something almost beautiful out of Valentino’s slightly nauseating ideas.

Which did beg the question, if Angel Dust was finding this so easy, why was Husk finding it so hard?

“You’re moving again, Legs.”

“Am I fuck…” Angel retorted with a grin, which of course meant he was, in fact, moving.

“Hey, you want this to look like shit, it’s no skin off my nose,” Husk looked at him over the edge of his glasses, “I got no reputation to maintain.”

“Good look trying to get this to look like shit,” Angel lifted an eyebrow, brushing his hands down the vaguely Grecian drape of silk that was preserving no modesty. The freckles dusting his skin covered more.

“Don’t underestimate how much I can fuck something up, kid,” Husk grunted, transfering his pencil to the corner of his mouth, picking up an ink brush instead, “I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

Angel couldn’t help another grin, even as he tried to stay still. That was one of the things he liked about Husk. He didn’t try to be perfect, he didn’t hide his rough edges.

The way his arm muscles flexed as he drew, looking unfairly sexy now he’d pushed his sleeves to his elbows, Angel liked that too.

“Next question,” Husk whipped the brush back and forth across the sheaf of paper on his easel, “Think it was your turn, kid.”

Angel blinked, realizing how long he’d been quiet before Husk spoke. It was so easy for his mind to wander here, with the comforting smells of paint and paper, the soothing whisper of sleek bristles on canvas, the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. And more than anything, the feeling of safety, knowing that quiet here really just meant quiet, come by honestly, not just waiting for the next blow. He’d been embarrassed the first time he’d dozed off in Husk’s studio, his body jumping at the chance for some real rest and shutting down without asking Angel to give the order.

But after the fourth time of waking up on the battered sofa in the corner with a musty but cozy blanket over him, Angel had found it in him to stop caring.

But he didn’t want to sleep now. Because as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Husk were on borrowed time, he was at the edge of this peaceful eye in the storm he lived in.

The portrait was almost finished, colors starting to appear at Husk’s elbow as the first draft took shape. Soon Angel wouldn’t be needed in the studio anymore, he’d go back to the stage, back to the brothel, back to living under Valentino’s thumb. And Husk would go back to…well, nothing, by the look of his bare, dusty life. The thought made Angel’s heart ache.

He pushed the thought away, refusing to chew on it. But he wouldn’t sleep away the rest of their time together, either.

“What kind of music do you like?” he eventually asked.

Husk chuckled at that, seeming to let his hands create independently, flying across the paper while the rest of him moved at a lower tempo, “Easy, jazz. I used to play when I was younger, actually. There was a club not too far from where I lived, I’d sneak out and go all the time. A guy there taught me, pretty sure just to keep me away from the bar. Looked old for my age back then…and now.”

“Shut up,” Angel perked up interestedly, “What did you play?”

“That’s two questions now,” Husk reminded him, smirking but he answered all the same, “Sax. Was a fun time but I ain’t cut out for being in a band, don’t play nice with others. Realized I was better at making art for the eyes rather than the ears.”

“Makes sense though,” Angel hummed, adjusting the angle of his arm as the silk started to slide, “You paint the way jazz sounds.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he blushed, realizing how dumb it sounded, like he didn’t know shit about art or music. Which he didn’t, but something about Husk knowing that made his face burn.

But Husk’s eyes brightened, his wry mouth turned up in a genuine smile, “No one’s ever put it quite like that. But thanks.”

Angel had to roll his eyes at himself, just a little. He’d thought crushes were from a time he hadn’t known any better, another thing his hard life had calcified until he couldn’t make it work anymore, that real, genuine attraction had gone the way of imaginary friends and daydreams. But Husk had cracked right through to that giddy, naive part of Angel, he’d let it stretch and unfurl itself and fly. You could argue it was the part that had gotten him into so much trouble but, in Husk’s studio, it didn’t feel dangerous. It was fun again, simple, pleasant. So he let himself stare, he let himself get butterflies, he let himself blush and laugh and embarrass himself. It wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t mean anything but Angel had never been one for saying no to temporary pleasures. Especially ones that made him act like a damn fool.

“You can ask me two questions,” he hummed with one of his best flirtatious smiles, “Seeing as I snuck an extra one.”

This had been their game for the last month and change. Husk had said he couldn’t paint a stranger, if he was going to put him on canvas then he needed to know him. The thought had got Angel’s back up so Husk had promised it would be an even exchange. He’d ask a question, Angel would answer it and then they’d trade. He’d even said that they didn’t have to be truthful answers, he’d understand enough from whatever lies the younger man chose to tell.

And they’d started as lies, the standard sanitized version of his past Angel gave to any johns that wanted to fake like they’d taken him on some grand romantic date, rather than paid to fuck him in the tackily decorated back rooms of a downtown bordello. But, without even really noticing, he’d grown comfortable with Husk and the truth started slipping in. Now Husk knew more about him than anyone else left in the city and, Angel suspected, he knew just as much about the older guy. He could taste lies, thanks to his profession, and as far as his tongue could tell, Husk had given him nothing but truth, bitter as it was.

“Always one to push it, aren’t you, Legs?” Husk chuckled, switching to a different brush, taking a pull from the bottle of amber liquid before continuing to paint. How he knew the difference between that and the water he cleaned his brushes in, without even glancing at them, Angel had no idea.

“You know it, sweetie,” Angel purred, recognising the color Husk picked up as the color of his own eyes, “Ain’t a proper game if you don’t try and bend the rules.”

Husk shook his head in amusement, choosing his questions without a pause, like he already knew which ones he needed to ask to make the next brushstroke perfect, “What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?”

“Before I turned thirteen? Spiders,” Angel wrinkled his nose, though there was an odd fondness to the nostalgic fear, “Nona’s apartment was full of them, I used to be frightened they’d crawl on my face when I slept. But she loves them, even named them all, the mad old bat.”

“And after?” Husk’s brush hesitated and changed direction at the last moment.

Angel gave a dry laugh, “Father finding out I was a pansy.”

Husk made a sympathetic noise but there was no pity in it, another point in Angel’s book. He sat back suddenly, frowning, “Come tell me what you think of this.”

Already? It hit Angel like a blow to the chest, enough that he staggered as he stepped off the little platform he posed on, enough that his mask almost cracked, “From your tone, I’m guessing you’re not happy?”

Husk gave a grunt, “Not me who needs to be happy with it…”

“Well it ain’t me either, baby, it’s Val,” Angel let the fabric fall, shrugged on a robe and came around to the other side of the easel. The sudden shock of color and movement on the other side of such a plain, gray nothing hit better than some highs he’d had.

Angel didn’t know how to talk about art. He’d seen plenty of it when he was shipped out in France but he’d had other things on his mind then, it had all just been set dressing in this brand new world of dizzying highs and terrifying lows.

So when he saw Husk’s work, he didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel, he just felt it, in a rush like a wave that took him off his feet. It was the way he took moments in time and fixed them to the paper, turned them into something Angel could actually touch if he wanted, and made them so beautiful in the process. For someone who had so many gaps in his memory, parts of his life eaten away by drugs and pain and terror, it may as well have been magic.

The painting was gorgeous, that wasn’t the problem. It was just a gorgeous painting of a vindictive, controlling pimp’s sex fantasy.

When he first started working on this particular commission, Husk had asked Angel if he was really okay with what his boss had requested, showing him the list of demands with a knowing air, the older man fully aware of what answer was true and what answer he would get. And Angel hadn’t surprised him, glancing over what Valentino wanted and saying that whatever he’d asked for, Husk had better deliver. That’s how Angel had kept most of his teeth.

From the way Husk’s eyes had tightened, he hadn’t found the joke very funny.

But Angel knew what he’d see when he looked at the paper but an image in his own mind and something realized in ink and paint, brought to life by Husk’s clever hands, were two very different things. The Angel on the page was much truer to his name, he was angelic, pale skin glowing, freckles scattered across his skin like flecks of gold, eyes bright and blue and innocent behind flaxen hair. But he was a fallen angel, chains securing his hands to some part of the background that Husk would draw in later but, even without it, they looked inescapable, raw chafe marks in a wincing carmine visible below their cuffs. And the fabric looked somehow even less, like a rough hand was in the process of tearing it away to leave him naked and flushed. And there wasn’t a single scar on that perfect, porcelain skin.

It wasn’t him. It was the role he was supposed to play for Valentino, the fantasy he was forced into. And seeing it in front of his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of those chains on his own wrists and, fuck, they hurt.

“It’s exactly what he wants,” Angel said truthfully, making himself smile at Husk, “You’ve done a great job.”

But the older man’s frown just deepened, etching the lines around his eyes and mouth more firmly. Angel realized then that he wasn’t looking at the painting, he was only looking at him.

“It’s shit.”

The sudden sound of the paper tearing away from the pad made Angel flinch but he couldn’t deny there was some catharsis in seeing it crumpled in Husk’s surprisingly strong fist.

But he was the one who had to fight for his own misery, “Husk, no, it’s good! It’s really good, Val will love it.”

“You don’t,” Husk pitched the failed painting into the dented old furnace he’d light whenever he noticed Angel shivering.

Angel opened his mouth but no words came out. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Husk as it was to lie to everyone else in his life.

“That isn’t the point,” he finally managed, “Husk, honey, if you take any longer with this, he’s gonna start getting mad.”

Like it wasn’t already too late.

He’d seen it in Valentino’s gaze every time he left the club for Husk’s studio, the building jealousy, the brewing sense of danger that Angel was so depressingly familiar with. They were meant to have been done inside a week but that week had rolled on and on, Husk getting to this point in the process, the moment where he should have let Angel go, and then starting over three times now. Every painting had been gorgeous, it had been lecherous, it had been exactly what Valentino wanted, and each one had ended up in the furnace as soon as Husk had seen Angel’s reaction.

And if his boss’s simmering fury had just been directed at him, he wouldn’t have minded, the daydream was worth it. It was what he’d said about Husk that worried him.

“It should be the point and I’ll fucking well tell him so,” Husk reached for the bottle again, draining it in one swallow that left his voice a smoky growl, “Valentino can get as mad as he wants, I ain’t scared of that up jumped pimp.”

Panic tasted bitter on Angel’s tongue and sharpened his words, “You should be. If you don’t realize how dangerous he is, you need to learn fast, Husker, because I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt because you stuck up for me. I’m not worth it.”

Husk’s eyes darkened, his voice softening, “You really believe that, kid?”

Angel realized he’d said more than he’d meant to, feeling more naked than he had when there was only a swathe of fabric between him and Husk’s gaze.

“I have to,” he said eventually, voice trembling ever so slightly, “There ain’t another way through.”

Husk looked like he was going to say something, like there were some words pulling at the tip of his tongue, desperate to fly. But suddenly the fight went out of him, shoulders slumping, the words becoming a low groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need another drink,” he muttered, “Gimme a second…”

He went into the back room of the studio that served as his living space, that rickety, sagging bed and chipped wardrobe and lopsided bookcase apparently holding all he owned in the world. But Angel knew there were several bottles of whiskey under the bed, enough that he didn’t need to ask whether Husk had served in the war too. Only a soldier needed that much poison to hand.

Selfish tears threatened to choke him the moment he was alone. He’d done the right thing, he knew he had, but it still hurt like a bitch. He let himself have a moment to almost cry about it before scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and moving to the furnace. He’d fish out the draft, he’d tell Husk to use that painting and he’d be done with this. The daydream had been nice but it needed to end, before someone other than Angel himself got hurt. He could see that now.

There were several balls of crumpled sketchbook paper in the furnace’s grating, he couldn’t remember which one he needed. He came up with a handful of them, as well as an annoying smear of soot on his fingers, pulling a face of irritation as he unrolled one at random.

And felt his heart stop in his chest. It was a drawing of him but it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

It was a quick, hurried drawing, like Husk had done it on impulse, something to keep his hands steady or to keep them off the bottle for just a little longer. Angel wasn’t dramatically posed, dressed up in silk, he didn’t look alluring or otherworldly, it was just a sketchy of him from the neck up. He was doing that grin he tried not to do because it made his nose turn up and his teeth look huge but the way it was drawn here, it looked…adorable. Natural.

He looked so happy.

It was dizzying, seeing the way somebody else could look at his flaw and find beauty in it. Not Valentino’s warped, fake idea of it but real, actual, honest. Angel didn’t think he’d known the difference before looking at this drawing.

He knew what he should do. He should drop the sketch back in the furnace, pretend he’d never seen it. He should light it up himself, let that version of himself blacken and curl and become nothing, go back to Valentino and the devil he knew.

But his hands weren’t connected to his brain, reaching for more balls of paper the way he reached for the next pill or line of white powder, the next bad idea that would be sweet in the moment then do him more harm than good.

Some pages just had one drawing, some had a few. The sketch of him asleep on the couch was full body but around it were isolated hands, eyes, a smile, every inch of him noticed and practiced until it was perfect. Angel was smiling, he was lost in thought, he was yawning hugely, he was guarded and wary, he was alight with playful mischief. He could match the expressions with memories of the last few weeks, stories he’d told Husk or bad jokes he’d made. Things he’d said and done so offhandedly but apparently they’d mattered enough for Husk to commit them to pencil and paper.

Finally, after pages and pages of careful studies of himself, he found the draft painting done for Valentino. Seeing them side by side, it was heartbreakingly obvious, like he held night in one hand and day in the other. How he looked to someone who wanted him and how he looked to someone who loved him. Who he had to be and who he wanted to be. Angel Dust and Anthony.

Angel didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, I…Angel?”

He felt his stomach drop, whipping around, arms already drawn to his chest in defense and eyes screwed tightly shut, “I didn’t mean to look, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

But the blow he’d learned to expect never landed. There was no anger, no explosion, just a long pause where the only sound was the city outside the windows shifting into evening, oblivious to the two of them.

“Angel…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Surprise made him open his eyes, Husk just leaning in the doorway, slumped like a man too tired to fight anymore.

“I never wanted to put you in this position,” his voice was rough, heavy, in a way that had nothing to do with the drink, “I swear, those sketches…they were just be trying to get this fucking lunacy out of my system, I was never gonna act on it. I don’t want to be just another deluded old idiot leering at you like he’d got any damn right to.”

“Husker…” Angel breathed, unsure what to do, holding onto the pages of sketches like he was afraid someone would take them away.

“I just…it’s been so long since I talked with anyone, since anyone wanted to hear what I had to say,” Husk ducked his eyes, wincing, “I shouldn’t have let you in, I should have known better but you’re so…” he shook his head like there weren’t even words but it was there on the page, “I’m an old fool, Angel. That’s all. I’m sorry, I understand if you want to leave.”

Angel felt the weight of the choice. Again, that hard learned fear was pulling at him, telling him what he should do, what was safe, what was smart. Telling him that he didn’t deserve it. But for the first time in his life, he was able to drown that voice out, his grip on the pages, on his hope, tightening.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, taking a step closer to Husk.

The older man’s eyes widened, looking like he didn’t know whether to believe what he’d just heard, “What?”

“I want you,” Angel said it again, feeling the truth in it now, feeling it steel himself.

He put the sketches to one side, resting his hands on Husk’s chest, letting himself have what he knew now he’d wanted for so long. Maybe even longer than he’d known Husk.

“Angel,” Husk’s own hands responded, settling on his hips like nervous birds, “You have a right to know, when your boss came to hire me, he…he offered me you. For a discount he said I could…have you while I worked. And I didn’t take it, I never would but I just…I need to know that this is what you want, not something you feel like you have to do just because I got a stupid crush on you.”

The news didn’t surprise Angel in the slightest, Val had used him as sugar on top of deals plenty of times before. What did surprise him was Husk’s mouth twisting in disgust at the idea, the restraint holding him back until he heard Angel’s answer. What surprised him was finding himself in the arms of a truly honest man.

“Baby,” he smiled, as big as he wanted to, not caring how it looked, “Believe me, I know what a bad idea this is. I know what I’m risking, I know what I’m asking you to risk. But I’m here anyway, ain’t I? So I know how much I want this, how much I've been wanting you since I walked through your door.”

Apparently that was all Husk needed to hear. His hold on Angel became certain, pulling him that last inch closer until their bodies pressed together, “Then I’m yours, baby. For however long we got.”

The moment their lips met, Angel knew the answer was not long enough. He knew in an instant that he’d never get tired of the way Husk kissed him, of that taste of second hand whiskey and those strong arms around him, feeling safer than anything had for a long damn time. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t want to press forward into the next thing, he just reveled in kissing Angel like if it stopped right there, it would still be enough. Angel found himself nearly climbing Husk, gasping and whimpering in between hurried breaths, nearly screaming when the older man shifted and pressed his leg up between Angel’s.

“Fuck me,” he moaned desperately, needing Husk more than he needed air, so much he as burning with it.

“You got the kit for that?” Husk’s voice had become a growl, something Angel felt as much as he heard.

“I’m taking the fact that you have to ask as a professional insult,” Angel smirked, only the promise of having this man inside him able to make himself let go.

He scrambled for the bag he’d left in the corner along with his clothes, Husk dropping back on the sofa to wait, warm golden eyes never leaving him. With that gaze pricking pleasantly across his skin, Angel shed his robe, stepping out of the pool of pink silk and coming back to Husk wearing only a lopsided grin.

“Fuck, look at you, baby…” his hands were as reverant as his gaze, both stroking down Angel’s narrow body, drinking in every freckle and angle and scar with as much adoration as he settled in the older man’s lap.

“Now you,” Angel tugged impatiently at Husk’s suspenders, “It’s my turn to stare.”

“Ain’t gonna be half as pretty,” Husk warned, the skin on his cheeks darkening a little but he didn’t resist as Angel yanked down the collar of his shirt and pulled open buttons, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his trousers.

Under the slightly bedraggled clothing, Husk had scars of his own. Everything about him seemed designed to contrast Angel, dark skin where he was pale, strong where he was wiry, thick black hair across his chest and down between his legs where Angel just had a dusting of gold down, the curve of a beer gut where drugs had left Angel nearly concave.

He wasn’t pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. Angel had to drag a fist across his lips to check he wasn’t drooling.

Husk’s blush only deepend but now he was grinning rather than looking anxious, “You have weird tastes, baby.”

“Guys who are nice to me? I know, I’m a hopeless degenerate,” Angel cackled, before pressing the small jar into his hand, “I want you to do it…”

“My pleasure,” Husk rolled his hips, letting Angel feel the press of his erection against him, beaming when it made him tremble and whimper hungrily.

Even slick with Vaseline, Husk’s fingers were fucking big. Angel found himself squealing like a fucking rookie when his hole finally opened for him after a few coaxing strokes, burying his face against the curve of his neck as he pressed inside. But Husk knew his business and in a moment it was bliss and nothing else, making Angel cling to him so fiercely that there would be an impression of the other man’s dog tags on his chest when he pulled away.

When Husk curled his fingers against that sweet spot inside him, the pleasure took on an edge of panic, almost too much between that blinding pressure and his cock trapped between the warmth of their stomachs, the pre he was spilling like a fountain making it slick and hot.

“Gonna…fuck, Husk, I can’t hold it…” he gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“You say that like it’s not the aim, baby…” Husk purred smokily, tongue tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not like this,” Angel begged, voice strangled as it had to shoulder past gasps and moans and pleas, “On your cock. Need to feel you, wanna make you feel good too…”

The arms around him became soothing, like he was being rocked, Husk shifting to give him what he wanted, “You do, baby. You do. You’re doing so good.”

Those words set his nerves alight as much as the fingers crooked inside him until Angel almost sobbed, “Please…”

“I got you,” the loss of the fingers was heartbreaking until he felt Husk’s cock press against his entrance, thick and hard and hot enough to burn, “Breathe, baby, you’re so tight, you gotta let me in…”

Those strong hands slid down to Angel’s hips, holding tight so he couldn’t force himself back and take him, damn the pain. It was slow, careful, but the reward was all the sweeter for it, Angel’s eyes nearly rolling back as he sat on Husk’s dick, feeling so full he didn’t know how he wasn’t unraveling completely.

“Fuck…” Husk’s voice cracked, a hand sliding up to tangle in Angel’s hair, the other draping around his hips to keep him close.

“As good as you imagined?” Angel panted, nuzzling at his shoulder.

“Better…”

Husk rolled his hips like the sweetest music was playing in his head, purposeful, rhythmic, wanting Angel to feel every inch. At first Angel couldn’t even scream, everything in him utterly surrendered, every cell in his body devoted to chasing after that feeling. But he soon realized he didn’t need to, Husk would give it to him and give it gladly, as sure as the tide. He fucked into him slow but the pace built gradually, leaving Angel free to moan and shriek and beg. He couldn’t let Husk mark him, as much as he wanted it, but he could sink his teeth into him, sucking hard until he’d have something to look at in the morning and feel less lonely.

Angel knew how to read people’s bodies, he knew they were about to fall. Husk throbbed deep inside him, his own cock was stiff as a board and trembling between their bodies. He wanted to beg Husk to hold on, to wait, just a few seconds more because even those would be sweeter than anything he’d ever get again. But he might as well have wished for the moon.

So Angel did what he’d always done and took a hand in his own destruction.

He moved his hips faster, grinding down hard on Husk’s dick and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, baby.”

Husk did, with a yowl like a cat in heat. Angel was a second behind, painting both of their chests and crying out his lover’s name, letting his voice shatter on it. They were both left ruined, gasping, only held together by the other’s arms around them.

It was a long time before Angel trusted himself to speak, morning back to rest his forehead on Husk’s, “Will you draw me? Like this?”

Husk’s smile was warmth itself, “I’ll do my damndest, baby.”

It came out beautiful. Of course it did.

Afterwards, when their lovemaking was just an ache in his hips and a slick feeling between his legs, Angel sat back in Husk’s arms and looked at the sketch like he was trying to etch it onto his brain. The pencil version of himself wore Husk’s shirt rather than his own, eyes heavy lidded, his smile crooked and blissfully tired, happier than Angel had thought his own face would ever look.

Even if the moment had ended for them, he’d always have this. He had this proof that someone had loved him.

“Can I keep it?” his voice was raw and shaky, “And some of the others?” In case I come to my senses and never see you again.

Husk kissed the side of his head, squeezed his hand gently, like he’d heard the words left unsaid, “They’re yours. But I’ll draw you better ones if you like? Ones that didn’t spend a few days in the furnace?”

Angel smiled up at him, seeing that some of the soot from his fingers had smudged on Husk’s cheek, “I think these are perfect the way they are.”

“Then they’re a good likeness,” Husk murmured, pressing the next kiss to his lips.

Angel leaned into it, letting himself have another temporary pleasure, letting himself have a moment to not think about anything but Husk. What he’d do tomorrow, fuck, what he’d do in the next moment, he had no idea. But he wouldn’t think about it now.

“It is stunning, isn’t it, Angel? Who’d have thought the old drunk had some talent left clinging to him…”

Valentino’s voice was full of smug satisfaction and smoke, faintly red billows of it hissing from between his teeth and scratching at Angel’s nose. He didn’t flinch, he’d grown used to it over the years.

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” he hummed in what would sound like agreement, looking up at the painting now slotted cozily into its new home on the wall of Valentino’s office.

The frame was a tacky travesty, of course, gilded and overblown but he supposed the image inside was as well. Husk had delivered exactly what he’d been asked, once Angel had convinced him to. It was exactly like the draft piece that nearly ended up in the flames, just more polished and done in rich, sumptuous oils, his wanton blush more rich, his eyes shining brighter, his pose more tempting. Valentino was nearly salivating looking at it.

“You’ve never looked more tempting, my dear,” he crowded Angel closer, voice almost warm though his hands were like vices on his shoulders, “In fact, I can think of no better advertisement for our little club, you’ll have the deviants of the city flocking to our doors just for a glimpse of this…and then they’ll pay through the nose for the real thing.”

“Yes, Valentino,” Angel hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

“I believe I’ll take Mr Husker up on his kind offer, now I know his talent hasn’t faded along with everything else. A few pieces like these in the hallway, my profits could triple…and with the discount he mentioned, well, I don’t know what you showed him or shook in front of him but the old fool’s half in love with you. Very nice work, baby…”

Angel shrugged, gaze still fixed on the painting, “Just a generous guy, I guess.”

“Don’t make me laugh, sweetling, you’re not good at it,” Valentino said curtly, “I want you on stage in ten. With how much time you’ll be spending in that studio, you’ll have to make it up to me. Double shifts for the rest of the week and I don’t want to hear you bitching.”

Angel flinched a little but he didn’t take his eyes off Husk’s painting, not even when the office door closed with a slam designed to put him on edge, “You won’t…”

Of course Valentino hadn’t noticed it. But it was the first thing he’d seen as soon as he’d stepped into the office after Val had called him in so he could gloat over it. Husk hadn’t let him see the final piece, just reassuring him that it was finished and that his boss would be happy with it. And now Angel knew why.

Valentino didn’t look past the eyes, the beckoning gaze, the perfect body begging to be ruined. But Husk did. And that's why one of the chains in the links that bound the painted version of Angel was cracked. Almost all the way through, about to break entirely, if he just pulled hard enough. Valentino saw him chained but in Husk’s painting, Angel saw himself fighting and, against all the odds, about to win.

It was a nice dream.

Angel turned away from the painting, thinking about where this had begun. It was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy, it was Angel Dust’s job to be stared at.

But this was the first time he felt like he’d been seen.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husker #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #husk #painter husk au #please reblog and comment!

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drewsbuzzcut · 11 months

Text

Lay All Your Love On Me

college baseball player!drew starkey x fem!reader

a college baseball au blurb (summer series)

warnings: mentions being naked and alludes to sex

You can’t stop your hands from shaking. You’re not nervous, just excited. You’re about to marry your best friend in a small, beautiful chapel in Capri, Italy.

You and Drew signed any document necessary for you to be here. You will get married and travel throughout Italy as your honeymoon. The Italy trip has been planned since your junior year of college, but just last minute you both decided to elope there. You were glad to have it be just the two of you, not needing to worry about planning and stressing about other people. It is also way more romantic.

The warm breeze blows through your hair, loose waves flowing off your shoulders. You’re dressed in a simple, white dress with a broderie anglaise pattern in the fabric, paired with green kitten heels.

The sun sneaks in past the arches of the old building, casting you in an angelic glow. The sunlight also makes Drew’s eyes look like stained glass, meant to be in some kind of museum to be appreciated. However, you wish to be the only one that can swim in them.

His hands hold your delicate ones, softly tracing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You take multiple deep breaths as the priest joins both of your hearts for eternity, but there’s nothing more calming than Drew’s touch, or his lingering stare. The closer you get to finally being married, the more you see Drew’s face turn up into a smile. A smile that becomes tearful when you both recite your vows. Nothing or anyone can prepare you for how emotional it is. You wipe away his tears just as he does the same for you.

When the priest gets to the final part, the part before Drew gets to kiss you, both of your hearts start racing, dying to jump into each other’s arms. However, the moment you’re both to say “I do,” everything moves in slow motion. The way your faces light up in a bright smile, and Drew grabs onto your arms to pull you into him. His hands rest on your hips while one of yours cups the back of his neck and the other is splayed out on the side of his face, making sure his lips don’t leave yours. Your sweet kiss is interrupted by your soft giggles, a deep blush dusting your cheeks when you look up to see Drew with the same flushed smile. You pull him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck right before you whisper your words of love into his ear.

“We’re married!” You gleam, your whole body thrumming with elation.

“I love you, Mrs. Starkey,” Drew says, kissing you one more time. You have to stop yourself from screaming out loud and jumping around like a maniac.

As you and Drew walk back to your small villa, you have your hands on each other the whole time. Yours rests happily around his waist while his hand caresses the back of your neck. The stark contrast of the cold metal of his wedding band biting at your hot skin serves as your personal reminder that you’re now married.

Every once in a while you have to stop your trek so you can pull him down into a kiss almost as blistering as the sun. Making it back to your small villa proves to be a difficult task when you both continue to stop every other minute, needing to drown in each other, too impatient to wait until you’re confined in privacy.

However, when you do make it back, Drew is quick to strip you out of your dress. He has to stop for a minute, collecting his thoughts and calming his breathing when he sees you only dressed in dainty, white lingerie. Something you picked up before your trip.

You fluster under his heated, desire-filled gaze, growing shy as if it’s the first time he’s seeing you naked. The pad of his finger traces your small flower tattoo along your collarbone before his hands rub your arms, making your chills disappear. He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling softly when you look down.

“Don’t get shy on me, darling,” he whispers in your ear, kissing the shell of it after. His smooth voice makes you melt, your body leaning all the way into him. His hands travel the expanse of your back, stopping along the way to trace your sun tattoo inked on the skin of your tailbone. He slowly peels your panties off then moves to unclasp your bra, leaving you completely bare while he’s still wearing his linen pants and sage green button up.

“I want you,” you whimper, blinking up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes hypnotizing him to do whatever you ask as if he’d ever tell you no.

Your hands start unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his muscled chest up his neck.

“I love you, husband,” you giggle, growing excited at the new pet name you can finally call him.

“I love you more, my beautiful wife,” he says, picking you up and throwing you on the bed, loving the melodious sounds of your laughter.

“Show me,” you muse, looking absolutely heavenly with your hair splayed out over the soft pillows, and your silky body on display.

“I intend to,” he claims, igniting that flame.

You just smile, readying yourself for the pleasure that is sure to take over.

a/n: First installment of the summer series. Hope you all enjoy!!!

taglist: @maybankslover @91vhs @sp00ky-spr1te @livsters @seris-circle @one-sweet-gubler @a06e @tiacordelia02 @ijustwanttoreadlols @a23starkey @cameronmedia @mutual-mendes

#drew starkey #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey angst #drew starkey fic #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey smut #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey imagine #obx cast #obx3 #college baseball au #love will get you there

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shamrockqueen · 5 months

Text

Predator in the desert

Chapter 1

Pairing : Bucky X reader (Post apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : R18, Kidnapping, Fallout new Vegas vibes, Violence, imminent danger

Word count : 1332

Bucky Masterlist

Scavenging the wasteland was generally frowned upon but not enforced by any laws. Not like there was anyone left to enforce them. But, many people deemed it unsafe and often not worth leaving the limited safety of one’s small shanty town to venture out into the desert wasteland.

You’ve been very lucky thus far, as you’ve broken this rule several times in the hopes of finding useful scraps to trade for enough food to fill your belly for the night. It usually pays off, if only a little. But a little is more than nothing, and it beats starving in the night.

Most of the things to be found were abandoned vehicles and the occasional junk pile that can be taken apart for scrap. Some hauls are better than others, and then there are some days where you don’t find anything. This was one of those days, as nothing popped up on the horizon while you wandered the dusty landscape. You’d hate to waste this trip on nothing, but you couldn’t go much further under this blazing sun.

At some point, you’d just have to call it quits and turn back toward town. You kicked the dust in frustration from the knowledge that you didn’t have a single scrap of food waiting for you back home and not a dime to buy some. You had a bit of water left in your bag that would have to last you the trek back, but you hadn’t the energy to turn around just yet.

You chose instead to hunker down in the shade of a large rock to sip from the near-empty canteen before making the journey back. The feeling of the last drop hitting your tongue was almost as heartbreaking as the lingering metallic taste it left in your mouth.

There wasn’t any time to dwell on it now; instead, you packed your bottle away and got back up.

At the time, it seemed no different than the same old shit life had dealt you every day, but you’d look back on this as a low moment. From here, there would be lower moments, but this one in particular would be the beginning of the end.

You didn’t see him following you from that high ledge; you didn’t see him climb his way down, stalking you along the rocks, but you did hear something. The light crunch of dirt under boots that weren’t yours rang right through your ears, making you stop in your tracks.

The footsteps stopped too as you stood idle, waiting out the dribble of sweat that ran along your back before whipping your head around to see…nothing.

A bit of weeds and dust blew through the barren tundra, but there was no living soul amongst it. Maybe you were hearing things, or maybe you were just an easier target than you’d thought.

Something was following you that day, something that easily evaded your line of sight just in time to take you out. When you turn back towards your path, your head is immediately knocked in the other direction with a burst of pain at the back of your cranium.

Your lights go out with a grunt before your now-loose limbs collide with the hard, dusty ground. You hit it like a heavy bag of rocks, leaving you aching and yet numb.

He watched you for a second, noticing the shallow breaths you still took and wondering whether he dealt too heavy of a blow.

Small rocks were crunched under his heavy boots as he got closer to kneel down by your side. He slipped two of his bare fingers along your neck before applying pressure near your jugular to feel the soft pulse of your heart still healthily beating.

The light bounced off of his dark goggles, only to be dulled by the rough plastic from the rest of his face mask. He stared back out towards the vast wasteland, watching as the sun still hung high above the dry landscape and burned down on the both of you. When he turned his attention back to you, he slipped his arms under your body to better carry you away.

Strings of light filter through your shaking eyelids every now and again as the world around you swayed back and forth. Few images can come through as you fight the black fog threatening to take over your consciousness. There was this tough gray-brown mass moving in and out of your limited field of vision, back and forth in time with the crunching of the rocky sand.

The blood starts to rush to your already-aching head, making it more and more difficult to force your eyes open. You can’t fight it anymore, and your sight is finally stolen from you. The light will only return when your position shifts and you're laid out on some oddly comforting yet lumpy bedding.

Your mind is cloudy, but you could still feel something wide and warm handling the back of your hair as the spout of a cool bottle is pressed to your lips. The second that the wonderful water hits your tongue, your body is moving upright to follow it and gulp it all up.

When the bottle is pulled away, the air in the room is no longer thin, allowing you to take a deep breath and open your eyes to your new surroundings.

Grayed wood and rusted metal made up a pretty rough but well-put-together room. Your eyes circled the area until they landed on the only moving mass within it. Him.

He was still holding the glass bottle when he came into view. His skin was tanned, save for the slashes of scar tissue that ran along his skin in thin white lines.

His dark hair was thick with sweat as it hung at just his shoulders, and his face still had a slight smear of black camo paint, making his face only half visible in your still blurry vision. You had to blink a few times to get the full picture, only to be left a bit speechless by the full image before you.

His muscles were tight and well defined, like they could snap forward and stop a punch within a split second, and they were on full display even through his dirty tank top. Yet, the sight that you linger on the most was his sharp gaze as it stabbed right through your skin. His eyes were a cutting and inescapable blue that made the blood freeze in your veins and the hair on your arms stand on end.

You’d never seen anyone like this in your life. No one could ever dream to look so healthy, let alone so strong. No, the only people left in the wastelands had hollow eyes that sank deep into their skulls, signifying their early demise. The set staring you down had far too much life inside of them, burning like a blue flame.

The only thing that stole your eyes away from his was the gleam of light that bounced off of the interlocking metal muscles that made up his left arm and hand. If you had the strength to do so, you would have kicked yourself for not noticing it immediately. There were few people left in this world with advanced implements such as that, and even fewer that still carried their emblems of war.

Your body felt numb as you stared into the dulled red star at the arm’s shoulder.

They were old stories told to you by the family you used to have; you never truly believed them, as you’d never seen such a symbol not once in your life...not until now.

All the stories that spoke of the red star ended in genocide and destruction. But, you were still alive.

You adjusted your gaze back to his still-stern face, unable to read much from him as his expression lacked obvious emotion. He’d kept you in one piece this far, but what would happen next?