#Cork gun

[secretcherimaybe]

Patty & Jimmy Debut 1974

[patrickm156]

A Princesses Duel

The Toads were all dressed up in brown cowboy hats, bandanas, brown leather vests and holsters around their wrist with a cork gun secured inside. They were all playing around as some rode on toy horses while others were having shootouts with each other. All of a sudden the sound of heels were in the distance coming towards them as they turned around to see who was coming. A mysterious figure walked out the shadows and into the room staring each of the different Toads down. She was wearing a tan cowboy hat with a red band and two horns on the side of the hat, she wore a red bandana tied around her neck along with a symbol on the side, she wore a brown leather vest along with a buttoned up blue denim shirt, she wore denim jeans along with chaps that covers them, she wore brown leather boots and wore tan leather gloves that covered her hands and finally she had a brown leather holster around her wrist with a cork gun secured tightly. This woman’s name was Peach and she was the ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom but this time around she wanted to have a bit of fun.

Peach: I don’t take too kindly to varmints in my kingdom…I reckon it’s time I send ya back to where you came from..

Peach spread her legs to the side as they were in a perfect V-shape while her legs framed the Toads within them. The Toads slightly spread their feet to the side as they each hovered a hand over their holsters while Peach slowly hovered her hand over the holster on her hip ready to send these no good varmints packing.

Peach squinted her eyes at the little “bandits” in front of her as she wiggled her fingers over her leather holster ready to draw and show these Toads who truly were the fastest in the Mushroom Kingdom. The Toads made an angry pout as they each wiggled their fingers over their respective holsters ready to draw and to win against this “sheriff”. The woman continued to squint her eyes further as she slowly wiggled her gloved fingers over her holster slowly and teasingly waiting for the perfect moment to draw and surprised these little varmints. Each and every Toad wore determined expressions on their faces as their fingers wiggled over their holsters itching and ready to win.

Peach moved her leather glove close towards her holster as her fingers continued to wiggle slowly but would then pick up the pace a little as she felt the itch to draw coming. Her hand was just mere inches away from the cork gun as her gloved fingers brushed the handle while a smirk graced her pink lips. The Toads each brought their hands down as they rested them on the handles of their respective cork guns with each of their thumbs rubbing the handle or their fingers drumming against the handle each seconds away from drawing. Peach on the other hand wrapped her fingers on the handle as her hand gently gripped the fake gun ready to fire.

Everything was silent and tense as both “sheriff” and the Toads each stared one another down as they each had a goal in mind. For Peach it was to send these little rascals out of her “town” in order to preserve the peace and law while for the Toads it was to defeat this “sheriff” and to be on their way to cause some mischief. All of a sudden the silence was broken thanks to Peach.

Peach: DRAW!!

Both parties drew their respected weapons and fired at one another but Peach was just a bit quicker to the draw. All the Toads fell down and pretended to be in pain while Peach twirled the cork gun around her finger and holstered it on her hip. Peach kneeled down as all the Toads got up and hugged their princess while Peach giggled and hugged back having enjoyed this afternoon.

Here's another fic that features Cowgirl Peach. I hope you all enjoyed it.

[isjasz]

[Day 225]

Target shooting with your ex while holding hands bc otherwise you fail your Trial of Hearts amirite

----

HASHDASF something a bit different tdy!! I colored this lineart drawn by @bad12amcomic WHO ALSO MADE A COMIC OF THIS PLEASE GO READ IT IM INSANE about the fic "closer to another shore" by remrose WHICH IS ALSO JUST BONKERS PLEASE I BINGED IT SO LONG AGO BUT ITS SO GOOD SO YEAH ENJOY. Ty choco for letting me color this and for the nepotism :33333

[vtatters]

[disabled-battlekukku]

Sonic-themed Oscar dream of the day:

METAL FANG!!!!!!??????

[lindamccartneysstrap]

ok im banning myself from looking at song lyrics for the rest of the night im gonna have a stroke soon

[ihavenoideahowtodream]

Indiana needs a permission slip from the following people's parents:

Dr. Henry "Indiana" Jones Jr

Cpt. Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Peirce, US Army

Cpt. "Trapper", US Army

Mjr. Margaret "Hotlips" Houlihan, US Army

Pvt. "Raidar" O'Reilly, US Army

Every Top Gun Character

Darth Vader, Galactic Empire

Darth Sidus, Galatic Empire

Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi, Crazy Old Wizard

Most of the Goonies Characters

Every Marvel Character Ever

Joseph Biden, POTUS

[deadgodjess]

Idk, Christopher Robin has a gun.

HOBBES vs. TIGGER cage match TO THE DEATH say goodbye to your childhood because ONE! WILL!! DIE!!!!

[bluepoodle7]

#Illbleed#Level6CorkIndaGoesToHell#CorkIndaWalkingAndGunPosing#GifAndGifVideos

I wanted a gif of Cork Inda walking past the camera then posing with his gun.

https://gifmaker.me/video-to-gif/viewimage/20240916-05-T3f3OsyW7tg99hAM-cWfBvg-hnet

#Characters That Remind Me Of Other Characters – @bluepoodle7 on Tumblr

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

everyone settling into the hotel and figuring out the unsaid rules of cohabitation like

1 - it’s okay for Angel Dust to leave work stuff lying around IF ITS WASHED

2 - if you want a drink you ASK Husk. If you want to die you mess with his drink display

3 - TV is timeshared and if Alastor wants to use his timeslot to turn the tv OFF then no you can’t watch it just because he’s not using it

4 - Niffty can pin up the cockroach kill of the week in the lobby for everyone to wince at but it has to be on the cork board Charlie bought for her and she has to take the old ones down first each time

5 - if you break it you rebuild / replace it. You do NOT upgrade it with weapons while doing so (Sir Pentious THIS MEANS YOU) 5b - as long as it gets rebuilt / replaced no one gets to make a huge deal over something being broken or blown up again (or at Sir Pentious for doing it)

6 - don’t move around the fucking lobby furniture without moving it back afterwards 6b - if it’s in your room then you can do what you want but in all shared spaces the furniture NEEDS to be kept tidy and in proper place unless you want to hear swearing and sounds of violence as Vaggie trips over and throws her spear into a wall in frustration again, ruining the paper 6c - every third time this happens everyone has to sit through another presentation by Charlie explaining how having one eye is different when it’s not huge and in the middle of your head and you’re not basically at ground level

7 - Charlie can sing but only between 10am and 10pm unless it’s an emergency. If she tries singing outside of that whoever’s nearest is allowed to GENTLY hush her 7b - if you hush Charlie at any other time Vaggie will chase you. 7c - the above is NOT a recommended source of healthy exercise (you will have trauma)

8 - and above all have fun and FUCK yourself!

- Whoever changed “be” to “fuck”- it’s okay and you are loved <3

- Platonically. You are loved platonically, by me Charlie, who is writing this while standing next to my beautiful girlfriend.

- hey Charlie puff you alright? Sounds like she had a gun to your head while you were writin’ this XD

- It was more like her lips on my neck but yeah pretty close!

9 - Charlie and Vaggie are not allowed to be gross and cute in common areas they have a room for that sappy shit and need to keep it there thanks

- Homophobia.

- this is hell, toots

- You are literally a gay man Angel Dust

- I contain multitudes. Multitudes of d

- Bonding between friends is WONDERFUL but this is a list of rules not a chat room so let’s end things here ha ha ha ! Great job everyone!!!!

- KILL

- niffty what the fuck did you write that in it wont wash off

- BLOOD~

[pressureplus]

Yandere Sebastian Solace Headcannons

Warning: Blood, Light gore, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Marking/Biting, Actually Delusional, Like he’s actually crazy, It’s a Yandere…they’re not Sunshine and Rainbows

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

The moment he saw you, he knew he just had to have you. As if some kind of switch had flipped on in his brain that he didn’t know existed

Suddenly you were the center of his entire world. Every inch of it.

Everything you did became the reason he lived and breathed, following you became the only thing that kept him sane. Attempting to stop was detrimental to his mental health

So he settled for a healthy medium when he could, sneaking pictures of you while your back is turned

Finding that old camera has led to some very…interesting pictures of you being pinned onto a cork board in his room. Sometimes just standing, sometimes your face, sometimes your body.

Not that you know these pictures exist, of course

Sometimes he just stares at them, almost entirely unblinking, and runs his hands over the pictures like he can feel your skin

Sometimes he can’t help but to kiss the pictures of your face like you’re really there. Silly little thing, isn’t he?

In person? He doesn’t treat you any different at first. Though he gets noticeably more aggressive with people that get close to you

One day, trying to avoid Eyefestations gaze, you bumped into a desk really hard and your pants got caught on it. It left a sizable bruise and a tear in your pants

A jar of familiar eyeballs is left with your name on it outside the room you’ve been staying in down here

You never see Eyefestation again.

He insists on helping whenever you’re applying new bandages or using a medkit, the smell of your blood practically getting him drunk

He wants to bite you. He wants to eat you. He wants to kill you. He just wants to be a part of you, or inside you? As close as he can get to being you.

He loves you so much he wants to tear you apart limb by limb, wearing your bones like a crown and your beating heart like a necklace

He wants to be so entirely soaked in the smell of you, your blood, your clothes, that he cannot tell where he ends and you begin

But he could never dream of hurting you, not really, not like that. No, he’s better than the monsters down here, no matter how sweet your blood smells.

The odd version of cuteness aggression he has tells him to do all sorts of terrible things, it’s a good thing he has self-control

Keeps your used bandages. Dont ask what he does with them, you don’t want to know.

Probably steals clothes you’ve worn recently too if they smell like you…

He’s always watching you, and while you didn’t know about his little habits before, you probably catch on the first time he shoots one of your new friends

They hadn’t hurt you, yelled, they’d only tried to touch you. It was so quick too. The loud bang and a ringing in your ears as his gun produced a bit of smoke. He blows on it for a moment before holstering it. A mess of splattered remains on the ground as he smiled at you.

“My apologies, what were we talking about? Oh yes the batteries you wanted. That’s going to be about 50 data.”

“Y-You just killed someone right next to me. What was that even for?”

“Oh that? You’re right. You shouldn’t have had to see that. How about 30 instead?”

He’s started to pick off the people you talk with, the people you hang around. Leaving you in complete isolation from anything that isn’t him.

Don’t flash beacon him. He’ll say that it’s alright. That you’re just confused! He’ll crush it in his hand. The second time, however, he’ll leave the bruise of his hand wrapped around your arm when he tugs you forward and bites you

Some kind of punishment, you suppose, but it does leave a scar

One he’s going to obsess over

If you love him back that’s great! You’ll be treated a little nicer so long as you follow the rules. Nobody can touch you, nobody can be close to you, you’re not to make eye contact with anyone but him- oh and you must always sleep in his bed!

Despite what you may believe, it’s not for sexual purposes, he just wants his bed to smell like you

Still unstable and still an asshole, but on the plus side? You get babied and given gifts and kissed and protected!

You are his little treasure after all! Which means you get special perks

But if you don’t love him back, well…he doesn’t really care. It’ll just take time, soon you’ll see things his way, that’s all.

At least that’s what his delusional ass believes.

If he has to leave you chained up somewhere to keep you from getting hurt then he will. He’d hate to watch the light leave those beautiful eyes of yours.

And when he finally manages to escape he will drag you along whether you like it or not. Alone together out at sea, probably on some remote island.

Never letting you die. Never letting you leave. Never letting you be seen by the world.

His little treasure, forever, until the day you both die

Isn’t that romantic? He sure thinks so.

[moowmoon]

AFTER SCHOOL

— aaron hotchner x fem!reader

— summary: aaron was sure that he would win the teddy bear, but sometimes not even the BAU chief's aim can help him.

— c/w: i think none?

— w/c: 858

— a/n: hi! this is the first work that i publish in this account and i hope you guys like it! this drabble was based on the song "after school" by the girl group weekly and i choose to use the colorful and fun vibe from the mv to inspire me to write this drabble. english is not my first language, so forgive me if there's any mistake!

moowmoon playlist

“i can’t forget your face back then

we melt into each other, you feel

like another me rather than a friend”

— after school, weekly.

The amusement park emanated life, full of laughter, and the irresistible smell of cotton candy, and was illuminated with the most diverse colors of lights. People walked in all directions, chatting animatedly inside their homes and families, while children ran around trying out all the rides. There was a magical, carefree atmosphere in the air, which contrasted perfectly with the normally controlled and risky life of the head of BAU.

Aaron was sitting next to her, carefully observing the movement around the two of them with a small smile on his face, but still with a watchful eye - a habit he had acquired the moment he was promoted to head of the unit. It had been years since he had allowed himself to relax like this. His attention, however, turned to a target-shooting stand where large, colorful teddies hung like trophies for the winners. He noticed her watching one of the capybaras with an amused twinkle in her eye.

“Would you like to try?” she asked, already wondering what the answer would be.

Hotch nodded, shrugged, and let out a short laugh. “Why not? It seems easy enough.”

The glint of defiance in her eyes made Aaron approach the stall, determined to win that plush to impress her. And to achieve this, he only had four attempts. Aaron chose and adjusted the toy rifle in his hands, taking careful aim. He took a deep breath, mentally calculating the angle, determined to get it right the first time and excited to win the plush for her. However, when he pulled the trigger, the cork flew off to the side, nowhere near the target.

She let out a soft laugh, with an amused twinkle in her eyes. “I'm thinking it's a bit harder than the wall, huh.”

He frowned, refusing to give up so easily, after all, he was a man with a simple and firm goal: to win that capybara for her. He prepared himself again, aiming more carefully. This time, the projectile grazed the target but still failed to bring it down.

She laughed again, but this time her voice carried a hint of gentle teasing. “It seems that the infamous Agent Hotchner, strict head of the BAU, is having trouble hitting a target?”

He took a breath, frustrated, but with a slight smile appearing on his face. “You'll see. I just need one more try and the capybara will be all yours.”

He tried once more and… missed again.

This time, she couldn't hold back her laughter. Aaron looked at her, the seriousness of his appearance melting into a complicit smile, his gaze almost defiant.

“Okay,” he said, laughing, ”maybe it's harder than I thought.”

“You've only got one more try, so be careful not to miss,” she said, as she looked at the rifle in her hands.

“Do you want to try? You might be luckier than me.”

She stepped forward, holding out her hand for the toy rifle with a playful smile. Aaron raised his eyebrows, clearly doubting that she would be able to hit the target, but handed over the gun.

“Let me show you how to do it,” she said, winking slightly as he crossed his arms, skeptical.

She laughed and raised the rifle, adjusting her aim with a focused look that made him realize how much fun she was having. She took a deep breath and, with surprising ease, pulled the trigger. The cork flew in a direct line and, to both their surprise, hit the target precisely, knocking it over with a perfect “clang”.

The stall attendant applauded, picking up the large plush and handing it to her. She turned to Aaron with the most victorious smile he had ever seen.

“See, it's just a question of talent,” she joked, holding up the plush.

He shook his head, feigning an expression of resignation and raising his hands in the air. “I surrender. Looks like you're the expert here, not me.”

With the plush in her hands, she took a step towards Aaron, smiling triumphantly. He let out a light laugh, his expression finally relaxing after three failed attempts.

“You really stole the show,” he said, amused, holding out his hand to her.

She entwined her fingers in his without hesitation, and together they began to walk through the park. The plush, a large capybara with a turtle backpack on its head, swayed between them, each step keeping them closer and more in tune.

“Who would have thought that the great agent Aaron Hotchner would lose to a game of target shooting in an amusement park?” she teased, still laughing.

Aaron just shrugged, without wiping the smile off his face. “Let's just say it was a sacrifice worthy of good company.”

As they walked hand in hand, the light from the bars and toys gently illuminated the path, creating a bubble of calm and happiness around them. At that moment, the world seemed a little simpler, and he felt something rare: the pure pleasure of the shared moment.

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader���s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[illustratus]

A 16-gun brig at anchor in the Cove of Cork by Thomas Yates

[slowbison]

Bottom! Leon S. Kennedy x Top! Male Reader

Summary: Leon had been caught off guard and got hurt in the process. Running out of supplies, you come across the merchant who offers a questionable solution which you take, in an effort to help Leon. Later on, he notices something rather wet staining his shirt. Coming from his nipples.

words: 2.3k

warnings: male lactation, praising, frottage, hand jobs

Heavy footsteps echoed behind you as you frantically scanned the area for any temporary shelter. Your eyes landed on a dilapidated home in the near distance that looked good enough to barricade. Determination set across your face, you adjusted your hold on the blonde man next to your waist and rushed forwards, until a familiar gravely voice rang out to you.

“Hey there stranger, got a couple of goodies in stock. C’mere and take a look” the shadowy man called, signaling over to his makeshift booth.

“Now’s not the time, I’ll come back later if I can. There’s a whole swarm behind me, I suggest that you leave.” You warned, sounds of angry grumbling and footsteps slowly approaching. The man laughed and opened up his trench coat, revealing a series of ammo, guns, bombs, and a mysterious red liquid vial.

“C’mon now, how do ya expect to protect the lad on yer shoulder if ya ain’t got the gear or the fixing’s?” The merchant asked, eyeing the unconscious blonde man whose breathing turned ragged, quiet groans slipping out. Your mind started racing as you recalled your dwindling supply of herbs and the last few shots that were left in your gun, firing so many at the villagers behind that just seemed never ending.

The merchant sensing your conflict chirped up “Since you’ve been a rather generous paying customer, I’ll give this to yer for free,” grabbing the small red vial from his pocket into the air for you to take. You eyed it suspiciously as he had never had this in stock during your sudden run-ins with each other and asked for a description.

“It’s an experimental drug of mine that I’ve been whiffing up, guaranteed to heal major wounds. It ain’t gonna kill ya if that’s whatcha worried about, heheh.” You eyed it some more before, a loud whine came from your side. As the man began jerking in pain, holding onto his side with a piece of cloth, a slight hint of blood shining. Earlier, he had made the mistake of letting his guard down at an old villager that jabbed a pitchfork at him, you axed the grandma in the head for that. Pocketing the vial, you threw out a handful of Pesetas, pointing at some ammo and few grenades since no herbs were available.

The merchant happily gave them out to you, scooping up the money before nodding at you. “Pleasure doing business stranger, wish yer all the best.” Disappearing into the woods soon after, forging for supplies to sell at the next encounter. You readjust your hold and resumed a fast pace to the for-mentioned home.

Reaching at the entrance, you swung it open and scanned around the room. It was a bit shabby, but so were all the homes in this insane village. The floors were slightly cracked along with walls, there were a few pieces of furniture that still seemed functional and a decent looking bed sat in the corner. Dropping him off at the bed, you went to the side of the door and grabbed the wardrobe, pushing it in-front of the door. You closed the window next to the bed using a piece of wood on the floor, hammering it shut with some nails. Though you were tempted to light the furnace for some heat, it would draw unwanted attention which was the last thing you wanted right now.

Soft groaning could be heard from the bed at your side as you put down the hammer on a dresser, rushing to the man’s side. Leon’s face was scrunched up in pain from the stab wound, still slowly leaking blood. You lifted his head into your arms, gently shushing him and dug your hands into your pocket for the vial. “Hey, it’s alright Leon, I’ve got you okay? Just hang on for me love.” You bit at the cork sealing the vial - spitting it in some corner and brought it to Leon’s mouth. “Open up darling, this will help the pain… I hope” You whispered, tilting it up as the liquid creeped into his mouth.

The taste wasn’t ideal, but it held a soft cherry taste with a bit of a burn which led to a heaved cough. “You did good Leon, always good for me” You praised, caressing the side of his face watching as his complexion became better thanks to the drug, noting to give a nice tip for the merchant later.

You moved to the wall facing the bed and rearranged your positions with his chest in your lap, head cradled in your arms. You stilled, hearing the sounds of multiple footsteps outside the boarded window, torch light creeping at the corners. The villagers growled and lingered around the house before taking off at the sound of a distant noise, yelling along the way.

Letting out a relaxed breath that you didn’t realize you were holding, glanced down at the man in your arms and ran your hand in his hair. “I won’t let them near you, so take a nice nap for me.” You whispered, kissing the top of his head. Leon cuddled closer to you, breathing finally stabilized and the wound seemingly disappeared. You smiled and drummed your fingers on his chest, keeping watch over the sleeping man.

Sometime later, Leon groggily woke up with a slight hint of red dusting his cheeks. “Ugh, I feel like I was stabbed by something.” He grumbled, rubbing his hand on his head. You chuckled, lifting his head up to peck his lips, “That’s cause you were, got a free drug thing from the merchant while we were coming here.”

Leon gave you an incredulous look.

“You gave me some random drug from the merchant? Much less free?”

You nervously smiled, playing with a curl in his hair, “He said it wouldn’t kill you, plus there isn’t enough herbs that could’ve helped.” Leon raised his head slightly, squinting at your face as you continued, “On the bright side it worked didn’t it?”

He sighed, falling back to your arms and closed his eyes. “Is there also a reason why my chest is wet?” he muttered, turning to face you. A confused look crossed your face as you looked down at the wet spots donning his shirt around the nipples. “Well he did say it was experimental…” You muttered, lifting a hand to squeeze the pec. A low moan escaped from Leon, slapping a hand on his mouth before batting your hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He hissed, more liquid staining his shirt.

“Examining your chest, now if you would kindly cooperate with me agent” You said, tugging at the straps for him to help remove. Leon reluctantly sits up to straddle your thighs and removes the holster, tugging up at his shirt to reveal two puffy nipples that dripped with white substance and a much rounder chest than usual. Grinning at the embarrassed look he gave you. “The assessment won’t take long now, be good until then.”

Leon quietly grumbled as you moved closer to his chest, grabbing at his pec once again — giving it a good squeeze. Leon let out a choked moan at the action and unknowingly pressed his chest closer to your palm. The sounds he made as you gently massaged the right swollen pec went straight to your dick which made you even more curious…

You latched onto his left nipple and sucked, relishing at the savory taste that flowed in your mouth, letting out a pleased groan. Sensing slight relief from his chest, he whined and locked his fingers in your hair - pulling you closer before feeling your hard dick against his own.

“You- you’re enjoying this” He said, face flushed.

You released the puffy nipple with a soft pop, flicking your tongue to catch any remaining drops. Grinning up at him.

“We’ve gotta make the best out of this situation and I’m willing to take the fall” You said, licking your lips. “Besides, you seem to be enjoying this just as much as me.” Leon, embarrassed, looks away before straightening his back and jutting out his chest. “Then hurry up… don’t just stare, do something.” He refused to admit that he found you feeding from him rather hot and boner inducing, as the grip on your hair got tighter. The thought of you fucking him while suckling milk from his teats spurring him on, whimpering at the the idea.

“With pleasure, love.” You chuckled, leaning in to resume your suckling at the nub, flavor bursting in your mouth. Leon threw his head back moaning, rolling his hips against yours, cock straining painfully in his pants. You could feel your head getting fuzzy, switching to the right nipple when you couldn’t suckle anymore milk while returning the man’s eager grinding with your own rocking.

The taste was absolutely heavenly and you could definitely get addicted to the taste, perhaps already so as you pulled more into your mouth, cock leaking in your pants. Leon whines were a mixture of relief and want, begging for more friction.

“Please, I-I need more, fuck please touch me,” He begged, humping helplessly on your crotch.

You dug your hands into his pants blindly going as you refused to leave his chest, fumbling to unbuckle his belt. Slipping a hand passed his underwear, pulling it down to free his leaking cock, doing the same for your own matching prick. Bringing them together with one hand, you set a rather fast pace — using the pre cum as lube.

Leon sobbed at the feeling, squirming as he could feel himself nearing his orgasm. Your hold on hips got stronger, thrusting faster and more slippery as you neared yourself as well. There were a few drops of milk left that you savored, swirling your tongue around the bud hoping to ease more out, releasing the sensitive areola when you couldn’t pull anymore.

You settled for kissing and marking his chest, focusing on drawing out more noises from the blonde. Who whined, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. “More, ah- I’m close.. mhpm, please keep going.” He cried, losing himself more in the pleasure. You moved from his chest to his neck, trailing up to his jaw before attacking his lips, devouring his moans.

He could taste himself in your mouth, finding it odd, but it didn’t stop him from fucking your hand more. You felt yourself nearing eruption and wrapped your hand tighter, moving to whisper into his ear, “My good boy, waiting for me. You can cum love.”

Leon let out a broken moan, spilling into your hand and onto his torso, cock twitching as he lightly humped your hand. You followed soon after, mixing your release with his — cum trailing down your hand. Chest heaving, Leon draped himself over you, head resting at your shoulder. You kissed his nape as you wiped the cum on the sheets, tucking yourself and him back in your pants.

Running circles on his back, waiting for his breathing to stabilize before speaking. “We have to keep moving, love. They’ll be back with possibly more.”

Leon sighed, nuzzling your neck before moving to stand, fixing his shirt and putting his holster back on. “Well let’s get moving then, the sooner the better I guess,” he grumbled.

You followed after him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck as a silent apology. He turned to kiss you properly before breaking and going to push the wardrobe blocking the door.

Carefully making your way outside, you traversed through the village and onto a beaten down log path in the woods. Coming up to the entrance of a desolate church, killing a few villagers as you made your way further in. In the distance there was a fickle purple flame that grew brighter as you got closer.

“‘Ello strangers, good to see ya.” The merchant greeted, eyeing the now conscious blonde. “Glad to see you’re still kicking, last I seen ya, you were as sick as a dog. Good to see the puppy back at full health heheh.”

“Very funny, now do you want to do some business or not?” Leon rolled his eyes and scanned the items the merchant had in stock, purchasing a few before walking over to stand at the church door.

You walked up buying a few before dropping in low voice, one where Leon couldn’t hear you. “So uh, about that experimental drug of yours… got anymore in the back,” throwing some extra pesetas on the table. Though you couldn’t see it, the merchant grinned, understanding the implication and opened a hidden pocket with the same red vial from before.

“Do hope it meets your desires, stranger.” He chuckled, slipping it into your hands as you stealthily tucked it in your pocket.

“Hey what’s the hold up?” Leon yelled, raising a brow at the both of you. The merchant let out a deep laugh before waving him away. You nodded at him before walking over to Leon, patting his shoulder.

“Let’s go in, wouldn’t want to miss out on any action” You purred, leaving a puzzled Leon who trudged behind you.

“What did you buy?”

“Oh nothing really, just a little treat was all.”

“Yeah that’s totally not something to be worried about at all.”

“Haha, don’t worry about it love, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

Leon blushed and bit his lip, guessing what it may be and definitely tried not to think about it again. You grinned watching the blonde in the corner of your eye, playing with the vial in your pocket. You couldn’t wait to give it to him.

a/n: hey y'all, finally dropped the leon fic (yippie). hope y'all enjoyed this one, kinda proud of this one honestly and gyaatt damn, have y'all have been sweet to me with all the praises for my last miguel o'hara fic. got some more on that cooking, i see your requests and it got me giggling and kickin feeties n' shit. working on those after this, got a structure down on that. also i'm in the process of making a masterlist for y'all to easily go through my stuff, i never thought i would write as much as i do, but it's been real fun. i will say that after like 4 more drops (requests included), i'm gonna take a short break. anyways that's all for now.

up next: miguel wears a collar with a bell and you fuck him???. whatttt. teehee.

[cherry-pop-elf]

What their Amortentia would smell like: Weasley Edition

All you did was something so harmless. You entered the WWW shop, and explored. Found yourself by the love potions, uncorked it for shits and giggles, and the smell sends you down a rabbit hole

Writing Commissions Open

William ‘Bill’

The beach. You smell the beach. The warm sand, the cool salt air, and the distant wind of beach flowers. It’s so warm, and inviting. The more you inhale, you smell something else. Marble. You smell cold stone, as if you were in Gringotts. A cooling scent to keep you grounded. A giggle leaves you, as you knew you smelled wet dog in there. You were going to keep that last detail to yourself. But, it did solidify something. He did smell like wet dog after his showers. You damn well knew it. Your Billy Boy.

Charlie

A smack to the face it was. This intense campfire. Very specifically a camp fire. Not a wood stove, not a fire place. It was a campfire. With those blends of nature, and burning of dried leaves. The smell of a campfire in the dead of night. When your eyes stopped watering from the smoke stench, you could smell something else. It’s almost like berries. Wild berries. A sweet, almost tart, against all that fire. Along with leather. Oh the leather clings to your throat. It stays with you, and hangs. That’s your Charlie alright.

Percy

Parchment. Parchment, and books. A rather bland scent. You swore you could even smell a freshly corked ink bottle as well. Amongst the paper, you smelled something else. Earth. You smelled earth. Specifically earth that had been freshly rained on. It’s such a soothing scent. Despite its blandness, it was comforting. It’s very familiar, and soothing. Just because it was simple, did not mean it was boring. It was his scent after all. It’s a simplistic, homey, scent. Simple, but never boring. Oh Percy. Your sweet little Percy.

Fred

Grape. That surprised you. Yes there was the expected. There was the scent of fire, gun powder, everything that defined a fire work. Yet, grape was a surprise. Grape, and tea. Specifically grape tea. There was also this distant taste of night air on the back of your tongue. As if you were enjoying a cup of cold grape tea, during a rainy night time sit on the porch. It was an almost mature scent. Fred? Mature? You were speechless. Yet, you couldn’t deny it. It’s him. It’s him to the smallest accent. Your Freddie.

George

Oranges. Oranges, and freshly made pastries. Yes, there was that familiar fire work scent, but you also smelled oranges. As if someone made orange cupcakes, and served it with an overly sugary coffee. It very much was a scent of someone waking up early in the morning. Fixing a cup of sugary coffee, with some freshly peeled oranges, while enjoying a freshly baked cookie. It’s so warm, and cozy. As if entering a kitchen, after the Fourth of July party. It’s so homey. Yep, that’s your Georgie.

Ron

Very fresh, funny enough. Like cut grass, and fresh laundry. It’s just a very homey scent. Like you were home sick, and you finally got to walk in through the front door again. It’s such a soft embrace. Like being hugged, after a rough day. You swear you even smell wool. Like of an old sweater, that’s been loved to death. Very musky, but in a good way. Like someone’s been working hard on a garden all day, and came inside to cool off. It’s such a warm scent. It makes you smile, and feel almost refreshed in a way. It was just right. It was home. Ron was your home, and he can make your day turn out for the better. Even if it’s just a few words. Your Ronnie.

Ginny

Wind. That’s the first thing that comes to mind. Just that scent of a windy day, where nature is carried through. The soft scents of floral undertones, mixed with fresh grass. There is also the scent of wood. Specifically freshly cut wood. Like someone had been whittling away, and was working hard on a project. Such earthy undertones, amongst the familiar scent of her favorite perfume. She wasn’t much of a girly girl, but that didn’t mean she hated femininity as a whole. Besides, her brother got it for her. That’s when you smiled. This was a scent of a little sister, that was loved so much, and strong in her independence. Oh that Gin Gin.